Before Moving On

Exploring the military history surrounding the life of one individual—my husband's fourth great grandfather, John Jay Jackson—was edifying for several reasons. While it didn't help me uncover the pressing question I need answered—just how it came to be that John Jackson met up with a gal from Maryland who was living in Ohio, when he had been stationed near Saint Louis—the pursuit has been edifying.

Besides gaining an understanding of the times and customs surrounding military service in what was then the western outposts of the United States, the search armed me with several resources which I can now add to my bibliography of go-to references for that time period.

Two of those resources which I didn't get to use specifically—and thus didn't include the hyperlinks in this recent narrative—I want to mention before we move on with our pursuit of the Jackson-Ijams wedding story.

One of those resources is a handy listing of army personnel, published in 1837—not long after the years in question in my study. Assembled by William A. Gordon of the United States War Department, its title tells all: A Compilation of Registers of the Army of the United States From 1815 to 1837, Inclusive.

Admittedly, this volume makes for dull reading. What it lacks in drama, it makes up for in utility. It is mostly a listing of names of men in their companies, divided by assignments and years. The added bonus is revealed in its subtitle: "A list of officers on whom brevets were conferred by the President of the United States, for gallant conduct or meritorious services during the war with Great Britain." Perhaps the high point of the volume is when you turn to the page which contains the entry on your own ancestor.

The second resource, which I stumbled upon only thanks to Google, was a website—no, actually, it is officially a blog. Prepared by someone who obviously spent a lot of time assembling useful links and anecdotes simply because of personal interest, it is called, in a rather straightforward manner, "My Military History Research Interests."

In a post devoted to the Rifle Regiments—that specific interest which drew me to the website in the first place—the blogger explains,

This is a work in progress based on my curiosity about the more obscure individual riflemen as found on the open web. It is not intended to be an all inclusive or definitive listing....

While I was, of course, disappointed that my Rifle Regiment representative didn't make the cut among this blogger's listing of "more obscure riflemen"—I guess he wasn't "obscure" enough—when I find a neat resource, of course I want to share it.

Now that I've bookmarked those two resources for future reference—and shared it with you, in case you, too, want to pursue further study on your War of 1812 veterans—I can face the next step in pursuit of an answer to my question.

That, however, will once again require a detour. Answering such questions never seems to be quite as easy as we hoped.

Above: "An Indiana Road," 1889 oil on canvas by American Impressionist painter of Indiana landscapes, Theodore Clement Steele; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. 

Remembering My Mission

It is all very well and good to discover the context in which my husband's fourth great grandfather served during and after the War of 1812. Uncovering the history of the several captains under whom he served certainly illuminated my understanding of the times and places of his service. But that was not my original intention when I first launched into that study.

What I really was seeking was an explanation of just how John Jay Jackson, who ended his tour of duty in a fort near Saint Louis, had met up with the woman who was to become his bride. That woman happened to have recently lost her father, and with her widowed mother, somehow—incredibly, in my mind—had journeyed through the wilderness from her home in central Ohio to the fort where she eventually met John Jackson.

What would have possessed two women to make such a journey during those times? After all, this wasn't a story of two friends deciding to take a flight across country for a resort vacation together. Such a journey in the early 1800s—especially after a war—was bound to be a risky venture.

As it turns out, though, I've partly become a captive of my own assumptions, for believe it or not, even in those western outposts and traveling along with expeditions pressing further into the unexplored territories west of the Mississippi, women were part of the company.

I got my first glimpses of reports faulting my assumption while searching for further biographies on Jackson's many captains. The first hint—and one example of how the women were right there, alongside the men during those pioneer days—was found in the narrative mentioning the massacre in Indiana territory and Captain John Morris' tragic loss. The "Pigeon Roost Settlement" included not only women along with the men, but several children, as well. It wasn't just soldiers and adventurers who headed west in those early days. It was families.

But Sarah Howard Ijams was not traveling to Saint Louis with her entire family. After all, she had just lost her father. This would not be an instance to compare with her situation.

A 2001 book published by the Montana Historical Society, Wheel Boats on the Missouri, which we had reviewed while checking into details on Charles Pentland, gave a few more clues about women out west, including these orders from Brigadier General Henry Atkinson (on page 71):

The company women left behind by the companies forming the brigade, are to be quartered in the Fort and protected by the commandant of the Post, in their allowances and priviledges [sic] agreeably to Army regulations, and that no mistake may arise in the absence of the Company Officers they will respectively make out monthly returns for their company women entitled to rations, and deposit them with the Ass. Commy of Subsce who will issue upon them respectively.

A footnote followed up with the explanation at the bottom of the page:

The order refers to the laundresses who lived at the fort. Many of them were wives of enlisted men.

Another clue about the presence of women in these unexpected circumstances came from an online reprint of Sally A. Johnson's "Cantonment Missouri, 1819-1820," originally appearing in the June, 1956, edition of Nebraska History. Page 125 mentioned the weather diaries kept by the two surgeons of the Rifle Regiment and the Sixth Infantry, explaining the need to be aware of the extreme cold temperatures of the winter months.

It was essential in such weather that the rooms, occupied not only by the soldiers but also by their women and children, be heated.

The Johnson report explained that, in the course of service at that outpost of the Yellowstone Expedition, "whiskey was a regular portion of the rations issued to the U.S. soldier." Apparently, that largesse extended to those working alongside the company, as well, for

On February 15, 1820, Sarah Fox, a washerwoman of Light Company B, was tried before a regimental court martial. She was charged with "throwing and depositing in front of the Quarters of Light Company A 6th Infantry, and within the limits of its own police, a quantity of foul and dirty water on or about the 14th..." The prisoner, pleading guilty, was sentenced to a stoppage of her whiskey rations for ten days, which rations were then appropriated for the use of the company to which she belonged. She was also ordered to be present when her sentence was read at the first Regimental Parade.

Readers may be relieved to note that, according to the footnote on page 128 of Johnson's report,

In consideration of her former correct conduct and general good character, the part of her sentence as regarded her appearance before a Regimental Parade was remitted.

So, what does this mean? That women were present at these military outposts on the edge of the wilderness? Does this mean that Sarah Howard Ijams and her widowed mother were so destitute after William Ijams' passing, that they sold themselves down river as laundresses at the fort in Saint Louis?

That may not be so far-fetched a conclusion as it seems at face value. According to the website of the historical re-enactment group of the Regiment of U.S. Riflemen, not only women but even children could be "officially attached" to the army, drawing pay and rations—although as we've already seen, they were

officially part of the military unit and as such subject to military rules and discipline.

 
First lesson learned in all this, for me at least, is to never rely solely upon my assumptions that the way things are now is the same as they've always been. A follow-up corollary is to use the same skills developed over years of historical and genealogical research to provide a self-serve primer on the fuller context of the time period, its customs and norms, no matter what new realms I'm entering.

Face it: I delved into this puzzle about John Jackson and how he met his wife, knowing very little about the military and almost nothing about the War of 1812—other than that a coalition of very generous groups and individuals were committed to making a digitized version of the pension papers freely available to all. By harnessing the power of the Internet, I'm now starting to have the slightest inkling of what might well have happened to connect two individuals from nearly-opposite sides of a fledgling country.

Even so, something more seems to be missing from this story. I still haven't found the answer to my question... 
   

Above: Crossing the River Platte, 1871 oil on canvas by Thomas Worthington Whittredge; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Creative Spelling, Part III

...in which we almost neglect to include mention of a key player, for lack of the correct spelling of his surname...

If you have been counting, as I rattle off the captains listed on John Jay Jackson's War of 1812 pension papers, you may have noticed someone had been left out of the tally. If so, I heartily congratulate you on your keen powers of observation. 

As it turns out, by some sleight of hand, I had inserted the name of the officer whose signature actually appeared on Jackson's discharge papers—Charles Pentland—because his name kept appearing in tandem with that of Captain Magee. Perhaps that had thrown off the count.

However, there was another reason for the count being off: I was rescued, just in the nick of time, from having to leave off yet another captain from this exploration of ancestral military duties. If it hadn't been for my penchant for getting lost in dictionaries and other volumes of the like, I wouldn't even have found Captain William Le Dufphey's entry.

So it is that, encouraged by that spelling conquest, I returned to the ever-helpful Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army to see if the one missing Captain from John Jackson's list could be recaptured.

The captain I was missing was surnamed "McGonigle." I honestly had hated to concede being unable to locate that name. I was pretty confident there was another way to spell that name—mainly because McGonagle is a surname that figures prominently in my husband's own paternal family line. If it hadn't been for the McGonagles of Perry County, Ohio, my Chicago-born father-in-law likely wouldn't have met his future bride. I thought it was a snap that the reason I couldn't find any War of 1812 officers by the name McGonigle was because it was really supposed to be spelled McGonagle.

How wrong I was.

Struggling through the discovery, the other day, that "Duffy" should really have been spelled Dufphey—and really, how was I to know?—gave me the courage to face the possibility that Captain McGonigle's absence from Heitman's Register might be owing to a higher intelligence than I ever hoped to attain. At least, a higher creativity at spelling.

I was right. Giving myself free rein to explore the Register—it is, after all, a type of dictionary—I finally found my man. Entered under the spelling McGunnegle, there he was: Pennsylvanian James McGunnegle, rising through the ranks of the United States Army as early as January, 1812. As First Lieutenant and paymaster, he was transferred to the Regiment of Riflemen on May 17, 1815, and attained the rank of captain in July, 1818.

With a little Google reconnaissance work, I found a few other mentions of Captain McGunnegle, who seemed now very much not invisible, thanks to having secured the actual spelling of his name. He had been mentioned in some court proceedings regarding his decisions while serving as quartermaster. His name came up in a case argued before the Missouri Supreme Court, in regard to some property he had once acquired. I even found a reference to someone bearing his name in an unusual Who's Who type collection listing the women of Pittsburgh. While this capricious entry likely does not refer to the James McGonnegle we are interested in (more likely, one of his nephews), it's worth a brief detour through the pages of The Social Mirror: A Character Sketch of the Women of Pittsburg and Vicinity, anyhow.

Mrs. Maria McGunnegle, wife of the late James McGunnegle, lives in Allegheny, and is a descendant of one of the oldest families of the county.

As had some of the other military officers stationed at the outpost in the early years of Saint Louis, Captain McGunnegle likely saw opportunity headed his way and jumped at the chance to capitalize on it. Mentioned in a biographical sketch of his nephew, it was quite obvious he was in the right place at the right time. His nephew, George Kennedy McGunnegle, was also born in Pennsylvania,

and in 1821, he went to St. Louis, Mo., where he was engaged as clerk for his uncle, Capt. James McGunnegle, of the United States Army, then Quartermaster of that military district.

Whatever dreams the captain may have entertained, along with his successful nephew, for future endeavors in that land of opportunity, however, were short-lived. Not long after attaining the rank of Captain, while still in the service, James McGunnegle died on 27 August, 1822. While I can find his name, thanks to Google, in all sorts of books about obscure court cases and land transactions dating back to that decade, I have yet to find any statement giving mention of his passing while still in the service of the United States Army. 
   

Above: "The Falls of Saint Anthony," oil on canvas, circa 1880, by Albert Bierstadt, German-born landscape painter of the American West; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Creative Spelling, Part II

...in which we discover just how inventive those early nineteenth century military record keepers really were.

Almost as an afterthought, following the consistent listing of the four captains under whom John Jay Jackson served, a mention was made of a fifth. On the cover of a folder showing his claim number to be 20618, after the entry for his discharge in the spring of 1817, was the handwritten entry,

Also served under Capt. W. L. Duffy.

Since my interest in tracking these captains was to uncover something about the military history of my husband's fourth great grandfather, I have been researching each of the captains mentioned in his War of 1812 pension papers. I did just swimmingly, looking up information posted online for Captain John Morris. Likewise for Captain Matthew J. Magee, despite my misgivings about the somewhat unexpected spelling of his surname. Even Captain "Birdsell" didn't throw me for a loop, once I realized how easily his name could have been misspelled.

But when I came to Duffy, that was the Captain who stopped me in my research tracks. There was no Captain Duffy of record—at least, not that I could find.

Turning to that reference book that has been so helpful—Francis B. Heitman's Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army—I did find a couple Duffy entries. But no "W. L." One was for a Charles Morgan Duffy, the other for John Michael. Taking a closer look at these entries, I realized the first man had served in 1898, the second in 1861. Not exactly War of 1812 material.

Thankfully, my penchant for following The Bright Shiny stood me in good stead at the brink of this quandary. My eyes started to wander down the page—you know, just in case the weary editors happened to mess up the alphabetization process—and settled on a possibility. It did begin with D-U-F, but then made an unexpected turn.

There was one more positive aspect about this possibility: the first and middle name were William and Le. (Yes, if you are wondering, that is exactly how it was entered. If the "Le" were really part of the surname and alphabetized as such, I would never have found it.)

The spelling for that renegade surname? Dufphey. Yes. I kid you not.

The person in question—and, undoubtedly, from his biographical entry in Heitman's Register, he appears to be the right captain for part of Jackson's service—William Le Dufphey was from North Carolina. He served in the army from at least the beginning of the War of 1812, then as 1st Lieutenant transferred to the 3rd Regiment of Riflemen on March 24, 1814, and after the four rifle regiments were combined into one following the war in 1815, served as its captain.

Various entries recounting history of that time period mention William Le Dufphey's name. Some of these narratives provide a hint of what service must have been like for John Jackson's outposts along the Mississippi River from Saint Louis northward.

A description of expeditions much like we had already encountered the other day, this time appearing in the John O. Anfinson history of the Upper Mississippi, The River We Have Wrought, mentioned Captain Dufphey in the context of another explorer we've met: Stephen Harriman Long.

On July 20, 1817, just below Lake Pepin, Long's party came across three Native Americans killing a rattlesnake that had just struck one of them. They had cut out the flesh around the bite, hoping to stop the venom from spreading. Two days later, upon reaching Prairie du Chien, Long learned that a rattlesnake had bitten Captain William Le Dufphey from the American garrison there. While Dufphey's leg had swollen and turned black, he had recovered with the help of some unspecified remedies.

Apparently, the entire area was infested with rattlesnakes, as well as the more pleasantly anticipated bounty of fish and buffalo.

Considering that my previous research on John Jay Jackson's tour of duty had indicated the possibility that his service included work on several riverside outposts in that area, he likely had been in this same vicinity as Stephen Harriman Long and Captain William Le Dufphey, experiencing the very same hazards.

Lest you wonder, after a snake bite like that, whether the Captain made it, a quick peek back at Heitman's Register tells the rest of the story. Well, amend that: it tells a very abbreviated rest of the story. After assuming command of the Rifle Regiment on May 17, 1815, the captain apparently resigned his commission on February 15, 1818, thus making way for yet another captain's name to be added to the list of those under whom John Jackson once served—depending, that is, upon which date of discharge you believe for Jackson's own term of service.

Above: Falls of Saint Anthony, Upper Mississippi, as painted by British-born resident of Saint Louis, Henry Lewis, circa 1847; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

   

Entering the Realm of Creative Spelling

I have heard it said that during the time of George Washington, it was considered a mark of intelligence to be able to devise several alternative ways to spell a word. Perhaps it comes as no surprise, then, to learn that the names of two of John Jay Jackson's captains in the War of 1812 were not exactly the names listed on his pension papers. We'll take a brief look at one of these captains today—the one with the least surprising spelling variation—and follow with the last of his captains for tomorrow's post.

It had been a fruitless search, looking for the Captain "Birdsell" listed in the Jackson papers. It might have been helpful to have a given name to combine with that misspelled surname, but I didn't. It wasn't until I found an online source for the digitized Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army that I started making headway in my search for all John Jackson's captains.

Even so, I consider it an honest spelling mistake—rather than the poetic contortions of that era's sport of creatively re-engineering the spelling of words and names—when I discovered this captain's actual name. It was only a change of one letter, from "e" to "a" to render Birdsall.

I had had a hint that that might have been my man, when Google led me to some reports of spectacular battles during the War of 1812. The captain mentioned in those reports was a certain Benjamin Birdsall. Once I could access the Francis B. Heitman volume, I was able to confirm my hunch. Birdsall, a New Yorker, was listed in the Register as advancing to captain of the 4th Regiment of Riflemen on March 17, 1814—John Jackson's regiment during the War of 1812.

As captain of the unit in which Jackson was serving, Birdsall was present during or shortly after the Americans' capture of Fort Erie, across the Niagara from New York in "Upper Canada" (Ontario). Since the then-captured British fort was not large enough to accommodate the American troops, work was commenced to extend an earth wall to a hill at the south of the fort, known as Snake Hill. There, they also constructed a gun battery.

In a 1991 book reporting on an archaeological investigation of the old Snake Hill site, Captain Benjamin Birdsall was credited as having led the combined forces of the 1st and 4th regiments of the Riflemen as they manned that area just south of the fort—the artillery area then called Fontaine's Battery—stretching to the next section, manned by a New York Militia regiment.

At the point of attack by the British, lasting a full day on August 13, 1814, and continuing into the night, the battle included significant displays. A Scotland-born Cherokee descendant, John Norton, present at the battle, noted in his journal,

We heard the firing commence at Snake Hill.... We were within a half mile of Fort Erie, when we heard the cracking of musketry and the roar of cannon announce the attack upon it.... As we arrived there, the explosion blew the broken fragments of buildings and works in all directions. [I]t appeared to create a general confusion. 

The 1991 Snake Hill book provided further explanation,

A stray British shot hit a small magazine, creating quite an explosion. This incident convinced the British that more damage was done than actually had been. The artillery fire slackened at about half past midnight and ceased entirely about an hour later, indicating to the garrison the imminent possibility of an assault. Generals Gaines and Ripley put their men on full alert. At about 0200, General Ripley was riding with his aide toward Snake Hill when the British attack there commenced. This lasted for about 20 minutes with an incredible display of defensive fire that made the night as bright as day.

That, however, was just the beginning. In the siege of the fort, itself, what was to follow was more astounding. At one point, British troops pouring into the fort commandeered an American cannon, using it to return fire upon the Americans. In the midst of that confusion, somehow a fire was ignited in the powder magazine below their position. The explosion that followed hurled bits of flesh and debris everywhere, destroying most of the buildings, and even threw a two ton cannon three hundred feet distance.

Reports varied on the number of dead and wounded on both sides, mostly owing to the many missing in the aftermath of the horrific explosion.

As for Jackson's commander, Captain Benjamin Birdsall, history shows us he survived the battle. Whether John Jackson was among those present in the companies formed from the 1st and 4th Regiments of the Riflemen, I have no way of knowing, but it is possible he was there, as well.

According to Heitman's Register, Birdsall was appointed a brevet major, effective the 15th of that same month of battle, for distinguished service in the defense of Fort Erie.

That recognition was not to be long-lived, however. While in command of a military station near Albany, New York, a few years later, he was shot by one of his soldiers, a private named James Hamilton. This was not a matter of friendly fire during field exercises. Hamilton was subsequently tried and executed for murder.

While the War of 1812 may well be "the nation's forgotten conflict," it had also become different things to different people. Witness one long, meandering retrospect on the war from the point of view of upstate New York residents living along the Saint Lawrence River. We certainly can glean from reports concerning Captain John Morris' fellow Indiana Territory neighbors what the war had meant to them.

What we've learned from these few captains under whom my husband's fourth great grandfather once served was an additional point: that these men were not often long-lived. Witness the abrupt closure to Captain Benjamin Birdsall's military career. Perhaps this is the simplest explanation for the long list of captains under whom John Jackson served.

And there is yet one more.  

Above: "Siege and Defence of Fort Erie," from the 1869 Benson J. Lossing book, The Pictorial Field-Book of the War of 1812; in the public domain.

The DNA That Taunts Me

Sometimes—usually just after I've returned from a genealogy conference—the pursuit of family secrets encoded in DNA seems a likely course of action for family history research.

Then there are other times when I'm not so sure. The repetition of trawling through stacks of data, trying to make surname listings support centiMorgan readouts, can be wearying. Truth be told, on my dark and dismal side, I sometimes feel that outrage of wondering whether it is all some great hoax perpetuated on the gullible paying public.

The last two weeks have been sweet enough to turn me from my sour grapes attitude about lack of DNA-matching progress. Although the two family trees involved in the weeks' serendipity both fall on my husband's side of the family, the result has been a super-charging of research progress.

On our Flowers tree, one match which appeared in June has been confirmed to be related to my husband in no less that three different ways. Remember, that Flowers family tree comes from Perry County, Ohio—where everyone is related to everyone else, at least once—so it wasn't much of a surprise.

Confirming that relationship—the closest of the three ways put the match at the level of third cousin—also led to another confirmation. With this confirmed match on Family Tree DNA, I used the "In Common With" button to see who else among my husband's matches also connected with this Flowers line relative. One other person did—thus instigating another volley of emails with that matching person, leading to a confirmed relationship at the level of fourth cousin.

Comparing notes with these two new acquaintances prompted me to push the lines out further on the Snider branch of this Flowers tree, where these two most recent matches occurred. This Snider—originally Schneider—line came, predictably, from Germany and settled in Perry County by 1820.

Of course, having one's genealogical research isolated to one small geographic area can help speed progress. In the last two weeks, I added ninety entries to the Flowers tree, bringing the total number of people in that tree to 1,355. Most all of the recent additions were prompted by notes exchanged with these two new DNA matches, but confirming those notes with documents going back into the 1820s reminds me of yet another project I had set aside when I first had to stop work on that Jackson and Ijams D.A.R. project: my intent to pursue designation as First Families of Ohio.

Oh, well, another project to add to my To-Do Wish List.

DNA led me to another boost in research numbers. This time, it was on our Stevens line, where the tree now stands at a count of 882 people. While that is only a modest increase of five entries since the last time, I actually have an entire branch of the family constructed and waiting in the wings to add to the database. But I'm not yet ready to actually add those names.

Why the hesitation? Because out of the 501 DNA matches in my husband's account, I now have two more at the second to fourth cousin level whom I've contacted. They turn out to be on the Kelly side—possibly related to a sister of my husband's second great grandmother, Catherine Kelly of Lafayette, Indiana—but I can't locate any documentation to prove the connection. Two half-brothers—thus sharing their paternal link to a Kelly line reaching back to Lafayette—have the right Kelly in their family tree, but we can't locate any documentation confirming that their person is indeed our person. After all, her name was Ann Kelly—a name likely claimed by many others besides our common ancestor. So, until I can locate some form of documentation to confirm that this is the right Ann Kelly, all those potential relatives will have to be kept waiting in the wings.

Another item I'm waiting on, for DNA testing on my husband's side of the record, is the return of a distant Tully cousin's results. I'm hoping that, within the next two weeks, we'll have confirmation of connection to an older brother in the Tully family which traveled together from County Tipperary in Ireland to the small town of Paris in Ontario, back at the beginning of the Irish famine. Though everything from circumstantial evidence to hearsay from relatives points to a connection, it will be nice to see the relationship confirmed through DNA testing. Then, too, it will help isolate other matches connected to that Tully line—if there are any others in our current lineup of DNA matches—and speed the process in determining just how we are connected.

While my side of the family hasn't stumbled upon any exciting DNA match possibilities lately, I'm still running on the energy of a hoped-for discovery of the nexus shared with my two mystery cousins. The Davis tree has jumped an extra 334 names, to arrive at a total count of 4,843. While I'm still stalled at those burned courthouses in post-Civil War Kentucky and Missouri, with nine more DNA matches added to total 894 matches for this tree, I have a vested interest in constructing the descending lines for my many colonial ancestors.

Those Others Among Whom We Circulate

One name, among those officers under whom John Jay Jackson served during and following the War of 1812, has provided me more resources than that of the others. That name was Charles Pentland.

Though he wasn't a captain to whom John Jackson reported, Charles Pentland's name was the one appearing on Jackson's near-destroyed discharge papers—in particular, the one to which the note was affixed in his pension file,

Hold this discharge up to the light and the genuine Signature of S. C. Pentland will be seen.

Pentland, serving as ensign in the 4th Rifles at about the time John Jackson enlisted in the army in 1814, was a Pennsylvania-born military man who rose in the ranks to first lieutenant at about the time John Jackson was eventually discharged from his post near Saint Louis in 1818.

Though he was present in the same company in which Jackson served for, likely, most of his service in the rifle regiment, that is not the main reason for my focus on him, today. Pentland's value—at least to our exploration of a fuller picture of the context in which Jackson served—was in his diligent journaling of the various military expeditions in which he was involved.

In tracing the whereabouts of Pentland—and thus, likely, of my husband's fourth great grandfather—his was the name most likely to come up in searches for the names of all Jackson's military leaders. More than Morris, more than "Birdsell," more than "Duffy" and more than McGonigle, with the exception of Captain Magee, the name I encountered the most in my searches was that of Pentland.

There is good reason for this. In all the far-ranging expeditions in which Pentland was involved—from Pittsburgh to Saint Louis to the outer reaches of the Missouri and associated rivers, in territory later to become the states of Nebraska and the Dakotas—he kept a journal.

His observations were perpetuated by means of copybooks, many of which in annotated form have found their way into the collections of various university archives. March of the Pittsburgh Blues Copybook now is a part of the holdings at the University of Pittsburgh, where it provides an excerpt from the Pentland journals detailing the length and destination of the unit's daily marches, brief accounts of battles and number of casualties incurred in the year beginning September 10, 1812.

Another resource extracted a brief schedule from Pentland's journal of that same year, giving an overview of the year's activities during the war. 

Of course, that was before John Jackson's enlistment in the 4th Regiment of Riflemen, so it doesn't provide information pertinent to his own history. But it does give an idea of the daily routine Jackson was about to enter, as his service likely involved the same types of establishment or repair of forts along the tributaries of the upper Mississippi River.

Immediately after his discharge, Jackson's regiment continued that type of work in its assignment to establish a string of army fortifications along the Missouri River in such forays as the Yellowstone Expedition. Among other contemporaneous records, the orderly books of the Rifle Regiment provide excerpts of the events in the construction of Cantonment Missouri, the first of the projected outposts.

Likewise, the names of Jackson's former superiors Pentland and Magee once again began appearing in tandem in reports of expeditions contained in the journals of other military men. Often, I would find entries on their names inserted as footnotes in transcriptions of those journals. Those footnotes, in turn, invariably were lifted from Heitman's Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army.

Though again not directly involving John Jackson, these descriptions of the territory covered and the forts established during the expeditions were likely similar to the assignments in which Jackson engaged during his own tour of duty.

Two additional names often cropped up in addition to those of Magee and Pentland in such reports: that of Stephen Harriman Long and Stephen Watts Kearny. The Kearny journal has since been published, as well as reports of Long's expedition, in various excerpts.

In the fourth quarterly of the 1919 Nebraska History and Record of Pioneer Days, an article on "Three Military Heroes of Nebraska" explained the mission of one such expedition:

On the second of July, 1820, an exploring party started from Cantonment Missouri...to discover a route across country between that post and Fort Snelling.... The expedition proper comprised Captain Matthew J. Magee and First Lieutenant Charles Pentland of the Rifle Regiment....

The author of the article, Albert Watkins, explained that Captain Stephen Kearny accompanied the expedition but was not a part of it, noting

Probably because Captain Kearny kept a journal of the expedition, it has often been said that he led it.

The author also went on to surmise on the real goal of such army expeditions:

The fact that the route approximately paralleled the subsequent lines of railroads from Omaha to Saint Paul at no great distance from them, and that the captain pronounced the region through which it ran as incapable "of supporting more than a thinly scattered population," impeached his judgment, putting him in the same class with Major Long, who proved himself a false prophet in the same way and year.

Though Major Long had once dismissed the area of his exploration as the "Great Desert," and the originating Yellowstone Expedition—at least in a biographical sketch on its commander, Henry Atkinson—was intended by the government to be a warning to British traders and Indians in the upper Missouri country, records generated by these and related expeditions serve as the few windows allowing us to look upon the military service of our ancestors during those early American decades for which military documentation was not as readily available.

Above: Map of North America detailing the approximate area of the 1803-1804 Louisiana Purchase west of the Mississippi River, prepared for the American edition of Pinkerton's Atlas, published in Philadelphia in 1818 by Thomas Dobson & Company; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.