52 Ancestors 2026: Another Break in the Wall

 

I recently made major discoveries about the family of my 2nd-great-grandfather, Robert M. Curry. It was the story of a family from Mercer County, Kentucky, making the all-too-familiar westward move to Monroe County, Missouri. Piecing that family together using both old and new research tools was a satisfying project, and I was ready to dust off my hands, call it a day, and mark the week’s work complete.

As it turns out, though, there may be even more surprises waiting for this researcher.

I recently visited the local public library to check records available through Ancestry Library Edition. While reviewing Robert’s siblings, I found a marriage record for Susan Curry and Hiram Cunningham in Monroe County, Missouri, dated 6 November 1853. Susan had appeared in the 1850 census but then seemed to vanish from the record.

While searching for additional Cunningham information, I found another Curry-Cunningham connection: Elizabeth Curry and Andy Cunningham, married 16 December 1841. Elizabeth? That was not a name I had previously encountered. Could she have been the young girl marked only by a tick mark in the 1830 census and then missing from later records?

Unfortunately, Elizabeth and Andrew appear not to have had a long marriage, as Andrew remarried in 1847 after Elizabeth presumably died. However, they did have a son: George Washington Cunningham.

As a researcher, I wondered whether there was enough evidence to place Elizabeth within the Curry family. I believe there is. George’s 1886 marriage record names his mother as Elizabeth Curry. In the 1900 census, George reported that his mother was born in Kentucky. Various Cunningham families also appear within the Curry FAN network (more on that another time). Most importantly, the 1841 marriage record names Samuel Curry as the father of the bride. The fact that Elizabeth does not appear in Samuel’s later estate records could simply mean that she had already died. Taken together, these clues make her inclusion in the family quite plausible.

I was fortunate to find many more records for Hiram and Susan Cunningham, though they introduced a possible misidentification. I located Hiram in FamilySearch, but his wife was listed as Susan Sanders, and the couple was living in Mercer County, Kentucky. Dead end? Perhaps not.

The marriage record attached in the sources was the Monroe County, Missouri, marriage of Hiram Cunningham and Susan Curry—not Susan Sanders. In addition, the sources included death certificates for four of their children. Three listed the mother’s maiden name as Curry, while only one gave the name Sanders. It is entirely possible that the informant for that one certificate simply provided incorrect information. Secondary records often contain such errors.

We now have records for Hiram Cunningham in two counties—Mercer County, Kentucky, and Monroe County, Missouri—that were already connected by migration and family ties. Are there additional records linking Kentucky’s Hiram to Missouri? Yes. Several Monroe County land transactions in the late 1850s name Hiram and his wife Susan. There are also no competing records for another Hiram Cunningham in Missouri during that period.

It seems very possible that Hiram moved west to an area where his cousins had settled, married a woman whose family was connected to both Kentucky and Missouri, and later returned to the Bluegrass State. Susan died before her husband, but the widower later remarried—Artimesia Curry Gabhart Bennett, a cousin of the Missouri Currys.

With so many ties between the Curry and Cunningham families, it is very tempting to identify this Susan as Robert Curry’s sister. But one more promising source remains.

Hiram J. Cunningham served in the 9th Kentucky Cavalry in the Union Army during the Civil War, and both invalid and widow pension files exist for Hiram and Artimesia.

It looks like another trip to Washington, D.C., may be in order.

One last thing: Why spend so much time digging for records about a couple of 3rd-great-aunts when there are so many other avenues to pursue? First, all of these clues can help create a more complete picture of the Curry family and the close ties they shared with neighbors who may have migrated alongside them. Second, we often encounter brick walls when researching maternal lines, and perhaps someone else will make a breakthrough by building on these records.

52 Ancestors 2026: Conflicting Clues – Match? Doppelgänger?

 

In genealogical research, mix-ups happen all the time. Authors of online trees—and even published histories—sometimes confuse two people with the same or similar names. As I review my own locally saved tree and the larger FamilySearch tree, I occasionally find facts that don’t look quite right. Information is often posted without careful analysis, and the cited sources sometimes contradict the conclusions presented. In those cases, we have to examine all the available records before drawing conclusions.

One ancestor who has long interested me is my second-great-grandfather on my paternal side, Robert Curry. According to census records, he was born in Kentucky in 1830 and by 1850 had moved to Monroe County, Missouri, where he married Elizabeth Ann Maddox. In 1860, the couple and their children appear in Vernon County, Missouri, where several members of Elizabeth’s family had also settled. Unfortunately, this region of Missouri was in turmoil during the Civil War, with fighting between Confederate-sympathizing bushwhackers and Union forces. The violence even led to the burning of the town of Montevallo. By the time of the 1870 census, Elizabeth was listed as a widow raising her family.

So what happened to Robert? Did he become caught up in these events? At present, the most definitive answers I can offer are: He died—and maybe.

Starting with what we know, the 1860 census lists Robert’s middle initial as “M.” A written genealogy of his father-in-law, Jesse Maddox, states that Robert died before January 1866. Another intriguing piece of information involves a man named Robert Marion Curry, who enlisted in the 15th Kansas Cavalry, Company D. He was reportedly one of three men executed in the winter of 1864 and buried among prisoners or Confederates. The pressing question is whether these two Roberts were the same person.

Rather than accept the connection simply because it appears in numerous Ancestry trees, I put on my researcher’s hat. The middle name aligns with the census initial—but why would Robert enlist in the Union Army? And why in a Kansas regiment if he was living in Missouri?

Spoiler alert: I don’t have definitive answers—not for lack of trying. A search of Fold3 reveals no enlistment record for a Robert or R. Curry, except for one soldier in the U.S. Colored Troops. Since the 15th Kansas Cavalry was not part of the USCT, that record can be ruled out. Still, some interesting clues remain. Although many companies recruited locally, Company D appears to have enlisted cavalrymen from across the state. Vernon County lies on the Kansas border, so crossing state lines to enlist would not have been unreasonable. Moreover, the 15th Kansas Cavalry was used primarily to suppress uprisings in Missouri.

This leaves two possibilities: either the similarity of names is coincidental, or a man born in Kentucky to a Virginia-rooted family—whose in-laws were associated with guerrilla resistance against Union forces—somehow joined the Union cause.

Neither possibility can be dismissed outright. The first leads to a frustrating dead end (for now), while the second stirs the imagination. Was Robert pressured into service to fight against his neighbors? Was he a bounty jumper who deserted, was captured, and executed? Could he have been acting as a spy, gathering information and relaying it back home? Given his probable sympathies, it is difficult to ignore the possibility that he may have engaged in activity that led to his execution.

We may never know the full story. But that doesn’t stop me from taking another swing at this brick wall every few months.

Photos:

Grave photo: Find a Grave, database and images (https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/5851280/robert_marion-curry: accessed February 28, 2026), memorial page for PVT Robert Marion Curry (1831–1864), Find a Grave Memorial ID 5851280, citing Fort Scott National Cemetery, Fort Scott, Bourbon County, Kansas, USA; Maintained by Tom DeNardo (contributor 767).

Description: https://www.kansashistory.gov/resource/national_register/nominationsNRDB/Bourbon_FortScottNationalCemeteryNR.pdf

52 Ancestors 2026: A Record that Adds Color – Tragic Endings

 

This story begins with the extensive Civil War pension file of Benjamin C. McWilliams. In the 1990s, I made a trip to the National Archives to examine his service and pension records for clues to his experiences during and after the Civil War. I was puzzled when the archivist brought out a large folder containing files for two soldiers—alongside Ben’s file was one for Hiram Carter. I was about to point out the apparent error when I realized the connection: both files were linked through Ben’s second wife, Mary Ann Case Carter McWilliams. Ben’s first wife, Mary Ann Cloud, had died in 1907, and he later married her first cousin, Mary Ann (Case) Carter, the widow of veteran and pensioner Hiram Carter.

More recently, my cousin Cindy sent me a large cache of image files containing the complete pension material for both Ben and Hiram. I have been cataloguing the 359 images and made detailed notes for the McWilliams file, intending to simply set aside the Carter materials for later study. While doing so, however, I came across a card that immediately caught my attention. It was a simple Form 3-1143, used to record family members who had served in the World War. Three names were listed:

Lyle R. Voorhees, deceased

Harry Carter, living

William Carter, living

The fact that one family member had served and died—and that Mrs. McWilliams had received compensation—piqued my interest. I suspected there was a deeper story behind this small document. There was.

Using FamilySearch, I identified all three men as grandsons of Mary Ann Carter McWilliams. I also found a death date for Lyle Voorhees: January 20, 1919. He had served with the 2nd Engineer Regiment, a unit that constructed fortifications and filled in as infantry when needed, earning him the rank of sergeant. Notes attached to his Find A Grave entry state that he died of lobar pneumonia at age twenty-two. This was a common complication of the influenza pandemic sweeping the world in 1919–1920 and serves as a stark reminder of the role disease has played during wartime.

But why did Mrs. McWilliams receive compensation? That answer lies in Lyle’s childhood. He was born on April 18, 1896, to James Voorhees and Mary Margaret Carter, daughter of Hiram and Mary Ann Carter. James and Mary had married in 1894, when Mary was just seventeen years old.

The young family’s happiness was short-lived. In 1899, a daughter, Ruby, was born, but she died on August 11 of that year. Within two months, both parents had also died—James on October 1 and Mary on October 10. The 1900 census shows young Lyle living with his grandparents, Hiram and Mary Ann Carter. A guardianship record from 1901 indicates that his aunt, Carrie Carter, assumed legal guardianship. Yet the 1910 census still places Lyle in the household of his grandmother and step-grandfather, Ben McWilliams.

Adding another layer of complexity, newspaper articles referenced on Find A Grave list Lyle’s next of kin as his uncle, Charles Carter, of Colorado Springs, Colorado, and note that Lyle graduated from high school there. This raises many questions. Was Carrie’s guardianship largely legal rather than practical? What circumstances led Lyle to live with his uncle in Colorado and attend school there? And what caused the deaths of so many family members in such a short span of time?

In the era before vaccines and antibiotics, diseases such as diphtheria and typhoid claimed countless lives. Childbearing and the death of an infant placed additional physical and emotional strain on young mothers—Mary Margaret was only twenty-one when she died. We may never know all the answers to questions surrounding events that occurred more than a century ago, but family tragedies shaped by disease and war have been part of the human experience for as long as humans have existed.

All of this—uncovered from a single card buried deep within a pension file.

52 Ancestors 2025: Family Heirloom — Real and Imaginary

 

Given the many moves my family has made over the generations, the number of children in each generation, and the fact that we were never awash in finery, I don’t have many heirlooms with clear and definite family ties. Maybe one or two come close. There is a plate decorated with old-fashioned “ABCs” that my mother said came to Missouri in a covered wagon. I’m not entirely sure whether that story originated in our family or in an antique shop, or whether there truly was a Reed ancestor who traveled west before the age of railroads. From what I’ve been able to determine from my family tree, the earliest Missouri pioneers were on my paternal side.

My father passed along a number of useful items. As a millwright, he accumulated a wide collection of tools, including a formidable ½-inch drill with a yoke and side handle that can power its way through just about anything. One item he gave me was an Eclipse shoe cobbler stand (see above), said to have belonged to my great-grandfather, likely Henry Yount. Like my other paternal great-grandfather, David Cassatt—who ran a home broom-making operation—I suppose Henry “Skinhorn” (and there must be a story behind that nickname) Yount may have worked on shoes.

But there is one heirloom I truly wish I had.

My second-great-grandfather, Ben McWilliams, described a cane he had made by a German woodcarver during the Civil War. In 1862, he worked for a sutler, John H. Gotshall of the 172nd Pennsylvania Regiment, near Yorktown, Virginia. He described the area this way:

There was a monument standing there marking the place where Cornwallis surrendered to Gen Washington. It had a fence made of red Cedar pickets run in around same.

The site had also seen fighting during the Peninsula Campaign.

After the battle of Yorktown the fence was badly destroyed; but upon looking around I found a thin detached 2x4 rail covered with grass that had escaped destruction. I found a knot in center which enabled me to break in in two, which gave me a pied enough to make four canes. I gave half of it away, found a German wood carver in the Regiment, and gave him the other half in payment for his services in carving me a cane. He carved me out a cane, with the Goddess of Liberty on the head on one side and the Eagle and a copperhead on the other side. He then carved a union soldier standing up, under them, standing upon a cannon ball, and a big snake wound around the cane, which represented the copperhead trying to bite him (2 feet long.) I took it home and gave it to my grandfather, who returned it to me just before his death. I still have it.

I asked both ChatGPT and Gemini to generate renderings of the cane based on this description. 

Gemini:

ChatGPT:

To me, the results seem more decorative than practical—but it’s hard not to imagine what that cane must have looked like, and what it would feel like to hold an heirloom so vividly tied to both family and national history.

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: Wartime — Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers

 

Earlier this year, I wrote about our family’s experiences in World War II and the American Revolution. We also have extensive narratives from Union Army veterans Anthony Gilmartin, David Cassatt, and Benjamin McWilliams. These men survived the Civil War, but like many soldiers who left their farms and endured crowded, unsanitary conditions, they suffered serious illnesses. Ben, in particular, endured the harsh realities of multiple Confederate prisons. All three, however, served honorably and were discharged at the war’s end.

Those who served the Union cause later migrated to Barton County, Missouri, where they established farms on what was then open prairie. But for families who had already settled in that region of Missouri before the war, their Civil War experiences were starkly different. On my paternal side, the Maddox and Curry families had Southern roots and were, at the very least, sympathetic to the Confederate cause. As a result, they endured great hardship—some of it, perhaps, brought upon themselves.

The patriarch of the Maddox family, Jesse T. Maddox (my 3rd-great-grandfather), came from Virginia. He moved westward—first to Tennessee, where he married Lucinda Ann Simmons, and later to Missouri, settling first in Monroe County and then in Vernon County in the late 1850s. Unfortunately, the move came during one of Missouri’s most volatile periods. Tensions between slave-state Missouri and free-state Kansas were high, and Vernon County—just eight miles from Fort Scott, Kansas—became a flashpoint in the guerrilla warfare between Confederate bushwhackers and the Union Army, as well as Union-aligned Jayhawkers.

The Maddox family was soon caught up in these events. In December 1858, John Brown led a raid in western Vernon County, killing one man but freeing twelve enslaved people for passage along the Underground Railroad. Jesse Maddox served on the grand jury that indicted Brown, though free-state authorities refused to extradite him.

When the Civil War began, those prewar skirmishes exploded into full-scale devastation for Vernon County—and the Maddox family was in the midst of it. Jesse died on August 10, 1861, soon after the war began. The following year brought even more violence. In April 1862, members of the 1st Iowa Cavalry checked into a hotel in Montevallo, where they were attacked by local men on April 13. Among the attackers were Jesse’s sons Wilson C. and William T. Maddox. In retaliation, federal troops burned the town of Montevallo to the ground—including the hotel Wilson kept.

Violence continued throughout the war. One final tragedy struck on February 20, 1865, when two Maddox brothers, Jesse and John, were reportedly ambushed and killed by Jayhawkers. John Stuart Maddox is said to have served in the Confederate Army, though no record of his service survives.

Two of Jesse’s daughters were also deeply affected by the war. Elizabeth Ann and Sarah D. Maddox married two brothers—Robert M. and John D. Curry, both born in Kentucky. By 1860, the Maddox and Curry families had neighboring farms, but both men died during the 1860s. The details of their deaths are uncertain. One Robert Marion Curry who served in a Kansas cavalry regiment was executed by firing squad and buried at Fort Scott, but it’s unclear whether he was the same Robert who lived in Vernon County.

The widows, Elizabeth and Sarah, continued to farm and raise their families, likely with help from relatives. Census records show their farms were modest—certainly less prosperous than those of their Union veteran counterparts in Barton County—but they managed to endure.

Union victory in Missouri came at a steep price. Holding the border states required harsh measures, and guerrilla activity brought brutal reprisals, often falling hardest on civilians caught in the middle. The Maddox and Curry families did not appear in the 1860 slave schedules, so they were among the many Southern-leaning families who supported but did not benefit from the Confederate cause.

With so many loved ones lost, Elizabeth and Sarah likely felt bitterness toward the “new nation” that had experienced “a new birth of freedom,” as Lincoln said, and toward the northern settlers who arrived after the war. Yet, over time, reconciliation took root.

Their daughter Mary Curry married Henry Yount, also from a southern family. And one generation later, Robert and Elizabeth’s granddaughter married Virgil Cassatt, the son of a Union veteran. By the time of that 1905 wedding, Elizabeth Ann (Maddox) Curry was still living on the original family homestead—now farmed by her son.

But her post-war story is one for another post.

Note: The artist of the blog post painting does not appear to be a relative of Robert Curry, but I haven't been able to trace Robert's line back. Yet.

Books:

History of Vernon County, Missouri: Written and Compiled from the Most Authentic Official and Private Sources, Brown & Co., St. Louis, MO, 1887

Photo:

Tragic Prelude By John Steuart Curry - United Missouri Bank of Kansas City, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48498757