A Civil War Soldier

Union and Confederate soldiers

With Memorial Day coming up, I did a little research on my Great-Great Grandfather, John P. Butler, who like the men in the drawing above was a soldier in the Civil War. Family lore, passed down through the generations was really all I had to go on, and frankly, that wasn't much. I remember stories one of his grandsons [my Grampa Arthur, who was married to my Grandma the Flapper] told me when I was very small. Arthur was the youngest son of a middle son of John's and was born 35 years after John's death. So Arthur never knew either of his grandparents, only a few facts his own father told him. There are no pictures of John in his uniform, no artifacts or mementos to know him better.

The war broke up John's family. Arthur's father, Edwin, one of John's sons, still in his teens, had moved west to Washington Territory, years before it was admitted into the Union his father had died to preserve. Edwin left his widowed mother in Iowa. She never remarried. John's other children provided for her. Several started their own businesses, one took over the family printing business. Some of John's children moved to Texas, some stayed in Iowa.

The most important thing my Grandpa Arthur told me was that his Grandfather John had died in the Civil War in 1863, on the birthday of Arthur and his older sister Maud, who were born 13 years apart. It's kind of strange that May 17 should be so important to this branch of the family, but it is -- one date of death of the grandfather and the births of two of his grandchildren, decades later.

Big Black River area in Mississippi

John had enlisted in the 26 Regiment of the Iowa volunteers as a private. He died from dysentery just before the extended siege of Vicksburg got underway, in a place called Big Black River. The family always said he had been promoted to sergeant, but his service records do not show that, only that he was promoted to corporal. [I'll stick with family lore.]

Decades earlier, in private life, John had tried his hand at farming, but soon quit that to start a printing business. As a printer, he made up handbills, business cards, personal stationery, theater programs, and Wanted posters for the town sheriff. His firm also printed several of the local newspapers. His business had thrived, his family grew and he was fairly prosperous. He had trained two of the older boys to help him, and had made plans for them to follow in his footsteps as the town's premier printer. But when the war broke out in 1861, John pondered his course of action.

As a descendant of heroes of the American Revolution, John had always believed in the American ideals of individualism, freedom, and equality. He was a strong abolitionist, and it was the twin concepts of keeping the Union together and ending the horrors of slavery that caused him to put aside his printer's apron, leave his home and family and take up a rifle to fight for his country. Not a young man, he could have easily remained in his home and let someone else do the fighting. Or he could have bought a commission and have been an officer. But he wanted to be in the fight, not sitting behind the lines pushing papers. His conscience and strong sense of duty won out. As a man of impeccable integrity, he chose to fight for his ideals.

But like many in his regiment, he died, not by a Rebel's bullet on the field of battle against an equally strong minded and skilled opponent, but by one of the diseases that stalked the camps. I remember my Grampa shaking his head, and calling it, "...a supreme irony." I didn't know what that meant, but he continued, "Go fight for your country and die of the --" and then Grandma would shush him in silence and whisk me out of the room. Arthur never minced his words and usually always seasoned them with plenty of spice -- but I'll write about him in the future.

Grandma explained, "Great-great Grampa had a terrible stomach ache and it hurt to eat and drink and without food, he died." That was good enough for me, though very shocking to a youngster of a tender age. It would be a few years before the concept of death would really sink in, when my own beloved Grampa died.

The Civil War was a terrible waste of life. The common thinking now is that the American Revolution was the conception of the United States and the Civil War was its birth -- bloody and terrible but a nation forged in blood that would rebuild itself and be the stronger for it.

Thanks to John and the hundreds of thousands of men and women who sacrificed their lives down through the centuries, our liberty has been preserved. They are an example our fat, dumb and happy nation should heed today. Every generation must make the choice to preserve our freedom or stand back and let it slowly slip away. I choose freedom, thanks to John and all those we honor on Memorial Day.

Thank you John for your unyielding convictions. You are a hero!