My middle name is "Ellsworth." Until a few years ago we had no idea where it came from. Yes, My grandfather was named Ellsworth. He was named for his father, Elmer Ellsworth. We always figured it was a Welsh family name. We were wrong.

from a post long ago:

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Back to Leander

I was reading this book by a guy named Stillwell who had been a private in the Union Army at Shiloh. I had a great-great grandfather at Shiloh. We found him a few years ago, working on the family history. We had always figured he had been in the 72nd Ohio Infantry. However there was also a possibility that he had been in the artillery, based on the family anecdotes. While I was reading Stillwell’s book, I got to thinking about Great-Great Gramps, and I decided to dig him up online. Funny, but the 72nd Ohio Infantry did have a Lewis Davidson Williams in its rolls, but he had died in Feb ’62 of disease while still in camp. Mine? He had gone on to serve throughout the war and had come home in 65 to see my Great Grandfather, Elmer Ellsworth Williams, who had been born shortly after Lewis had left to join up. My Grandfather was named Ellsworth. My middle name is Ellsworth. We are all named for Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, an early Union martyr.

The Death of Ellsworth

Here’s the whole story:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elmer_E._Ellsworth
[Linked Image from genesis9.angzva.com]


Lewis lived into the 20th Century. As best we can tell, Lewis’s fervor caused him to run out on his pregnant wife and join up, declaring that (should it be a boy child) the baby should be named Elmer Ellsworth.

Now we did manage to see deer yesterday. All told, Angus and I saw about a dozen. There were two small bucks in the mix. They were not what Angus was interested in shooting. We felt we had been successful, even though there was nothing on the meat pole at the end of the day. In the meantime, not only had I been reading a nice book about the Civil War, not only had I solved a mystery about my Great Great Grandfather but before the last bunch of doe came out into the pasture, I happened across this gem from Leander Stillwell’s description of the first day at Shiloh:
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There was a battery of light artillery on this line, about a quarter of a mile to our right, on a slight elevation of the ground. It was right flush up with the infantry line of battle, and oh, how those artillery men handled their guns! It seemed to me that there was the roar of a cannon from that battery about every other second. When ramming cartridge, I sometimes glanced in that direction. The men were big fellows, stripped to the waist, their white skins flashing in the sunlight, and they were working like I have seen men doing when fighting a big fire in the woods. I fairly gloated over the fire of that battery. “Give it to them, my sons of thunder!” I would say to myself; “Knock the ever-lastin’ stuffin’ out of ’em!” And, as I ascertained after the battle, they did do frightful execution.


Now it just so happens that the Williams are about as pasty a group of people as you will ever see– pasty and big. My grandfather, Ellsworth, acquired the nickname “Whitey.” He played Basketball for Ohio State. I’m similarly afflicted, although by the end of summer, I do acquire somewhat of a tan as the freckles grow a bit closer together. One thing is for sure: a fellow with that sort of complexion would have been noticeably white that early in the season of 1862. I am hoping I will be able to find what battery of artillery that might have been. Perhaps I will find Great-Great Grandpa at last.





Last edited by shaman; 07/20/20.
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