Gus's Pension and War Record

Gus had served his new country honorably, been a POW at Camp Ford in Tyler, Texas, for 15 months, and now was back home with his family in Iowa.

Gustus Linn

His granddaughter, Elsie Linn Carlson (sister to Frank and Peter), wrote the following about what she knew of the effects of the war on her grandfather:

"Starvation brought him down from 190 pounds to less than 100, living on just bread and water. He owned a pocket knife which they let him keep, and he whittled many lovely things which he sold and received more bread and water for which he divided with his fellow prisoners. He was never well after returning home."

Gus Discharge on 29 July 1865 in Davenport, Iowa

On September 15, 1879, Gus filed a Declaration for an Original Invalid Pension. Written in Gus's hand, the document shows Gus to have served in Company D of the 32nd Infantry, enrolled on the 4th of January 1864 and discharged from Company I, 8th Infantry, in Davenport, Iowa.

Additionally, Gus was listed as being 5' 5 1/2" tall, light complexion, dark hair, blue eyes. Gus states that he was captured on the 9th of April 1864 and "contracted the chronic diarrhea by exposure while a prisoner of war at Tyler, Texas, from about the 16th day of April 1864 by starvation and  improper and unhealthy food. Contracted the chronic diarrhea from which I have suffered more or less to the present time that, from said chronic diarrhea I have had disease of the spine that has almost disabled me entirely...." In this same document, Gus lists himself as a farmer from Boone County, Iowa. Prior to that, he was a carpenter. He indicates that he is partially disabled. He has retained James D. Fox, a lawyer from Illinois, to prosecute his claim.

Gus's pension, number 311900, was denied in 1881 with the notation "no evidence of disability as alleged." However, his appeal must have been successful because Gus did begin receiving a regular pension of $4.00 per month in March 1882 and later $5.00 a month under certificate 204.032.

Portion of Gus's original pension request denied because "no evidence of disability as alleged"

After Gus's death in 1897, his widow Catherine continued to receive his $5.00 per month pension. She did, however, need to file legal papers indicating that she and Gus were married, lived together as husband and wife, and that she had not remarried after his death. Along with her statement, she filed statements attesting to these facts and her character from Peter Olson (a family friend from Sweden), John Linn (her brother-in-law), M. E. Curtis (her son-in-law), Andrew Lundblad (Catherine Linn's brother), J. L. Kinney and Swan Johnson, friends, and Robert J. Shannon who  had served with Gus in the Civil War.

Gus returned from the War with physical challenges he had for the rest of his life. However, from all family accounts, Gus was proud to have served his new country. His granddaughter Elsie wrote the following:

"We used to drive a team of horses and a spring wagon to go to Dayton to visit them [Gus and Catherine], especially on the 4th of July. How we loved to see him marching in the parade. He always carried the flag. How lovely he looked in his blue uniform and brass buttons. How proud he looked.... What a fine military funeral he had, which I didn't understand. His flag draped over the casket and there were many flowers. His comrades carrying his casket."

Gus was involved with the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) as shown in the following from the December 12, 1884, Dayton Review:

"The old soldiers of Dayton met last Monday and organized a GAR Post and elected: J. L. Kinney, Comm.; Gus Linn, SVC (Senior Vice Commander); N. J. Howaard, SVC; M. J. Durrell, chap.; Jas. Broomfield, surg.; C. J. Clink, officer of the day; J. E. Swanson, officer of the guard; U. M. Goltry, Sgt. Major."

Also in the Dayton Review, September 11, 1890, "There are now 6 men in our vicinity who were rebel prisoners: Chas. Steward, the new bridge boss for the C & NW, who escaped after a long prison stay; Chas. Huglin, who only spent one night and was left as they thought he would die; A. Grossenbaugh, who spent a month wounded before he escaped; J. M. Daniels, Gus Linn, and M. J. Umsted, who were held until they were exchanged."

Gus is buried at the Linn-Bethel Owen Cemetery near Pilot Mound. At the gate of the cemetery is a monument that reads, "in honor of our fallen veterans". Augustus Linn, Civil War, is listed on the monument.

How very proud I am of the service Gus gave to his newly adopted country. His ability to survive the battles, the capture and long march to the POW camp, and then to live through such deplorable conditions show the strength of this man. He never knew his father, but somehow Gus learned to be a man, a husband, a father, a brother, and a brave soldier.

Pictures from Camp Ford

Before we look this week at Gus's return to Iowa and his pension application, I wanted to share a couple of pictures with you that Myron sent me this week. As I mentioned, he has been to Camp Ford and, I'm sure would be happy to share other pictures with you or information he has about his visit.

Monument indicating that "the 32nd Iowa did not [pull back] and was overrun by the confederates"

Back of monument with G Linn (c) for captured circled

Gus's cane cared for by Myron Linn

These photos add a great deal to our family history and our story of Gustus Linn. If you have historical family photos, would you email a copy to me so I can include them in future posts? Military. Farm or home photos. Old family photos. Pictures of family memorabilia you have. All are welcome and would be viewed by other family members and future generations of our family. It's important to share our family's story, our history, with those who come after us. I want my grandchildren to know these stories and to see these photos to know about the brave and accomplished people who came before them. Thanks!

Next is Gus's return after the Civil War.

Gus Linn's Civil War Experience and The Battle of Pleasant Hill

Gustus Magnus Olausson Linn was my great-great grandfather, a Civil War Veteran and POW. It is because of Gus that I entered this world of genealogy. Back in the early 70's, I decided to learn more about him and his service. It started with a visit to the Iowa State Historical Building where I saw memorabilia from his unit. From there, I climbed narrow stairs into dusty archives to look at the brittle pages of old censuses. And then, I sent (old snail mail then) for Gus's Civil War record. I was hooked on knowing more about him and then, about all of our ancestors.

Born in Sweden on April 17, 1829, Gus lived in comfort where he was the youngest of 8 children. But when Gus was just one year old, his father died. This meant moving from his comfortable home in Dodringshult, Jonkoping County, to a shack down a dirt road that he shared with his mother and 2 older brothers, John and Peter.

Gus became a farm laborer at a very young age, moving from farm to farm. He met and married Catarina Lundblad in 1851 and, together with their young son John, left for the United States and to Iowa where his brothers John and Peter had already immigrated and set up households.

For the next two weeks, I will write about the part of Gus' life that involved the Civil War. This week's posts are in two parts. The first about Gus' entry into the service and the battle of Pleasant Hill and the second about conditions he endured as a POW. Next week will include a post about Gus' homecoming and pension.

Iowa furnished 76,534 men for service in the Union Army. While the Civil War was not popular with all Iowans, many reasons compelled men to volunteer to serve, including Gus. There was money including $13 a month for a private and a $100 bonus to be had at the end of service; strong feelings against slavery; pressure from friends and family to join; and the desire to support, as an immigrant, your new country. From the over 75,000 Iowans who served, 3,500 died of wounds, and 8,500 died of diseases.

Gus was almost 35 years old when he volunteered to serve. He left a wife, 3 young sons, and the memory of the deaths of two young daughters as he entered the service. He mustered into Company D of the 32nd Infantry in January 1864, out of Dubuque, Iowa.

Gustus Linn Enlistment in his own handwriting with his signature

The Red River Campaign which Gus was a part of, began in March of 1864 when troops had made the long trek through  the "morass and pine forest" of Mississippi to a gathering place where rumors were building of a major campaign. A Sergeant Boyd states that "we were designed to form a part of the grand army of General Sherman that was to disembowel the Southern Confederacy on his march to the sea." But a change in instructions was made to lend several units from Sherman's March to aid General Banks in dissecting the critical cotton and sugar regions in western Louisiana and to capture Shreveport. This was to take no more than 30 days at which time the soldiers would return to Sherman's leadership.

I wish I could do justice, in a succinct way, to the 30 days that ended in the Battle at Pleasant Hill as part of the Red River Campaign, but when I read accounts that are clear and compelling from people who actually lived it, I must refer the reader to those:

32nd Infantry of Iowa During the Civil War Begin reading at Chapter XVI, page 127. The rain, the long marches, the lack of supplies and food, at one point the entire 32nd nearly being wiped out by shell fire, word that earlier Union units in the area had been beaten, all of this and more is made more interesting when heard in the first person.

From Sergeant Boyd's words, the Battle of Pleasant Hill in Chapter XVII, page 137: The Battle of Pleasant Hill.

One short passage from Sergeant Boyd's words makes me shudder: "In a very short time, six companies, to wit: A, B, H, E, G, and D [Gus's unit] lost over twice as many men as the entire state of Texas lost and killed and wounded in the Mexican War." This defeat meant that the troops were ordered to retreat and leave their dead and wounded. Food was scarce; men were tired. Stories continue in the above book on the 32nd Infantry, stories from those who were wounded, who saw death, who knew the starvation and pain. I think they are worth reading to get a better idea of the conditions under which Gus was serving and then was captured and held.

Later, on page 164, another first-hand account of the battle shows how Gus was probably captured: "When the right of the Regiment began to fall back, noting the withdrawal of the 27th Iowa, that the movement extended to Company D [Gus's unit] and when checked...only a part of the men of that Company heard the order and resumed the former position, in which they remained until they were captured." In other words, Gus and Company D were left vulnerable to the enemy, captured because of a lack of communication. The capture of the soldiers of Company D was perhaps preventable because these brave soldiers were from the ONLY company that stayed to fight while the others were retreating. They bravely stood their ground, thinking that they were just one of many contingents fighting, only to find out after their capture that they were standing alone.

I believe that the recollections of someone who was in Gus' Company D, from Boone County from the same book, beginning on page 165 are important to understanding Gus' capture. Sergeant D. S. Jewett speaks of how demoralized Company D was in learning that they had not been given the correct orders.

The Red River Campaign had concluded with the battle at Pleasant Hill which, by many accounts, was the largest Civil War battle west of the Mississippi. Estimated casualties were Union, 1,100; Confederate, 2,000. Although the Union, under Major General Banks technically won this battle, the Union forces retreated without ever capturing Shreveport. And my great-great Grandpa Gustus Linn was captured.

Gus as a POW at Camp Ford

I would never hold myself out to be a history expert, and certainly not an expert on the Civil War. I've been to Gettysburg and seen the battlefields there and learned about the strategies, successes and failures. Myron has been to Camp Ford in Tyler, Texas, where Gus was taken as a POW. I've visited Normandy in France, one of the most moving experiences of my life. Sometimes, visiting these places gives us a perspective and understanding of the events that our ancestors lived through. Camp Ford in Tyler, Texas, is on my bucket list.

Gus was captured on April 9, 1864, and was marched to Camp Ford in Tyler, Texas, along with several hundred other Union soldiers. On my phone's map, the walk from Pleasant Hill, Louisiana, to Tyler, Texas, is 124 miles and would take 1 day, 19 hours. How many of these captured soldiers were wounded? Tired? Hungry? I wonder how many died along the march to the POW prison.

Camp Ford was opened in August of 1861 as a location to train new confederate recruits. But, by November 1863, it was used to house Union POWs. Camp Ford had transitioned from a training camp to a POW camp because it was geographically remote to discourage escapees; and privates had become the basic unit of exchange, a bargaining tool, between the Union and Confederacy. Camp Ford was a full day's march from Shreveport where prisoners were put on boats, carried down the Red River, and exchanged.

The exchange of prisoners had gone smoothly for some time but deteriorated over time because of violations. While Union soldiers were known to go back to their homes once they had been exchanged, Confederate prisoners often re-joined their army unit to fight again. Thus, exchanges stopped and more captured soldiers were kept for longer periods. This is what Gus faced as he entered Camp Ford.

Prior to the spring of 1864, Camp Ford prisoners had built huts and had developed a sense of community, complete with activities. Soldiers built two aqueducts--the upper one was for drinking; the lower one for bathing. This arrangement ensured the quality of drinking water and the health of prisoners. Until early 1864, prisoners were allowed to use tools to build and make items. Singing and square dancing were favorite pastimes. However, all of that changed in early 1864.

With the Red River Campaign, battles at Mansfield and Pleasant Hill, on April 8 and 9, 1864, the prison population at Camp Ford increased dramatically. The existing prisoners noted with derision the announcement that they were to expect an additional 3,000 inmates on April 10.

Camp Ford had been enlarged, but was still terribly overcrowded. Perhaps Col. Nott's narrative best summed up the transition. "The healthy character of our camp changed in a single week. Disease and death followed each other quickly in. The vice and lawlessness that live in the vile haunts of cities sprang up and flourished here."

Beginning in the spring of 1864, when Gus was in the camp, the living conditions at Camp Ford were dreadful. There were barely enough crude shelters for the prisoners. In fact, some had to exist without shelter with just a blanket to shelter them from the cold and storms. Sanitation became an issue as the numbers swelled in the prison. Body lice became a frequent affliction. And fistfights over food and shelter were common. Imagine Gus in that situation, struggling to survive these conditions.

A drawing of Camp Ford where Gus was a POW

Standard food was beef and cornmeal, and normally there was just one ration for the prisoners each day. Prisoners had to slaughter their own cattle; and, in the summer, the beef quickly became spoiled. It's no wonder that there were so many illnesses and deaths during this time. As we know, Gus returned from the war, having lost a great deal of weight, and with intestinal problems that plagued him the rest of his life.

The only thing that saved many of the men was that these horrible conditions existed during a warmer time of the year. Still many died. Of the 232 recorded deaths at Camp Ford, 183 occurred between May and October 1864 when Gus was a POW there.

To alleviate boredom, some men because very ingenious, becoming entrepreneurs and using their skills in craftmaking. Some crude tools were available, and these tools were used to create items that then could be traded or sold. One story we have been told about Gus is that he made carvings that he then traded for extra food. The cane that Myron has is one that Gus carved during his time in Camp Ford.

Gus was listed as a POW or missing soldier in several publications. Imagine being his wife Catherine and their children, reading in the Daily State Register, Des Moines, Iowa, about the Battle of Pleasant Hill (byline April 9, 1864). It listed the "Casualities in the 32nd Regiment" with "Linn" being listed as missing from Company D. At the end of this article is the following: "Many of the severely wounded being left on the field, there is a painful uncertainty as in their exact conditions. It is feared that many of the missing were killed or wounded."

In a book published after the war, a list of the Iowa Volunteeers from the 32nd Infantry was given with the following, found on page 81 under the heading "Company D":

"Linn, Gustus. Age 34. Residence Boonesborough, nativity Sweden. Enlisted Jan. 5, 1864. Mustered Jan. 20, 1864. Taken prisoner April 9, 1864, Pleasant Hill, La. Transferred to Company I, Eighth Infantry, July 25, 1865."

Great-great Grandpa Gustus Linn was a POW, surviving in deplorable conditions, for over 15 months!

When news reached the Camp that General Lee had surrendered at Appomattox on April 9, 1865, there was much excitement. It must have been a time of great relief to Gus and the other POWs, but before they could be transferred and released, there was much concern. They had learned that the Trans-Mississippi Confederacy intended to carry on the war. Faced with the possibility of more months of confinement, many escape attempts were made. Over 100 escaped Camp Ford with the help of a Union sympathizer.

But most inmates, including Gus, stayed in the Camp, believing that the end was truly near. In the final days of the Camp, July of 1865, local townspeople and deserters looted the area. It was a dangerous time for the POWs. Prisoners were escorted to Shreveport by "remnants of the 15th Texas Cavalry Regiment" in order to be protected from the lawless elements who were pillaging the countryside. I can't imagine the continued terror prisoners like Gus must have felt as they marched to Shreveport. Within days, Camp Ford was destroyed completely.

Gus was honorably discharged from Company D, 32nd Infantry, on July 8, 1865 and transferred to Company I, Eighth Infantry (Iowa Vet Volunteers) where he was to serve out his unexpired term of enlistment. However, on July 29, 1865, Gustus Linn was discharged and sent home.

The final chapter of Gus's war service will be next week with his return home.

Peter and Frank Linn - In Europe During World War I

From the last post, we know that Frank and Peter were drafted, received their basic training at Camp Dodge, and were assigned to different units before leaving for Europe.

On July 31, 1918, Peter’s unit left by train for Upton, New York, where they arrived on August 2 for an August 9 departure to Europe. What would these young, single soldiers do on their time off in New York? What would a young Peter Linn do? It is the stories he told of that time, like the ones below, that show a picture of the man and the soldier.

Peter, my grandfather, was a fun-loving man with a great cackle for a laugh. While I never heard these stories directly from him, I can just imagine him telling them, like the one below, to an adoring grandson, Myron, who shares here:

When he was in New York City on his last night before catching the ship to Europe, Peter and another soldier were out having one last night in port and looking to do some partying. They weren’t permitted to buy liquor without a New York license, so they found a ‘bum’ on the street and offered him $5 to buy a bottle of whiskey. While they were waiting outside the store, another ‘bum’ came along and called the first ‘bum’ by the name of “Slim”.

Soon the ‘bum’ came out of the store, gave the two soldiers the full bottle, and told them not to open it until he was gone because it was against the law to buy for someone else. The two soldiers waited until the ‘bum’ was gone, then opened the bottle, and found that it was diluted coffee. They spent the rest of the night looking for the ‘bum’. They saw the second ‘bum’ and asked where they could find “Slim”. That ‘bum’ turned to them and said, “Hi Slim.” He called EVERYBODY “Slim” whether he knew them or not!

Once he was in France, Peter tells another story (recalled from Myron):

On a quiet night with the wind blowing toward the Ally trenches, he could hear the German soldiers talking. With the enemy so close it developed high levels of stress and quick reaction to anything that looked like a potential attack from the Germans.

During the late evenings, the men took turns in duty assignments to be "on watch" while most of the soldiers slept. Only a few were awake and watching for an enemy attack. That made it even more stressful as the entire regiment was relying upon the soldiers who were on watch.

As one of the newest men assigned to his regiment, Pvt. Peter Linn was assigned to be on watch and to respond to anything that might signal an attack from the Germans. Front guards were positioned out front of the trench line, typically at least 30 yards or so, and sometimes more. In order to allow "friendly" soldiers to move to and from the outpost positions, there was a password that was used. If you knew the password, you were allowed to pass, but if a person did not say the password when challenged, it was assumed that the person was not friendly and had to be neutralized.

On this particular night, Pvt. Peter Linn was assigned to an outpost in the dark of night with only a dull moon providing any light. He had not been in this position before, so he was not familiar with the terrain.

Soon after he took his position, in the dull moonlight, he saw a man standing in front of him by several yards. It was dark with only very dim light, and Peter was going to do his duty.

Pvt. Linn raised his rifle and told the man to give the password. There was no response. The man stood still and gave no reply. Pvt. Linn demanded the password, and again the unknown person stood still and gave no response. "This is your last chance--give the password!" No response; just standing there in the very dim light of the moon.

Pvt. Linn did his duty. He shot at the man from his outpost position, and ran back to the trenches where everyone now was awake and aiming their rifles to the oncoming attack. It started out slowly, with a few bullets form each side, but it escalated into an exchange of heavy fire. Within a short period of time, the exchange subsided, and the attack had been repulsed. Pvt. Linn had done his duty in his outpost assignment and had protected his regiment.

Except..., at the break of dawn the next morning, Pvt. Linn looked out to see if the man he had shot at was in front of the outpost. What he saw was not what he expected. In front of him, instead of a wounded or dead German, there was a stationary tree. About 6 feet tall, with only a few leaves, but with debris hanging on its branches. That "man" that he had shot at, which started several minutes of exchange of fire with the enemy, was ONLY a tree.

Grandpa never told anyone that he had mistaken a tree for an enemy soldier. But 60 years later, he shared this story with Myron.

I love this story about the humanity of Grandpa Linn, showing his young, vulnerable side but also his determination to do his duty and to protect the other soldiers who relied on him. Funny, too, but shows how very stressful this time was.

Peter Edward Linn, handsome World War I Private

I have one copy of a photograph of Frank, in which we see that Linn face and a very handsome Private Frank Linn:

Frank Linn, handsome World War I Private

Exactly where Pete was, what battles he was involved in, I would refer the readers to several articles or books or a google of his unit. There are many articles about the 88th Division, about the 349th Infantry. Here are just a couple for my readers to review:

History of the 88th Division

From Wikipedia, the following about the 349th: The 349th saw minor combat in Alsace just before the war ended, and the 88th Division as a whole suffered only 78 total casualties. The 349th was deactivated on June 12, 1919, at Camp Dodge, Iowa, the same place it was organized.

One story we learned from Peter is how heavy the gear was that each man was responsible for. According to The 88th Division in the World War of 1914-1918, page 16, during September 23 - November 1, 1918, in order to reach the Center Sector of Haute-Alsace, the men were "forced to make long marches--sometimes 25 km a day--on congested roads, pulling with them their heavily loaded machine gun carts, combat and field wagons, in cases the average weight pulled per man being 250 pounds." It's no wonder that many soldiers jettisoned items from their own backpacks. What would a soldier be willing to give up? What did he think would be necessary to keep him safe? In Peter's case, unlike that of many other soldiers, he kept his gas mask. And several years later, he told family members that he was certain the gas mask had saved his life.

Long, narrow trenches often dug by the soldiers who would occupy them, were used widely in France during World War I. While trenches offered a bit of cover and time to prepare to battle or to put on a gas mask,  they also were unsanitary. Water and mud up to the calves caused trench foot and, in some cases, amputations. Dysentery, influenza and other diseases spread quickly. Soldiers like Peter and Frank might have spent weeks in a trench, not far from their German foes.

Because so much equipment was tossed along the way to lighten loads AND supplies such as food were not available, often the soldiers had hard tack and cheese alone for their meals. One might expect that the rats that also lived in the trenches and fed on the corpses would look enticing. And, according to Peter, they were. He tells of luring the rats near the trenches where they were killed and then eaten.

Another story Peter told was how he had stood at the intersection of 3 countries while he was in Europe during World War I. While the maps have changed, boundaries have moved, it appears that he would have stood at the intersection of France, Germany, and Switzerland.

Sadly, I don't have any stories that Frank told of his service in Europe, but I would imagine that he would have had similar stories to tell. (Well, except for that shooting the tree incident!) Frank was assigned to backfill the 163rd Infantry, Company C, 41st Division. And because the nature of this "casual unit" was to fill in where needed, I would refer the reader to articles or books about the 41st Division and/or the 163rd Infantry.

The final post on these two brave soldiers will be about their trip home. In both Peter's and Frank's situations, the trip back to Iowa was not an easy one.

Peter and Frank - Coming Home

Grandpa Peter Linn spent about 9 months in Europe, most of it in France, during World War I. And his brother Frank Linn spent 5 months in Europe. Thankfully, it was time for them to come home.

Peter Linn left St. Naizaire France on May 19, 1919, on the Ryndam which landed in Hoboken, New Jersey. After that, the soldiers were assigned to Camp Merritt. Peter was discharged on August 4, 1919. Back to Iowa, back to his parents and farming, and back to his girlfriend, soon to be wife, Maude Edith Olofson, but not as easy as it seems. At the end of this story, you will see what made Peter's return anything but easy.

Line 110, Peter Linn on Ryndam, landing in Hoboken and then to Camp Merritt

Frank's journey home was a bit different. His unit was scheduled to leave from Brest, France on February 13, 1919, to Hoboken and then to Camp Dix, but you can see from the transport list below that Frank's name is crossed off the list of soldiers with the following notation: Sent to Camp Hospital #33 in France, January 31, 1919. And so, while the rest of his unit sailed home, Frank was in the hospital. I don't know why, but my guess is that it was influenza which was rampant at that time among soldiers. What was Camp Hospital #33?

The hospital was located at Camp Pontanezen at Brest, France, which was a staging ground for soldiers returning to the United States. This is what I've learned about the hospital:

Camp Hospital No. 33 was established January 15, 1918, at Camp Pontanezen, Department Finistere, base section No. 5, by a detachment of 5 medical officers and 40 enlisted men. When first opened, the hospital was located in an old French concrete building, which formerly had been used as barracks. Many difficulties were experienced at this time in the care of the sick, as hospital supplies were very difficult to obtain. Medical equipment consisted of the contents of medical and surgical chests. Except for candles, there were no lighting facilities. On February 1, 1918, in addition to the old stone barracks then occupied by the hospital, a fairly modern three-story, fireproof building was taken over. Later, when increased hospital facilities were necessary, 8 Adrian-type barracks were erected, to accommodate 35 patients each, and four 300-foot barracks. Twenty-four additional wards, kitchens, supply rooms, dispensary, officers' and nurses' quarters were constructed in this area. Also, large huts were erected both on the inside and outside areas by the American Red Cross.

Camp Hospital No. 33 served the entire port of Brest. Although it treated more patients than did the majority of the base hospitals in France and served the largest camp in the American Expeditionary Forces, it never was rated as a base hospital.

Due to the absence of any sewerage system and to the climatic conditions, the problem of sanitation was a serious one and became more complicated as the number of patients in hospital increased. Latrines of the can type were used, the cans being emptied by French contractors, who proved to be very unsatisfactory. The difficulty in rendering these latrines flyproof and sanitary was practically insurmountable; the use of an incineration plant was impracticable, due to the scarcity of wood and straw.

During the period from January 15, 1918, to June 30, 1919, this institution admitted 28,233 medical and surgical cases. The majority of its patients were medical, which up to June 30, 1919, included 4,814 cases of mumps, 3,521 of influenza, and 2,205 of pneumonia. [Note: These 3 diseases added up to 10,540 of the patients or 1/3 of those who were in the hospital during the time Frank would have been treated there.]

Based on the "History, Camp Hospital No. 33, A. E. F., Camp Pontanezen, by the commanding officer of that hospital. The history is on file in the Historical Division, S. G. O., Washington, D.C.



Frank wasn't in the hospital long as he sailed to New York on March 1. 1919. From there, he was sent to Camp Merritt where he was discharged. 

Frank Linn was not on this ship and was placed in Camp Hospital #33. Line #122.

Frank was placed on a ship bound for New York and then to Camp Merritt where he was released on March 14, 1919:

Frank is listed first, on line #15 traveling with another unit.

Everyone was happy to have these two local boys home again. Frank's name appeared in the Dayton Review, March 20, 1919, page 9:

It appears that Frank's short stay in the hospital made all the difference in his health.

Grandpa Peter Linn's story of coming home is a bit different. We all know that he had severe stomach ulcers his entire adult life, which probably started with his time in France. The following article from the Stratford Courier, August 21, 1919, page 1, shows how he struggled with his health as he came home from the war:

As descendants of these two men, we are so very proud of their service to our country in World War I. I hope that I've done them and their service justice. My apologies to my readers who understand military history and terms better than I do. If you find an error or feel as if something needs clarification, please comment on the blog for others to see. 

Peter and Frank Linn - World War I Service

We have many military ancestors in our family, dating back to the early 1700's in Sweden. Recently, one reader asked about stories of Peter and Gus and their service, but today I'm going to start with a look at two ancestors that we all know: Peter Linn and his brother Frank Linn.

In 1973, a fire burned over 80% of the World War I soldiers' records in St. Louis. Without all of those details, we are left to piece together from the remaining records and stories we have been told, the experiences of both Frank and Peter Linn. Burnt in Memory: About the 1973 Fire

Those of us who descend from Peter know a great deal about his war experiences. Stories were told to family members. We always knew in what unit he served. In future posts I will include some stories about his service in World War I, but today we begin at the beginning with his draft card:

Peter Linn's World War I Draft Card, dated June 5, 1917

His brother Frank Linn also served in World War I; and, although less is known about Frank's war experience, I'm excited about what I did find out that I'll share in these posts, starting with this draft card, dated the same day as his brother's:

Frank Linn's World War I Draft Card, dated June 5, 1917

Peter reported for basic training at Camp Dodge in May of 1918. Frank reported sometime in July 1918. Camp Dodge was the home of the 88th division, also known as a "draft division" meaning that both Peter and Frank would have been drafted into service. These two young Iowa farm boys were part of a famous photograph taken at Camp Dodge, known as the "human Statue of Liberty," formed by 18,000 posed soldiers as part of a promotional campaign to sell war bonds during World War I. The photo, however, was never used. Can you spot either Peter or Frank below? No one in our family ever thought to ask them where they stood. But my understanding is that several soldiers fainted while standing in their wool uniforms on that hot and humid Iowa July day.

Take a look at other photographs from Camp Dodge, courtesy of the Des Moines Register. Camp Dodge Photos

Peter was assigned to Company E, 349th Infantry, of the 88th Division, and on August 9, 1918, he shipped off for Europe aboard the Olympic. (Line 135 on the following army transport service list.) The ship that Peter sailed on, the Olympic, interestingly, was the sister ship to the Titanic. Much has been written about this ship and its involvement as a troop transport in World War I.

Peter Linn, Serial #3226704, Andrew Linn is emergency contact

Peter's assignment was straight forward. He was assigned to a specific company in a specific infantry and division and stayed with that group of soldiers for the duration of his service. However, Frank's assignment was a bit different. After completing his basic training at Camp Dodge, Frank was assigned to what was known as a "casual unit", sent to Camp Gordon, where he was assigned to the August Automatic Replacement Draft (AARD), Company 25 Infantry. The men assigned to this unit were used as backfill to existing units in France. Frank shipped out on September 1, 1918, on the Belgic and, once overseas, was assigned to Company C, 163rd Infantry, 41st Division. Frank's entry is on line #145 on the following army transport service list.

Frank Linn, Serial #4004152, Andrew Linn is emergency contact

This information gets our two ancestors to Europe. Before we look into their activities in Europe, there is one more story about their time at Camp Dodge to share in the next post.

A Hanging at Camp Dodge

Several years ago I learned about the hanging of 3 black men at Camp Dodge near Des Moines, Iowa, when thousands of soldiers were going through basic training for World War I. Through a bit of research, help from Myron, and a letter to Camp Dodge, I learned that my grandfather, Peter Linn, and his brother, Frank Linn, were witnesses to the hanging.

I wrote the following then as part of a story about Grandpa, but my readers who are descended from Frank Linn will undoubtedly find this interesting, and troubling, as well.

THE HANGING AT CAMP DODGE

They were in trenches, just about 100 yards from each other. The German soldiers on one side, the U.S. soldiers on the other. Late at night, they could hear the roar of the fighter airplanes overhead, Red Baron types chasing each other through the night sky. Whenever a German plane was shot down and German airmen died, one could hear the cheers from the U.S. trenches. And when a United States airplane was shot down and U.S. airmen aboard died, a tremendous cheer would rise from the German trenches.

In one of those trenches was my grandfather, Peter Linn, a private in Company E, 349^th Infantry, 88^th Division of the United States Army, stationed in the Alsace region of France in November 1918. He was part of the cheering when German planes went down; he was part of the despair when he realized that U.S. soldiers had died. Peter knew that the U.S. soldiers who had been shot down were heroes, would have a hero’s burial, and would be written about in their hometown newspapers as heroes of fighting the Germans in World War I.

But in that trench on a cold November evening, Peter also reflected on other soldiers’ deaths, those deaths that took place on July 5, 1918, at Camp Dodge, just outside of Des Moines, Iowa. Camp Dodge was a major basic training post in the United States. In 1917, a “city” of nearly 40,000 rose almost overnight and was the army encampment for thousands of Midwesterners who were going through basic training and then to Europe to fight.

Peter had arrived for basic training in early May, 1918. It was his first time, as a 25-year old man, to be away from home, off the Iowa farm he worked with his father, and the first time away from his girlfriend, Maude Olofson.

On May 24, 1918, just a few days after Peter arrived for basic training, a 17-year old white girl was allegedly raped at Camp Dodge; and four black soldiers were quickly arrested. In separate military trials, three of the soldiers were found guilty of the rape and sentenced to hang. Both President Wilson and Newton Baker, the Secretary of War, upheld the verdicts.

On the 5^th of July, the entire camp, nearly 30,000 soldiers, was ordered to come to the quickly constructed gallows to watch the hangings. It was a muggy, humid summer evening around 9 p.m. The 3,000 black soldiers in camp were led from their segregated bunkhouses and forced to stand closest to the platform as a reminder of what happens to black soldiers who get out of line. In addition to the entire division, hundreds of curious onlookers, mostly civilians from Des Moines, watched the spectacle. It looked like an amphitheater with gallows in the center and soldiers tiered on every side. With no wind, every sound, every noise carried to the far reaches of the amphitheater setting.

Peter was on a hill, nearly 50 yards away but still close enough to hear and to see the proceedings. Word spread among his fellow soldiers that the three men were really innocent of the rape. How could this be happening? Were these fellow soldiers innocent? Could they have been guilty of such a dreadful crime? This 25-year old Iowa farm boy private could only watch in some kind of shock and disbelief. He saw the three men being led slowly to the gallows; saw two of the young, black soldiers walk silently, heads bowed. But the third man was wailing, and as they marched closer and closer to the gallows, his wails grew even louder. It was guttural, wailing from the soul, wailing that everyone in the camp could hear.

Peter watched with a mixture of curiosity and confusion as the nooses were slipped over each of the three men’s necks and then tightened. These 30,000 young, inexperienced soldiers, just ordinary young men, mostly farmers, were watching the most horrendous site they had ever seen. The three condemned men stood with hands tied behind their backs, heads lowered, moaning and wailing.  Most of the soldiers in camp had to turn away.

Three ropes fell from the platform to the rear of the scaffold. Only one of the ropes activated all three traps—two were dummies—and only Captain Harry Baker knew for sure which rope was alive. Three of Baker’s enlisted military policemen stood with upraised axes and upon command simultaneously cut the ropes.

This was the only execution in the state of Iowa carried out for a non-murder charge. For many of the men, including Peter, it was said to be worse than anything they ever saw in battle.

And on this night in France in a muddy trench, Peter reflected on that painful July night, just 4 months earlier. Three young black soldiers, guilty or innocent? Given a fair trial or not? Victims of racial discrimination or guilty of the rape of a 17-year old white girl? These three young men would not be seen as heroes of the war, would not be written up in their hometown newspapers as anything other than guilty of rape and dead by hanging at Camp Dodge. My grandfather Peter carried this picture, this story, those memories, with him his entire life.

For more information on the hanging, read Wartime Illusions and Disillusionment

Next week we will look at the lighter side of Grandpa's wartime experience. If you have stories to share, please email me and I'll include them.

Brita Rask Olofson

A few weeks ago, I posted about Brita Rask Olofson, my step great-great grandmother, and her sister, Olivia Rask Olofson, my great-grandmother. But while looking through news articles recently, I came across the following that I found a bit humorous. But then, I guess that's how people were described then:

The Stratford Courier, October 8, 1914, page 4

How do you like that description of step great-great grandmother Brita as a "very large woman"? I decided to look in local newspapers of the time under those three words and, amazingly, many women were described that way, and especially in terms of falling or hurting themselves or breaking a chair.

Here's a picture of Brita. What do you think?

And here's one more photo, this one of Olof Olofson, who we know was blind for 40 years, and wife Brita Rask Olofson.

Olof Olofson...blind.   Brita Rask Olofson...a very large woman.

Olof Olofson - How did no one know THIS?

Olof Olofson was my second great grandfather, the grandfather to Maude Edith Olofson Linn. Today's post is about his life, but first, when you look at the picture below, does anything stand out to you? The answer will be at the end of this post.

Olof Olofson. 

Olof Olofson was born in Farila Parish in Gavleborg County on October 5, 1837, the second of 6 children born to Olof Olsson and Kirstin Larsdotter. In 1850, Olof and Kirstin brought their 6 children to the United States, which was rather early for Swedish immigration. They settled in Manitowac County, Wisconsin, having lost their infant daughter along the way. Olof Olsson died in Wisconsin, and the family story is that Kirstin walked with her 5 surviving children to Iowa where she settled near Stratford and raised her family.

In 1865 Olof married Maria Barquist. Their son William Edward Olofson was born in 1866, and three years later, their daughter Mathilda was born. Sadly, Mathilda died in February 1870. The story becomes blurry about Maria at this point, but by 1880, we know that Olof had remarried to Brita Rask. In one record, Olof is listed as a widower; in another census he is listed as divorced. To this date, no one has been able to learn what happened to Maria Barquist Olofson.

Olof and Brita had 7 children together in addition to Olof's William Edward Olofson and Brita's Anna Sophia Charlotta. They lived very modestly in Hardin Township, on 30 improved acres and 40 unimproved woodland or forest acres and 19 unimproved "old fields" not growing wood, according to the 1880 U.S. Federal Census Non-Population Schedule (Agriculture). The value of the farm was $1600; value of livestock $450.

According to the regular US Federal Census data, Olof did not own his own farm until the 1920 census, just 4 years before he died. Until then, they were renters and also had boarders living with them. Imagine all of those people in a small, modest farm house!

The children were

• William Edward Olofson, 1866-1924, married to Olivia Rask;
• Anna Sophia Charlotta Olofson (Lottie), 1879-1931, married to Oscar Emil Larson;
• Hannah Margurite Olofson, 1881-1965, married to William Leon Brundien;
• Alice Olofson, 1883-1963, married to Henry V. Larson;
• Gilbert Olofson, 1886-1976, married to Iva Pearl Woolsey;
• Charles Olofson, 1889-1911, died working in Chicago;
• Delbert Olofson, 1891-1920, married to Golda Mae Snyder;
• Bada Olofson, 1893-1971, married to Clement Lincoln Johnson;
• Leon Olofson, 1896-1967, no information on a marriage.

One of the interesting features of this family, unusual at the time, is that, several of the children had moved far away from Iowa. Alice died in Tacoma, Washington; Delbert in Truman, Minnesota; Bada in Long Beach, California; and Leon in Lacombe, Alberta, Canada.

And so, back to the question I asked at the beginning of this post. Here's another photo for you to examine:

Olof is in the lower left.

Is there anything you might be noticing now? No, it's not the beard, although it's pretty fantastic! I have to admit that I didn't notice something about Olof for all of the years I've had these photos. If you have a guess, take a look at this obituary for Olof that I just found a couple of weeks ago.

Notice halfway down where the article mentions his being blind for 40 YEARS!

Webster City Journal, July 24, 1924, page 5

This is the first time I've heard or read of his being blind. And Olof was blind for nearly half his life!! How did he farm? Did any of my readers know this? Please comment on the blog if you have any insight.

I love genealogy research. I find out something new every time I look at a new record, read a news article, exchange information with other descendants, read about the history of the time. I hope you're enjoying these posts as much as I enjoy writing them.