They were attacked by Native Americans and left for dead. She was in very rough shape -- scalped, face fractures, left shoulder damaged, a large cut across her stomach -- which led to her bowels hanging out. I add these gross details because this happened before she bore my ancestor. A weaker person would have crawled up and died. She hid in a hollow tree eating bugs and parts of the tree for days until she was rescued a week later by a different, kinder tribe. The younger man wanted to kill her, but the older man stopped him. He carried her to their camp, where he sewed up her wounds with fish bone needles and vegetable fiber. After she recovered, he took her to New Amsterdam (now New York City) to return to her countrymen.
Two years later she met her future husband, Richard Stout from Nottingham, England. They wed when she was 22 and he was 40. Together they had seven children. She lived until she was 110 -- some might say 92 years longer than she should have.
Clearly. Clearly. We had family living in the United States during the Revolutionary War. They settled in what is now known as Hopewell, NJ. I have met some of my distant relatives through the Hopewell Historical Society. Though I could connect my family history from Penelope Stout through to my mom's mom (whom we called Grandee), we didn't know of anyone who actually served in the Revolutionary War.
Fast forward to a Facebook post (yes, there are good parts to it). The Lawrence Historical Society shared that the Princeton DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) was planning to host a genealogy session, all were invited to learn their roots.
Claudia, their super sleuth, pretty quickly agreed with what I thought -- there was no direct line from my grandmother through to someone who served in the Revolutionary War. Just as I was about to stand up and thank her for her time, she became like a terrier with a bone and wanted to search the other lines. I knew my dad's line was out of the question since his grandparents came here in the early 20th century.
Then she spotted a name. Noah Wiswell.
You think Penelope was tough, born in 1699, Noah Wiswell decided at the age of 75 he wanted to walk 28 miles from Newtown, Massachusetts to Lexington to see how his son (who is not a direct line to me) was doing. He was wounded in the Battle of Lexington and continued to live another ten years.
There you have it. Our connection to the Revolutionary War is a 75-year old man, perhaps the oldest at the Battle of Lexington.
To join, we must provide documentation for three generations: my birth certificate, Don's birth certificate, our marriage license; the same for my parents; the same for my grandparents (though death certificates also work). Only last August they certified that Noah fought, so that part is easy for me.
As I looked over how to actually join, though, I suddenly didn't want to. There are a lot of fees (club and national), but it was the rules on filling out the forms that got me. First there is a standard for how to fill out the dates (I understand the need to keep their records consistent), but it has to be printed on "acid-free, 25% rag content, watermarked legal size paper. The form must be printed on legal sized paper in legal sized format."
My first thought was: How elitist!
Followed by: What else should I expect from an elitist organization. The only people who can join can prove they have a family member who fought in a war in our country nearly 250 years ago. Let that sink in.
I am proud to come from such hearty stock, but I don't need to join an exclusive club.
Meanwhile, next April is the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Lexington. Anyone want to meet up with me to celebrate Uncle Noah and his band of merry men?
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