Q:The person I’m searching for is James Francis Fewster b.1867. I know that there was an article published about him in the Baltimore Sun – 12 August 1889 – but I can’t find it. What am I doing wrong?
When I browse GenealogyBank I find NOTHING – but I know this article exists. Please help – thank you.
Here’s what you want to do.
A: At the search box simply type in: Fewster in the surname box and 1889 in the date box. You’ll see that the article about him comes right up. Notice that GenealogyBank highlights the search term: Fewster – making it easy to spot it on the page.
Why search that way? The newspapers in GenealogyBank have been published for over 300 years. Editors have used various editorial styles for writing about individuals. So – keep the searching simple.
In this case – the newspaper wrote James Francis Fewster’s name: as: Jas. F. Fewster.
So – if you type in his full name – you will miss this article.
Remember the rule of WYSIWYG (pronounced /ˈwɪziwɪɡ/). It is an acronym that stands for What You See Is What You Get.
In other words – what you type in the search box is what the computer will search for.
Adding extra terms: like the middle name can be very helpful in limiting your search results to zero in on your ancestor – but – remembering WYSIWYG – it can also work against you.
Fewster is a distinctive surname and like most surnames, it is not very common.
So – a tip: limit your search to simply the “surname”.
The search engine will then cut through the 672 million articles and zero in on just the ones mentioning a person named Fewster.
And in this example you want only the articles published in 1889.
So, put both of those facts together and Bingo. There it is.
In this example in the Historical Newspapers section – limit your search to only the marriage notices. Click on the highlighted topic and only the wedding and marriage announcement articles will appear in your search – saving you time.
Find and document your ancestors in GenealogyBank – the best source for old newspapers & documents on the planet.
He will be the luncheon speaker at the Focus on Societies Luncheon. His topic will be The Citizen-Archivist. He will also speak about the War of 1812 Digitization Project and have a question and answer period.
That same day he will also give remarks at the Librarian’s Day conference. The FGS Annual Conference takes place in Knoxville, Tennessee from August 18-21, 2010. “Rediscovering America’s First Frontier” is the conference theme and it is co-hosted by the East Tennessee Historical Society and the Kentucky Historical Society.
It is about a group of volunteer veterans that are giving the final salute to veterans – whose cremains have been left and long forgotten at funeral homes across America. Among those vets to be buried on Memorial Day are Sgt. First Class Carl J. Baller who died in 1947.
“Bloody News – This town has been in a Continental Alarm since Mid-day ….. the attack began at Lexington (about 12 miles from Boston) by the regular troops, the 18th Infantry before sunrise…From thence they proceeded to Concord where they made a general attack…” Stirring news – as gripping as a bulletin on TV. Thanks to GenealogyBank we can read the same newspapers our ancestors read and feel the impact of the news as they lived it. No other site has the depth of coverage found on GenealogyBank. Sign-up now. April 19, 1775 – Attack on Lexington & Concord The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, “If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light, One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm.”
Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street Wanders and watches, with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the somber rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,– By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town And the moonlight flowing over all.
Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, “All is well!” A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,– A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse’s side, Now he gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and somber and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns.
A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer’s dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down.
It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, black and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon.
It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadow brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket ball.
You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British Regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere