Chaplain 188th Ohio Volunteer Infantry [1][2]
Author of "Genealogical History of the Beardsley-lee Family in America" [3]
Isaac Haight Beardsley was born in 1831. He is the son of Gideon Beardsley and Ann Titus. He passed away in 1902. [4]
He was converted, 22 Aug 1851. Educated at the New York Conference Seminary, Charlottesville, New York; entered the itineracy of the M.E. Church, 1853; was admitted to the North Ohio Conference, 1854, where he labored fifteen years; was ordained, 1856-8; entered the Union Aemy, 1864, and was commissioned Chaplain, 1865; was transferred to Colorado, 1869, where he labored for twenty-two years, then was placed on the retired list. He was author of the “Beardslee-Beardsley Genealogy”, published 1902. [Holt]
"Late in the summer of 1863 an epidemic raged in and about Nashville, in the form of a bloody flux. People died off like sheep. Not unfrequently three funerals a day. This lasted for six long weeks. The physicians did all in their power to retard its progress. The pastor's wife lay for weeks with the disease, not expected to live from day to day. During the time of her illness, the Conference met in Mt. Vernon. This penman was appointed to New Comerstown Circuit; but could not leave, for some time after, the bedside of his sick wife. Their three children had been sent to their grandparents on the lakeshore, near Vermillion, to keep them from the disease. His wife was a little better on Friday. In the aftenoon he decided to start for his new field of labor, stay at Millersburg that night and proceed the rest of the way on the next day; after spending the Sabbath, return on Monday.
"At Millersburg he stopped with David McDowell, a leading merchant of the place. A goodly-sized boy accompanied him to put out his horse; and a smaller lad, about five years old, walked by his side. He appeared to by very much interested and was exceedingly considerate to the weary itinerant. That little boy is to-day the Rev. W. F. McDowell, Ph.D, S.T.D., the honored chancellor of the University of Denver, Colorado.
"The evening was spent in religious conversation with the family; the boys were attentive listeners. After prayers had been said, the clock struck nine, when Brother McDowell picked up a lighted candle, and said, "I will light you to bed." They stepped into the hall, leading to the stairway, when a rap was heard at the front door. The door was opened, a telegram was handed to Brother McDowell, who looked at it, and said, "This is for you." It was from Vermillion, and read, "Your child is dead."{This child was Elizabeth Ann, the only daughter} That sad message reached Nashville, just after the father had started. They did not dare to show it to the mother for fear of serious results. It was sent on by a courier.
Immediately the tired horse was hitched up, and the backward journey began. The night was dark and chilly. Who can describe the feelings of the father's heart, on that lonely drive of eighteen miles, not knowing how he might find his loving companion? The serious quesion was, How can I impart the sad intelligence to her and what would be the result? Where shall our precious one of only two summers be buried? The fact of his unexpected return, at such an hour, suggested something wrong. That helped him out of the difficulty very much. At four o'clock a.m. he was off to catch an early train at Loudonville, not having had a wink of sleep, that he might go and attend to the burial of that dear little one. No one can tell what this means until he has had a similar experience.
At Mansfield an almost insurmountable difficulty arose in making the connections. It was Saturday. There would be no passenger trains on the Sabbath, and he must get through that day, or be delayed until Monday; but he can not, unless the freight train, standing on the track, can get him to Shelby, nine miles distant, in time for the Cleveland express on another road. The conductor replied, "It can not be done, as we have one stop to make between the points."
"On the platform of the depot he met a former acquaintance, to whom the telegram was shown. This gentleman spoke a few words to the conductor, when the train pulled out quickly and pushed on at a furious rate, reaching Shelby in time for the other train, which, fortunately, had been delayed a few minutes.
"Who was that gentleman whose magical words produced such a wonderful effect? He was D. R. Locke, at that time editor of a local paper in Plymouth, Ohio, and afterward better known as 'Petroleum V. Nasby,' associate editor of the Toledo Blade. This enabled me to reach the point of destination that day, and complete the arrangement for the sad burial service. The next day our darling one was laid to rest in Maple Grove Cemetery, and ofttimes have we been impressed the following lines:
A gracious one from us has gone, A voice we loved is stilled; A place is vacant in our home, Which never can be filled. God in his wisdom hs recalled The boon his love has given; And though the body slumbers here, The soul is safe in heaven. Farewell, dear one, but not forever; There will be a glorious dawn; We shall meet to part, no, never, On the resurrection morn. The little crib is empty now, The little clothes laid by; A mother's hope, a father's joy, In death's cold arm doth lie. Go, little pilgrim, to thy home, On yonder blessed shore; We miss thee here, but soon will come Where thou has gone before.
"After getting moved and settled, on the third Sabbath afternoon, September 22, 1867, a son one year old, the youngest of the family, who bore the name of Demsey Dempster, passed away. From two weeks old he had been a sufferer. On account of this, he was very near to his parents' hearts. His remains were interred beside his brother and sister in "The Maple Grove Cemetery," near Vermillion, Erie County, Ohio. God's grace alone is sufficient in an hour like this. Mere words are empty things, for none can know what it means to bury their offspring, until they have passed through a like experience."
"September 28th-- Our regiment was paid off and the men received their discharges to-day. I took the night-train for home, which I reached at Bakersville, Coshocton County, Ohio, the next afternoon. I found my second son, Noble Lovett, five years of age, very sick with bloody flux. After ten days of illness he breathed his last, at four a.m., October 5th {1865}.
Our hearts bleed over the loss of this most precious one. The vacuum can never be filled. We 'shall go to him, but he will not return to us.' It is difficult not to feel that there is a mistake. He wept tears of joy when he learned that his 'papa' had returned from the war to stay. How can we give thee up? Yet thy suffering time is over, and angels have welcomed thee home. Why do we weep and mourn thy loss? This we cannot very well help since we are human. God sustains. His remains were interred, on the 7th , beside his sister in the 'Maple Grove Cemetery,' three miles south of Vermillion, Erie County, Ohio."
"One experience has been indelibly stamped upon my memory, and has been a source of inspiration that has grown with the years as they have passed. On yonder prairie plateau there stands a lonely house of three rooms. On a humble bed in one of the rooms the eldest son, past seventeen, is dying {Melville}. Two brothers and a sister had in other days gone on before. {Noble, Demsey and Elizabeth}
The night was cool, calm, and almost as light as day. It was the evening of March 11, 1875. The dying one had exhorted all who called the day previous to prepare for death, and to meet him in heaven. He gave directions as to the dressing of his body and its burial as quietly as though he were going away on a visit. The following are a few of his last utterances: "I do believe, I now believe that Jesus has washed my sins away. O, happy day when Jesus washed my sins away! I am going home in the good old way. Glory to God! Hallelujah!"
To one who departed this life only a short time ago (1895), he said, "When you come to die, may God be merciful to your soul! Prepare for death at once, and do not put it off until the last moment." The answer was, "Time enough for that when I come to die. What fallacious reasoning!" He replied, "You may not be blessed with your reason, as I have been. My head has been clear all the time." He said to his mother: "Formerly I had planned to make money. Were I to get well, that might all go. My only desire to recover is that I might preach to save souls. I do not wish to be called smart or eloquent, but I want to preach so as to have revivals all the time." To his aunt Rebecca he said: "Before this I had such a fear of death. I have none now. I am not afraid to die."
He requested those present to sing something. His mother began, "There is a fountain filled with blood," when he exclaimed, "That's it; that is what I wanted." The twenty-third Psalm had been the source of great comfort to him for months, and, as he was entering the valley, his mother asked him if the fourth verse still cheered him. He assured her that it did. Then he inquired, "Will the little ones meet me there?" Being told that they would, he replied, "We four will meet you when you come."
He endeavored to sing the second verse of the hymn--"My Father's house is built on high, Far, far above the starry sky." His voice failed him. He repeated, in broken accents, the chorus--"I'm going home, I'm going home, I'm going home to die no more."
At the very last moment his mother asked him if he was still happy. "Yes, mother; happy! happy! happy!" The last "happy" was scarcely audible. Folding his hands across his breast, he closed his eyes, and ceased to breathe. The freed spirit took its flight, "washed in the blood of the Lamb." Previous to this, while not a breath of air was stirring and the moon was shining brightly, sounds were distinctly heard like something beating the air. The watchers went oft to the door or window to find the cause, but nothing was discernible. After the decease of the loved one, the sounds were no longer heard.
They were reminded of Bishop McKendree's dying words--"Bright angels are from glory come, They're found my bed, they're in my room, They wait to waft my spirit home, All is well, all is well."
That young man was our eldest sone, then in his eighteenth year. This was the severest blow of our whole lives. His body awaits the resurrection in the Longmont cemetery. God's grace was abundant. His will was best."
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Isaac is 23 degrees from Herbert Adair, 23 degrees from Richard Adams, 19 degrees from Mel Blanc, 23 degrees from Dick Bruna, 22 degrees from Bunny DeBarge, 30 degrees from Peter Dinklage, 22 degrees from Sam Edwards, 19 degrees from Ginnifer Goodwin, 21 degrees from Marty Krofft, 17 degrees from Junius Matthews, 16 degrees from Rachel Mellon and 21 degrees from Harold Warstler on our single family tree. Login to find your connection.
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Categories: Mountain View Cemetery, Longmont, Colorado | Beardsley-Beardslee Name Study | Beardsleys of Distinction Interest Group | Beardsley-Beardslee Veterans | United States, Genealogists | Atherton Name Study | 188th Regiment, Ohio Infantry, United States Civil War