A Fallen Soldier’s Children (Articles 80 and 81)

“Whose father was he” – Headline in the Philadelphia Inquirer                     

 After the battle at Gettysburg, in July 1863, the body of a soldier was found by a young girl within the city in a location removed from the main battles. He wore a blue Union private’s shirt, but otherwise carried no identification, not even a unit insignia. He was, however clutching a small glass plate image, called an ambrotype, of three children, which he had probably removed from his pocket for a final look before dying of his wounds.

But who was he?

The girl notified one of the many burial details around the small community which were moving bodies of fallen soldiers to a central area for identification before burial. Unfortunately, determining the name was not always possible. In the Civil War era, identifying dog tags, which are so ubiquitous today, did not exist; so, the process of recording the names of war dead was more happenstance. Some soldiers carried personal information in a pouch or folder as a means of identification. If survivors of a unit were still in the immediate area, they could help provide names and even important information such as the home state or home town. Officers and senior Sergeants would check-off the soldiers still alive after a battle and often could record in official records, the names of those who had died. But in the chaos of battle, there were soldiers who remained unidentified and were simply buried with a marker as “unknown” or, even more tragic, in a mass grave.

The burial detail she summoned permitted the young girl to keep the plate image of the three children, to whom she now felt a connection. Her father ran a small tavern and boarding house in a village nearby, and the girl placed the picture in a prominent location as a way to honor the unidentified soldier. Patrons would note the display and soon people came into the tavern just to see the image and ponder the sad circumstances. It was not unusual for Gettysburg artifacts to be on display in businesses and homes in the area, as the great battlefield was littered with weapons, hats, badges, and other paraphernalia carried by soldiers. But this item struck a chord with most who saw it.

The girl had asked the burial detail to inter the soldier’s body in an individual grave, marked with the date and location where his body was found, and the words “A Father” added as a reminder. A local resident provided a plot, and they all hoped that someone, somehow, sometime would eventually provide a name.

Within a few days, one person, who just happened upon the tavern and saw the display, decided to try and identify the family.

John Bourns, a physician from Philadelphia was on a volunteer mission to Gettysburg to help care for the several thousand wounded who were still near the battlefield. Dr. Bourns asked the tavern owner if he could take the image and show it to some of the wounded men in the hope that the unusual item might be recognized. Unfortunately, he found no one who recalled the image.

However, Dr. Bourns did not give up. First, he located the grave, which had been marked as requested, and placed a more permanent sign explaining the image held by the dying soldier. Then, when he returned to Philadelphia, he had copies printed on small cards with his contact information and, began to hand out the cards and sent them to various publications.

On October, 29, 1863, The Philadelphia Inquirer ran a letter, not from Dr. Bourns, but from someone who had received one of the cards. The Inquirer re-printed the letter with the image on the front page. The caption read, “Whose Father is He” and continued with, “How touching, how solemn.”  The writer then went on to tell the story he had heard about the soldier’s dying effort to see his children’s faces and added, “What pen can describe the emotions of this patriot-father as he gazed upon these children, so soon to be made orphans!” The writer then encouraged all who might see the letter and the image to contact other newspapers and magazines throughout the north in an effort to locate the family.

Within days, the image and the story were appearing all over Pennsylvania, Ohio, New York and throughout New England. At a time with no radio, no TV, and no internet, this story had quickly captured the attention of an entire region.

On November 3, the publisher of the “American Presbyterian” was preparing to mail out the periodical and, at the last minute, made room to include the article from the Inquirer. However, the newsletter did not have the capability of printing an image so the editor tried to describe the picture of the three children as best he could. The American Presbyterian newsletter was circulated throughout the Northeast and a copy went to a subscriber in Portville, New York, who reprinted it and circulated copies to other parishioners and churches in the area. One recipient took the letter to Mrs. Philinda Humiston, the mother of three small children, whose husband had not been in contact with her for months. Of course, she feared the worst, but had heard nothing from the Union army and knew that many Union soldiers were held as prisoners by the Confederacy. After reading the description of the image of the three children, Mrs. Humiston said that she had sent a similar picture to her husband the previous May and that she had received a letter from him acknowledging the gift, in which he wrote, “I got the likeness of the children and it pleased me more than anything thing that you could have sent to me. How I want to see them and their mother is more than I can tell. I hope that we may all live to see each other again if this war does not last to long.”

Dr. Bourns was contacted and he quickly had a copy of the one of the cards delivered to Mrs. Humiston. When she finally saw a copy of the glass image, she knew that her husband would not be coming home and that her children would never again see their father.

Sergeant Amos Humiston of the 154th New York Volunteer Infantry Regiment, had died in the service of his country, at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, nearly four months earlier.

This image of Sergeant Humiston was taken before the war. Artists added a beard and uniform for souvenir cards.

The American Presbyterian, in its publication of November 19, 1863, announced the details of the search and the resolution. Ironically, that was also the day that Abraham Lincoln gave his famous Gettysburg Address at the new National Cemetery; where Sergeant Humiston was later moved to a final resting place. This time to a well-marked grave.

As it turned out, most of Sergeant Humiston’s 154th New York Regiment had been captured by Confederate forces on the day he was killed, so no one who knew him was available to identify his body. Therefore, without a young girl’s compassion, and Dr. Bourns’ willingness to devote time to the effort, Sergeant Humiston’s family would never have had closure and his sacrifice would not have been honored.

And, he has been honored. In addition to his grave, which visitors can visit today, a commemorative plaque can be found near the place where he fell. Sergeant Humiston may still be the only enlisted soldier with an individual memorial at Gettysburg.

Postscript: Dr. Bourns raised several thousand dollars selling the cards he had made and gave   a portion, as well as the original ambrotype, to Mrs. Humiston.  He then used the rest of the proceeds, plus fees from the sales of a poem about the story, to build a orphans’ compound in Gettysburg. Sergeant Humiston’s family was the first to live there.

 The Life of Amos Humiston-

But who was Sergeant Humiston? Why was he found alone? Certainly, there must have been more to his life story than his unfortunate death and more to the man than a brief obituary.

And there was.

Amos Humiston was born in Owego, New York, in 1830 and spent his childhood there. His own father died when Amos was only seven, and his mother remarried to Philander Boice who, by all accounts, was a caring stepfather to Amos and his older brother, Morris. Both Humiston boys attended local schools until they were about fifteen, after which they were apprenticed to a local harness maker. Their education was more than most children received at the time and the apprenticeships were a common method of learning a useful skill. However, Amos, who had mastered the skills of using leather to make several types of goods over nearly four years, decided he would like to see the world before settling down to what would have been a steady career.

His choice for his new adventure must have surprised his family. When he was nineteen years old, Amos decided to join a whaling crew, although he had never been on a ship!

He went to New Bedford, Massachusetts, which was one of the nation’s most active whaling ports. The whaling industry was in full force in the 1850’s with whale oil and whale bone in high demand throughout the world. Amos was not reckless, just eager, and he did not fall prey to “landsharks” who would trick (or even kidnap) unsuspecting young boys and deliver them to an unscrupulous ship’s Captain. Through inquiry, Amos learned that the ship “Harrison” was captained by a man known to be fair (but firm) and he was accepted as a “green” sailor. This was a hard life, with danger at every whale encounter. Men were frequently injured as the small boats they used to surround and try to kill the large animals would often be smashed by a quick flip of the whale’s tail. And it was a long tenure. The Harrison took almost three months to sail into Pacific waters and then continued northward almost to the Bearing Straights, near Russia. Then, the ship reversed course and followed the whale migration into the South Pacific. There were ports along the way where their cargo of whale oil and whale bone could be sold or traded for more supplies, so Amos Humiston did get to see the world. He said in a letter, however, that the “work is much harder, much bloodier, and much smellier, and the storms are more frightening” than he imagined. But, once on a whaling vessel, there is no opportunity for a change of heart, so, over the next three and a half years, his home was the Harrison and Amos became an experienced sailor. His total pay, when he disembarked, was only about $200.00! Of course, while at sea, he had room, such as the small berth was, he had meals, such as they were, and he had no other expenses except that spent in port cities. So, while he now had $200.00, his brother may have reminded Amos that he could have made a lot more over forty months in the harness making business.

So, Amos must have decided that harness making was not so bad after all.

He returned to New York and went into business with his brother in Candor, a few miles from his boyhood home. He was skilled and industrious, to the delight of his brother, and the business flourished.

Amos was twenty-three years old, making a reasonable living, and was single. That combination attracted the attention of matchmakers in the area; but he only needed one introduction. He said he was “as if struck by lightning” when he met Philinda Smith. Of course, there was a courtship as was the custom of the day, but it was very short! Amos and Philinda were married on July 4, 1854 and, over the next five years, the Humiston’s had three children. For reasons we do not know, in 1859, Amos moved his family about fifty miles west to the town of Portville, where he formed a partnership with another harness maker, who had been a family friend. His business, and his family, thrived in Portville. He and Philinda valued education and their children began learning to read at very early ages. Life was good for the Humiston family.

But the United States, after only about eighty years as a new nation, was in peril!

Amos was a vocal supporter of the Union and was concerned that the constant threats of secession by some southern states could lead to conflict and, when the first seven states did secede and form the Confederate States of America, Amos was certain there would be war. While slavery was interwoven in the debates over secession, Amos did not articulate his views on slavery, as far as we know, nor do we know if he voted for Abraham Lincoln as President. However, he did write that President Lincoln was right to force the seceded states back into the Union through military action. Believing the war would be quickly won by the Union, just as many southerners believed it would be quickly won by the Confederates, Amos did not immediately join the army or the local militia. After all, he had a business to run and a family to care for; and he was thirty years old.

However, a year after the war had started, and after a few Confederate victories, Amos decided it was his patriotic duty to serve, and on July 26, 1862, he enlisted. Because of his age, maturity, and experience in a disciplined environment, he was given the rank of Corporal and the 154th New York regiment headed for Virginia to join the more than 200,000 other men in the growing Army of the Potomac.

Amos regularly wrote to his family, describing army life, but his letters also indicated that he was ready for battle and prepared for the dangers involved. He became ill at one time and was confined to a tent for several weeks. He wrote that, “It is worse than an old bird’s nest” And in another letter, while still ill, he wrote, “I can die in battle like a man, but I hate the idea of dying here like a hog.” But Amos did recover, and his letters indicated he was pleased to get back to the tasks of a soldier. His unit marched into battle areas several times but had no direct clashes with the enemy. Also, he had been promoted to Sergeant.

On May 2, 1863, Sergeant Humiston and his men were thrust into battle at Chancellorsville and were handed a stunning defeat, led by Confederate General Stonewall Jackson. Of the 60 men under Sergeant Humiston, 12 were killed or missing and another twelve severely wounded, a staggering forty percent casualty rate. While Amos was not seriously injured, he was struck in the chest by a bullet, but it must have already lost speed, because he only received a bad bruise. He wrote to Philinda that night, “it could have been worse, but it made me think of home and you and the children.”

A few days later, Sergeant Humiston received a gift from his wife, an ambrotype image of his three children, He quickly wrote back to her, “I got the likeness of the children today and it pleased me more than anything you could have sent to me. How I want to see them and their mother is more than I can tell. I hope we may all live to see each other again if this war does not last too long.”

Then, Sergeant Humiston and his men were given orders to march out of Virginia, toward Pennsylvania, to a small town called Gettysburg.

They arrived at their destination on July 1, 1863 and set up camp south of the town and prepared for battle, which they expected soon. They could hear artillery and see the smoke created from hundreds of guns firing simultaneously. They were ordered to move forward, into the north-east outskirts of Gettysburg, to help halt a Confederate charge that threatened to break through the Union lines. It was a poor decision by Union officers, because Sergeant Humiston’s 154th New York unit was outnumbered more than three to one by the Confederate force rushing at them.  When they realized their mistake, the Union officers called the men to retreat; however, most of the 154th regiment was surrounded and captured by the Confederates. A few Union soldiers were not captured and attempted to flee to the relative safety of a nearby hill where Union soldiers held higher ground. Among those who retreated, evidently, was Sergeant Amos Humiston. At some point in his scramble, he must have lost his personal pack, which would have contained his identification and, probably, some letters from his wife.

But he never made it. It is unknown if he was initially wounded in the battle, or if he was struck by a long shot taken by a Confederate as he ran to avoid capture, but Sergeant Humiston fell to the ground on the outskirts of Gettysburg. He propped himself up against a fence, removed the ambrotype from his pocket, and looked at his children for the last time.

He had lived a good life and had fought the good fight. May you rest in peace, Sergeant Amos Humiston.