Unsubtle Resentment

The American Civil War is undeniably an interesting topic.

It’s covered by thousands of books, hundreds of movies and documentaries and historians spend their whole careers focusing on flanking actions and battlefield maneuvers. Luckily for us in 2016, the attitudes of the ‘homefront’ have been preserved in local papers across the country – including quiet little Stillwater.

And Washington County was certainly invested in the war. Company B of the First Minnesotan was comprised almost entirely of Stillwater men. They had even participated in high profile battles like Bull Run and Gettysburg.

So, what was life like for those men who didn’t go East to fight the Confederacy when so many of their neighbors were literally dying in the name of the Union? The following article will show that they were understandably not the most popular people in their community.

But I try to look at history from both sides. This article is obviously calling these men dishonorable cowards – but at the same time, when photographs of the battlefields start making their way across the nation: can you blame anyone for being a bit squeamish and less than eager to join the fray?

Thanks to the Internet, you can see these photos for yourself if you’d like. Please note, these are actual photographs of Civil War soldiers killed in battle. They are graphic.

Four Dead Soldiers Near Little Round Top – 1863

Confederate Soldier Killed in Petersburg Trenches

Unburied Confederate Lays Next to Union Soldier Buried Where He Fell – 1862

Soldiers Killed at Gettysburg – 1863

Confederate and Union Soldiers Killed at Gettysburg – 1863

After seeing these, I don’t know if I’d be rushing to the recruitment office.

Reasons for Not Enlisting – Stillwater Messenger – March 22, 1864

“Sigman” of the Boston Transcript says:

The following reasons for not going to the war are believed to be authentic.

I. I was brought up by kind parents to do nothing, and have done it for thirty years, and cannot think of changing my vocation. I therefore pray thee have me excused.

II. I have a hereditary horror of strife. My grandfather ran away at the battle of Brandywine. If he had then and there been killed my father would not have hidden the cypress swamp at the battle of New Orleans. My mother always cautioned me to be careful how I meddled with edge tools. I cannot go.

III. I am rather delicated; must have a fire in my chamber; couldn’t live in a tent;must have my mulled wine at ten; besides, what should I do for lobster salad and boiled oysters? Pray have me excused.

IV. When I was poor I could not restrain my patriotism; but somehow or other it has troubled me of late. This war has lasted long enough. I have married a rich wife. I cannot go.

V. Talk not to me about your delce et decorum est pro patria mori. I’ve no notion of it. I want none of your dulces and decorums. My maximum is, dum vivimus vivamue. I bought a couple of trotters last week – cost me $2,200 – Guess I shan’t go to the war while the sleighing lasts.

VI. I cannot deny it, the smell of burnt gunpowder acts like a cathartic on my stomach and bowels. Have me excused immediately.

VII. My heart is with our gallant troops. No tongue can tell how I long to join the army. But, when I refer to the subject, my poor wife goes into hysterics, “Dearest Eleezur,” she cries, “have you the heart to leave your own, your devoted Jerusha Matilda Anna!” And over she goes, tossing up her arms, and kicking out her legs like all possessed. It is irresistible. I give it up. I cannot oppose the wishes of this interesting creature. I cannot go.

VIII. I have no time for it. The very few hours I can spare from eating, drinking, smoking and driving I give to the fine arts. War is not one of these. I would be excused.

IX. I should go, were it not for my religious scruples on the subject of war. Often, as I have been sitting, all alone, in my distillery, something within has told that war was wrong – probably the workings of the spirit – I cannot go.

X. I have consulted the spirit of old Mrs. Pitcher, of Lynn, and am assured that, if I went, I should run away and be shot in my back settlements. Of course I cannot go.

XI. My mind is in a very unsettled state. Upon every confederate success I am all for secession; and upon every Union victory I am for crushing the rebellion at once. If the war was over, I think I might be tempted to volunteer; but I cannot as matters are at present. When I read the little telegrams as they are brought in at the insurance office, if the tiding are in favor of Jeff, I find myself, almost unconsciously, nodding and winking significant at Major Piddle, who goes for succession; and if the news is unfavorable to the rebellion, my hand seems of its accord to grasp that of Deacon Blunt, and ”the Lord be thanked” slips out of my mouth before I know what I am saying. I must be excused.

Unearthing History at Grey Cloud Island Cemetery

by Alice Robinson & Donna Reynolds

“A dozen miles or more down the Mississippi from St. Paul is Grey Cloud Island, a singular formation rising out of the river with its central portion hundreds of feet above the low-water mark, and varied in its natural character and topography” wrote a Pioneer Press journalist in the late 1890s. “It stretches for five miles into hills, woodlands, meadows, swamps, and waterways. There are granite boulders, sandstone cliffs, sandy shores and rich farm lands.” The newspaper writer tells us that every old settler knows the locality. It was one of the first portions of Minnesota white settlers made their home.

In researching the family names on the gravestones in the cemetery, one wonders where these people came from and why they came to this seemingly remote area.

This island was once occupied by the woodland Indian tribes. In the 1830s, their leader, Medicine Bottle, and his small community lived at the bend of the Mississippi near Baldwin Lake. They had made bark lodges and grew crops of squash, corn, and beans. They fished and hunted in the lakes and meadows close to the river. At this time, the surrounding area was called “Spirit Wood” because of a beech tree growing there.

In 1837, the federal government signed a treaty with the Native populations for ownership of the lands east of the Mississippi River. Medicine Bottle’s band moved from their ancestral homes across the Mississippi to a place known as Pine Bend. Two fur traders, who had traded with the Natives living there, moved into the now vacant bark homes with their wives and children. Hazen Mooers and Andrew Robertson built log cabins along the river and grew crops, which they sold to the kitchens at Fort Snelling. Andrew Robertson changed the name of the island to “Grey Cloud” in honor of Mooer’s wife. She was a mixed blood woman, rearer in Canada, named Mar-pi-ya-rho-ta-win, or “Grey Cloud Woman”.

The next year, Joseph R. Brown build a settlement on the lower island, bringing with him voyageurs and boatmen to set up a trading post and farming operation. Now the mystery of the cemetery is revealed.

Two of Brown’s voyageurs, turned farm hands, Joseph Bourcier and Maxcell Courterior, stayed on the Island and married. Joseph Bourcier married his employer’s former wife, Margaret McCoy. The census records for 1850 show them living in Red Rock before coming to Grey Cloud. They built primitive housing on the slough and cultivated small farms.

Maxcell Courtier married Joseph Brown’s daughter – whose name was also Margaret – and built a house next to door to Joseph and Margaret Boucier. Brown’s younger daughter, Mary, married a Cottage Grove farmer’s son named Henry Brunell and they also moved to the channel. So the first European families to truly make the Island their home were the McCoys, Bourciers, Courteriors, and Brunells.

As the years went on, more families made their way to the Island. But when these early settler’s children were ready to marry – their options were limited to the boys and girls next door. This can make tracking family history and genealogies a bit tricky.

For example, when researching the grave of an 8 month year old girl named Lorraine Huysentruyt it is difficult to determine which French Canadian family she belonged to. Her obituary was listed in a 1922 copy of the Hasting Gazette. Lorraine’s father was Adolph Heysentruyt from Belgium. He was brought here to work at his uncle’s sheep ranch on the Upper Island. Lorraine’s mother was Lavina McCoy. Lorraine’s grandparents were Mary Mavis and Mose McCoy. Her great grandparents were Simon and Monjeau Mavis and Anthony and Jane McCoy. Her great great grandparents are Joseph Monjeau and his Dakota wife, Nanna Coussi. The family trees tend to get a bit…intertwined.

The cemetery is located in the center of the area where all of the first settlers lived. They probably began by utilizing part of the Bourcier farm in the early 1870s. By this time, this acre of land was transferred from a Bourcier daughter to her sister, Francis Bush Stringer and is shown on records as a cemetery. The name Bourcier had became Americanized to “Bush”. The area continued to be used as a cemetery and was taken care of by the families of those interred within. A chart of the burials and the names was made in the 1940s by Edward LaBathe. He, and others, would dig the grave for a funeral and erect white painted crosses for the graves without markers. Unfortunately, the crosses were gone by 1985. The French Canadians planted cedar trees at the head of the graves, but time and weather have destroyed many of these trees.

There are eighteen veterans from various wars and conflicts buried in the cemetery; five being from the Civil War.

At the present time there are 190 known graves and burial is still permitted to residents of the township and families of those who are buried there allowing modern residents to reaffirm their connections to their island’s pioneer past.