When I first came upon the Boyd brothers’ letters home, I was a young mother enjoying our local public library. One day while my children gathered nearby for story time, I happened to land in the genealogical section. Volunteers managed this area and I was amazed by many interesting things found there.
Letters written during the Civil War intrigued me. I quickly became so impressed by Stephen Boyd’s writing and his curiosity of the world that one thought flashed across my mind: would I find published works in his name?
Stephen made it clear that he intended to further his education if the family farm could spare him to do so after the war. His letters to his mother revealed his intellect, curiosity and compassion. His awareness at his very young age that his mother was agonizing over having three of her sons fighting in the Civil War was touching.
Perhaps Stephen’s temperament led him to be chosen to serve as a guard at a penitentiary near Nashville, where Confederate prisoners of war were being held. He was required to keep logs and write notations on various prisoners, which likely suited his abilities quite well.
In a long, considerate letter to his mother after the death of his brother James at age 21, Stephen notes that southern farmers are struggling, and he sympathizes over their losses. He tells his mother he is “as healthy as can be, so do not worry about me.” He writes of Rebels and Copperheads, closing this letter with “I am going to send you my picture in this letter. It looks a little like me but there is no one here who can take a likeness worth a cent.”
New Years Day, 1864, Stephen writes of a grand meal at the penitentiary for Christmas “and besides the meal we just more than had lots of fun. I’ll tell you all about it someday if we live.”
These foreboding words would be Stephen’s last message home. Just four weeks later, oldest brother John writes, “Stephen was able to sit up a little. There is a great many cases of smallpox in camp.” His job inside a penitentiary may have saved Stephen from battle wounds, but it had exposed him to an earlier battle with dysentery, as soldiers were often taken prisoner when too ill to soldier on.
Cousin George Goudy writes May 13, 1864, from his encampment in Nashville, “Indeed, it nearly breaks my heart to part from my dear cousin Stephen, for he was a fine soldier, but he has gone to where there is no more war or bloodshed. He has gone to meet his brother James, where there is no more parting.”
Goudy adds, “You wanted to know how he was buried. It was decent for I was out where they buried him.” Goudy assures Stephen’s parents it was handled respectfully, but he could not be brought home for burial, “for the graves were not marked along the Buena Vista Pike.”
The power of the written word and its ability to reach across vast time and space is inexplicable. When I first read of Stephen’s death, I was moved to tears. The high cost of war is paid by the innocent, those on the precipice of enormous possibilities. All these years later, I still carry the memory of these brothers, Union soldiers, in my heart.
My children were with me when I searched for and found the Boyd family monument. It stands on a hill in the Jeromesville Cemetery, in pristine condition. Stephen Boyd was 19 years old and his brother James, who had died near Vicksburg in February 1863, was 21 years old when each died as Civil War soldiers.
Estimates show nearly 1 million died in service from April 1861 to April 1865, but disease killed far more than militia. The North lost 364,511 men, but only 110,000 of them died on the battlefield, according to world statistics.
The oldest brother, John, served out the Civil War even after a serious leg injury left him unable to fight in the field. He is laid to rest in the Ashland Cemetery.
The Jeromesville Boyd monument tells a grievous story. The father, John, lived to age 81, and his wife, Rebecca, age 76. They had lost a 14-day old son in 1835; a son, Samuel, at age 14 years old in 1847; James in 1863; Stephen in 1864; Scott at age 19 years in 1866.
Stories like this one seem meant to be shared. I have presented talks about these brothers in our local school, then walking with students to the cemetery.
The only thing of which our country is certain is our history and this present day. The stories of the Boyd brothers, young men who once lived and worked here in my community, left their loving home to fight for moral justice and liberty. No matter how many years have passed, their own written words, their stories and their sacrifice, remain forever true and noble.
