Picture courtsey of Berlynne Holman, descendant

R.M. Shurtleff became a well known artist with works readily available still on the web and in fine galleries.
Roswell Morse Shurtleff is the son second and youngest child of Asahel Dewey Shurtleff and Eliza Morse. Asahel was the son of Asashel, the son of  William, the son of John, the son of Captain William Shurtleff, the son of William Shurtleff, 1624.

From "The Descendents of William Shurtleff":
"b 14 June 1838; m in Collinsville, Conn., June 14, 1866, Clara Eugenia Halliday, b in Auburn NY Nov 14, 1846. No issue. In early life he showed a remarkable aptitude for pictorial art, and many of his clever sketches of men and things about this native town are well remembered. He first studied in the Lowell Institute, Boston, and later for a short time at the National Academy of Design, NY, and became a noted and delightful illustrator. For several years he was engaged in the illuustration of periodicals and books, numerous volumes of travel and adventure contain the work of his industrious pencil. In recent years he has given his attention exclusively to oil painting. At the outbreak of war in 1861, loyal to the call of patriotism, he laid aside the pencil for the sword, at the sacrifice of personal aspiration and ambition in art. He went to the front before the trops were mustered into service and was adjutant in the front lines in the Ninety-ninth New York Volunteers, was severely wounded July 19, 1861 at Bethel, VA while on picket duty, captured as a prisoner of war, the first Union officer taken. He lanquished in Libby Prison for eight months.
After that he was exchanged and released on parole, unable to bear arms thereafter. The United States Flag in which he carried when he was shot was the first Union flag to be captured and was used to staunch his wounds. In Sept of 1885 it was returned by a Colonel John M. Sandidge who was in command of the rebel forces at the time of Mr. Shurtleff's capture; the colonel writing, "doubtless as a relic of your service to your country your wife would prize it." The blood-stained relic is now enevidence at the delightful studio on West 22nd St. His summer home is the Keene Valley in the Adrionracks, where he spends the greater part of the year among his own primeval trees surrounded by the oldest mountains in the world. It is here with daring spirit he has interpreted for us the grandeur and mysteries of forest and mountain; the sylvan tongue of the trees; the rills; the river. As a painter of forest depth he is unequaled. One can go to the Metropolitan Museum and stand before his majestic canvas, "The Silent Woods," and, in the absolute hush, hear the still murmurs of life in the little rill sleeping in the foreground; feel the undercurrents of air refreshingly aromatic with pine and balsam; breathe the infant odors of brake fern and moist mosses, and, admist the rhythmic play of the shadows and soft sparkle of distant sunshine, find themselves lost within its mysterious depths. Be it said that the charm of his work is truth, lovingly spoken in colors that satisfy heart and mind - his touch is strong and delicately tender - he is not a cold copyist, but looks nature full in the face with love in his eyes - and, when in the open air takes up brush and palette to sing her praises in the harmonious colors that have made him famous, and that called forth from the Alpine Club of Paris congratulations that an American artist painted American scenery - the scenery of his own country - and this artist was R. M. Shurtleff."

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