USA > Illinois > History of the 112th Regiment of Illinois Volunteer Infantry, in the great war of the rebellion, 1862-1865 > Part 39
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I was very fortunate. I was determined that I would NOT die in a rebel prison. I exercised as much as possible, bathed every night, kept my mind occupied with occurrences in camp, and endeavored not to think of home or the loved ones there. I well knew that if I allowed myself to become homesick, I should surely die, like my comrades around me. It was a ter- rible experience. I had my childrens photographs with me, but I could not name them ; and it was some time after, before I could distinguish one from another. They were like strang- ers to me. I forgot home, friends, country, God,-everything.
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HISTORY OF THE 112TH ILLINOIS.
I had but one rational object in my mind-to keep myself alive until I could get out of there. I could write a volume upon the terrible sufferings of the men in that hell on earth, but this must suffice.
About the middle of September orders were received for all who could walk to the depot to get ready to leave at once; and if any started and gave out on the road, the guards were ordere.l to bayonet them. Charles Davis, of Co. E, was nearly gone. We carried him to the "hospital," and bade him a final "goo.1 bye." He died a few hours after. Jonathan Graves was so weak he could not walk alone. and two of us helped him along.
We embarked ou the cars and ran to Savannah, and from there to Charleston. S. C. Here we came in view of the Union fleet off the harbor, with the Stars and Stripes floating proud- ly in the air. and Oh ! how our hearts ached to go out to them. We seemed so near. and yet were so far away
We were marched into the ruined part of the city, upon a vacant lot, and kept a day and a night under fire from the Union gunboats. Several shells burst in the air over our heads, but no one of us was injured.
From here we were marched out to, and quartered in, the fair-grounds. We received the best fare there that we receiv- ed anywhere in the Confederacy Our rations were tolerably good, and were made up of a greater variety than we were ac- customed to.
The good Sisters of Charity visited us every day, and brought substantial articles of food for the well, and many lit- tle delicacies for the sick, which they distributed with kindly hands and words of comfort to all. We learned that our good treatment here was not voluntary on the part of the rebels. but was caused by threats of retaliation upon rebel prisoners, if we were not well treated.
While here the rebel officers endeavored by every means pos- sible to induce us to enlist in the Confederate army They promised us good clothing, which we were sadly in need of, and made many other flattering promises ; but we invariably answered that we would die by inches, and rot in prison, be- fore we would take up arms against our government. After remaining here a week or ten days we were removed to Flor-
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ence S. C. On our way there a man in the car next to ours jumped out of the door, just as the train passed through a covered bridge, and rolled down the embankment to the wat- er's edge in the river. Several shots were fired at him by the guards, but the train did not stop, and we never knew whether he was hit or not.
The prison at Florence was similar to that at Andersonville. It had the same miry swamp, but had a furrow for a dead line. There was some wood here; and being among the first arriv- als, Jonathan Graves, Charles Hart, Henry Morgan and I pro- cured an old, dull axe, by paying twenty-five cents an hour for its use, and built a nice little log hut, about six by seven feet, and four feet high, and covered it with earth. We then cut a lot of pitch-pine wood, and buried it in the ground by the side of our cabin. We were then "fixed" for winter. But our "house" was so near the dead line that we were in constant danger of being shot, if we stepped outside after dark, which deteriorated somewhat from the comforts of our "house." This reminds me of a case of cold-blooded murder which oc- curred there. A man named James Lindsay, of our own reg- iment-Co. D-was very sick ; and one bright moonlight night. while he was sitting on the ground, fifteen feet from the dead line, the guard shot him in the back, killing him instantly. The inhuman murderer offered no excuse for his crime, and was not even reprimanded by the officers. (He was promot- ed.) One evening, as I was going after water, and was not within fifteen feet of the dead line, I heard the click of a gun, and looking up quickly saw the guard with his gun levelled on me. "Hello, Mister," said I, "there is the dead line," pointing to it. He recovered arms, wheeled about and walked on, without speaking. Had I not spoken I would have been shot.
The officer in charge of the prison was a fiend incarnate by the nan.e of Barrett-a lieutenant. If possible he exceeded Wirtz in downright brutality. I have seen him come into the prison and walk up to a group of men and empty his revolver right into the crowd; and I have seen him knock down pris- oners with clubs, and beat them, and break iron ramrods over their backs; and many an oath was registered to kill him when the war was over.
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HISTORY OF THE 112TH ILLINOIS.
I was fortunate enough to be detailed, with abont one hun- dial others. to chop wood outside. for the camp and small-pox hospitals, and for other purposes. We were required to take an oath not to undertake to escape. and worked withoon: a guard : but were counted every night when turnal inside the pri-m. We were privileged to go anywhere we pleased with- in a mile from camp ; but were strictly forbidden to trade with any of the citizens or solliers. and were searched every night. when we entered the prison, "to see if we had any " contraband goods" about us. I became acquainted with the sergeant whose duty it was to search the prisoners, and he told me to tra le for anything I wished to. and he would pass me in. I tied string- at mind the bottom of my drawer legs, sewed up the front, a .. I poured in about a half-bushel of been- : put four large plus- of tobacco in my bosom, and concealed four pounds of beef steak in my cap. I was loaded so heavily that I walked very awkwardly The sergeant felt all over me. gave me a knowing wink, and said. "Go in. Nicholas, you re all right." This was but one of the many times I returned to camp similarly loaded. and always passed. Some of the boys attempted to tunnel out. but I think none made their escape in that manner. If the rebels suspected anything of that kind. they shut off the rations until it was reported. At one time th y starved ns forty-eight hours, until somebody "squealed." (Jonathan Claves, of Co. E. made his escape from Florence, and succeeded in reaching the Union lines.
Heic. again, the rebel officers endeavorel to induce us to enlist in the Confederate army; to fight Sherman : and they succeeded in raising one or two companies. But they soon learned that this was but a ruse of the boys. to get to the front where they could go over to Sherman's army : and turned then back into the prison.
The sick received much better treatment here than at An- detsonville. The camp was more cleanly and the weather cider, and there was less suffering ; but even here it was too temible to attempt to describe. They had a dungen. in which Phishers ware confined for very slight offences. If one was caught trading with citizens he was sure to go to the dungeon. The officer in command was as brutal, as inhuman, as cruel
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and barbarous as Wirtz of Andersonville ; but the prisoners suffered less by reason of the cooler weather and more favor- able camp.
About the middle of February the rebel ant conties were fearful that Sherman would release us, and began to ship us north. Our train ran to Wilmington, N. C., then to Golitsi- boro, where we camped in the woods north of town one day, and then were ordered to Saulsbury; but before the train started they were ordered to send us back to Wilmington to be exchanged. This was in the night; and we unloadel from the cars and stood in the streets until another train was made up to take us to Wilmington. We were not guarded closely after the order to exchange, and might have made our escape ; but we had no motive then to undertake it. We preferred to be exchanged. We finally reached Wilmington, where we waited a night and a day for the "truce boats," very loosely guarded, and with nothing to eat.
About two o'clock one afternoon the long-looked for "truco- boats," as we supposed, arrived : but instead. they proved to be "gun-boats." and opened fire upon the town.
When the captain in charge of the prisoners heard the fir- ing, he came back among us crying, -- great tears rolling down Ins cheeks .- and informed us there could be no exchange and he must take us north again. They had cars for only one-half of the prisoners and the rest, myself among them, marched on foot. We had not proceeded far until we saw dense clouds of smoke rising from the town. The rebels had set fire to the cotton and other property to prevent it from falling into the hands of the "Yankees."
That night I made up my mind to escape or die in the at- tempt. We were guarded by cavalry, old soldliers, who ap- peared to be fine fellows. Just after dark we were crossing a pond of water, which extended on both sides of the road, and the prisoners crossed, in single file, on foot-logs, on either side; placed there for foot-men to cross on. When I was about half way across, I stepped quickly off the log into the brush, unob- served by the guards, and lay down in the water. This was the night of February 20th, 1865. I lay there in the water, within six or eight feet of the foot-log, until after midnight,
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while the rebel army- infantry and artillery-retreating from Wilmington, was passing. I could hear distinctly all they said. Their conversation was mostly abont the "- Yank- ees," and the " --- gun-boats." They talked as if the war was about ended and the Southern Confederacy "busted," which was cheerful news to the listener in the water.
The last squad that passed stopped at the edge of the water, about thirty feet from me, set fire to an old, dry stump, and swore they were going to rest. The light of the fire shone on me as bright as day. My heart beat loud and rapidly -- I was afraid they would hear it-but they did not discover me. It was amusing to hear them curse the "Yankee gun-boats" and the "_nigger troops." They rested half an hour-which seemed to me a week-and then moved on.
I crawled out. listened, found the road clear, and made my way west to the Cape Fear River, and lay there all the next day and night. This made three days that I had been without food. On the 22nd of February several squads of deserters from the rebel army passed, and one came to me. He gave me some bread and meat. On the 21st there had been con- siderable skirmishing on the road I had left, between the ad- vance of the Union troops and the rebel rear guard; and on the 22nd heavy cannonading was heard at Wilmington. We could not understand the meaning of it, as we supposed the rebel troops had all movel away. We finally determined to go to the city, and had not proceeded two hundred yards when we were halted by Union pickets. We told them our story, and were permitted to pass on, -- the deserter surrendering his gun and accoutrements.
We here learned the cause of the cannonading. The navy was firing a salute in celebration of Washington's birthday. We traveled about a mile and stopped at a large farm house for supper. We felt safe inside the Union pickets, but were surprised when the door opened and a rebel captain, in full uniform, stood before us. He invited us in, talked very kind- ly, informed us that he had given up the Southern cause as lost and left the army, gave us a good supper, and invited us to stay all night. The rebel deserter remained, but I declined his hospitality and continued on my way toward the city until
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I came to a negro cabin, and remained there all night. On the 23d I arrived at Wilmington, and great was my astonish- ment and joy to find my own regiment, the good old 112th, in camp there, on the west side of the river. It was a great sur- prise. I had not heard from the regiment for fifteen long months, and supposed it was in the West. That was the hap- piest day of my life. I was glad to meet the boys once more : and they were glad to see me, and for hours plied me with questions as to my prison life and escape, and made many anxious inquiries about their comrades still in prison. This ended my prison life ; and it has undoubtedly shortened my natural life many years.
On the 24th I visited brigade headquarters, and there found Gen. Henderson and Capt. Otman, who were glad to see me and to hear from their captured men. Dr. Milliken, of the 112th, then Brigade Surgeon, advised me to go home as quick- ly as possible. I took the first boat for Annapolis ; arrived there sick, and lay in hospital three days; then was sent to Baltimore, where I remained in hospital three weeks. I then received a thirty days furlough, and in seven days was at home-saved from the horrible fate of many of my comrades : and ever since that time I have felt like one risen from the dead.
BELLE ISLE AND ANDERSONVILLE. F J. LIGGETT, OF COMPANY B, 112TH ILLINOIS. [Edited by B. F THOMPSON.]
At daylight on the morning of September 18, 1863, Co. B, of the 112th Ill.,-part of the detachment at Cleveland, Tenn .. -- saddled up, and moved out on a reconnoissance. Capt. Dickerson, with the right of the company, went out on the Dalton road, and Lieut. Gudgel, with the "ponies," took the Chattanooga road. I was with Capt. Dickerson. We met the enemy just outside of town, and immediately opened fire. We had fired eight or ten shots each when Capt. Dickerson was killed. His last words were, "I am shot, boys, give 'em h --- ,"
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and he tell to the ground, dead. Edwin Holmes was shot-I thought killel, but he was only wounded, and yet lives. We dismounted and stood behind our horses, and every horse was wounded, some were hit several times. Being entirely sur- rounded, and there being no means of escape, we threw down our arms anl surrendered. We were marched into town, to the court house, and there, beneath the dome of the Temple of Justice. we were robbed of all our valuables-watches, pocket knives, money, and hats and boots.
At 7 o'clock we started, under guard, for Dalton, Ga., and arrived there at 8 o'clock the same evening-having marched the whole distance, thirty miles, on foot, without breakfast or dinner. At Dalton a little Hour and water were issued to the prisoners, and one little, old, three-legged, iron "spider" was given us in which to cook supper for twenty men. We had no salt, saleratus or "rising" of any kind-nothing but flour. wa- ter and a skillet. On the 19th we were loaded into box ears. as farmers load their hogs, and shipped to Atlanta, where we arrived in the evening and were put into the stockade-the bare ground for a bed and the heavens for a covering. On the morning of the 20th we were shipped by rail to Richmond, the Capital of the Confederacy, where we arrived on the 25th, and registered at the "Libby House." Here we were informed that the rules of the house required us to deposit our money and valuables with the proprietors. If we surrendered them vol- untarily, we would be "credited" with the amount ; but it wa refused to surrender them, and any were found upon us, the same would be confiscated to the Confederacy-that is, to the rebel officers in charge. They had already stolen all they could find upon our persons ; but they now ordered us to "strip." We were divested of every article of clothing, and ev- ery piece was carefully insported-the hems, cuffs, linings and waistbands closely scrutinized, in search of greenbacks that might be concealed in them. We were then marched up stairs to the second floor, and there invested of what we had been divested-clothed again.
On the 26th of September we were moved to Belle Isle. The camp was enclosed by earthworks, the guards outside, and contained about five acres. At that time about one thousand
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prisoners were confined there. The ground was literally alive with vermin-"graybacks"-and the prisoners were engaged in a constant warfare against them. It was all we could do to keep them from eating us up. Our rations were one-fourth of a pound of baker's bread to each man, and twelve pounds of beef-a large proportion bone -- for one hundred men ; and we were glad to get even the bones.
Sometime in January a prisoner stole a guard's blanket. The guard shot at, but missed him, and wounded four other men.
Tobacco chewers had great difficulty in obtaining a supply of the weed, and every "cud" was save l and rechewed several times. The prisoners suffered terribly for food; and the means used to obtain it. and the kind of food eaten, are too horrible to put in print. I have seen men eat dog-meat and other things far worse.
The dead bodies of prisoners were sometimes left lying on the ground, outside their tents. two weeks. until they turned as black as coal.
W D. Freeman, I. N. Dalrymple and I. and a man of an- other Illinois regiment, whose name I have forgotten. bribed one of the guards, with twenty dollars. to let us escape. Dal- rymple was to go ahead and pay the money. The guard took the money -- and l'alrymple, too,-and the rest of us skipped back into camp. We did not see Dalrymple again for two months. They confined him in a room adjoining the bread- house ; and he cut a hole in the partition wall, fitted in a block, and had accessto all the bread he wanted. His scheme was not discovered, and when released he was as fat as a pig.
On the 10th of March, 1864, John P Freeman and I bought- our way out of Belle Isle, and were kept in the Pemberton building in Richmond over night, and the next day started on a journey, in a box car, we knew not where ; but on the 18th we found ourselves inside the stockade at Andersonville: There were about five thousand prisoners in camp, and not a dozen tents, except blankets put up on poles, for. shelter from storms and the hot sun.
In my judgment Wirtz was a much better man than the brute in charge of the prison camp at Belle Isle. I know he
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shot some of the prisoners for no earthly reason than to grati- fy his hatred to Umion soldiers, and he certainly ought to have been hung by the government.
In about a week Orlin Bevier, Abram Deyo, Henry Stacy, W D. Freeman and George Ludlum arrived from Belle Isle, and we were all quartered together.
The death-rate at Andersonville was terrible-never less than twelve to fifteen a day, and frequently one hundred. The camp contained about ten acres-one-third of it a spongy marsh, through which ran a creek, which constituted the only supply of water. Our bread was made of corn meal, ground cob and all, shipped in cars and shovelled out, and cookel, mixed only with water, with husks and dirt for seasoning. Our bread ration consisted of six ounces of this stuff twice a day.
On a dark and rainy night in April a man came to our quarters and inquired if there were any Co. B boys, of the 112th Ill., there. We admitted him, and he proved to be Ed. Holmes, whom we supposed had been killed at Cleveland, who had just arrived.
Sometime in May. 1864, the stockade was enlarged, to ac- commodate the increasing number. The rebel oficers solicit- el recruits for the Confederate army, and there was not a day when the stronger men could not have walkel out by taking an oath of allegiance to the Confederacy and enlisting in their army. I never knew one to accept the offer. The boys would yell and hoot at them whenever the proposition was made.
An organization was formed to stampede at the gates and escape. The rebel officers discovered the plan and planted ar- tillery at each corner, loaded with grape and canister, and threatened to mow the camp clean of every living thing if the attempt was made.
I will not attempt to describe the sufferings of the men in this prison. No pen can describe it, no tongue can relate it. Cold chills run over me whenever I think of it. Of all that has been written and spoken, not one-half has been told. On the 23d of May, 1864, I was detailed, with about one hundred others, to roll logs to make a bridge to the cook-house, or kitchen. For this service we were given an extra ration at
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noon. After eating our dinner I went into the swamp to cut some poles to take into camp. I soon found myself out of sight of the guard. At once I thought of escape. I knew not what to do. I went one-fourth of a mile into the swamp, turned about, and went back to camp-for the last time. I whispered to John P Freeman what I had done, and suggested that we go out the next day and make our escape ; but he was too ill to undertake it. Freeman told his brother, William D. Free- man, and Henry Stacy, and they proposed to go with me. I thought three too many, but we agreed to try it. The next morning we took our haversacks with a few rations and went out to work. At noon we went into the swamp"to cut poles," and were soon out of sight of the guard. As soon as we were out of sight we "skipped" as rapidly as our feet would carry us. We had been gone about thirty minutes before we were missed by the guard. He immediately reported our escape to Wirtz ; but he was engaged in receiving about two thousand new prisoners, and dividing them into squads of one hundred, and did not hurry. He thought he could catch us, at any rate, with his blood-hounds. He got out his hounds ; but a terri- ble storm came up-it thundered and lightened, and the wind blew a gale, and the rain poured down in torrents-and that saved us ; the hounds could not follow.
Henry Stacy was taken sick, on the third day, and we were compelled to leave him. We parted with him in sorrow and tears, in a deep forest, but within sight of a planter's house. where he promised to go and seek admission ; but he was not to tell, under any circumstances, of the other escaped prison- ers. Stacy went to the house and was well received. The planter was an old man and devoted to the Union. He kept Stacy several days, until he was better, and then carried him, in the night-time, to the house of another Union man, and he to another, and so on until he was within ten miles of the Un- ion lines. He was left alone, the Union citizens not daring to venture further, and with a hearty God-speed they gave him the directions to the Union army and returned to their homes.
The first thing Stacy did, when left alone, was to run upon a rebel picket ; and he was recaptured and sent to Columbus, Ga., on the Chattahoochee River. Here he was confined, withi two conscripts, in an iron cell, made of wagon-tire iron riveted together. They bribed a negro to furnish them a knife, and a boat and provisions, and sawed off the bars, and floated down the river, concealing themselves in the daytime, until one night, in passing under a bridge, they were halted by Confed- erate guards, and at the same instant one of the conscripts was shot, a musket ball passing through one thigh. They were captured, and Stacy was sent back to Andersonville,
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where he was condemned to wear a ball and chain-the usual penalty imposed upon prisoners for attempting to escape. A clasp was riveted around his ankle, to which was attached a sixty-pound ball ; but he lived through it and is now a fanmaar in Iowa.
We had learned from newly arrived prisoner at Anderson- ville the position of Sherman's army, and, after we left Starr, Freeman and I traveled a northwesterly course to go around the left of the rebel army and reach Sherman's lines.
We had an ax and a heavy hickory cane for weapons. One day Freeman threw the ax at a rabbit and killed it, and we skinned it and ate the meat raw We also caught two gense and ate them raw. We did not dare to build a tire, as the smoke would reveal to the rebels the fact that escaped prissa- ers or deserters were in the woods, and they would start the blood hounds after us. We lived thirteen days on the rabbit, two geese, and a little corn bread in our haversacks, and ber- ries that we gathered in the mountains. The raw geese mate mighty tough food, but we managed to down them. It was much better than nothing. On the 6th or 7th of June we put our drawers ontside our pants, and our faded dirty shirts out- side our blue coats, and. thus disguised, went to a farm house and asked for dinner. We offered to pay for our dinners, in Confederate money, of course, but were informed that they charged soldiers nothing: that as we were fighting for the rights of the South, they considered it both a duty and a pleas- ure to give us something to eat.
One day we came to a railroad, where a gang of men were at work, and we moved np the road out of sight, and crossod through a culvert. Freeman was ahead, and as he reached the opposite end there, within six feet, lay an enormous snake. It started for the culvert, but Freeman broke its back with the ax, and that gave me time to climb up out of danger, for I was still in the culvert. The snake crawled through, snapping and biting as he went. The sickly, poisonous smell of the rep- file made me sick, and I came near fainting ; and for two or three days after I was so weak I could walk but a short dis- tance without resting. We continued on our weary way, sel- dom seeing a human being, traveling through the forests by night and day, shunning public highways, and never crossing a plantation in the day time, until the 13th of June. We fre- quently saw rebel cavalry-scouting parties-in the valleys below us, and one day, as we crossed a road, met a rebel sol- dier on his way home. He had his gun and accoutrements, but was too sick to talk, even, and we were willing to excuse him. We saw a number of deer in the mountains, but had no gun to shoot, and would not have dared to fire a shot even if we had been supplied with arms. On the 10th of June we
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reached the Chattahoochee River. It was bank full and at least a fourth of a mile wide. Freeman could not swim. We con- structed a rude raft and set sail across the rapid current. It was doubtful whether our raft would safely carry two, so I doff- ed my clothing and prepared to swim and give Freeman the raft. in case it became necessary to do so. But we reached the opposite shore in safety, and continued on our journey. Both armies had occupied that part of the country and it was stripped bare ; but, luckily, we found a box of meat and a box of wheat concealed in the mountains and we filled our haver- sacks. On the 12th of June we met a man driving a yoke of oxoni hitched to a cart. He inquired if we were going over to the "Yanks," and we informed him that we were, and asked him to go with us. He said he had been thinking of going over, but would wait a few days. In reply to our questions, he informed us that "our" (the rebel) pickets were about a mile from us, and that it was six or seven miles to the "Yank- ee" rump. That night we could see hundreds of army camp fires, but could not determine whether they were of the Union or rebel army We concealed ourselves among the rocks in the mountains, and waited impatiently for daylight. In the morning we made one mountain top after another until we were near enough to distinguish the blue uniform of the Union soldiers and knew we were safe.
We went in and surrendered ourselves-for we still wore our underclothing outside, and our appearance was more like rebel than Union soldiers. The troops proved to be the 3d Iowa regiintent, guarding the railroad bridge across the Etowah Riv- er. We were taken to the colonel's headquarters and there we told our story He ordered dinner for us, and for the first time since our capture we tasted sugar and coffee, pork and beans and crackers, and saw and used soap. After dinner the colonel sent us down to Gen. Sherman's headquarters, at Big Shanty. Sherman asked us innumerable questions, all of which Were satisfactorily answered, when he told us to go down to the regiment and see the boys, and then we should have a furlough and go home. We reached the regiment on the 13th, and it is unnecessary to state that we met with a hearty welcome. On the 14th we started north, and reached home on the 27th of Summe, on a thirty days furlough, after the expiration of which we rejoined our company and served until the end of the war.
Of the twenty-four men of Co. B captured at Cleveland, only two -- Orlin Bevier and Abram Deyo-died in rebel prison, and 01.5-George Ludlum -- died a few days after he was exchang ed ; and I have yet to learn of so few deaths among the same number of men of any other company in the service.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. Organization of the Regiment. Ordered to the front.
CHAPTER II. The march from Covington to Lexington. Camp Ella Bishop. Sickness and death of men. Resignation of officers 16
5
CHAPTER III. Our first campaign. Pegram's raid into Central Kentucky 24
CHAPTER IV. Mounted Infantry. To Somerset and Monticello 35
CHAPTER V The Saunders Raid into East Tennessee. Major Dow's Report.
42
CHAPTER VI. Guarding the Cumberland. Expeditions to Harrodsburg and Lebanon. Capt. Dunn's Report.
51
CHAPTER VIII. Over the Mountains. The march to East Tennessee. Reception and Union meet- ing at Athens 69
CHAPTER IX. Army Correspondence. Clippings from the "Athens Union Post" 81
CHAPTER X. Opening of the campaign in East Tennes- see. Advance and retreat. 93
CHAPTER XI. Longstreet's invasion of East Tennessee. Marches and countermarches. The charge at Philadelphia. Across the Tennessee. Retreat to Campbell's Station. 117
CHAPTER XII. The Battle of Campbell's Station. Re- treat to Knoxville. Severe fighting in front of Knoxville. One-third of the 112th killed, wounded and missing.
188
CHAPTER VII. The fight at Richmond, Ky. The Seott Raid. An exciting chase. 61
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TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII. The Siege of Knoxville. Assault on Fort Saunders. Relief of the Garrison. 150
CHAPTER XIV. In pursuit of Longstreet. Scouting and skirmishing. The 112th dismounted. The march to Mt. Sterling, Ky. Reorganization of Brigade. 169
CHAPTER XV March back to Knoxville. Ordered to Georgia. Preparing for the Atlanta Campaign. The 112th joins Col. Reilly's brigade 191
CHAPTER XVI. The Atlanta Campaign. From Dalton to New Hope Church. The battle of Resaca. Across the Oostanaula and the Etowah. The first month's work 202
CHAPTER XVII. The Atlanta Campaign continued. From Dallas to the Chattahoochee. Pine Mt., Kenesaw. Marietta 214
CHAPTER XVIII. The Atlanta Campaign continued. Across the Chattahoochee. Peachtree Creek. The Charge at Utoy Creek. The killed and wounded 2:24
CHAPTER XIX. The Atlanta Campaign continued. A new brigade. Col. Henderson in command. The 112th Illinois the first to reach the Macon Railway. Jonesboro. Atlanta "Fairly won." In camp at Decatur 236
CHAPTER XX. Hood marches north and strikes Sher- man's line of communications. A wild-goose chase. Allatoona. Rome. Resaca. Gayles- ville. Sherman's March to the Sea. The 23d Corps at Pulaski, watching Hood . 246
CHAPTER XXI. Hood crosses the Tennessee. Schofield's retreat to Columbia. Across Duck River. Spring Hill. Hood Napping. Forced night march to Franklin. Preparation for bat le 255
CHAPTER XXII. The Battle of Franklin. Hood's as- sault upon the National hines. Repulsed with great loss. Sanguinary and desperate conflict. The Battle from a Confederate stand-point. 266
CHAPTER XXIII. The Battle of Nashville. A great Union victory. Hood's Army defeated, routed and destroyed. The pursuit. The 23d Corps marches to Clifton, on the Tennessee River 282
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CHAPTER XXIV. A new base of operations. Transferred to North Carolina. The journey to the East. At sea in a storm. Land at Fort Fisher. .... 293
CHAPTER XXV. The Campaign in North Carolina. Cap- ture of Fort Anderson. The fall of Wilming- ton. The march to Goldsboro. Reunited with Sherman's Army. Preparations for a final campaign. Beginning of the end. 299
CHAPTER XXVI. The fall of Richmond. A jolly cele- bration. The march to Raleigh. Another ju- bilee. News of the assassination of President Lincoln. Surrender of Jolinston. Occupation of Greensboro. The war ended. Preparing for muster-out .. 313
CHAPTER XXVII. Mustered out. Gen. Henderson's Farewell Order. Gen. Carter's letter. Extracts from Gen. Cox's letter. Homeward bound. Re- ception at Pittsburg. Arrival at Chicago. Fi- nal discharge. Return home. Banquet at Geneseo 323
REGIMENTAL ROSTER.
ROSTER OF FIELD AND STAFF 334
Company A 338
Company F
Company D 347
Company I 367
357
Company C 378
Company H 387
Company E 395
Company K 403
Company G. 413
Company B 421
The Saunders Raid into East Tennessee.
By Capt. James McCartney. Escape from the Prison at Andersonville. Charles T. Goss. Capture, Prison Life and Escape. George W. Nicholas.
Belle Isle and Andersonville. Escape from Andersonville. Francis J. Liggett.
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