Pittsburgh Cemeteries

Google Translate identifies the epitaph “Rahla mu zemljica” as Slovenian, and translates it as “Loose earth.” Perhaps it is equivalent to “Dust thou art.” The cross-topped monuments favored by Slavs and Italians in Pittsburgh have an unfortunate habit of losing their crosses—a pity here especially, because the tombstone bears a fine folk-art relief of heavenly hands clasped.

What a cosmopolitan place the little mining town of Castle Shannon must have been! We very seldom run across an inscription in French around here, but here we have one mixed in with the Italian and Polish and Slovenian tombstones. A translation:

If Father Pitt reads this eroded inscription correctly, this is a tombstone for a two-year-old child named William Davis, son of James and Eliza Davis, who died in 1848. The epitaph is almost certainly a poem, but illegible in this light. The tombstone itself is a restrained example of the middle-nineteenth-century style that old Pa Pitt calls the “poster style,” because it resembles the style of printed posters of the same era.

This picture was taken in 2015.

Two ledgers marking the grave of a minister of the old Bethel Church and his wife. The inscriptions long ago eroded away, but fortunately the Rev. John’s was duplicated on a bronze tablet.

HERE LIES THE BODY OF THE REV. JOHN CLARK WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE JULY THE 16TH, A. D. 1797 IN THE 79TH YEAR OF HIS AGE.

“IN YONDER CHURCH I SPENT MY BREATH AND NOW LIE SLUMBERING HERE IN DEATH:
THESE LIPS SHALL RISE AND THEN DECLARE AMEN TO TRUTHS THEY PUBLISHED THERE.”

DURING THE WHISKEY INSURRECTION, REV. JOHN CLARK MET WITH THE ANGRY FARMERS AT FORT COUCH ON JULY 17, 1794, IN AN EFFORT TO PREVENT AN ATTACK AT BOWER HILL, ON THE HOME OF GEN. JOHN NEVILLE, FEDERAL TAX COLLECTOR.

Addendum: Here is an account of that same incident from Hugh Henry Brackenridge, who was an eyewitness to many of the most important events of the Whiskey Rebellion:

“Great pains were taken, at Couche’s fort, by an aged and venerable clergymen, the reverend John Clark, to dissuade the people from the object they had in view. It was to no purpose. They considered him as in his dotage; or as having skill in spiritual affairs; but not in the temporal interests of the country. It may be thought from hence, that dissuasion from no one, could have had effect. That does not follow. Regard might have been paid to the representations of those who were supposed to know the law, and to be able to calculate the probable consequences of the act.”

——Incidents of the Insurrection, Chapter III.

Unfortunately the inscription for Mrs. Clark was not duplicated before it vanished, partly eroded and partly obscured by the bronze plaque that replaced it.

These pictures were taken in 2015, but have never been published here before.

This husband and wife spent more money than average on this monument; it is a large variation of the cross-topped round-shouldered monument popular with Slavic and Italian immigrants, with the addition of a crucifix in relief on the cross. But the inscription has eroded so badly that Father Pitt has not been able to read it. They are buried next to a woman named Anna Scmicz, whose stone is inscribed in Polish, and sometimes old Pa Pitt thinks he can make out the same name on this stone, but he is not sure.

The photographs, however, are still instantly recognizable, though one is damaged. It is possible that Anna Scmicz is the woman in the photograph, since this monument appears to have only one name on it, in which case this is the monument for her husband, whom she outlived and was buried next to some time later.

An unusual Gothic monument with an Italian inscription for a “brave American soldier” in the First World War. Unfortunately the photograph that was originally set in the stone has been lost. Note that the United States government misspelled his name (“Guiseppe” for “Giuseppe”) in his government-issue bronze plaque, below.

A tall cross with fine carving and a bit of Art Deco flair for two rectors of St. Ann’s (note the spelling; the parish is now called St. Anne).

Evening sun casts shadows from fine old trees in Chartiers Cemetery.