The following letter was written by Springstead B. Owen (1838-1912) of Newburgh, Orange county, New York, who enlisted on 14 July 1861 at the age of 22 to serve three years in Co. A, 56th New York Infantry. Springstead survived the war and mustered out on 16 August 1864. (On the company roster, his surname was recorded as “Owens.”) The 56th New York consisted of eleven companies of infantry, two light batteries, and two troops of cavalry, the whole being known as the “10th Legion.”

Like so many other letters written home by soldiers in the Civil War, Springstead conveys the sad details of a comrade’s death to the deceased loved ones at home. In this case, Springstead describes the final days of Cornbury Merritt (1839-1862) who died of typhoid fever on 30 May 1862 near Bottom’s Bridge, Virginia. Cornbury’s younger brother, Seneca Merritt, was also in the same company but asked Springstead to write the “particulars” of Cornbury’s death since he was with him the entire time of his sickness. Most of these types of letters are eerily similar in content and expressions. It was customary to comfort the grieving family with news that their loved one died peacefully and with the hope of eternal salvation.

Cornbury Merritt was the son of Gilbert Merritt (1808-1873) and Fanny Eighmey (Amey) of Blooming Grove, Orange county, New York.

At the time that Springstead wrote this letter the regiment was assigned to the 1st Brigade, Casey’s Division, and deeply engaged in the Peninsula Campaign. Mention is made of an impending battle which would most likely have been the Battle of Fair Oaks (Seven Pines) which was fought on May 31-June 1, 1862.

Transcription

Camp 56th Regt. N. Y. S. V.
June 4, 1862

Bro. Merritt,

At the request of your brother Seneca I attempt to write you a few lines to give you the painful news of the sickness and death of our Brother Cornbury. As I was with him from the commencement of the sickness until his death, I may be better able to give you the particulars of the same than Seneca who was unable to be with him, and who has already sent you the sad news.

A week ago last Friday our regiment moved from where it had been encamped for a few days and as Cornbury and me did not feel very strong, we got permission to remain a day or two thinking we would soon be better able to march, We did so, proceeded on toward our regiment, but had not gone far before we met one of our officers who informed us that all that were not able to do duty had to go back as they were expecting a battle. So we started for our old camp again but did not get there before Cornbury gave out so we stopped at a home which was being used as a hospital. But that was so full that we had to occupy an out building and stayed until next morning when I see Cornbury had strong symptoms of Typhoid fever. 

I procured some medicine from a doctor but the fever continued to rage and get worse so that he was not in his right mind scarcely any of the time. I did all in my power to make him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances but the good Master relieved him of his suffering and took him to Himself at one o’clock p.m. Friday, May 30th. 

I made him a box and with some assistance buried him as decent as I could under the circumstances, marked the grave so should you wish to remove the remain you could easily find it, and left the silent sleeper to see him no more on earth. I could hardly realize the solemn fact that our brother was dead and truly he is not dead but sleepeth. Although his proper reason was dethroned, yet he bore his affliction with great patience and fortitude and in his last moments appeared to have great peace and passed away very easily with a smile on his countenance which I never shall forget. And though his funeral was not attended by the preaching of the word & the funeral knell, yet we all know from his life & conversation that he needed no preacher to convey his spirit to its home in glory. 

Seneca and myself are at this time in good health and with the hope this will find you all the same, I remain yours truly, — S. B. Owen