Vaughan, Henry H.
Age: 19, credited to Danby, VTVITALS
Birth: 1843, Danby, VTADDITIONAL INFORMATION
Alias?: None notedDESCENDANTS
Scottsville Cemetery, Danby, VT
Check the cemetery for location/directions
and other veterans who may be buried there.
VAUGHAN. - Killed at the battle of Gettysburg, Pa., July 3d, HENRY H. VAUGHAN, of Danby, Orderly Sergent of Company B, 14th Regiment Vt. Vols.
A brave and true soldier, he fell upon the bloody field, nobly.
Rutland Herald, Aug. 6, 1863
Courtesy of Tom Boudreau.
HENRY H. VAUGHAN
Who was killed at Gettysburg, July 3, 1863
By Mrs. S.A. NicholsHemenway's Historical Gazetteer, 1877, iii:668
Where the hillside slopes to the southern sun,
And a rambling orchard buds and blows,
A lone grave sleeps in the waving grass,
Or hides 'neath the deep New England snows.
Long years ago, in his quiet rest,
They laid a husband and father there,
The burden of life, was a weary load
Too great for his feeble strength to bear.
And the young wife sat in her stricken home,
With her fair haired boy upon her knee,
Numbed with sorrow, too deep for words,
Alone in her fearful agony.
Through days and nights she wrestled and strove,
Beating the tide of anguish back,
That her hand might be strong to guide her son,
Wisely and well, on life's devious track.
And at last in his manhood's glorious strength,
He stood; the light of her widowed home;
And asked her to lay on her country's shrine,
The priceless gem she had thought her own.
Under the shimmering light of the moon,
The grave in the orchard peaceful lay,
And her tried, true heart, dared only to ask,
"If his father was living what would he say."
Well she knew, that the loyal man,
Would give his treasures, his life, his son,
To aid the periled cause of right,
And she must do as he would have done.
So she laid for a time her terror aside,
And blest her boy with tearless eye,
And sent him out from his love-crowned home,
In the smoke of the battle-field to die.
Then she turned to her household cares,
Doing the duty that nearest lay,
Patiently bearing the burden of life,
And not forgetting to pray.
Aye, pray; thou has need, for the fair-haired son,
Sleeps at Gettysburg, gory and dim,
His blue eyes glassy, his fair hair torn!
Pray for thyself, mother, not for him.
Submitted By Deanna French.