FIRST LIEUT. CHARLES D. ROSSITER,
Company D, the youngest son of William and Electa B. Rossiter, was born in Rochester, New York, March 4th, 1842. His parents soon after removed to Little Falls, Herkimer County, N. Y., where his father died. In the year 1856 he entered the Farmers and Mechanics’ Bank at Rochester, and, writes the Cashier, “though quite young, soon learned to count money, and became a very rapid and accurate accountant.”
In 1861 he enlisted in Co. G, Fifty-fourth Regiment N. Y. S. M., and was soon after promoted to Sergeant. During the following spring he was again promoted to Orderly, and served in that capacity with his home regiment until September, when he was authorized with others to raise a Company for the war.
Lieutenant Rossiter was wounded by a ball, entering the left side and passing completely through his body, in the fatal retreat of Sedgwick’s Corps, after storming Fredericksburg Heights. He was carried in a blanket a short distance by four of his faithful men, but owing to the extreme pain it gave him, he asked to be left behind, and was accordingly left in the rebel hospital at Banks’ Ford. He lived just a week from the day he was wounded, and owing to a merciful peculiarity of the wound, his sufferings were not excessive. Lieutenant Roach, at the risk of his own life, succeeded in finding his body, and at dead of night carried it on his shoulders nearly a mile. Lieutenant Rossiter’s remains were taken to Rochester and interred at Mount Hope, May 20th, 1863.
In a communication written since his death, his Captain says of him, “Charlie was ardent and enthusiastic, firmly devoted to his country’s good, and he fell nobly, a martyr to her cause. I have never seen an officer to whom the trying scenes of a battle-field were new, bear himself with more bravery and cool courage than did Charlie.”
Lines written on his death.
Aye! Lay the banner across his breast,
With chaplets twine the marble brow,
It will be calmer now.
What boon but this demand the brave,
A warrior’s fame, a warrior’s grave?
This land, where peace and plenty reign,
He left for a field of death and strife,
To offer up, in Freedom’s fane,
A sacrifice—his life.
More glorious gift could mortal give?
He died, but oh! his name shall live.
But hark! though death has brought relief,
An honor saved, a glory won;
The voice of woe, “My son! my son!”
No wonder if her grief be wild,
He was the widow’s only child.
Loved ones, bereaved ones, no more from sleep
Wake in the silent hours wildly to weep;
All does not die with the swift-fleeting breath,
There is light in the darkness; even in death.