Bio: John S. Eaton :Pittsfield, Merrimack Co, New Hampshire

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Submitted by: Rick Giirtman  rickman@worldpath.net
Date: March 15, 2001
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From the Book
'History of Pittsfield, N. H. in the Rebellion'
by H. L. Robinson, published 1893


JOHN S. EATON.
One of the best known citizens in this section of the state was John S.
Eaton, a native of Pittsfield, who always resided in town until he enlisted
and was mustered into Company E, Eighth New Hampshire volunteers, December
21, 1861. The first duty to which he was assigned was to select the horses
for the use of the regiment. He had the care of these as long as he was able
to do duty. I remember that soon alter my discharge at Ship Island in 1862,
while lying in a tent on the sand of that barren island, Mr. Eaton walked
two miles in the broiling sun to send a message home to his wife and child,
and when the soldiers came to carry me aboard the vessel, I being unable to
walk, he walked by my side and bade me good-bye at the gang plank. Poor
fellow, he was sick at that time and never recovered, for soon after he was
discharged and started for home. When off the coast of the Carolinas he
died, and his body, sewed in his blanket, was buried at sea. His wife was
Olive True, also a native of Pittsfield. Mr. Eaton, previous to his
enlistment in 1861, was a dealer in horses and it was said that he owned
more horses than any other man that ever lived in town. His was a very
genial disposition, and every one was his friend. He had a horror of being
buried at sea, and often said that this alone prevailed him from becoming
a sailor; and yet he was the only soldier from this town that received this
sepulture. This occurred November 2, 1862. He was a son of John and Abigail
(Green) Eaton.

One cause of the sickness of Eaton, and of many others, was the poor food at
Ship Island. The beef was very salt, though sweet; the pork was rancid,
having been cured in the Western fashion as bacon, and then lain for a long
time piled up on the hot sand of the island. The bread was either wormy or
mouldy. The former was sweet and nice after we had shaken the " skippers"
out of it, but the mouldy bread was horrid. After thirty years I can almost
smell the stinking stuff, and my stomach recoils at the remembrance of this
rotten food. Then the dessicated vegetables were nearly as bad. Of course
the poor bread was the result of an accident, or rather carelessness, on the
part of our quartermaster department, but this abomination of dessicated
vegetables was a deliberate aftair. I do not know who invented the stuff,
and I cannot conceive of a fate that would be sufficient punishment for him,
unless it was to make him eat his own food until he starved to death, which
would not take a very long time.