The "Cruck House" was a typical house in Tudor England. The cruck referred to the A-frame construction, where curved oak beams were leaned together in pairs. The walls were "waffle and daub," meaning laths with clay/plaster on top, which was whitewashed. In this house, the second floor has been built out, but often it narrowed to a loft overhead, for sleeping and storage, as was the case in William's house.
A visit to William Mead's house
By VANCE MEAD
All too often, our knowledge of our ancestors is limited to a name and two dates -- no more than you would find on a tombstone.
It's rare to see how they lived, to enter their homes and have a look around. Fortunately, we have a glimpse into the house of William Mead of Watford, the uncle of William Mead of Stamford, thanks to the inventory of his goods made in 1592, soon after his death.
William Mead was born in 1546 in Watford, the son of Richard and Margaret. He married Cicely Tomson in 1582 and died in 1592. They had five children in their family.
This family of seven lived in a small house, with three rooms downstairs and a loft upstairs. When you came in the front door from the street, you entered the hall, what we would call the living room. The family must have spent considerable time here, cooking, eating, sitting after dinner, Cicely mending clothes and William making a new leg for a broken wooden stool, for example. As long as there was light from the fire or tallow candle, they would be busy.
There was just one fireplace in the house, located in the hall, with a pair of fire tongs, a pair of andirons, a fire shovel, two pairs of old bellows and two hooks for hanging cooking pots over the fire. Total value, three shillings.
Also, in the hall, there was a cupboard and a cupboard cloth and an old painted clothes chest. There was a dining table, an old counter, an old chair and three stools. Value, 13 shillings.
After the hall came the chamber, the master bedroom. In here, there was a joined bedstead for the parents and a trundle bed, probably for the youngest child, Thomas, 2 years old and too young to climb up to the loft. There was a table, three chairs, an old painted clothes chest, and six pair of tow sheets, a coarse linen. Finally, there was William's old doublet and a wicker chair. Value, three pounds.
Behind the chamber was the buttery, a pantry and storeroom. Here there were four kettles, an old brass pot, some pieces of pewter and two old pewter pots. There were also various wooden tubs, some lumber and three old chairs. Total value, 25 shillings, 10 pence.
Upstairs (actually up a ladder) was the loft, where the older children slept. The loft also was the place where people stored apples, cheese and other food, to keep it away from the rats and mice. Here there was an old bedstead, an old coverlet, three bolsters and a small chest. Value, 30 shillings.
The total value of William's goods and chattels was about six and a half pounds.
Like most Elizabethan homes, it was quite sparsely furnished. Family clothes were mended and patched and the furniture was old and frequently repaired with whatever lumber William had around the house.
They were not rich, but there not amongst the poorest, either. They even had money for a few luxuries, such as a featherbed and William's doublet and wicker chair.
Mead reunion visits Mead Falls
The Mead Falls bridge was built over Otter Creek near Rutland, Vermont, and named in honor of James Mead, who settled the area in 1769.
Memorial plaque at Mead's Falls
Attendance was sparce, but the second annual Mead-e Get Together at Lake George, N.Y., was a productive weekend for members of the Mead Research Group.
They covered the area from Glen Falls to Dutchess County and even made it over to Rutland, Vermont, where the pioneer families of James and Timothy Mead were among the early explorers and adventurers who settled the area in the early 18th Century.
Lance Mead and his wife, Joyce, who spells her last name Meade, hosted the event for the second straight year.
"There has been some conversation about returning to our roots in the Stamford-Greenwich area next summer," Mead said. "Also, Binghamton, N.Y., where our founder and coordinator (Wanda Mead-Campbell) lives was mentioned as a possible meeting place. We seem to be agreed on the last weekend of July as a date."
The Mead Research Group on Yahoo.com will be three years old this month. It now has 90 active members.
"When I started the group, I planned on about 16 members," Mead-Campbell said. "It's almost out of control now, but I am delighted with the interest."
The researchers returned to The Log Jam Restaurant in Lake George, a refurbished Adirondack log cabin typical of the homes in which Mead-e ancestors lived and also dined at a restaurant in Brandon, Vermont, the hometown of Lance and Joyce.
The West Rutland Cemetery, where Charles Mead and his family are buried, was another highlight of the reunion. Mead was shot and killed by a Confederate rifleman during the Siege of Petersburg during the final days of the Civil War.
Despite the busy schedule, those attending had opportunities to get acquainted with each other and exchange research information.
Lance Mead, Mary Lou Veal and Patricia Steele pose at the Mead's Falls bridge near Rutland, Vermont.
Those who accompanied the group to Vermont enjoyed lunch in the hometown of Lance and Joyce Mead-e.
Mary Lou Veal and Pat Steele visit the cemetery in West Rutland, Vermont where Civil War veteran Charles Mead is buried.
Everyone took a breather to update information in their laptop computers following a lunchstop.
Between us ...
Lee Meade
IT'S ALWAYS an interesting task to decide what to write about in this column. Sometimes, it's quite easy. The subject just seems to be there and jumps out at you. Other times, it's sort of like pulling teeth and requires a fertile imagination to come up with a topic. Then, of course, there are the occasions when there just doesn't seem to be anything worthy of writing at all. Actually, I'm not certain where this treatise fits in.
However, I was particularly pleased with the lead article which author Vance Mead conjured up during one of his recent visits to England. Vance, as most of you know, is a native of Greenwich, Conn., where he grew up as a descendant of John Mead, the town's founder in the mid-1600s. No, Vance didn't live there in the 17th century; he only writes about the times. He makes his home in Helsinki, Finland, now and never misses a chance to scout around the English countryside seeking historical bits of information about our forebears.
His description in this issue of The Mead-e Family Tree of the early home of William Mead, an uncle of our own William Mead of Stamford is priceless. Vance has taken the 1592 will of William and incorporated it into a tour of how life may have been in Watford for the Mead family before their journey to the American colonies in 1635.
He tells us of the small A-frame house in which William and Cicely raised their family of five; the crude furniture they possessed and the single fireplace which provided protection from the elements during the damp, cold English winters. And, he details the value of the personal property the Meads possessed from the recording of William's will.
I often wish we could dig deeper into the lives of our relatives, determining how and where they lived before they showed up in Hertfordshire. But, how great it is to have the amazing detail we do that takes us back to the virtual beginning of genealogy in 15th century England.
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THE CONTINUAL EFFORTS of people such as Dan Mead and his niece, Lore Mead, of Northville, New York; Lance Mead of Brandon, Vermont; Mary Lou Veal of Murfreesboro, Tenn., and Patricia Steele of New York City keep the search going. They were among the small number of Mead Research Group members who assembled in New York and Vermont a couple of months ago for the second annual family reunion.
The Yahoo-based Mead researchers now total about 90 members and stretch across the United States from the battle fields of the French and Indian Wars outside Montreal to the bayous of Louisiana where the Cajun warriors of buccaneer Jean LaFitte led the War of 1812 defense of New Orleans. Membership reaches out to the states of Washington, Oregon and California on the Pacific Coast, can be found in Florida and Texas, and dots the plains of Kansas and the mountains of Colorado.
When Wanda Mead-Campbell of Binghamton, N.Y., started the research group three years ago, she was thinking of her own roots in New England and Dutchess County, N,Y., and locating some Meads who would help her. Now, the researchers have grown into the No.1 Mead-e family research body in the country. Maureen Mead-Pond, who makes her home in the state of Washington, has become a frequent and valued contributor; Tom Carlson lives is in Iowa and has a wealth of information in his data base, and Caroline Mead-Hildebrand finds time in her busy schedule to keep track of the family's DNA studies.
If you have a question, just ask it and someone will come up with an answer or point you in the proper direction to find it yourself. It's been a grand undertaking and has filled a great need to dig deeper into our past so that family research will come easier for those who follow.
I am already making plans to attend the Mead Reunion "next year," although I have missed the first two get-togethers. I'm hoping it will be in Greenwich and I can make sidetrips to Deerfield, Mass., and the Finger Lakes in Upper New York, where my ancestors lived. I hope we have a representative group of researchers there, too. What a weekend it can be!
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SEVERAL YEARS AGO, when the Mead-e Family Tree was a printed newsletter, I wrote a short story on the final days of the Civil War. There were only a couple of hundred readers then who subscribed to the newsletter, unlike the 25,000 who see each quarterly edition today on the internet. So, we are going to dig into the archives and reproduce some of the material that was featured in those early issues.
The first, which will start in this edition, is a short story I wrote in 1998 about my great grandfather's adventures during his military duty as a 1st lieutenant with the Michigan Sharpshooters in the Siege of Petersburg and leading up to Gen. Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomatox Court House in Virginia.
Fayette Clark Meade's experiences were taken from actual letters he wrote to his wife, Mary Jane Wolcott (a descendant of Windsor, Conn., founder Henry Wolcott and Declaration of Independence signer Oliver Wolcott). As much as possible, all the details are true -- as it was played out by the Union and Confederate armies in the bloodiest war since our forefathers established this nation.
Born in the small town of Elbridge, N.Y., Lieutenant Meade was among the thousands of soldiers who picked up the challenge of the War Between the States. He left his wife on their farm near Litchfield, Mich., and marched off to fight in a war he didn't understand because his president called. The first chapter begins below and will be completed in future issues of the Mead-e Family Tree. We hope you enjoy it.
One More River to Cross
Civil War encampment of Union forces
Civil War sniper shooting from tree
(EDITOR'S NOTE: This story is based upon the life of my great grandfather, Fayette Clark Meade. The material comes from letters he wrote and records he kept while serving with the Michigan Sharp Shooters, 1st Brigade, 1st Division, 9th Army Corps. Organized in Hillsdale, Mich., he was mustered into the Union army on March 2, 1864, and was discharged on July 26, 1865. During his tour of duty, the Michigan Sharp Shooters appeared in the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Bethesda Church, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Cemetery Hill, Weldon Railroad, Poplar Grove Church, Hatcher's Run, Siege of Petersburg, Fort Mahoree and the Occupation of Petersburg. Every effort has been taken to assure the accuracy of the historical events depicted, together with names, dates and places, although a writers' license has been exercised to meld them into a meaningful congruity.)
By LEE MEADE
1st Lieutenant Fayette Clark Meade found a comfortable seat on the ground and leaned back against a small oak tree. The last traces of the winter’s snow had melted away a couple of weeks before and a cool spring breeze was in the evening air. It was March 19, 1865, and all was quiet among the armies of the Union and Confederate forces as they faced each other across the banks of the Appomattox River.
“How strange that I should be here,” Meade thought to himself. “Why are any of us here – either the Johnny Rebs or ourselves? Our grandfathers had to fight to get this country; now, we’re fighting each other and dividing it!”
Meade was only 29 years old, but already he had been a newspaper editor and a farmer. He was a profound thinker and a country philosopher. He concerned himself with what was right and what was wrong in the world. And, he always tried to do what was right.
But, here he was – hundreds of miles away from his Michigan home – in a Virginia river valley 20 miles south of the Confederate capital of Richmond, deeply involved in the Siege of Petersburg, a siege many believed would be the prelude to the end of the war. And, now, he had just been given the command of his company.
He shook his head in disbelief, then took out his pen and paper to write his wife, Mary Jane, who was living on their small family farm between Litchfield and Jonesville in Hillsdale County, Michigan.
Things had happened fast for them, starting with his short-lived career in 1859 as the editor of a small weekly newspaper in Appleton, Wisconsin, and culminating with his marriage to Mary Jane a year later.
He liked newspaper work and enjoyed the challenge of picking out letters one at a time from the trays of cold type and stringing them together in words and paragraphs to turn his thoughts into stories. There was a special satisfaction for him to arrange the stories on the page and look at the finished newspaper, even before it had been printed. He marveled that on the next day and for days, weeks or even months thereafter, his friends and neighbors, and others he did not know or ever would know, would pick up the fragile publication and study its contents.
A newspaper truly was a powerful tool, he thought, to have the ability and the authority to influence the thinking of others through the words that appeared on its pages. He considered it a sacred trust to wield this power and pledged himself never to take advantage of it for personal gain.
He had begun an apprenticeship just after graduating from high school as a printer in his hometown of Elbridge, N.Y., located just north of the Finger Lakes near the popular Erie Canal. And, in the summer of 1859, he formed a partnership with a friend, F.A. Ryan, to publish a newspaper in Appleton. The first edition, named The Appleton Motor, was printed on Thursday, April 18, 1859. He could still remember one small item that appeared as a news filler on the first page of that very first issue: “Write your name by kindness, love and mercy on the hearts of the people you come in contact with year by year, and you will never be forgotten.”
It turned out, however, that Ryan and Meade had political differences, and they quickly became apparent. Their partnership endured only nine weeks. Ryan and his friends were were vigorous supporters of the Wisconsin Republican Party, while Meade believed that, regardless of personal political views, the articles that appeared in the newspaper should report both sides of an issue without stating an editorial preference.
On October 15, 1859, Meade sold his interest in The Motor to Ryan and a new partner, E.D. Ross. In the October 20, 1859, issue of the newspaper, Meade eloquently expressed his feelings in an editorial column titled: “Valedictory.”
“We started with the intention of publishing a paper for the benefit of society, for rational, thinking men – not for politicians and office-seekers. We have endeavored to speak dispassionately and truthfully of political men, of whatever party, and not to allow party prejudice to sway our judgment.
"We were never a believer in 'Party before Principles'; and we think that the columns of the Motor will bear testimony that we have not acted contrary to our belief.
“To you, Brethren of the Quill, who have so kindly remembered us, we extend a parting hand with a heartfelt wish for your prosperity. And we hope the time will soon come when the Press of Wisconsin will stand forth proudly for the Right, untrammeled by ‘Party’ and with ‘Independence’ at the masthead, and speak boldly for words of truth and soberness without fear or favor.”
Meade never owned a newspaper again, but he did not leave Appleton and he continued to work at both of the city’s newspapers, The Motor and The Crescent. He also squired Mary Jane, the schoolteacher daughter of Henry Bissel Wolcott of Windsor, Conn., and the two were married on November 7, 1860, in Appleton.
It was while they were on their wedding trip to visit Mary Jane’s relatives in Connecticut and Massachusetts and Meade’s own family in Upper New York that they stopped in Albion, Mich., and found the farm they decided to make their home.
It was a small farm, just a few miles north of the farm where Fayette’s older brother, Irville, lived. But, it already had a house and barn, and Fayette liked the way it nestled back against the woods on the bank of the St. Joseph River.
“My dear wife,” he began his letter. “A very pleasant Sabbathday has come again and my thoughts fly away to different scenes and more peaceful occupations. I would like to be where my thoughts are today, but that is impossible.”
“Michigan!” Although he was completely alone, he said the word out loud. “How I would like to be there,” he thought, “ . . . to walk through the fields and the woods along the St. Joseph and Kalamazoo rivers . . . beside the lakes . . . to hear the quiet sounds of the birds in the trees … to work on the farm . . . to play with Ellen Louise.”
1st Lieutenant Fayette Clark Meade. Photo taken about 1918.
A smile crept across his face as he thought of Ellen Louise. He could see her now, if only in his mind. She was their only child. He had left home as a first sergeant in the Michigan Sharp Shooters when Ellen Louise was just six months old. Now, he was here, with other volunteers like himself, in the midst of a war he didn't understand, but fighting on the side he knew was right.
He moved his toes back and forth in his stiff leather boots, thinking how nice the fresh new socks he was wearing felt on his feet. A neighbor from Hillsdale had brought them to him from Mary Jane when he returned from an emergency furlough home.
Chuckling to himself, he returned to his letter, writing: "Frisbie got home or back night before last. I was glad to get those socks as my others were pretty well work out. They fit nicely. I put on a pair this morning first time. I guess you had better knit me some more and if you get a chance send to me. We have more transportation now and can carry things and I want good stockings as much as any thing to keep my feet from getting sore. I should like some light ones if you have any yarn that would not be quite so warm, but any will do."
Meade liked to write letters, but many of the words seemed so unimportant. It was something like the small talk that went on between two people when they were just sitting around chatting after an evening meal. But, mail call was such an important element during the war, or any time someone was away from home. It represented the only living link we have with the world we're fighting for, he thought. So, we just put down what comes into our mind, and keep the dialogue going on a small piece of paper as it crosses the miles and ties together the weeks and the months of being apart.
He remembered another letter he had just received from some friends back home. Although he wasn't a bitter man, the words in the letter had angered him.
"I received a letter from Kate and Harrison last night," he wrote to Mary Jane. "She tells of going home, and will get there I presume before you get this. Harrison talks of going into the 'ile' business. I think if I was him I would come down south and lend a hand to putting an end to the war. He could serve us well as not and not make any great sacrifices."
A noise interupted his train of thought and he looked up to see several enlisted men approaching him. He put down his letter and climbed to his feet to greet them.
"Begging your pardon, sir," one of the soldiers said as he saluted sharply. "Would it be possible for you to sign our furlough papers now? We would like to get started home as soon as possible."
Despite the drudgery of the war, morale had been good in the Union ranks because food and clothing had been in relatively good supply, and his own regiment had been lenient in offering its soldiers furloughs whenever possible. But, this was not one of those times.
"I'm sorry, soldiers," Lt. Meade said, "but I can't approve any extended leave time right now, probably in another 45 days or so."
He saw the disappointment in their faces as they saluted and turned away to head back into the camp. There was nothing he could do. He had just received the orders the night before advising him that all leave time had been suspended until further notice. Glancing up at the setting sun, he put away his pencil and paper, climbed to his feet and headed for his tent.
"Something must be up," he thought as he walked back to camp. "The Johnnies have been pinned down for almost a year. We have them outnumbered two to one. We're eating; they're not. Something must be up."
It was several hours later before Meade got back to the letter he was writing to his wife:
"Sabbath Eve. I intended to send this today but some of the men of Co. E came and wanted some applications for furloughs and sign them. Then it was dinner time and after dinner the Chaplain was here and after he got through I felt like taking a walk, so Lt. Doxie and I went down to the Appomattox River where we could look into Petersburg quite plainly. It was some 2 1/2 miles down there. I did not get back till the mail had gone.
"I spoke of Co. E. I have the command of that company now. The lieutenant commanding it is under arrest at present and the colonel told me to take command till further orders. I presume I shall not have too long."
He laughed as he thought of the circumstances that had taken him out of a small Michigan farm and placed him in command of an infantry unit in the midst of a great war.
Meade had learned to use a rifle as a child, but he had only average skills. He never had been able to hit a pheasant or a duck, and only on one occasion had he killed a deer. Only once. Tears had come to his own eyes as he looked down upon the fallen doe. He never went hunting again. Yet, now, he faced the do or die situation of shooting another man. He shook his head back and forth in distaste.
Most military companies were commanded by captains, but many unusual events occurred in a war zone. The commanding officer of Co. E had been killed in a freak and random shooting just ten days earlier. There had been no fighting, no artillery battle . . . just a single shot, but it struck the captain in the temple as he walked across the campground. He dropped to the ground and was dead instantly.
Gen. George Gordon Meade sits astride his horse at Gettysburg, Pa., where he commanded a historic Union victory.
A young lieutenant had been walking beside him and it was his destiny to become his friend's successor as company commander. He never made the adjustment, drinking himself into a stupor night and night until he was confined to quarters to straighten himself out. Lt. Meade was next in line to take over the company.
"What will be next?" he thought, as he returned to his letter:
"There are all sorts of rumors afloat about our Corps but the most probable one at present is that we are going to remain here in these works and hold them, and the other Corps are going to move off and leave us here to take care of ourselves and City Point. I hope it is true for I do not like marching very well. They are putting strong works in our rear and I rather think it quite probable we are going to stay. We have stayed here through the wet bad weather and kept up the works and it is said that Gen. Grant gave Gen. Parke his choice to stay here or go with the other Corps and he thought he had rather stay. We may have some fighting to do if so but there is one consolation in it. It will be behind breast works.
"The news continues tood from the south and I believe that the rebs will get a hard squeezing this spring. I most surely hope so. I will tell you what we had for dinner today. Ham and eggs and potatoes, good bread suet pudding, apple pie, etc. We have a pretty large mess now: one lieutenant colonel, three captains, two first lieutenants, one second lieutenant and two doctors. We have a good sized house for an eating house and have pretty good times. I do not know for certain how much it costs a day. I expect about 70 cents. I hear that an allowance for rations has been increased. I hope so. I don't know but I am getting avaricious somewhat, but my wages do not seem very large. I believe an orderly's wates look more to me when I was a Sergeant than mine does now. Perhaps I will write more tomorrow if I have anything to write about.
"Your loving husband, F.C. Meade."
He carefully folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope. He would mail it tomorrow.
The night was not uneventful, however. Both sides were well aware of each other and even when there was little field confrontation, one or the other would launch an artillery attack. It would be answered promptly, just as if to say to the other, "Yeah, we're still here."
The following day, Lt. Meade added a postcript to his letter, sealed it and handed it to an orderly to start it on its way to Michigan.
"Monday afternoon," he had written. "We are having quite an artillery duel this P.M. No harm done yet. Fay."
The war had dragged on for almost four years and, now, everybody believed it was near an end. But, the Union commanders had been at that point before -- just one year earlier -- in the inconclusive battles of The Wilderness, Spotsylvania Court House and Cold Harbor.
Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, commander of the Army of the James and, now, also supreme commander of U.S. forces, had sent his troops directly against Gen. Robert E. Lee's Confederate army during the early months of 1864. The casualties were severe on both sides, but the North had vastly superior numbers and was better able to sustain the losses. However, they were unable to vanquish Lee and after fighting to a standoff, Grant quietly withdrew from direct confrontation and began a southward push toward Richmond. Lee had no choice, except to turn south, too, in an effort to keep his troops between Richmond and the Northern army.
"I propose to fight it out along this line if it takes all summer," Grant told his officers. "It is better to keep Lee pinned down here than to drive him south and have to follow him."
In June 1884, Grant lined up his forces east of Richmond and positioned Maj. Gen. George Gordon Meade, commander of the Army of the Potomac, just to his south and east of Petersburg. The two cities, just 17 miles apart, were key for both sides. Richmond was the Confederate capital, while five railroads converged at Petersburg to make it a crucial supply line for the South.
It was the beginning of a siege that had now lasted nine months. The Union troops, with more than 110,000 infantry and cavalry, were well supplied with food, clothing and weapons; the South, with barely 50,000 men, was desperately short on all three. And, following a winter that had been especially cold for Virginia, the spring melt had begun and neither army could move effectively in the muddy fields.
Grant, despite the fact he had built a reputation throughout his military career for his impatience, continued to wait, content to rely upon the strategy of siege. Lee could do little else but wait, too. His lines were now stretched across nearly 60 miles from north of Richmond to southwest of Petersburg. At the same time, Gen. Philip Sheridan had enjoyed a highly successful campaign in the Shenandoah Valley and had destroyed what available food there might have been for the Confederates. Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman rolled across the Deep South in his somewhat controversial "March to the Sea," cutting a swath of destruction 60 miles wide across Georgia and closing most of the remaining supply lines to Lee.
Sherman had sent Lincoln a telegram in December 1964: "I beg to present to you as a Christmas gift the city of Savannah with 150 heavy guns and plenty of ammunition, and also about 25,000 bales of cotton." Now, Sherman had turned north and was moving up to join Grant's and Meade's forces in Virginia.
All the signs seemed to point to a showdown between the two armies, Lt. Meade thought, and it was going to be right here . . . at Petersburg.
(To be continued)
This and that . . .
Mead-e Family Tree registers record viewer totals
THE MEAD-E FAMILY TREE established a pair of all-time records during the past three months. In July, there were 12,344 persons who dialed up the newsletter on their computer, the largest one-month total since publication began in 2003.
The total readership for the three-month period was 28,522 -- also the highest number of internet hits for any issue.
In the 12-month period from October 2005 through September 2006, there have been a total of 100,227
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IF WE CAN be of assistance to you in your research of the Mead-e family, please feel free to write to us at the address above. We answer all of our correspondence and will be glad to try to get you on the right track, either by providing information ourselves or by putting you in touch with someone else who can be of assistance or referring you to a genealogy source. Our e-mail address is: www.MeadeRoots@aol.com.
