Daniel H. Otis: His Story

Example of a Maromas farmstead.
This is a 1915 photograph of the Bailey family farmstead on River Road in Maromas.
The Bailey family farm was in existence for close to a century, but was razed by C.A.N.E.L in 1956.
Daniel H. Otis is related to the Bailey family.
His maternal grandmother was Elizabeth Bailey, and his 5 x great-grandfather was John Bailey I, one of the founders of Haddam, CT.
Image source: Florence B. Gilbert

Maromas Farm-Life

"Middletown I think is the most beautiful town of all..." John Adams, 1771

Daniel H. Otis was born Thursday, April 15, 1847 to Erastus Selden Otis and Elizabeth Mary Young in the Maromas District of Middletown, Connecticut. Maromas was a sparsely-settled, yet close-knit farming community along the Connecticut River in the southeast section of Middletown. Dairying, and the raising of sheep and grains were the principal means of livelihood.

Here, the river was bordered by grassy meadows, with a few level stretches of land, but mostly there were large areas of hills, valleys, and ridges, dotted with enormous chunks of bedrock and quartz. Fish were abundant, wildlife abounded, and a wide variety of trees grew in the native Maromas woods—a few of my favorite worth mentioning are linden (aka basswood), wild cherry, wild apple, and oak.

Daniel grew up on his family’s 19 ½ acre farm in one of the northern-most parts of Maromas, high up in the hills at the bend in the river where massive walls of glacial rock jut out from the steep hillsides. He lived in a beautiful area, where a magnificent panorama of hills and valleys stretched out in every direction.

The family kept a few farm animals for milk and meat, along with some bee hives. Preserves were canned, hard-cider was made, and some type of grain was grown (the will of Erastus Otis lists tools and implements that point to this).

In fact, the old granite foundation of the Otis home still stands and is now on privately-owned property.

New England Winter Scene, 1861
By Currier and Ives

Though Maromas is indeed a lovely area, and I have described it as such, farm-life during this time was anything but. Notice how John Niven in his most-excellent book, “Connecticut for the Union” describes farm-life:

“Farm life was rugged too. Whatever the romanticizers have said about the charm and beauty of the rural scene, the average young Connecticut farmer or farmer’s son of the 1850's found little time to rhapsodize on the psychic benefits of the agrarian idyll. It took an enormous amount of man and beast hours to wrest a living out of the average Connecticut farm. During the spring, summer, and fall, when the countryside was at its loveliest, farmers were busiest with their crops. Grueling, back-breaking labor, six days a week, was absolutely essential.

Farm machinery, just beginning to appear, would not materially lighten the farmers’ burden until well into the postwar period. The innate conservation of the countryside and the high cost of such equipment ruled against wide use, but more important was the fact that most Connecticut cash crops—dairy, tobacco, orchard products, and potatoes—still required traditional farm labor techniques.

The long harsh winters were times of heavy work too—animal care, woodcutting for family use and extra income, ice-cutting, and endless repairs of farm equipment. An isolated Connecticut farm looks charming in a Currier and Ives winter scene or in a colorful Prang’s chromo, but it was a bleak and uncomfortable place, with icy drafts, unheated bedrooms, and no conveniences.

Life on the farm for most of the young men during this period of changing social values was, if anything, more restrictive than life in the mill town and infinitely more sterile than city life. Travel into the outside world, beyond their native village or marketing place, was reserved for very special occasions. Factory workers at least traveled about in search of work in slack season; farmers were almost as closely tied down to their native region as feudal serfs.”

Here is what one elderly Maromas inhabitant, Stephen Smith, had to say about living on a farm with parents who were not well. He reflects back to the year 1822 in a letter to his niece: “"From the time my brother James was ten years-old, the boys mainly carried on the work of the farm and gave us a living. I never went to school in the summer after I was eight years-old. It was work all the time. For years the greatest happiness I could think of was rest. I either worked on the farm or gave my family all my earnings until I was twenty-one years old.”

Though Daniel Otis didn’t have it as rough Mr. Smith did in 1822, surely the above descriptions of 19th century rural farm-life give much-needed insight into a similar type of life Daniel Otis lived, growing up on his family's Maromas farm.

The Little Red School House

The "New Schoolhouse" in Maromas on River Road, circa 1910.
The "New Schoolhouse" was built in 1871, and stood across the street from the "Old Schoolhouse."
Daniel Otis would have attended the "Old Schoolhouse." Both schoolhouses (old and new) no longer stand. 

According to the “Maromas School District Registers (1855-1873),” Daniel Otis attended the Maromas school house, which was a little red, one-room school house, southeast of his home. These Registers begin in the year 1855, when Daniel was 8 years old.

In examining these Registers I noticed that each day, there was an A.M. school session and a P.M. school session. Not every session was attended by each child. A child may be there in the A.M. and not in the P.M. and vice versa. I also noticed during certain times of the year, large amounts of children were absent many days in a row, sometimes attending about seven days or so of school out of the entire month. These absences were most-likely due to a key planting or harvesting season taking place, and these able-bodies would be of better service helping around the farm than sitting behind a desk. The records show that Daniel was also absent during these times, so no doubt, even at a young age he was helping out on the family farm.

The Registers show that school sessions ran year-round with no summer break. This seems like a necessity since children would miss many days of school throughout the year with planting/harvesting seasons.

Other students of the Little Red Schoolhouse with an important connection to Daniel Otis are (as listed in the 1855 register, when Daniel was age 8):

William Y. Otis (age 16)
Older brother (by 8 years)

Henry R. Young (age 15)
First-Cousin, and Future Fellow-Soldier (Co. H, 21st Regiment)
Henry is also the brother of Jeremiah B. Young and Egbert J. Young

Emilie E. Young (age 10)
First-Cousin
Emilie is also the sister of Earl E. Young

Jeremiah B. Young (age 9)
First-cousin
Jeremiah is also the brother of Henry R. Young and Egbert J. Young

Sherman Johnson (age 15)
Future Fellow-Soldier; eventually served with Daniel Otis in Co. B, 14th Regiment

Ashbel A. Clark (age 12)
Future Fellow-Soldier; eventually served with Daniel Otis in Co. B, 14th Regiment

Charles A. Butler (age 12)
Future Fellow-Soldier (Co. D, 24th Reg.)
Charles is also the younger brother of Nathaniel S. Butler.
Nathaniel S. Butler served with Daniel Otis in Co. B, 14th Regiment

First-Cousin, Earl E. Young, and First-Cousin, Egbert J. Young also attended the schoolhouse with Daniel Otis after 1855. Brother, George C. Otis, attended the schoolhouse in later years.

Also of note is, Alpheus D. Clark, one of Daniel Otis' school-teachers. Alpheus Clark would eventually serve in Co. B, 14th Regiment with Daniel. That must’ve been a surreal experience, fighting alongside your former school-teacher!

Daniel's oldest brother, Robert S. Otis (who was older than him by 11 years), was also a teacher at the little red school house. Imagine having your older brother as your school-teacher? Probably not too fun. 

As I grumble about elsewhere on this page, most of the Maromas school registers are missing for the year 1862, which is the year Daniel Otis enlisted in the Army! All that remains of 1862, is November and December, which shows Robert Otis as teacher. Robert also taught school into 1863, as well. My hunch, is that Robert was Daniel’s school-teacher in August, 1862, which is the month he enlisted in the Army.

A.M. school schedule for the little red school house in Maromas.
Maromas School District Registers, 1855-1873, Mss 98835 Oversize, The Connecticut Historical Society. 

P.M. school schedule for the little red school house in Maromas.
Maromas School District Registers, 1855-1873, Mss 98835 Oversize, The Connecticut Historical Society. 

Above, are the A.M. and P.M. school schedules for the little red school house in Maromas. Though this schedule is for winter, 1865-1866, I imagine it wasn't that much different for Daniel Otis when he attended the school.

A Great Loss

“There is something about losing a mother that is permanent and inexpressible—a wound that will never quite heal.” Susan Wiggs

On Thursday, April 3, 1856, Elizabeth Mary Otis—the mother of Daniel H. Otis—died at age 39. Daniel was just 12-days away from turning 9-years-old when he lost his beloved mother.

Tragically, April 3rd was also the birth day of Elizabeth Otis.

This newly re-discovered information is engraved as an epitaph on the bottom portion of her split-in-half gravestone. Myself and another cemetery conservationist, found the bottom portion of Elizabeth’s gravestone buried under at least 9-inches of sod and soil near her burial site. The epitaph revealed important information that I was otherwise unable to find during my research on the family.

ELIZABETH M. 

wife of

ERASTUS S. OTIS,

died on her birth day

April 3, 1856

Aged 39 Yr's

Gone home.

The fact that Elizabeth Otis died on her birth day was so significant that the family saw fit to engrave that information into her gravestone. It must have been a great tragedy for them all—especially young Daniel.

I searched high and low, but was not able to find a cause of death—anywhere—for Elizabeth Otis. Therefore, I often wondered how Elizabeth Otis died, and from what? Did she die suddenly; perhaps an accident of some sort on the farm, or around the home? Or was it something related to the recent birth of her son George, six-months previously, on October 11, 1855? If so, it could not have been the devastating infection known as “childbed fever” (aka: puerperal fever), because that would affect a woman within the first three days after childbirth, with it rapidly progressing. However, other types of infections that can lead to sepsis after childbirth are urinary tract infections, and breast infections (mastitis). Could one of these two issues have taken Elizabeth Otis’s life?

Or maybe it was some type of postpartum mood disorder she was dealing with that led to an accidental death? After all, if an individual is not in their right frame of mind, anything could happen. In the 1850’s people knew absolutely nothing about postpartum mood disorders. Even in our so-called “enlightened” modern times, postpartum issues are a big black-hole in healthcare and are not taken seriously by society. Whatever Elizabeth Otis died from, I do believe the family had no expectations of her death and that it was sudden. However, the ideas here are still worth thinking about.

Since Elizabeth Otis died on a Thursday, I wondered if Daniel was at school when his mother passed away? As fate would have it, the beginning of April 1856 is missing from the Maromas School Registers! Can you believe that? Therefore, I could not check on this.

Being that April 3rd was her birth day, did Daniel make something special for his mother, perhaps a little hand-drawn picture or a special note—one that he may never got to give to her? Did Daniel even get a chance to say “goodbye” to his mother? 

The Story Is That He Ran Away To War

At age 15, Daniel Otis was still attending the little red school house—just as those before him did at that age, and as his brother William Otis did up until age 17, and as his first-cousin Henry Young did at age 16. No doubt, at age 15, Daniel now had much more responsibility on his family’s farm. However, there is no reason to believe that Daniel had quit school to work on the farm full-time, as the Maromas school registers don’t reveal this pattern. To the contrary, the registers show many male students of various ages—including ages 14, 15, 16, 17, and even an 18 year-old—who were attending the little red school house in Maromas. I noticed that the female students did not attend school past the age of 14. 

I could have easily checked the Maromas School District Registers for the year 1862 to confirm whether or not Daniel was in school right before he enlisted, but as mentioned, the register ends with the year 1857 and picks up again at November, 1862! By then Daniel had already left home and was somewhere in Virginia! I was flabbergasted and highly disappointed that these key years were missing from the register! 

At the time, I had been researching Daniel and his family for several months already when I came across an interesting bit of info about him that begged for more insight. Notice what the 1937 book “Sketch of Maromas” (by historian Jessie M. Alsop) has to say about him: (emphasis is mine)

“The grave of Daniel H. Otis has flags and insignia, and we do indeed honor the brave youth who gave his life on the field of battle. He was the son of Erastus and Elizabeth Otis. His mother had died six years previously when he was nine years old. The story is that he ran away to war.”

My eyes nearly popped out when I read this! There is a story about Daniel? He ran away?

In her book, Alsop shares the gravestone inscriptions of all eight Civil War soldiers who are buried in Maromas Cemetery, which includes Daniel’s. However, Daniel Otis is the only Civil War soldier that she took the time to elaborate on.

Why is that? Why just Daniel?

Because there was a story there, and there wasn’t with the other men who enlisted from Maromas. I believe the story had something do with the fact that “his mother had died six years previously.” 

Why didn't Alsop also elaborate on Daniel’s fellow soldier and former classmate, 18 year-old Private Ashbel Clark, who enlisted August 6, 1862, which was two days after Daniel did (and incidentally, who died 4-months after Daniel). After all, Ashbel's grave also has flags and insignia, and his parent died too. Ashbel's father, Alvin Clark, a mechanic and farmer, died from "apoplexy" only one-year previously on June 29, 1861, as opposed to Daniel’s mother dying 6-years previously. Why wasn’t the more recent death of Ashbel’s father mentioned?

It’s simple: because the father's death probably had nothing to do with Ashbel enlisting, but for Daniel, his mother’s death may have been one of the major reasons he “ran away to war.” 

The fact that the author of the “Sketch of Maromas” mentioned that Daniel’s mother died when he was nine-years-old, followed by the line: “the story is that he ran away to war,” is telling, as I feel one statement fueled the other. If his mother’s death had no bearing, then why mention it?

I believe this is why none of Daniel's school-age peers enlisted with him: because he ran away. Something was going on that made Daniel run. But what?

What’s Going On?

Daniel Otis was a “middle child,” and neither of his three brothers were close enough in age to be his peer. When the Otis brothers lost their mother, Robert was already a man, William was very close to being a man, and baby George didn’t really know any better. But Daniel, he was almost 9 years-old, and I think he felt the full measure of his mother’s death and it dealt him a blow he may have never got over.

About 6-months after Daniel's mother died, his father, (Erastus) remarried. He married Amanda M. Chapman-Otis, his dead brother’s widow, who was also Daniel’s aunt by marriage. Though this is not unusual for the time period, try making an emotionally raw and devastated child who misses his mother understand and accept it. Here it is, only 6 months later, another woman has filled (or is trying to fill) his beloved mother’s shoes, cooking in her kitchen, sleeping in her bed, living in her home, and “mothering” him and his baby brother, George. I don’t care if it was the norm, and neither does a mourning child who aches for his mother.

The psychological effects of losing a mother during the formative years of childhood are significant! In the longest and most detailed study of pediatric grief following parental loss, to date, it says that “kids who have lost a parent are more than twice as likely than non-bereaved kids to show impairments in functioning at school and at home, even 7 years later.” And that “children who were less than 12 years old when their parent died were more likely to have depression than those who lost a parent in adolescence.” (source). We understand all of this now, but in the 1850’s people didn’t recognize how children process death and grief, so I’m not sure how Daniel, at almost 9 years-old, was able to properly process the death of his mother. 

Almost a full year after losing his mother, Daniel lost his maternal grandmother (his mother’s mother), on March 8, 1857. His maternal grandmother, Elizabeth Bailey-Young, lived close by in Maromas, and I'm sure Daniel spent a significant amount of time with her, unlike his paternal grandmother who lived in another state. Did Daniel seek comfort and solace in his grandmother’s arms after losing his own mother? Was she the closest thing he had left to a mother? Then a year later, she dies too. How utterly tragic for young Daniel. 

Fast-forward to July 10, 1862—Daniel is now age 15 and his older brother, William (now age 23) gets married and begins a new life with his bride. Twenty-five days later, Daniel Otis ran away to war. His eldest brother Robert (now age 26) was already married, and in several years it would be Daniel’s turn to take a wife. I touched on the fact that all of these family marriages seem to have been arranged, or at least strongly encouraged. 

Did Daniel have other plans for himself? Had he seen enough men in his family marry and take up what may have seemed like a mundane existence of working and raising a family? Did Daniel dream of more for himself? Perhaps, like many young ones who were raised on farms in relative isolation from the larger world, he dreamt of seeing “what lies beyond.” Was running away to war an out for him—a way to spread his wings? Perhaps it was the only long-term out he might ever get?

According to the book, “The Boy’s War: Confederate and Union soldiers talk about the Civil War” by Jim Murphy, the most popular reason for young boys enlisting in the fight was to escape what they viewed as a dull life on the farms. And the book “Connecticut for the Union,” by John Niven backs up this same reason by mentioning how a lot of young men saw “in a volunteer army and a great patriotic war in 'foreign' places an acceptable means of escape from a life which suddenly seemed hard, narrow, and commonplace.” 

I also have to take note of Daniel’s father, Erastus Otis, in all of this—a key figure in his life. An interesting individual started to emerge after scrutinizing Erastus’ will. Based on the picture that emerged of Erastus, I feel that Daniel came from a household that valued freedom of expression and knowledge, as well as one that encouraged thinking and the right to choose and act for one’s self in matters which respect God and conscience. Perhaps this is what Erastus taught all of his children. After all, Erastus' own father (Stephen Otis, Jr) was a Wilbraham Academy professor and Methodist minister. 

I believe Daniel Otis was exceptionally strong-willed, and confident in his own abilities and character. Therefore, he and his father may have butted heads, not seeing eye-to-eye on matters, including the war. Perhaps Daniel expressed his views on the war and the desire to be a part of it, and his father didn’t take him seriously, waving him off with a, “You’re too young, boy!” I don’t know what Erastus’ views were on the war, but it’s very telling that neither of his older sons (Robert age 26, and William age 23, in the year 1862) voluntarily enlisted, nor fought in the war at any time. However, when it came to his 15-year-old son desiring to go off to war, perhaps Erastus was no longer on-board with freedom of expression, and the right to choose and think for one’s self in matters of conscience. Maybe Daniel felt this was hypocritical, that he was old enough to make up his own mind. After all, he helped out on the farm—doing a man’s work. It’s interesting to note that 66% of individuals who lose a mother at an early age felt “they weren’t a kid anymore.” Perhaps Daniel had to grow up fast, and therefore felt he was fully capable of making his own decisions. So, exercising this right, he “ran away to war.” 

Did Daniel get caught up in the patriotic fervor that enveloped the war? Did he desire to defend the country as both his paternal and maternal great-grandparents did in the American Revolution, and as so many young men were currently doing in the "War to Preserve the Union"—even ones from the small farming community he belonged to—but his father forbade it, so he ran away?

Could it be, that Daniel's running away to war encompassed all of the above reasons: with the main one being that he never got over the death of his mother, and this troubled him greatly? There is a mountain of research on the life-long emotional impact of individuals who lose a parent at a young age—especially a mother. Perhaps that loss produced a restlessness within Daniel, and he was itching to get away, so enlisting was a win-win situation: he could escape his current life, “see the world,” and be a part of something larger than himself—something that just about everyone in the country was involved in.

Though, I firmly believe that if Daniel’s mother had lived, he never would have ran away and enlisted in the Army. His mother was the balancing element for the family, for both Daniel and his father. She brought stability and equilibrium to each of them, and now that she was gone, things were unbalanced and father and son may have clashed on matters, perhaps ones more deeply-rooted than Daniel’s desire to go to war. Also, we don’t know what Daniel’s relationship was like with his stepmother either. 

There is nothing wrong with speculation when doing “genealogical-type” research such as this, as building and testing hypotheses is a great way to discover new evidence that may help to prove a case. We just need to be sure not to confuse speculation with proof—because it’s not. However, the more historical research a person does, the more one comes to realize that people are people—with the same fears, loves, hates, passions, and emotions—no matter what the time period. Our ancestors were really not that different from us. We just have cars, computers, TV, and 24-hour online shopping. Oh, and pretty damn good medical care if you can afford it!

The “Sketch of Maromas” bluntly states that Daniel Otis “ran away to war.”

Why?

That’s the “million dollar question” that will probably never have an answer. The “Sketch of Maromas” was written in 1937. This means that 75 years after Daniel died, there was a story still circulating around the close-knit farming community of Maromas about how Daniel Otis ran away to war and got killed. The author of the book felt it was important enough to mention that tantalizing bit, but not important enough to mention what the actual story was! What a shame, because like much oral history of the past, it’s probably lost to the ages. But boy, oh boy, it must’ve been some story! 

Now one can only speculate, just as I have here.

When we mention that someone has “runaway,” we normally use that word to refer to a minor dependent who has fled, especially from their family or an institution. Most minors run away due to problems with their families. Some run away because of a terrible argument, and others decide to leave without ever having a fight. Could the reasons for running away back in 1862 have been all that different than the reasons individuals run away today? From what I know about human nature—probably not. Whatever Daniel was trying to get away from—to run from—his need must have been great, because he ran away not to another town, but to war.

War.

It seems like Daniel wanted out for the long-term, as he enlisted knowing it was for a 3 year period. And if he survived the war, by the time he mustered out, he’d be 18-years-old with some money in his pocket (hopefully) and able to go anywhere he chose. Enlisting as a volunteer would remove him from whatever situation he was facing at home, plus as a bonus, he would get a generous bounty from the town upon volunteering his service ($100). Couple this with the bounties given by the national and state governments, which for someone in Daniel’s situation (unmarried / no children), would total $338 annually, along with the regular pay of $13 a month offered to Union Privates. (Bounty source: Middletown weekly newspaper “The Constitution” July 16th and July 30th 1862)

This amount of money may not seem like much to us today, but just the $100 bounty alone in 1862, was equivalent in purchasing power to about $2,535 in 2019, and Daniel’s regular pay of $13 was equivalent in purchasing power to about $329 in 2019. This was probably more money than Daniel ever had in his young life, but I don’t think money was his main reason for running away and enlisting. Whatever his reasons were, I think they ran much deeper than money. I agree with the author John Niven when he says, “Surely, bounties could not have been a prime inducement to the volunteers” (of the three-year regiments of July/August 1862).

I’m just sorry that Daniel saw no other way out than running away to war. A person would have to be living under a rock to not realize the perils of voluntary enlistment in 1862. If a Minié ball or artillery fire didn’t mow a soldier down on the battlefield, than a man’s chances of being claimed by one of the myriad of deadly diseases was even greater! I'm sure Daniel entertained the idea that there might be a chance he could lose his life, but none of us, let alone a strong and healthy 15-year-old, thinks it could actually happen to them. Somehow, deep down, we all think we are invincible, that our number could never possibly be up—not like that. Not in that situation. Not now. Daniel was willing to take the gamble. 

Elijah W. Gibbons recruitment ad as it appeared in the July 30, 1862 Middletown newspaper, "The Constitution."

Enlistment!

On Monday, August 4, 1862, Daniel Otis left his family’s Maromas farm for good and made the trek to number 100 Main Street in Middletown, and enlisted as a volunteer at Elijah W. Gibbons' recruiting office above the Chaffee and Camp General Store.

Besides Daniel, fourteen other men enlisted that day (Source: “Muster Roll of Capt. Elijah Gibbons”). There were probably numerous gawkers, and most definitely a news reporter there as well.

An individual needed to be at least 18 years-old to enlist, so at 15, Daniel was going to have to lie about his age to get in. Did he formulate and practice what he was going to say ahead of time? Or did he just “wing it?”

How nervous was Daniel as he climbed the stairs to Gibbons’ second floor recruiting office? If he wanted to succeed, he had to play the part and remain calm and collected. Did he give himself a “pep talk,” reminding himself that he looks more mature than 15 years-old and as long as he speaks with conviction, he won’t have a problem?

As Daniel entered the recruiting office, Gibbons himself would be there to greet him, along with the assistant surgeon of the 14th Connecticut—Levi Jewett, and justice of the peace and career military-man—Elihu William Nathan Starr. After introductions, Gibbons would have proceeded to ask Daniel several questions to ascertain his moral character and reasons for wanting to enlist. Afterward, assistant surgeon, Levi Jewett, would have given Daniel a thorough physical examination, making sure he was in tip-top physical shape.

"We had to strip naked and be pounded in the back, punched in the ribs, lungs and heart sounded and we were put through certain motions and antics to show our strength and endurance," said new 18th Connecticut recruit, James Sawyer, in August 1862. 

Daniel Otis would go through the same "antics" and was found fit to be a soldier!

Elihu W.N. Starr would then ask Daniel to raise his right hand and repeat an oath, swearing to support the Union. Lastly, Daniel was given his first order as a soldier: on Thursday, August 7th, he was to gather at an assembly-point on the South Green in Middletown to leave for Camp Foote in Hartford, and link up with the 14th CT Volunteer Infantry.

Daniel H. Otis had succeeded in passing himself off as an 18-year old volunteer! And in order to do that he had to “pull the wool over the eyes” of two seasoned military men and a physician, all who were twice his age! I bet Daniel left that office, smiling from ear-to-ear. He must have felt so proud! 

Daniel Otis was the youngest Middletown man to serve in the Civil War and the youngest soldier in his Company. Daniel was mustered into Company B on August 20, 1862 and mustered into the service of the United States on August 23, 1862. See the “Time Line” page for more details.

Mitchell Store, circa 1860.
A typical storefront on Main Street in Middletown during the 1860's.
Mitchell Store was on the east side of Main Street, in the block between Center and College Streets.
Middlesex County Historical Society. 

Circa early 1860s. Looking northward on Main Street, Middletown.
This is what Main Street would have looked like to Daniel in his day.
Middlesex County Historical Society

Besides Daniel, there were three other men from Maromas who enlisted in Company B: 22 year-old Nathaniel S. Butler, quarryman (enlisted August 4, 1862), 22 year-old Sherman Johnson, quarryman (enlisted August 4, 1862), and 18 year-old Ashbel A. Clark, farmer (enlisted August 6, 1862).

Could it be that Daniel followed one of these men into the Army? I have always found it interesting that none of Daniel’s school-age peers from Maromas—young ones of similar age—enlisted along with him. In the Maromas School Registers (Nov/1862), there were five male classmates of Daniel’s who were between the ages of 14 and 16 years of age. His peers! Not one of them enlisted with Daniel, nor at any other time during the war. One would think, and as I have read in soldier accounts, that there would be two or more, under-age buddies who make plans together to sneak-off and lie their way into the Army. 

This wasn’t the case with Daniel. Sure, he lied, but he didn’t sneak off with his school-age peers to enlist. Instead, on August 4, 1862 he enlisted with two, 22-year-old men who worked in the quarries: Nathaniel S. Butler and Sherman Johnson (I elaborate more on these men on the page “Maromas Men in the Civil War”). Nathaniel had a wife and child; Sherman had neither. At one point in time, Sherman had attended the Maromas schoolhouse with Daniel; Nathaniel did not. Daniel lost his mother when he was age 8. Sherman lost his father when he was age 6. I’d place my bets that Sherman Johnson was someone who Daniel Otis looked up to and wanted to emulate. Did Daniel, with whatever reasons he had for running away and enlisting, follow Sherman Johnson into the Army? Despite the 7-year age difference between Daniel and Sherman, perhaps there was a friendship there—a kind of little brother / big brother relationship. Daniel not only looked well beyond his years, but I believe he also acted like it too. Another thing, I always had a hunch that Daniel Otis and Sherman Johnson were somehow related by marriage, but was never able to prove it until June 2022! Franklin Freeman Brainerd (1844 –1882; who attended the Maromas schoolhouse with both Daniel and Sherman, and who is also buried in Maromas Cemetery) was the cousin of Daniel Otis and the half-nephew of Sherman Johnson. This connection lends more weight to my theory. 

As a side point, Daniel’s first-cousin, 22 year-old Henry R. Young (both he and Daniel attended the Maromas schoolhouse together), enlisted at Chatham in Co. H, 21st Regiment on August 6, 1862. There were three other Otis family members who served in the Civil War, and there were five other men from Maromas who also enlisted. Four enlisted on September 8, 1862 in Co. D, 24th Regiment, and one enlisted in the 1st Regiment, Heavy Artillery on March 1, 1862. Three of these five men were the brothers of Nathaniel S. Butler (Frederick, Charles, and Henry Butler). The other two men were Elias C. Bailey and William E. Spencer. Read more about the "Maromas Men in the Civil War," HERE. 

Like the Young family, and the Bailey family (Daniel’s mother’s and grandmother's family), the Butler, Clark, and Johnson families are some of the surnames most frequently associated with the early history of Maromas. Actually, Nathaniel Butler's mother was a "Bailey," Belinda Bailey to be exact, and she was from Haddam, which was the same town Daniel's maternal grandmother, Elizabeth Bailey, was from. The Baileys were originally a Haddam family and they descend from John Bailey I and his wife, Lydia Backus, who were one of the founders of Haddam, CT. Daniel Otis is descended from them. Daniel Otis is also descended from Daniel Brainerd and his wife Hannah Spencer, who were also founders of Haddam. See the genealogy for those Haddam connections on the page, Daniel Otis: Great-Grandson of John Bailey and Daniel Brainerd, Founders of Haddam, CT.  Also, Daniel's maternal, 2x great-grandmother was a "Clark"—Abigail Clark. 

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Many of these settling families of Maromas were connected by blood or marriage, so there was definitely a family connection there for Daniel, via the maternal side of his family. With this being the case, is it just a coincidence that all three men from Maromas (Daniel Otis, Nathaniel Butler, and Sherman Johnson), enlisted on the same day (August 4th), with Ashbel Clark following two days later. As a life-long resident of Middletown, I am sure Daniel was acquainted with a number of the other men who volunteered in Company B—as many of these individuals shared a familial bond. This must have been comforting to Daniel—to know that even though the familiarity of home was now gone, at least he’d be serving alongside life-long neighbors, friends, and extended family too, all of who belonged to the same tight-knit community.

I often wondered if some of the other enlistees knew Daniel’s true age—just how young he was? Perhaps they didn’t know, or didn’t care, and had more pressing matters to concern themselves with. On the other hand, if a few close associates knew, they may have figured if Daniel had enough spunk to finagle his way into Elijah Gibbons’ company, than, “Bully for you, Daniel! You sure as hell deserve to be here!”

Since Daniel enlisted with close associates, I also often wondered if word somehow got back to Erastus Otis that his young son was at the local recruiting office and found himself a place as a volunteer in Elijah Gibbons’ company. And if word did get back to Erastus, I again wondered why he didn’t “out” his young son from the military, revealing Daniel’s true age to those who recruited him, which would have resulted in his swift discharge from the company.

The book “A Noble and Glorious Cause,” by Thomas La Lancette sheds some light on this:

“It was probably well understood that any parental intervention thwarting a young man’s ambition to fight for the Union would only have driven him to seek out a recruiter who was more than willing to fill the ranks of his command with children. In the mind of a parent, it was far more preferable to have a young son serve under the concerned and watchfulness of family members than in a company of comparatively uncaring strangers.” 

After all, “the story is that he [Daniel] ran away to war,” so I’m not really sure if Erastus knew what was going on, and if he did, I believe he probably felt along the lines La Lancette described above, regardless of what his son's reasons were for enlisting—or running away.

Another thing to consider, is that perhaps this wasn’t Daniel’s first attempt at running away! However, it may have been his first successful attempt, and his father may have been fed up and figured that he would allow Daniel to bear the consequences of his decision and actions. If so, at least the consequences would be born among family and friends from home.

Volunteer Enlistment Papers for Nathaniel Sherman Butler, Co. B., 14th CT Volunteer Infantry

These are Private Nathaniel S. Butler's "Volunteer Enlistment Papers" for the State of Connecticut, Town of Middletown. This is exactly what Daniel Otis would have read and put his signature to. Unfortunately, Daniel's Enlistment Papers no longer exist, because if they did, they would have been included with his Military Service Records. I'm guessing that Nathaniel's Enlistment Papers survived because he had a wife and son who filed for a pension, and his paper work was probably kept better track of because of it. Daniel Otis had neither.

Volunteer Soldier!

“I still don’t know how they did it. How does a starving man march 20 miles then go into a three-hour battle?” Shelby Foote

Private Daniel H. Otis was part of the:

Second Brigade of the 

Third Division

Second Army Corps of the 

Army of the Potomac

14th Connecticut

130th Pennsylvania

108th New York

Brigade Command: Colonel Dwight Morris

14th Conn. Regiment Command: Lieutenant-Colonel Sanford H. Perkins

Captain of Company B: Elijah W. Gibbons

The 14th Regiment numbered 1,015 men and were dubbed “The Fighting Fourteenth.” According to the official “Muster Roll of Capt. Elijah W. Gibbons,” Company B supplied 101 of these men. 

During the war, the 14th Connecticut was in the greatest number of battles, captured the most enemy flags, and suffered the highest combat-related casualties of any Connecticut regiment, with Company B suffering many casualties from both battle wounds and disease. By the time Company B mustered out on May 31, 1865, only 19 of the original 101 members remained in the unit.

Company B was considered a "Rifle Company" or a  “Flank Company.” Flank companies were of the left and right side to the regimental line (In the 14th Connecticut, Company B got the left flank, with Company A at the right). For hundreds of years these were considered elite companies. Though the name remained, the flank companies of the Civil War were often similar to the line companies. Still, being a flank company was a title sought by the regiment's companies, and one eagerly sought by Company B Captain, Elijah Gibbons. Also, during the Civil War, flank companies were armed with better firearms, hence Company B (and A) of the 14th Connecticut being outfitted with Sharps Rifles, while the remainder of the companies got Springfield Rifles.

Sharps Rifles had superior fire power because they were breech-loaders as opposed muzzle-loaders, like the Springfield. A breechloader is a firearm in which the cartridge or shell is loaded into a chamber integral to the rear portion of a barrel. Whereas a muzzle-loader is a firearm that is loaded through its muzzle, which is the front end of barrel from which the projectile will exit. Now it’s easy to understand Gibbons' eagerness in seeking a flank company for his men: Sharps Rifles!

I think Daniel Otis must have felt extremely proud. Here he is on his own (obviously for the first time), and earning money as a member of an eagerly sought-after “flank company.” He was taking care of himself, building camaraderie with a group of men, and protecting the country from what he may have seen as a “rebellion.” Plus, he was being treated like a man—and not a child, as his father and older brothers may have treated him. It was his decision alone to be there, and nobody else’s. Perhaps all of this resulted in a feeling of belonging, and a sense of pride and purpose for him.

Daniel’s “Baptism by Fire” came on the bloodiest single day of combat in American history at the Battle of Antietam on September 17, 1862, almost one full month after he mustered in. (see the page “Excerpts: Select Books” for more information on the two battles Daniel Otis fought in). Though reading about it pales in insignificance to what Daniel actually experienced. I cannot even begin to imagine what he went through, what he saw, or what he felt. To be living one moment in the beautifully hilly, rocky, and sparsely populated land of your birth, and then the next moment being plunged full-throttle into one of the most fiercely-fought and bloodiest battles of the Civil War, and with only a meager amount of military drill and instruction in the use of his Sharps Rifle, gives new meaning to the term “shell shock.” It’s just totally insane!

"One of the Best Members:" Mustered-Out

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it." 

Daniel survived the Battle of Antietam, but tragically almost three months later, on Saturday, December 13, 1862 while crossing over a millrace bridge during the first wave of attacks on Marye’s Heights at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Private Daniel H. Otis was mortally wounded by artillery fire that blew his leg off. This was the same shell that practically severed his comrade, Private David B. Lincoln’s legs from his body.

The book, “The Fredericksburg Campaign,” by Francis Augustin O’Reilly says the following about the Second Brigade (which was Daniel Otis' Brigade). Note: bold is mine.

“The Brigade turned into Prussia Street. Houses on the right protected the column of men until it reached the railroad depot, and “then the storm burst upon them.” Confederate artillery wreaked havoc with the Federals channeling through the choke point at the millrace. Colonel Palmer reported, “Their guns appeared to have the exact range of this passage.” The bottleneck slowed the advance and created an inviting target. A Connecticut soldier later recalled that “the missiles did murderous work.” Sergeant William B. Hincks of the 14th Connecticut wrote, “Canister shot went hopping around the depot yard and on the causeway like enormous marbles, and shells burst with a hideous crash on every side.”

The fatal millrace bridge.
Image source: "Souvenir Excursion to Battlefields,” by the Society for the 14th Connecticut Regiment

Above is a picture of the bridge, crossing the millrace, where both Daniel Otis and David Lincoln were mortally wounded. This is the area that created that deadly chokepoint or bottleneck, slowing the advance of the men and thus creating an alluring target for the impregnable Confederate defenses who set up their murderous shop on the Heights.

Notice what Co. B Corporal, Elnathan B. Tyler had so say about the situation as written in his “History of Company B,” page 13 (Tyler was later promoted to Sergeant) (Emphasis is mine).

“The Reb shell that burst on the little bridge crossing the canal on Prussian Street near the old depot just as Co. B was crossing, deprived us of 2 good men. D.B. Lincoln and D.H. Otis. Both were terribly mangled, and Lincoln died the same evening while Otis lived a day or two longer. He was one of the youngest and one of the best members of Co. B.”

That bold sentence alone, that Daniel H. Otis was one of the best members of the company, speaks volumes about his character and just what kind of quality person he was. The “Profiler” in me has always sensed that he was from an upstanding family—respectable, and well-mannered. This statement of high-praise carries a lot of weight, especially coming from his Corporal, who was his superior—that Daniel at the young age of 15, was one of the best members out of a company of 101 men. Just sit with that thought for a moment.

“Terribly mangled,” Daniel was carried to the rear by his comrades. According to article “Medicine and Surgery in the American Civil War,” by D. LI. Griffiths, it was here, in the rear, that the Regimental Assistant Surgeon (in this case, Dr. Levi Jewett) would have established a first-aid post, “where little more could be attempted than the arrest of bleeding, bandaging, and the administration of opium pills and whisky, regarded as specific for shock.”

The Regimental Surgeon (Philo G. Rockwell) listed Daniel as dying from a “gunshot wound,” and the Middletown newspaper “The Constitution” described him as having “one leg shot off.” I feel that these descriptions are misnomers and are very misleading as to the true nature of Daniel's wounds. When I think of someone being hit by artillery fire—a shell, I do not equate it with a gunshot or anyone being shot, and probably neither do most people. Rather, I agree with the description of Lieutenant Henry Goddard of the 14th Connecticut when he said that shells “actually crushed the bones of men like glass.” If you crush glass, what happens? Some of it will fragment into sharp-pointed pieces, like fine particles of ice, and other pieces will nearly pulverize to dust.

Backing-up Lieutenant Goddard’s description, the book “Gangrene and Glory: Medical Care during the American Civil War,” by Frank R. Freemon had this to say about the injury of a soldier by an exploding shell during a combat at sea between the U.S.S Kearsarge and the C.S.S. Alabama (I paraphrase; bold is mine):

A 68-pound Blakely shell had smashed through the starboard bulwarks of the Kearsarge and exploded on the quarter deck, injuring the crew of the pivot gun. William Gowin was one of three casualties: the lower half of his femur had been smashed into numerous shards; the upper portions of the tibia and fibula were macerated and the knee was completely missing (Note: Gowin was treated, but his wound became gangrenous; he developed septicemia and died).

And don’t forget how 14th Connecticut Corporal Elnathan B. Tyler described Daniel as, “terribly mangled.” That description betrays much more than a gunshot wound, does it not? Mangled actually means ‘severely mutilated, disfigured, or damaged by cutting, tearing, or crushing,’ and Tyler says Daniel was terribly mangled! Terribly is another word for extremely. These descriptions of artillery fire upon a human body are very similar to what Daniel Otis suffered—which goes way beyond a gunshot wound. This was bodily trauma to the highest degree. 

To say that Fredericksburg was an “awful slaughter,” as I’ve heard mentioned a myriad of times before, is most certainly true. However, I believe that is an insipid description of the facts. Rather, Fredericksburg was utter annihilation on a grand scale—an insane waste of human life! And frankly, many Union soldiers, high-ranking officers and Privates like, Private John L. Smith of the 118th PA, said “It was simply murder,” and that they had no chance against the Confederate artillery on top of Marye’s Heights and the infantry concealed behind the protection of stone walls. 

Murder. How about that for a description? 

The book “Now the Drum of War,” by Robert Roper says, “The concentrated rifle fire of Confederate infantrymen at Fredericksburg achieved the effect of modern machine guns, as Union brigades poured out of the ruins of the town, wave after wave, and met a steady fusillade.” And even though, yes, death came from rifle fire, it was the “perfect blanket” of rebel cannons that brought such “explosive death and mass dismemberment”—which was the hallmark of Fredericksburg; a hallmark not found among other battles of the war. 

Graphically describing this hallmark of “explosive death and mass dismemberment,” Roper says there was “…Splattered flesh, men without heads, men with both legs blown off at the thigh; disembowelings, catastrophic face wounds, brain matter showerings; living comrades blown into rags of bloody cloth and fragments of pale bone, or half gone but still able to talk or scream: These are the elements encountered over and over in the letters and memoirs that report the experience of those who fought at Fredericksburg.”

Yes, these are the exact elements that young Daniel Otis would have personally experienced while deeply embroiled in the gruesome fight at Fredericksburg. With that “explosive death” raging all round him, he was irrevocably damaged by the horrors of that body-mutilating, psyche-shattering day. Certainly, the Battle of Fredericksburg confirmed that at “new order of disaster had been achieved, and a new kind of awfulness” had been unleashed upon the human race.

Daniel, and the wounded men of the 14th Connecticut, were first brought to a makeshift division hospital at the Absalom P. Rowe house at 607 Sophia Street—where the rooms, verandas, and lawns filled to overflowing. There, Daniel would be met with scenes and work that were “appalling,” according to the book “Souvenir Excursion to Battlefields,” by the Society for the 14th Connecticut Regiment. Under a large sycamore tree in the rear of the house, the surgeons plied the knife, saw, and forceps, and applied “ligament and bandage” far into the night. “A large proportion of the wounds had been made by shells and were of a ghastly character.”

The multitude of wounded piled up and thousands of unwashed men lay on blankets in their dirty, bloody uniforms. Many were dying. At the foot of a tree, on the lawn, lay a heap of amputated arms, legs, and hands—all callously unburied. Nearby, several corpses were covered with blankets.

War-time photo of the Absalom P. Rowe House (son of George Rowe).
Wounded 14th CT soldiers were cared for at the division hospital here. 
As of 2017, remains have been recovered at this site.  

Close-up photograph of the 14th CT division hospital

Notice the first-hand account given by poet Walt Whitman of the situation (Whitman rushed to the Fredericksburg slaughter, looking for his wounded brother, George, of the 51st NY): “The Camp, Brigade, and Division Hospitals…are merely tents, and sometimes very poor ones, the wounded lying on the ground, lucky if their blankets are spread on layers of pine…No cots; seldom a mattress…The ground is frozen hard, and there is occasional snow. I go around from one case to another. I do not see that I do much good, but I cannot leave them. Once in a while some youngster holds on to me convulsively, and I do what I can for him; at any rate, stop with him and sit near him for hours, if he wishes it.”

That is exactly the hellish nightmare Private Daniel Otis found himself in: mortally wounded, bleeding, and in shock and pain, frightened, cold, having no cot, and laying on the bare frozen ground with one measly blanket (that is, if he even had a blanket!), which was probably not spread on layers of pine for warmth. His wounded comrade, David B. Lincoln, didn’t fare much better as he lay near the south porch of the Rowe house, with his “two legs dangling from the trunk by naught but the slender cords.” As the 14th Connecticut Chaplain, Henry Stevens, visited with the battle-wounded Private, “an artillery shell narrowly missed Lincoln, who had no hope of surviving his grievous wounds.” Other wounded from the 14th Connecticut lay on the north porch.

By the next morning (Dec. 14th) “apprehensive of a renewal of the fighting,” all the 14th Connecticut wounded were sent over the river to Falmouth to a field hospital; including Daniel, who would have been brought safely over on a stretcher. 

With such a grievous wound, 15 year-old, Private Daniel H. Otis died a few days later at the hospital in Falmouth, Virginia on December 16th (or 17th). But not surprisingly, there is some discrepancy about his exact date of death, which I try to sort out in the previous link. 

History is silent about how, and exactly where, Daniel Otis was buried in Falmouth, Virginia. Though it is known that burial details had to deal with the frozen ground of mid-December, forcing them to dig shallow graves with their bayonets or pieces of exploded shell. So, I imagine that many of the men, including Daniel, were buried in just such a grave. Nonetheless, if we take a look at what the record says about the individual who was hit by the same artillery shell as Daniel—his fellow soldier David B. Lincoln—we might get better idea of how Daniel was buried.

Again, the book, “Souvenir Excursion to Battlefields,” by the Society for the 14th Connecticut Regiment says about D.B. Lincoln that, “We buried him in the garden, taking sixty seconds of precious time for a little service at his grave.”

I hope that Daniel's surviving comrades took the same great care with his remains as they did with David Lincoln’s, burying Daniel in as decent of a place as they could in such a war-torn area, and taking a moment for a little service and to bid him farewell. After all, Daniel Otis was “one of the best members of Co. B,” so I imagine nothing less would have sufficed.

Getting Back Home

“A hero is someone who has given his life to something bigger than himself.” Joseph Campbell

At some point, during the deep of winter, Private Daniel Otis' body was exhumed to be brought back home to Connecticut. Sadly, this was not the case for the other Privates in Company B who were also killed in battle at Fredericksburg:

Private William P. Hilliker, age 18

Private William H. Johnson, Sr., age 40

Private David B. Lincoln, age 28

Private Enoch Wilcox II, age 22

Private Dwight Wolcott, age 18

Top: signature of Private William B. Hilliker (no photo available). 
Left to right photos: Private William H. Johnson Sr., Private David B. Lincoln, 
Private Enoch Wilcox II, Private Dwight Wolcott. 
Read more about these men on the "Muster Roll" page. 
Photo and signature source: Middlesex County Historical Society

All of these men’s final resting place is unknown; their remains have never been recovered.

This is not surprising, because from what I researched, the efforts to bring a dead loved one back home could quickly become a logistical nightmare. Many families could not identify, let alone locate their dead. Those who had already been buried in foreign soil could also be difficult to find. Local newspapers tried to help out by reporting “Rolls of Missing Men,” which was a long list of the dead for the surviving families to search and read through. However, these lists were not always accurate. Even if an individual could be located, efforts to bring them back home were difficult and often ended in failure. Nevertheless, many of the fallen soldiers were brought back home for burial, but sadly the majority were not—as exemplified above.

If all this weren’t bad enough, the amount required to recover a dead loved one could cost close to $125 (which in 2019 is equivalent to $3,169!) This cost made it prohibitive for a lot of families. This is a devastating situation for both the living and the dead.

Until 1864, families themselves were allowed to travel to battlefields to recover their dead loved ones. This was an extremely grueling and stressful trip that would not want to be traversed alone, so most folks had at least one family member or friend traveling with them for support. Can you imagine traveling to today’s foreign battlefields to recover a dead loved one—to directly encounter the unspeakable, bloody carnage of war? This is what everyday citizens were doing during the Civil War.

A case-in-point of how quickly a family’s efforts could deteriorate is that of Co. B Captain, Elijah W. Gibbons. Gibbons was also wounded at the Battle of Fredericksburg on December 13, 1862, when a rebel ball shattered his left femur. Gibbons died from that wound six days later on December 19, 1862—which was a few days after Daniel Otis died. According to the January 7, 1863, Middletown newspaper, “The Constitution,” “His [Gibbons’] body was embalmed, and lay waiting removal by his friends. By some means this was delayed, and the body was interred, and thus remained two or three days, when Mr. John M. Douglas went on and obtained it… Douglas and the men in their employ generously contributed the means necessary for bringing on the body from Washington.”

So there was some type of delay, and Gibbons’ body was interred. After two or three days, John M. Douglas* went to Washington [D.C.] himself and brought Gibbons’ remains back home to Middletown. Fourteen days after he died, Captain Elijah W. Gibbon's body arrived home on Friday evening of January 2, 1863, and was buried the next day in Mortimer Cemetery. (*see note about Douglas at the bottom of this page).

I don’t know exactly how Erastus Otis recovered the body of his beloved Daniel. Did he himself take the hellish trip down to Washington, or the battlefield itself, to bring Daniel back home to Maromas? Or did he pay someone, such as an Embalmer, who according to the February 18, 1863 Middletown newspaper, ‘The Constitution:’ “…will upon application by letter exhume and forward per Express the bodies of deceased soldiers at a reasonable charge.”

These embalmers that the newspaper speaks of were from the firm of “Brown and Alexander,” who were Surgeons and Embalmers located in Washington, D.C. The newspaper goes on to vouch for them by saying that they “have embalmed and sent to their friends the bodies of a number of soldiers from this town [Middletown] and vicinity and are known to be responsible business men.” In fact, it was “Brown and Alexander” who embalmed President Lincoln after he was assassinated. 

Regardless of how Daniel Otis was brought back home, traumatic is too mild of a word to describe what Erastus Otis and his family had to endure, and the calamity that befell Daniel, his young son. Catastrophic or cataclysmic are words that get a bit closer to the reality of it. After reading about the complex orchestration that was involved in retrieving a loved one from the battlefield, it really is a miracle that Daniel Otis was brought back home. Also, consider all the other Privates in his company who, to this day, have unknown burial sites. This would have been the fate of 15-year-old, Private Daniel H. Otis had his father not made the necessary arrangements to retrieve his body. 

The December 24, 1862 “The Constitution” reports Daniel (among others) as wounded: “D.H. Otis badly, one leg shot off.” However, by this time Daniel was already deceased. It was only on December 31, 1862 that the newspaper officially reported him as dead, “Of the list of wounded in Company B, of the fourteenth regiment, given last week, there have since been reported dead—Capt. E. W. Gibbons, and D. H. Otis.”

From the December 24, 1862 Middletown newspaper, "The Constitution."
By the time this announcement came out in the paper,
Daniel had already died on December 16/17.

From the December 31, 1862 Middletown newspaper, "The Constitution."

Silence

“Sometimes the sound of silence is the most deafening sound of all.” K.L. Toth

I found it baffling, that after the December 1862 announcements of Daniel Otis' wounding and death in the weekly Middletown newspaper, “The Constitution,” there was no further mention as to when his body arrived back home in Middletown, nor was there any funeral announcement for him specifically, or indication as to what day he was to be buried. 

With a fine-toothed comb I read over every weekly newspaper (The Constitution) for the months of December 1862 (last two weeks), January 1863, February 1863, and for good-measure the first two weeks of March 1863, looking for any hint of information about when Daniel’s remains arrived home or when he was buried. 

There was no hint. Not even a speck. 

There was information and updates for numerous other fallen soldiers (Officers and Privates)—many of whom were Daniel’s comrades (see my research notes, here). The newspaper reported on the arrival of their remains, their Armory Band and Mansfield Guard-led funerals, their burials in which they were “conveyed to their last resting place with military and civic honors,” and synopsis’ of their lives, their lively-hood, and their families. 

But not for Daniel. 

During my research, I certainly also read about my share of dress goods, bargains, Union Liniment, hair oils and pomades, Extract of Buchu, kerosene lanterns, rye coffee, swine for sale, stories, poems and ditties, war news, deaths, births, marriages, and about how “Tom Thumb is to be married in New York on the 10th of February.” Thank god for that breaking news! 

But, nothing about Daniel.

I want to know why. Why was “one of the best members of Co. B” seemingly forgotten in his own home-town newspaper? One would think that the only Private to be reported dead alongside his Co. B Captain would be remembered with an update as to when his remains arrived home, when his funeral was, or at the least, when he was buried, and with what honors he was buried with. 

But the silence is deafening in regards to Private Daniel Otis. 

Was the silence—the lack of further particulars on Daniel Otis—a genuine oversite, or was he intentionally ignored for some reason? Notice what Thomas La Lancette has to say in regards to Company B, in his book, “A Noble and Glorious Cause”: 

“Middletown could proudly lay claim to the title Connecticut’s ‘Banner Town’ for having raised the state’s first fully recruited company under the President’s latest call for volunteers. It was also a further point of pride that of the 101 men, including Elijah Gibbons, who had enlisted over the twenty-one day period and later at their Hartford encampment, ninety-two claimed Middletown as their place of residence.” 

Because of Captain Elijah Gibbons and his Company B, Middletown had the prestigious honor of being the state of Connecticut’s “Banner Town!” Indeed, a source of pride. 

Also, notice what La Lancette says about Gibbons before he opened his doors to potential recruits: 

[He] “laid down one important and inviolable rule to guide his assistants in their recruiting duties. This directive established that, in accordance with paragraphs 927 and 929 of the Revised Regulations for the Army of the United States, no volunteer younger than eighteen years of age, other than those who came with parental permission, was to be accepted into the ranks of his company. The father of two young sons himself, Gibbons refused to expose other people’s children to the dangers and horrors of war.” La Lancette goes on to say that Gibbons turned away a 16 year-old would-be recruit and when another 16 year-old came to enlist with parental permission, he enlisted him as a musician instead of a soldier. 

After Daniel Otis was killed, I’m positive his true age came to light to the officials and townsfolk. His devastated and frantic father, Erastus Otis, probably made sure of that! Fingers were probably pointed, accusations flung, and blame placed and shuffled around, as to why a 15 year-old minor from Middletown (without parental permission) was able to pass himself off as an 18 year-old recruit, duping seasoned military men in the process, only to come back home in a pine-box. 

Was this shameful debacle serious enough to potentially tarnish the state-wide reputation of “Banner Town” and hero captain, who was now himself deceased? I don’t think the newspaper was going to touch this situation with a ten-foot pole. So perhaps they tried to save-face and ignored Daniel, never mentioning a thing about his remains, his arrival back home in Middletown, or his final burial. 

And for those who already knew Daniel’s true age and didn’t do a damn thing to stop him from enlisting, or send him packing after he enlisted, well they had to live with the shame and sting-of-regret of not guiding him better. Perhaps this was another reason to overlook him? And yes, there were three other minors who lied their way into Elijah Gibbons’ company as infantry soldiers, but they survived the war. Daniel didn’t!

With all that said, on June 17, 1874, almost twelve years after Daniel Otis was killed in battle, the City of Middletown dedicated a Soldier’s Monument to all Middletown men who died in the Civil War. The monument was placed in the town’s South Green (Union Park). By 1874, the town’s war-wounds may not have been completely healed, but at least they were scabbed over to the point that the name and death-date of Private Daniel H. Otis was inscribed into the south-facing bronze plaque for all those who were “Killed in Action,” albeit with an incorrect date of death for him. Daniel’s image was also added to the town’s Memorial Book (now housed at the Middlesex County Historical Society). 

Saying Goodbye

“A brief life burns brightly.” Stephen Baxter 

Fifty-three days after he died, Daniel H. Otis, the son of Erastus S. Otis and Elizabeth M. Young, was finally laid to rest on Sunday, February 8, 1863 in Maromas Cemetery near his mother in the Otis Family Plot. If it wasn't for stumbling across this bit of burial information in the "Record of the Returns Made by Sextons of Cemeteries" (aka: Middletown Burial Lists), I would've never known the time-frame for when Daniel arrived back home and was buried. 

But, fifty three days?!! Now this is what I consider a delay—not the few days Captain Elijah Gibbons’ body was “delayed” in Washington, nor the fourteen days it took for his body to be exhumed, embalmed, and travel from Falmouth, VA to Middletown, CT, which included the delay in Washington. Nor, the nineteen days it took the poor Hollister brothers (Co. K, 14th CT) to arrive back home in Chatham, CT for burial after they both died of exposure on December 23, 1862 in Falmouth, VA. These time periods are naught compared to how long it took Daniel Otis' body to arrive back home in Middletown, from Falmouth! 

Why so long?

What logistical nightmares did Erastus Otis and his family run into trying to bring Daniel’s body back home from the war-torn South? Was Daniel exhumed and embalmed in late December 1862 or early January 1863 and thereafter caught up in a bunch of government red-tape, bureaucratic bullcrap, and untold delays? Or, for some reason was late January / beginning of February the earliest Erastus could arrange to get his son’s body? 

I don’t know.

But I do think it’s interesting that one of Daniel’s older brothers and his first-cousin visited the Maromas schoolhouse at the beginning of January, 1863. This was the same schoolhouse Daniel was attending before he ran away to war and got killed. 

In reading through the Maromas School Registers, I found that it was not unusual for various visitors to stop by the school, for whatever reason. The register below shows that Daniel’s second oldest brother, William Y. Otis, and his new wife, visited the school on Monday, January 5, 1863. This is the first time that any of the Otis family members are listed as a visitor of the school. What were both William and his wife doing there? Was William reminiscing? Did he want to show his new wife where he went to school? His older brother Robert Otis was the current school teacher, so did William stop by to see what a great job his brother was doing?

I don’t think so. 

Also, seven days later, on Monday, January 12, 1863, Daniel’s first-cousin, 17 year-old Winfield E. Young, stopped by the schoolhouse too. Winfield was never a student at the Maromas schoolhouse. In fact, he lived on Cross Street near downtown Middletown with his father Enoch Young. So what motivated Winfield to take the long trek up to Maromas to pay a visit to a school he never attended?

Daniel. 

That’s what—or should I say, who—motivated Winfield and William to visit the school. The timing of these visits is significant. Was the family expecting Daniel’s body to arrive back home around this time and perhaps they were there to speak to (and try to console) the fellow students that Daniel had left behind. But instead, a myriad of delays held up Daniel’s remains, with him finally arriving back home in Middletown at the beginning of February? 

Since I now think this was the case, I’m going to revise my original “I don’t know” statement above. I cannot believe that Erastus Otis would have been slow to retrieve his son’s body. As soon as Erastus learned of his son’s death, I think he sprang into action and made the necessary arrangements to bring Daniel back home. 

Maromas School Register, January 1863.
In the "Remarks" column of the register, red arrows pointing to visitors William Y. Otis and his wife, plus cousin Winfield Young.
Maromas School District Registers, 1855-1873, Mss 98835 Oversize, The Connecticut Historical Society.

Visitors.
Close-up of the above School Register, right side-bar.
"Visited Jan 5th, 1863 by Mr. and Mrs. Wm. (William) Y. Otis of Middletown, Conn"
"Visit Jan 12th from Winfield Young of Middletown, Conn"

Another thing, if the family was expecting Daniel’s remains at the beginning of February (instead of January), then why didn’t anyone visit the schoolhouse during that time? The image below is a copy of the February 1863 Maromas School Register. Notice the complete absence of visitors in the "Remarks" column. (see the yellow arrow).

With all this said, I believe the family was expecting Daniel’s remains to return home in January, but there were delays and he arrived home in February instead, and finally buried on February 8, 1863. Was Daniel conveyed to his "last resting place with military and civic honors," just as his Captain was, and as his fellow comrade, Private Robert M. Hubbard, was too? I will leave it up to the reader to decide. 

But I must say, Erastus Otis certainly made up for the newspaper oversite. He not only honored his brave, veteran son with a beautiful marble, gravestone tribute, but he redeemed him too. Daniel's gravestone is really one of the most heartfelt stones I have seen for a Private. It is engraved with two diagonally-crossed flags, company and regiment is prominently displayed, along with what battle Daniel fell in, and where he died. Also at the bottom of the stone is a bay laurel motif and a star with the words “Honor to the Brave.” Bay laurel symbolizes victory, honor, and peace. But most importantly, Daniel’s true age is engraved into his stone: "15 years, 8 months, and 2 days."

Maromas School Register, February 1863
Notice there are no visitors listed for February in 
the "Remarks" column of the register (yellow arrow)

There’s one final thing worth mentioning about these family visits to the school. As previously mentioned on this page, most of the Maromas School Registers for 1862 were missing, therefore, I could not definitely confirm whether or not Daniel was in school before he enlisted. But I believe these family visits to the Maromas schoolhouse prove that Daniel was indeed still attending school before he ran away and enlisted in the Army.

And last of all, during my search for burial info on Daniel Otis, I came across some fascinating information. At least to me it's fascinating, so I thought I'd share it here. The week Daniel Otis was buried back home in Maromas, the town saw some “extra-ordinary weather!” So much so, that it made the newspaper headlines: “Cold Weather and Extraordinary High Range of the Mercury in the Barometer at Middletown, Conn.” That week the town had “the greatest degree of cold experienced [that] winter,” and the mercury in the barometer (31-inches) was the highest they’ve ever seen it before. On the eve of Daniel’s burial, the moon shone and some “fleecy clouds from the north passed over the moon’s surface.” 

So, the week Daniel Otis was buried (including the eve of his burial) the greatest degree of winter cold was experienced, and the highest range of mercury in the barometer was seen at Middletown. Strangely enough, the year Daniel was born, in 1847, boasted one of the “Greatest Depressions of the Barometer Observed at Middletown, Connecticut,” (March 27, 1847—barometer: 28.33, which was 19 days before Daniel was born). I can’t help but take notice of connections like these. Kind of uncanny (in an interesting way) don't you think? 

 

A Grieving Father

“The loss of a son is similar to losing a part of you, a legacy buried in darkness never to be found again.”

Who would have foresaw that only six years later Daniel would be following his beloved mother to the grave, and only two years after that, his father Erastus would join them both. In the most tragic and uncanny fashion, Erastus Selden Otis died on August 4, 1864—the second anniversary of Daniel’s running away, and enlistment in the Army. Now their remains peacefully rest near each other in the Otis Family Plot at Maromas Cemetery.

The official death record for Erastus Otis, obscurely lists his cause of death as: "Brain/Liver.” Please see the page: “Erastus S. Otis,” under the subheading “The Drink,” as to why I believe his death may have been an alcohol-related one. This would be understandable, because the worst thing that can happen to a parent is the loss of a child, especially one that is taken so young, and so violently in war as Daniel was. The emotional pain is indescribable for a parent: they suffer depression, despair, loneliness, anger, and even guilt. At the loss of a child, many parents say they feel like a part of them has died along with their loved one. Did a part of Erastus die with Daniel? I bet it did.

In addition to the emotional aspects of grief, there is also the physical component, most notably stress. The effects of stress can wreak havoc with sleep, appetite, and concentration, lowering the immune system and making a grieving parent more vulnerable to illness. Also, the death of a child can lead to marital stress. If Daniel did not have a good relationship with his step-mother before he died, marital stress may have added even more weight to Erastus’ already weighty load.

Another thing to consider—that only in modern times have we come to understand—is PTSD. After an unexpected death of a child, the surviving parent may even suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. According to Edmund J. Bourne, PhD, "Even learning that a traumatic event has occurred to a close family member or significant other can be a source of trauma." Since Erastus died two years (to the day) after Daniel enlisted, it leaves no doubt that he was finally consumed by the overwhelming grief he felt at losing his young son to war, and perhaps the post-traumatic effects of the entire anguishing ordeal added to his demise as well. Did Erastus see his son’s partially decomposed and mangled body? He might’ve had to, to properly identify him—to make sure it was indeed the body of his son that was coming home and not someone else’s. That would be an image that would burn a searing path right to the heart and soul of a parent, remaining etched there for the rest of their life. It would be an image that a parent would never ever be able to forget.

Many families back home got word that their loved ones died in battle or of disease. Though never the same, the vast majority of them went on. They survived and lived out the remainder of their own lives. Yet Erastus could not find the will to go on; to keep living. I don’t fault him for not being able to go on. I sympathize with him. I probably would not be able to go on either. Who’d want to? Since I have never been in a situation like his, of losing a child in such a brutal fashion, I can only vaguely imagine his emotional pain and grief, and it’s not something I want to imagine for any length of time either, as it’s the type of grief that slowly erodes, suffocates, and swallows one alive.

Add to this grief, a very bitter and hard-to-swallow dose of guilt and regret. Perhaps Erastus felt that Daniel’s tragic demise was partly his fault? That he should have somehow stopped him. That he should have outed him. That he should have went to get him and dragged him back home, but he didn't, and now Daniel is dead. Were there words left unsaid between them? Were apologies not offered, or accepted? Did Erastus and Daniel argue before he ran away to war? Did they not see eye-to-eye? Or was it something else? Whatever it was, the catastrophe that befell the Otis family, as it did many families during that time, is utterly heart-rending.

This is not the news a father wants to receive: that in the brutality of war, his young son died of a terribly gruesome wound (and is then buried) in essentially a foreign land, without the comfort of immediate family, or in the safety of his own home. There were no “goodbyes” either.

And Daniel...

And Daniel…

Was there nothing more that could be done for him? Was there even enough of his leg left to try and amputate, and save him? Was amputation even attempted? Or, was it as one Union hospital steward noted: "It was with greatest difficulty and with terrible exertion on the part of my associates and myself that we were able to care for the sick and wounded—hence the little apparent care for those who were beyond help." (bold is mine)

Was this the case with Daniel? Was he "beyond help," being too severely wounded to survive, and therefore put aside in a quiet place, and made as comfortable as possible—and there waited to die? I tend to believe so, because the book “Souvenir Excursion to Battlefields,” by the Society for the 14th Connecticut Regiment, says “on the bridge fell….Daniel Otis with a fatal wound." Right from the start, it certainly seems that Daniel’s wound was fatal, with no hope of him surviving it.

To die in such a horrific fashion—mangled, suffering, and lingering for days after his leg was blown off by an artillery shell. How coherent was he, and for how long? Did he have time to reflect?  And if so, did he feel regret? If there was regret, I bet it was as bitter as gall. Did he feel that a colossal cheat had been done to him, robbing him of his youth and life? Was there denial that his life was now over at such a young age? Or was there resolute acceptance? Did he yearn for home and imagine himself back among the rocky hills of his Maromas farm, where he may not have been completely content, but at least he was sound and whole? Did he think about all the things he would never get to accomplish or experience? Did he think about the father he would leave behind, and how his death would affect him? Did he think about his mother, who he would soon be joining?

I think I may be able to answer some of my own questions.

When I read about soldiers dying on the battlefield or from disease, the idealized version of the “good death” often colors their last moments of life—at least that is the story the living tell—to themselves and to any remaining kin. Take for example, Private David B. Lincoln’s dying moments as recorded in the book, "Souvenir Excursion to Battlefields,” by the Society for the 14th Connecticut Regiment:

Both of Lincoln's legs were "knocked off above the knees," and "though the sight of his poor, mangled form forced out our tears, his smile was beatific as he gave us words of love for his young wife and friends and expressed his devotion to his country and his readiness to die.” (Bold is mine)

Ok, so let me get this straight: 28 year-old Private David Lincoln just had both of his legs blown off above the knee, yet “his smile was beatific?” By the way, beatific means “blissfully happy.” I highly doubt having your legs savagely ripped from your body and thus bleeding to death while in excruciating pain, was an occasion for wearing a blissfully happy smile. No doubt, he passed along words of love to his wife, but I’m supposed to believe that poor David Lincoln was in a state of bliss and ready to die?

Alright, I will concede that habits of self-expression were a bit different in mid-19th century America, however, regardless of the time period, human nature is still human nature, and I'm just not buying it! Above, is the idealized version of the “good death” speaking, and the surviving comrade’s version of it—not the version of the one who is actually dying! I’d like to know how David Lincoln really felt.

In contrast, notice what American author and Civil War nurse, Louisa May Alcott writes about one wounded soldier at Fredericksburg, “[He was] crazed by the horrors of that dreadful Saturday…For days he had been reliving the scenes he could not forget, till his distress broke out in incoherent ravings, pitiful to hear. As I sat by him…he lay cheering his comrades on, hurrying them back, then counting them as they fell around him, often clutching my arm to drag me from the vicinity of a bursting shell…his eyes were restless; every muscle strained and rigid; while an incessant stream of defiant shouts, whispered warnings, and broken laments, poured from his lips.”

I’m not saying that’s how Daniel Otis, David Lincoln, or any other soldier in Company B felt or reacted to the horrors they witnessed, or the mortal wounds they received. My point is that human nature is absolutely timeless, and it’s not logical that the average person (unless they were a sainted individual) would be “blissfully happy” to die under such horrendous circumstances! 

Also, I greatly appreciate the candid insight Walt Whitman gives in a letter home to his mother, dated June 30, 1863: “One soldier, brought here about fifteen days ago, very low with typhoid fever, Livingston Brooks, Co B, 17th Penn Cavalry, I have particularly stuck to, as I found him in what appeared to be a dying condition…I called the doctor’s attention to him, shook up the nurses, had him bathed in spirits, gave him lumps of ice…he was very quiet, a very sensible boy, old fashioned—he did not want to die.” (Bold is mine)

“He did not want to die.” 

And neither did 15 year-old Daniel Otis—or David Lincoln, or any other soldier on the battlefield or sick-bed far from home! That’s the truth of the matter—plain and simple. Period. 

Daniel did not want to die! He wasn’t ready to die, nor happy to do so! Who is at fifteen!? 

With such a traumatic wound and “terribly mangled” body, Daniel probably had heavy blood loss, internal trauma, various lacerations, shock, or infection—or perhaps all of the above. Oh, and don't forget the excruciating pain he was in either. I am guessing that blood loss and infection were the major players in Daniel’s demise.

Let's go with infection. Make no mistake, "septicemia" (aka: “blood poisoning— which occurs when bacteria enters the bloodstream) can kill an individual within 12 hours. A person can actually be  healthy one day, and be dead the next morning—so it moves very rapidly. As the infection moved throughout Daniel’s bloodstream, he may have had fever, shivering, and felt cold. He would have had a fast heart rate and increased respiratory rate, along with shortness of breath. There would also be changes in his mental state, such as confusion, or sleepiness.

As to pain management, doctors usually prescribed wounded soldiers Morphine for pain relief. With a wound as grievous as Daniel's, I'm not sure how effective the Morphine would have been for him, and if there was even enough of the drug to go around to everyone who needed it.

For Daniel’s sake, I hope he slipped into a coma toward the end, and went as peacefully as one can under such hellish circumstances. I often wonder if there was anyone by Daniel’s side as he took his last breath. Or, did he go out of this world alone, as so many soldiers did. Well, I think I may have stumbled across the answer to this question while reading the book, “Civil War Volunteer Sons of Connecticut.” It said that the 14th Connecticut was “among the last regiments to leave Fredericksburg on the evening of December 15, 1862. They returned to their old camp about two miles north of Falmouth.”

To me, this suggests that by December 15th, Daniel’s close comrades were already back in camp—but hopefully they were not that far from where he lay dying in the hospital. And even though Daniel’s first-cousin, Sergeant Henry R. Young of the 21st CT, was at Fredericksburg too, I’m not sure if he would have gotten word of Daniel’s fatal wound. Therefore, Daniel may have been alone, without the comforting presence of his close comrades when he died on December 16th (or 17th). Though, I like to think that someone close was beside him! 

There is always at least one person that we all wish we could go back in time to save, to warn, or to stop. Well, Daniel H. Otis is my one person. But if I could not have stopped him or saved him, then I wish I could have at least gone back to hold his hand as he left this earth, to be that tender, caring presence he probably so greatly yearned for in the last days and moments of his life.

Closing Remarks

"The man who does not dread to die or to be mutilated is a lunatic. The man who, dreading these things, still faces them for the sake of duty and honor, is a hero." John W. De Forest, 12th CT Vol. 

We will never know exactly what motivated Daniel H. Otis to leave his Maromas home and engage in a war that he was not expected to, nor obligated to fight in.

During his meager training at Camp Foote in Hartford, Connecticut, Daniel was given a fore-gleam of the rigors of a soldier’s life: reveille at 5 a.m., meager rations of hardtack and salted meat, squad and company drills, and standing guard duty. This exhaustive, yet monotonous glimpse of military life would be enough to make anyone think twice as to what they were doing there. In fact, some men did think twice. Beginning on August 23, 1862 when the 14th Regiment was mustered into the service of the United States, four men deserted. Over the next two days, ten more men “skedaddled,” two of them from Company B.

Technically, because of his age, Daniel Otis shouldn’t have been there, so he could have easily followed suit, and probably with impunity. He could have reasoned to himself that now was his chance, to “get out while the getting was good.” He was still relatively close to home and could easily leave the misery of 5 a.m. wake-ups, vile food, and endless drills.

Yet, he didn’t.

He also didn’t leave, when he arrived at midnight, and camped on the previous day’s battlefield at South Mountain. It was only the next day did he awaken and see the horrific aftermath of war for the very first time.

He also didn’t leave after being thrust into one of the most fiercely fought and bloodiest battles of the war at Antietam—and with only minimal military drill and instruction in the use of his Sharps rifle. Afterwards, the men of the regiment “went over the ground and viewed the havoc of the battle,” and to look for missing comrades. I am sure Daniel was one of those men. Again, he would witness the unspeakable carnage of war...

…Yet, he still didn’t leave.

Now add to the fact that Daniel (as most soldiers were) was subject to rancid, scarce Army provisions. Also, like many men in his Company he might've had no bed to sleep on and no change of clothes or underclothes for months, and he certainly had not been issued a winter overcoat. Don't forget about the lice that the filthy, sweat-soaked, and dirt-encrusted clothes (and body) were infested with. I could go on and on about the deplorable conditions the soldiers were subject to.

Yet, he still didn't leave.

At such a young age, Daniel Otis displayed the more mature masculine virtues of boldness, courage, integrity, inure, and honor. He loyally stuck it out with his fellow comrades, refusing to allow his age to give him an out. He was not going to leave his men, nor betray his own convictions. No doubt, this is why he was remembered as "one of the best members of Co. B."

No wonder why his father was moved to honor him with such a beautiful gravestone—one befitting a valiant veteran soldier, with flags and insignia, and a suitable epitaph: “Honor to the Brave." Also, in a time when the remains of many soldier’s bodies were lost to the battlefield, Erastus Otis found a way to bring his son’s body home. He was not going to let Daniel’s body go unrecovered, interred in a foreign land, with his final resting place eventually becoming unknown. There is a saying that “actions speak louder than words,” and Erastus’ actions after Daniel’s death speaks volumes about his great love for his dear son.

Erastus may not have agreed with his son’s motivations, convictions, or viewpoints, and they may have even butted heads over it, and who knows over what else as well. But in the end, Erastus honored Daniel and thought he was brave. I think Erastus greatly admired his young son for sticking by his beliefs and going after what he desired. Daniel's beliefs, whatever they were, are precious, even if it was nothing more than a simple and innocent belief that running away to war would allow him to “see the world.” They are precious, because inadvertently, he gave up his even more precious and beautiful young life to pursue them.

Here, I took what scanty information there was about Daniel H. Otis, and tried to paint a picture of what might have been, bit-by-bit creating something out of nothing.  However, the reality is, that we will never know what Daniel’s situation was, what motivated him, what his beliefs were, and why exactly he ran away to war.

But this I do know: that Daniel Otis was an extremely valiant, honorable, and most excellent young man, and that Erastus Otis loved him very, very much (or as I say to my own son, “love you to the moon and back”), and love always conquers in the end. Love always brings us back home to each other, one way or another.

HONOR TO THE BRAVE

Private Daniel H. Otis
April 15, 1847 - December 16/17, 1862

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Footnotes:

*John M. Douglas was the son of Benjamin Douglas. Benjamin Douglas was co-owner of the prestigious ‘William & Benjamin Douglas Pump Works’ (W. & B.) in Middletown, as well as three-term mayor of Middletown, and a one-term Lieutenant Governor of Connecticut. He was also a fellow abolitionist, mentor, and close friend of Captain Elijah W. Gibbons. John M. Douglas was acting president of W. & B., as well as president and director of Middletown’s banks. He is also the same John M. Douglas, that 10-years later, George C. Otis—the then orphaned, younger brother of Daniel H. Otis—personally chose as his guardian on September 23, 1872, when he was close to turning 18 years-old! (Under the law at that time, age 18, was when an individual was legally allowed to choose their own guardian). I still can't place the connection between George Otis and John M. Douglas. How would some orphaned farm-boy from the sparsely-settled district of Maromas know such a prominent and highly-respected individual—and know them intimately enough to personally choose them as their guardian? And then said guardian, happily agreeing to do it, by signing “guardianship bonds” via the court of law. Could their connection have something to do with what both families undertook to retrieve the bodies of friends and loved ones from the Fredericksburg battlefield in December of 1862?