Talk:Henry Hoʻolulu Pitman/Archive 2

Sister Mary February 11, 1905
Another brother, Henry, became a captain of cavalry during the War of the Rebellion in the United States. He was taken prisoner by the rebels and confined in Liibby Prison, where his health broke down. Upon his release he failed rapidly and died.
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82015415/1905-02-14/ed-1/seq-7/ DIED
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85047084/1905-02-14/ed-1/seq-2/ Mrs. Mary Ailau Passes Away On Island of Hawaii
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85047084/1905-02-14/ed-1/seq-2/ Mrs. Mary Ailau Passes Away On Island of Hawaii


 * http://nupepa-hawaii.com/2014/06/05/death-of-mary-ann-kaaumokulani-kinoole-pitman-ailau-1905/


 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85047084/1905-02-23/ed-1/seq-9/#date1=2%2F1%2F1905&index=14&date2=3%2F1%2F1905&searchType=advanced&language=&sequence=0&words=Pitman&proxdistance=5&state=Hawaii&rows=20&ortext=&proxtext=Pitman&phrasetext=&andtext=&dateFilterType=range&page=1
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82015415/1905-02-23/ed-1/seq-8/#date1=2%2F1%2F1905&index=9&date2=3%2F1%2F1905&searchType=advanced&language=&sequence=0&words=Pitman&proxdistance=5&state=Hawaii&rows=20&ortext=&proxtext=Pitman&phrasetext=&andtext=&dateFilterType=range&page=1


 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82016339/1905-02-21/ed-1/seq-2/#date1=2%2F1%2F1905&index=8&date2=3%2F1%2F1905&searchType=advanced&language=&sequence=0&words=Pitman+PITMAN&proxdistance=5&state=Hawaii&rows=20&ortext=&proxtext=Pitman&phrasetext=&andtext=&dateFilterType=range&page=1
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82016339/1905-02-28/ed-1/seq-2/#date1=2%2F1%2F1905&index=10&date2=3%2F1%2F1905&searchType=advanced&language=&sequence=0&words=PITMAN&proxdistance=5&state=Hawaii&rows=20&ortext=&proxtext=Pitman&phrasetext=&andtext=&dateFilterType=range&page=1

A KANAKA THIEF. Mary Ailau Caught While Shoplifting. She Has Two Booths in the Hawaiian Village at the Fair— Charged With Petty Larceny.
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn94052989/1894-06-20/ed-1/seq-3/

Brother Benjamin June 30, 1918

 * http://www.newspapers.com/newspage/74321519/
 * http://www.newspapers.com/newspage/74321519/


 * Benjamin Pitman, High Chief, Dies Near Boston



Mrs. Benjamin Franklin Pitman (Almira Hollander), of Brookline, Mass., elected a life member 19 June 1923, was born in Boston, Mass., 11 May 1854, the daughter of Jacob Louis and Maria Theresa (Baldwin) Hollander, and died at Brookline 17 December 1939. Her father, Jacob Louis Hollander (son of M. L. and Blumie (Trefman) Hollander), was born in what is now Germany in 1810, and died at Somerville, Mass., 1 September 1894. Her mother, Maria Theresa Baldwin, was born in New York City 7 February 1820 and died at Somerville 30 July 1885, daughter of Charles North and Maria (Smith) Baldwin. Miss Hollander attended the public schools of Somerville and was graduated from the Somerville High School in 1873. She was married 30 September 1875 to Benjamin Franklin Pitman (Keola-o- Kelani, Prince of Hilo), a member of the firm of L. P. Hollander Company of Boston and New York City, who was born at Hilo, Hawaii, 19 August 1852, and died at Marion, Mass., 30 June 1918, son of Benjamin Pitman and his wife, Kenooli Hoohilu, Princess of Hilo. Mrs. Pitman was well-known as an organizer and executive, and her talent was constantly used in raising money for philanthropic and educational organizations, among which were the New England Hospital for Women and Children, the Massachusetts Women's Suffrage Association, and the League of Women Voters.
 * 


 * 

Father Benjamin January 17, 1888
Boston, Mass., paper has the following: Benjamin Pitman of Somerville, who died Tuesday, January 17th, of congestion of the lungs, was born in Boston in 1813. He engaged in mercantile business in the Sandwich Islands when a young man, and there remained twenty-five years, marrying a near relative of King Kalakaua. Afterward he resided ten years in Germany, and then went to Somerville. He was a man of generous and genial disposition and highly respected. A widow, who was his second wife, and five children survive him. Death of Benjamin Pitman. By the Australia news was received of the death of Mr. Benjamin Pitman, which took place January 17th at his residence, Somerville, Mass. The deceased was well known on these Islands, having been in the ship chandlery business at Hilo for twenty-five vears. He was the father of Mrs. John Ailau. The deceased was about seventy-two years of age. Death of Benjamin Pitman Mr Benjamin Pitman formerly of Hilo Hawaii died Jan 17th at Somerville Mass aged 75 years Mr Pitman was born in Boston in 1813 When a young man he came to these Islands where he engaged in mercantile business He lived here for twenty five years During his residence he married a connection of one of the chief families who died while he lived at Hilo When he left the Islands he took his family which consisted of two daughters and three sons to Germany where he resided for ten years for the purpose of educating his children He then returned to Somerville He was a deacon in the Unitarian Church He leaves a widow a second wife beside the children mentioned above Mrs John Ailau of this city was a daughter of Mr P by his first wife
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85047084/1888-02-27/ed-1/seq-3/
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85047084/1888-02-09/ed-1/seq-3/
 * http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83025121/1888-02-14/ed-1/seq-5/

Unexplored sources
Supposedly in one of the letters he wrote home, he described "the filthy meat thrown to them as if they were dogs."


 * F April 1865: 30;
 * 13th Annual Report, HMCS, June 17, 1865: 11-12;
 * "Hawaii's Contribution to the War for the Union," Hawaiian Monthly Jan. 1884: 2-4;
 * Ethel M. Damon, "Punahou Volunteers of 1863," F April 1941: 67;
 * Susan N. Bell, Unforgettable True Stories of the Kingdom ofHawaii (Pearl City: Press Pacifica, 1986) 95-97;
 * Bob Dye, "'We are all Unionists out here,'"HAJuly 3, 1994: B1

Video

 * www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQ5XW3GMqzo
 * 119, 40% which were native Hawaiians


 * www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyUrE44z90o

http://www.hpu.edu/HPUNews/2015/07/civil-war.html

The details of Pitman's imprisonment are conflicting. An 1910 article in the Hawaiian Gazette claimed his letters to home described a place called the "Pen" The editor of the Hawaiian Gazette claimed this referred to Andersonville and how "filthy meat [was] thrown to them as if they were dogs."

His brother, Henry Hoolulu Pitman, served during the Civil War as a soldier in the Union army, was taken prisoner, held at Libby prison, and died from the effects of his imprisonment. " Soon after the death of Kinoole, Mr. Pitman took his family to Boston, where the children were schooled.

Basically repeated of stuff and ancestry.

Prisoner exchange and... A grandson of his nephew was named Kealii i Kaua i Pakoma (meaning "Chief that fought the Potomac") in his honor.

Lived in mansion where Hilo Hotel now stands.

Died of lung fever. Death. We regret to learn by the lat mail of the death of Henry I'itrnan, son of Unj. Pitman, INq., krccrly of Hilo. He died at the Annapolis Parole omp, Feb. 27th, of lung fever, having been serving ts sold'er in the Union army. He wa uliout 20 jpars of ng.?. and his remains were deposited in Mt. Aubara Cemetery, near IJ ston, Mass. Siktck by Lighting. A correspondent writes us

Headline: [No Headline]; Article Type: Death Notice Paper: Saturday Evening Gazette, published as Evening Saturday Gazette; Date: 03-14-1863; Volume: XLIX; Issue: 11; Page: [3]; Location: Boston, Massachusetts]


 * 

Company H

 * Captain John J. Thompson
 * First Lieutenant Thomas T. Salter
 * Second Lieutenant Alonzo M. Shute

November 18, 1862 Letter
https://archive.org/stream/cu31924032780623#page/n282/mode/1up http://books.google.com/books?id=6wcTAAAAYAAJ&pg=RA1-PA140

http://books.google.com/books?id=XOGJlM0p31cC&pg=PA165#v=onepage&q&f=false

Our brother of the artillery now writes:

"Fort Tillinghast,

Nov. 18, 1862. ., . "About the box; we expect to go to Harper's Ferry soon, but cannot tell when, and it would be much easier for me to get it here, so if you can make it convenient, you had better send it as soon as you can. . . . Two or three of the Portland boys were over to see me yesterday, and we went down to old Lee's place, and drew some persimmons, and afterwards sat down to salt horse. I believe you asked me for a piece of my ' wool.' You have it enclosed; it's sure death to rats, but has no visible effect on lice. They do not trouble my head, but are very partial to woolen goods. Is n't it awful? They will get into the tents in spite of all we can do, but I have not had any about me for some time. I got some mercurial ointment, which fixed them, and came pretty near fixing me, for it took the skin nearly off my body. ... I suppose you feel very badly about Uncle William's death . . . He was killed on board the gunboat Judge Torrence at the storming of Vicksburg." In the rain and gloom of the morning of November 17, we filed out again for the march, and moving through Warrenton, Warrenton Junction, and other small hamlets (Elkton and Spotted Tavern) found ourselves on the 22d, near Hartwood church, a soaked, bedraggled lot of patriots. It was called th« " Mud Camp." It was a low, marshy piece of ground. The rain pouring in torrents, had overflowed it; the tent pegs, although two feet or more in length, would not hold. A gust of wind at night swept it down upon our faces, and drenched to the skin, about midnight, after several unsuccessful efforts to disentangle cords, pegs, poles, etc., we abandoned it, and in the inky blackness, steered for a fire, where we found about half of the company " sitting around,'" and here we wore out the night, crouching, nodding, and vainly endeavoring to sit upon a log, sleep bolt upright, keep from getting any wetter and colder, and at the same time, avoid tumbling into the fire. Upon the 23d, we slowly paddled along the awful roads, through bog, mire, and liquid mud, about ten miles, and at night, bivouacked in our fighting position, about four miles from Falmouth, near Stoneman's Switch on the Acquia creek and Fredericksburg railroad. We had reached our base. When our small band of patriots was gathered at old Camp Cameron, in Cambridge, impatiently awaiting the seemingly slow movements of the powers that be, and transportation to our regiment; engaged and absorbed in the many novelties of the occasion, and in eager anticipation of events, we had given but little time or thought to individuals, or their characteristic traits. Among our number, however, we had noticed a tall, slim boy, straight as an arrow. His face was a perfect oval, his hair was as black as a raven's wing, and his eyes were large and of that peculiar soft, melting blackness, which excites pity when one is in distress. His skin was a clear, dark olive, bordering on the swarthy, and this, with his high cheek bones, would have led us to suppose that his nationality was different from our own, had we not known that his name was plain Henry P. There was an air of good breeding and refinement about him, that, with his small hands and feet, would have set us to thinking, had it not been that in our youth and intensely enthusiastic natures, we gave no thought to our comrades' personal appearance. We can look back now and see the shy, reserved nature of the boy, the dark, melancholy eyes, the sad smile, the sensitive twitching of the lips. We had more time to observe our comrades. Hardships, privations, danger, with death often staring us in the face, was beginning to draw us nearer. Strong sympathies were aroused. The tall, slim, dark haired boy began to yearn for companionship. On the Maryland campaign to Antietam, sometimes the burden had been greater than he could bear, and the rough, hard jokes of the Peninsula veterans, accompanied with a— "You d—d two hundred dollar recruit," had closed the portals of his heart. His quiet, uncomplaining ways attracted the writer's attention. I was drawn to him, and while around Sharpsburg, we had become warm, fast friends. His face grew brighter. His sad eyes looked happier. An occasional smile crept about his lips, lingered for a moment, and was gone. There was a burden upon his mind which I felt anxious to know, yet hesitatingly shrank from intruding myself upon his sensitive, reticent nature. One day, however, Henry felt communicative. A letter from his sister had cheered him up, and in a sudden fit of confidence, he told me his long buried secret. This boy was the son of a Sandwich Island princess near relative of the royal king, Kamehameha. His father, a native of Boston, became a merchant in Honolulu. He had, while living at the island, become enamoured of this princess, and after a short courtship, married her. He brought her to Boston where Henry was born. It is the old story—the beautiful princess died; the father married again. Henry was educated in the public schools of Roxbury. In the midst of the clamor of war, when the very air vibrated with excitement, the wild enthusiasm of the crowds, and the inspiring sound of the drum, his Indian nature rose within him. His resolve was made. He would enlist. It was a beautiful face that Henry showed me that bright October day, as we sat in the shadows of the huge black walnuts and white oaks, that formed the grove by our camp near Shepardstown, on the banks of the Potomac. It was an ambrotype of the native princess, his mother, taken in Boston, after her marriage. With the exception of a slight fullness of the lips, and the prominent cheek bones, it was a perfect face. The blue-black hair, waving over a high forehead; those large, mellow, black eyes, like a gazelle's, and the sweet smile that lighted the whole face, would have made anyone proud of such a lovely mother. But even as he replaced it in its sacred spot near his heart, the tears trembled upon his long, dark lashes, and rolled down the swarthy cheeks of the boy soldier. As we hastened along the hard Warrenton turnpike, on this 18th day of November, on our march to the "Spotted Tavern," every step seemed accompanied by a groan of fatigue or exhaustion, from the worn and weary men.

It was long, hard, and uncompromising. Henry had kept up; was cheerful in his new-found friendships. But the unfortunate boy had, in his want of experience, purchased some where, a pair of thin, high-heeled and narrow soled boots. The poor fellow's feet became blistered. His pain-contorted face, as he hobbled along, mile after mile, showed plainly the agony he endured. His swollen feet became a torture, which even his Indian nature could no longer endure. He announced that he would be compelled to " fall out." We tried to persuade him. It was useless. " It became a law of stern necessity. A sudden impulse seized me. I resolved to '- fall out" too, and take care of him, for, although younger than he even, I was stronger, more robust, and had now become hardened into good soldier trim. We started a fire and prepared our coffee. Henry had removed his boots, and was enjoying a partial relief from his aching feet, when it suddenly occurred to me that this friendly act of pity and sympathy was contrary to the then existing orders, now so strictly enforced, and to every soldierly principle, and besides we might be "picked upby the provost guard in rear, and punished for straggling. This I made known to him, and urged him to make another effort to rejoin the command, as it was late in the afternoon, and it would soon go into camp. But without avail. He raised his tin cup of coffee to his lips, and replied,—"I will be in camp by night, good by." The rear of the corps was about passing. I joined it, and an hour later was in bivouac with the regiment. It was the last we ever saw of poor Henry P . Week after week rolled by. Fredericksburg's murderous battle had been fought, yet no trace of the absent soldier. He had not been arrested by the provost guard. He was reported as " missing." We can hear the words now, as the roll was called in the gray of those fateful mornings, and gone over and over again in the chilly, frosty air of approaching night,—" Henry P, missing." Time wore on. The spring of 1863 approached. A paper was received one day in the company, and this item caught our eyes,—'"At the Parole Camp, Annapolis, Henry P, late Twenty-second Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers. Funeral at Roxbury on at o'clock.' A letter was received some time afterwards, and the mystery was solved. He had been brought to the Parole Camp at Annapolis, a paroled prisoner of war. His emaciated frame, far gone with disease and suffering, had succumbed, and his spirit was at rest. Five minutes after I had left him, near Warrenton Junction, and joined the rear of the Fifth Corps, as it passed, a band of Mosby's guerillas came out of the oaks, where they had been watching our movements, and without a struggle, had surrounded and made a prisoner of the worn-out, shoeless boy, and marched him to Richmond. Libby prison and Bell Isle soon wore out the brave spirit, and at last, when by apparent good fortune, he was exchanged, it was only to linger feebly a few weeks, like the flickering of an expiring flame, then quietly pass away to an eternal life. The princess's son was dead. Our letters now continue, describing the march to Fredericksburg. "Near Falmouth, Nov. 22, 1862.

++++++++++++++++ It was a long and terribly exhausting march. It rained nearly every day. In vain did the water-soaked, drowned-out men try to dry out their clothes and cleanse the mud from their persons, now filthy from long neglect. We wallowed and floundered along the boggy roads; the wagons stalled; the mules, no longer able to scarcely drag the wagons, lay down in their harness, many of them to die. The teamsters cursed and swore, and the columns staggered along. We moved through Warrenton towards Warrenton Junction. At noon we were marching over the same ground we had gone over three months before; marched until dark. Commenced to rain as we halted. Firing in advance all day. On this day when just beyond Warrenton, and the march was beginning to tell upon our endurance and spirits, Private Henry Pitman, Company H, asked a member of the company if he would fall out with him as he was sick, and his feet, from wearing tight boots, were blistered and unfit for marching, and his comrade consented to do so. A fire was started, coffee put on to boil, and the rear of the column had nearly passed, when it was decided that without authority to fall out, even to care for a sick man, arrest or disastrous consequences might result, and the comrade determined to move on. Pitman was urged to make further effort and go into camp, but he positively refused to budge until his poor sick body was rested from the exhausting efforts of the day's march. Leaving him as comfortable as possible, his comrade joined the rear of the column, and struggling to the head joined the Twenty-second, and went into camp an hour later. Pitman was never heard from, and was always borne upon the rolls. as "missing." Nearly a year later, upon picking up a Boston paper, his funeral was announced to take place in Roxbury, where he had resided. When left by the roadside, he remained drinking his coffee until the rear of the column was out of sight. No sooner had it disappeared than four of Mosby's guerillas came out of the woods, and without a struggle took the poor fellow prisoner. He was sent to Libby Prison, and not being strong, contracted still further the chronic disease which, after being exchanged and sent to the parole camp at Annapolis, ended his life. His father, in early life a sea-captain of Boston, had married a Sandwich Island princess, own sister of King Kalakauha, daughter of Kamekameha. Two children were the result. His mother died, and Capt. Pitman marrying again, the boy was subjected to neglect and treatment, that with his sensitive nature he could not bear. Leaving the Boston schools, he enlisted in August, 1862, with the foregoing sad result. His sister was still alive, and was with the king upon his visit to Boston a few years since. His hair was jet black, his eyes large and lustrous, his face swarthy, and from the ambrotypes shown us of the princess, his mother, he strongly resembled her whom he mourned, and recalled to memory in his brief service with the Twenty-second.

Henry Hoʻolulu Pitman Beckley
Henry Hoʻolulu Pitman Beckley (1877/1878–after 1930), the second son of George Charles Moʻoheau Beckley and Mary Risely. Named after his father's cousin Henry Hoʻolulu Pitman.

Married Mabel R. Woods, daughter of James Woods and Mary Ann Parker. Sister of James Frank Woods.

Attend Punahou School and Stanford University.


 * http://archives1.dags.hawaii.gov/gsdl/collect/governme/import/import/Government%20Office%20Holders%20-%20Name%20IMJ/B/Beckley,%20Henry%20P.jpg


 * 1900 US Census
 * 1910 US Census
 * 1920 US Census
 * 1930 US Census
 * 1940 US Census

Henry H. Beckley, son of Alice L. K. Heanu and Frederick William Kahapula Beckley, Jr.