USA > Illinois > Ninety-Second Illinois Volunteers > Part 37
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Chaplain Cartwright made a handsome speech, and closed by presenting General Smith D. Atkins, late Colonel of the Ninety- Second Illinois Mounted Infantry Volunteers, with a beautiful bouquet. The General accepted it, and in a short speech returned his thanks for that, and the many tokens of kindness he had re- ceived. He referred to the terrible sacrifice in human life that the putting down of the Rebellion had cost the nation ; to the peaceful
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security that had been wrought out by the bloody sacrifice that the nation had made, and to the bright and happy future that was before the American people.
Major Albert Woodcock, of Ogle county, being loudly called for, came forward and made an eloquent speech of ten or fifteen minutes. He was feeling good, and his talk made others feel good. He had promised the boys of the Ninety-Second that as long as he was County Clerk of Ogle county, their marriage licenses should cost them nothing. He had already issued more than a hundred marriage licenses on those terms, and he thought when a pretty girl married one of the members of the Ninety- Second that was a recruit mustered in; every time one of the old members became a father, and that was pretty often, that was an- other recruit mustered in; and so the old Regiment was growing, and getting larger and larger every year. He thought that at every Reunion the wives and babies should be brought along, and then every Reunion would be larger and larger. Captain Horace J. Smith was called for, and it was said that if he could not make a speech, he could at least show himself on the stand, and make such a speech as Grant makes, but the Captain rose upin the body of the hall, and modestly said he could not "Grant it." Captain Schermehorn, Dr. Tom Winston, Captain Becker, and many others were called for, but they declined.
The singing by Captain Becker has not been surpassed in the Opera House. The music by the Winslow Band was splendid.
On motion, a vote of thanks was tendered to Mr. Wilcoxon, for the generous donation of the free use of the Opera House, and to the Freeport Zouaves, for turning out on the occasion.
On motion, it was resolved that the next Reunion of the Ninety-Second Illinois Mounted Infantry Volunteers be held at Mt. Carroll, three years from the fourth day of September inst .- to-wit: September fourth, IS73.
At about six o'clock P. M., the meeting finally adjourned, and after many hand-shakings and good-byes, the hall was emptied.
R. M. A. HAWK, President.
AL. MCCLURE, Secretary.
The third Reunion of the Ninety-Second was held at Mt. Car- roll, Carroll County, September fourth, IS73. We take the follow- ing account of it from the Freeport Journal :
Our reporter wended his way to the Western Union Railway depot, in Freeport, at S:40, last Thursday morning, and found
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about one hundred and fifty people waiting for the Mt. Carroll train. The railroad people at Freeport had evidently not antici- pated such a rush, and had made no arrangements for passenger coaches; but the gentlemanly agent, Mr. E. C. Fitch, did all he could to make the passengers comfortable, by adding four extra cabooses to the train, and with the cabooses packed full, the train soon started. The train was a heavy one, and did not make very fast time, but reached Mt. Carroll about twelve o'clock M., where Major Hawk, President of the Ninety-Second Illinois Reunion Association, was in waiting, with a committee on reception, and a brass band, with ample omnibus room to convey the entire party free to the picnic grounds in the Court House Square. Reaching there, after a pleasant ride through the beautiful city of Mt. Carroll, the party found a large number of ladies and gentle- men already assembled. President Hawk called the assemblage to order, and after prayer by the Rev. Barton H. Cartwright, Chaplain of the Ninety-Second Illinois Volunteers, Hon. H. A. Mills, Mayor of Mt. Carroll, delivered a beautiful and ap- propriate welcoming address to the soldiers of the various regiments, and their friends. After reading the programme of the day's exercises, President Hawk invited the assembled multi- tude to partake of a bountiful dinner provided by the citizens of Mt. Carroll, set upon tables in the open air; after all had assem- bled around the tables, thanks were returned by the Chaplain, and all were supplied with one of the best dinners our reporter ever saw out of doors. There was everything in abundance, and everything of the nicest and best, especially the hot coffee and genuine Carroll County blue grass dairy cream. The ladies of Mt. Carroll waited upon the tables, and pressed upon their guests the dainties their superior cookery had provided. There was room for all the hundreds there assembled, and abundance pro- vided, and no hurry and no confusion. If the good citizens of Mt. Carroll could have heard the universal praise accorded them, they would never regret the trouble and expense they voluntarily imposed upon themselves.
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After dinner, the Black Oak Brass Band again discoursed sweet music ; and while the Band played, the audience, numbering fully one thousand ladies and gentlemen, assembled around the speaker's stand, and were called to order by Major R. M. A. Hawk, President of the Ninety-Second Illinois Volunteer Re- union Association, who introduced Chaplain Cartwright, who addressed the Heavenly Father, in one of his old-fashioned, soul-
46
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stirring Methodist prayers. The boys of the Ninety-Second Illinois are very warm in praise of their beloved old Chaplain, and he deserves it; for if there is a sincere christian man on the face of the globe, Rev. Barton H. Cartwright is one. Music followed prayer, and then the President introduced the orator of the day, Major Albert Woodcock, of Ogle County, who spoke as follows :
DEAR COMRADES AND BROTHERS: With a heart wild with happiness, I greet you. Mr. President, endeared to us by ties made sacred by the great loss you sustained for the old flag, we, your brothers, greet you. Meeting, dear comrades, as we do, on this, our Thanksgiving day, about the family heart of the old Ninety- Second, with joy, with gladness we greet and embrace each other. Brave comrades of other regiments, you who shared with us the march, the bivouac and battle, should you be here, we greet you. We bid you welcome to this our encampment; welcome to break with us a little hard tack, and share with us our social joy.
You will remember, dear boys, in the South, at the close of the day, as we went into bivouac, whether it was upon the moun- tain tops, banks of snowy clouds beneath us, or in the valley by the spring, jutting crag, and mountain peaks towering above us, or in the piney woods of the South, near the cypress swamp, or beneath the giant live oaks, the air fragrant with magnolia blos- soms,-no sooner would the camp-fire be lighted than the story would run the round. This one would tell of a hair-breadth escape; that one, of an amusing adventure while foraging; and another would tell the story of Chicamauga, or some other battle scene. O, boys, how we enjoyed those narrations, as we sipped our amber-hued coffee from our cups of tin, or watched the blossom- ing tobacco smoke curl upward from our pipes of brier-wood. The story, the song, the joke, the laugh would gladden the heart, till sleep would step in and assert its power. The fatigued form would then sink upon the ground-its bed ; the head reclining upon the saddle for a pillow; the star-studded blue above for curtains; the sighing of the winds through the pine tops, or the song of the mocking birds-a lullaby. Sweet sleep would then, in dreams, restore home and loved ones distant. The march, the scout, the battle of life for the past three years, have ended, and we are again in camp. Our camp-fires are already ablaze. Here are our head-quarters. There is our commander. He has detailed me, and placed me on duty, not for picket, but to tell our oft-repeated story. In our command are our Brutuses of silver-tongue and
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famed oratory ; but poor Mark Antony is before you to-day, of broken speech and hesitating tongue; but no Ninety-Second boy ever disobeyed orders; hence, respected commander, your order I obey. Were no one present, boys, but you, I would not care ; but citizens, our friends-God bless them-are here. What I may say will be about ourselves ; hence our friends will not think us guilty of self-praise. What little I may relate of the history of the Ninety-Second to-day, in the hearts of comrades here of other regiments, will stir up sweet memories in their own history. What deeds of valor of Ninety-Second boys I may describe, will be but a fac similie of brave, daring deeds of their own. Friday morning, October eleventh, IS62, we bid good-bye to our weeping friends at Rockford, and rolled away for the seat of war. Sunday forenoon, October thirteenth, we crossed the Ohio into Dixie land, commencing a series of marches of which the memory to you and me is terrible; it was the saddest experience of our soldier life. It killed many of our comrades, and you, boys, to-day feel the effects of it. The country was dried up-a drouth had been in the land ; the sun was fearfully hot, ranging from 85 0 to 100°. The whole army was moving, and the roads were terribly cut up; the dust was ankle deep, and rolled in whirling clouds heaven- ward; so thick was it that you could scarcely see your file leader ; dust was in your nose, your mouth, your throat and your lungs; you could scarcely breathe. On your back was strapped the ponderous knapsack ; from your shoulder hung the haversack, full of hard tack and old pork. The cartridge box and accoutre- ments, nearly as heavy as a buggy harness, was upon you. Your clothes were wool, your shoes heavy brogans, forty-five rounds of ammunition were in your box, with the long Enfield Rifle and bayonet on your shoulder. You were loaded down like a mule. Staggering under such a burthen, you would march, march, march, tramp, tramp, tramp, wondering when the bugle would sound the halt. Your throat would become dry and parched; your lips hot and fevered. You would feel dizzy, and wonder whether you would hold out. Here and there you would see a comrade faint and fall, but 'twas nothing but a soldier or two, now and then, and the columns kept on. Guards were stationed all along the road. Kentucky did not secede, and those people were a very loyal people. A guard was at every house. You saw the oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, the moss-covered bucket that hung at the well. O, how you longed for the pure sparkling cold water to slake your thirst, but a guard was there! Those
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people were a very loyal people, you know; and the well water you could not touch. You were ordered to halt at the frog-pond beyond, and there slake your thirst. At the pond, with your hand you would carefully remove the crust of green scum from the surface, which enabled you to see the dead mule in the bottom of the pond whose flesh seasoned the water. Not minding the bugs and polliwogs that came in your way, you drank and drank, till you were full. You filled your canteens, and then it was again march, tramp, tramp, tramp. In this way you marched all over the State of Kentucky ; up this pike, down that pike, hither, thither, yonder; sometimes after Morgan and his troops, they on horseback, you on foot. During these scenes of trial, it was pleasant to witness the acts of kindness shown by comrades to each other. It was a common sight to see a soldier carrying the knapsack of a weaker one in addition to his own. I remember one day of seeing a brawny-shouldered old chap, who lives some- where hereabouts, carrying three knapsacks of his boys. While thus marching and suffering, patriotism and love of the old flag buoyed up the heart and animated the spirit, and the joke and laugh went round. Often while passing through a village, the whole Regiment would burst into song, led by our grand old singer, and the sky would ring again and again with the following stanzas:
" Yes, we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, We'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom ; We'll rally from the hill-side, We'll rally from the plain,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.
The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah! Down with the traitors, up with the Stars, While we rally 'round the flag, boys, Rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
Our Regiment was never captured but once, and that was in Kentucky. It was taken by negroes. It will not be far from the truth for me to state, that every shoulder strap, and every boy in the Regiment, had one or more black servants ; fine, thick woolly- headed fellows they were, each one worth from $2,000 to $3,000. After leaving Mt. Sterling, the order of march was :-
Ist. The advance guard.
2nd. The Band.
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3rd. The Colonel and Regimental officers.
4th. The rank and file.
5th. The colored recruits.
6th. A very heavy rear guard, with bristling bayonets.
7th. The Sheriffs of Kentucky.
8th. And last, the fat, rotund, Manor Lords, slave owners.
The Sheriffs wanted our Colonel; the Lords, our colored re- cruits. February second, 1863, we left, with great rejoicing, the very loyal State of Kentucky. On board steamers Tempest and Arizona, for seven days and nights, we steamed down the Ohio and up the Cumberland. Those were days and nights of suffer- ing to you, my comrades; soldiers, niggers and mules were mixed up together in grand chaos. It was in dead winter. The icy winds of the North seemed to be let loose; they howled about our boat, shrieking between decks, and piping through every nook and cranny. It seemed to you your hearts would stop beating, you were so cold. You crawled about the boilers, and some of you climbed on top of them ; some of you crept under, your side next the boiler roasting, your other side freezing. Some of you could not get to the boiler, and, blue, and cold, you shivered, your teeth making doleful music. I heard some of you say, "It's a hard way to serve the country." I heard others wish they were in a fight.
Our Kentucky marches helped largely to populate Danville cemeteries. Our steamboat march in winter added many to the cemeteries of Nashville. Of our noble dead of Danville, I remem- ber Captain William Stouffer. He was a fine looking soldier, as straight as an arrow, with flashing black eyes, and commanding mien. As a companion, he was genial and pleasant, and as a com- pany commander, respected and loved by his men. He was mus- tered out of the service by the great Captain of all armies Janu- ary twenty-first, IS63. Of our patriotic dead of Nashville, I remember Lieutenant David B. Colehour. He was a fine boy, and every inch a soldier. His frank, open face, and large, gener - ous heart, made everybody his friend. No braver soldier ever died, more regretted, than did our Lieutenant boy. The country, in his death, met a great loss, but heaven acquired a rich gain. He was transferred from the Ninety-Second to heaven's glorious army March seventeenth, 1863.
Save the hardy mountaineers of the Cumberland Range, the people of Tennessee were not very loyal people, hence the crystal well, and the singing rill furnished us with pure, sparkling, cold
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water to drink; chickens, ducks, pigs, honey, sweet potatoes and green corn, food to eat; and the fences, cedar rails with which to cook our food.
While at Franklin, you remember, boys, the little pleasure trip we took with Phil. Sheridan to Duck River? Phil. was so mad that the Rebs would not stand and fight that he double-quicked us all the way back to camp. You remember, too, while at Tri- une, the Rebs had the impudence to move up and shell our camp? While in line of battle, awaiting orders, the shells screaming over, Brother Cartwright, who had just joined us as a new recruit (Chaplain), came dashing along on his war-horse, a rifle upon his shoulder, with the exclamation: " Why don't you move out, boys? Move out and pitch into them !" Brother Cartwright had not yet learned the lesson which we had already conned over-to wait, wearily, patiently wait, for orders.
July second, 1863, was the day of jubilee for the Ninety-Sec- ond, for then we were mounted, and armed with the Spencer Rifle. I cannot stop to tell how we chased Bragg through Ten- nessee-a skirmish here, and a fight there; nor of the noble rivers we crossed; nor of our fine encampments on the Cumberland Range, from which we could see into five different States, bil- lowy, sun-lit clouds beneath us, the serene blue above us; nor of the beautiful valleys we passed through ; not even old Sequatchie, whose rich crops of green corn saved us and our horses from star- vation. By the way-an incident: When we first descended from the mountain into Sequatchie, you remember, boys, we ran into a band of Rebs, capturing a few, the rest escaping up through the valley? As we filed along the road, I.noticed Brother Cart- wright in the distance, in front of a mourning group. He called to me; I rode to his side, and there witnessed a heartrending scene. It was a mother with a babe in her arms, and three or four little ones clinging to her skirts. She was wringing her hands in terrible agony, and was wild with grief. She said, "Oh! if you had only come a little sooner my husband would be living, and this great sorrow would not be upon me. They (referring to the flying Rebs) conscripted my husband this morning, saying he should serve in the Confederate army. My husband told them he loved his country, and would die before he would fight against the old flay; they then led him out a little ways from the house, and shot him down, murdering him before my eyes. Oh! he was brave, he was good, he was true; my poor, dear, dear, dead hus- band!"
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The great tears trembled down Brother Cartwright's cheeks as he pointed the sorrow-stricken woman for comfort to the Father of the fatherless, and the widow's Friend.
I must not, dear boys, linger to tell of our break-neck ride over Lookout's craggy head, where Jo Hooker afterward fought the Rebs above the clouds; nor how the Ninety-Second, being in ad- vance of the entire army, and, charging the Rebs, your guns were the first to echo and re-echo among the crags and ragged rocks of Lookout Mountain; and how the Ninety-Second flag was the first to float over Lookout's crest, and the first to wave over Chat- tanooga.
The night of that day, September ninth, 1863, we encamped at Boyce's plantation, which was an extensive grape vineyard. From his cellars, you remember, boys, you rolled out several casks of wine. Every man in the Regiment drank and became merry. It was said that even the Chaplain drank, but of this there is no proof; that he was merry, is true, for he was always merry. As the canteens went round, gurgling out their sparkling contents down the throats of Uncle Sam's boys, the joke, the laugh, and the song were had. Every boy's heart was in tune, and they sang, with Captain Becker, our favorite campaign song, as composed by General Wolf, near the heights of Quebec:
" How stands the glass around? For shame, ye take no care, my boys; How stands the glass around?
Let wine and mirth abound.
The bugles sound, the colors they are flying, boys;
To fight, kill, or wound, And may we be found, content with our hard fate, my boys, On the cold ground.
Why, soldiers, why? Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why? Whose business 'tis to die.
Such sighing! fie! drown care, drink on, my jolly boys, 'Tis he, you or I.
Cold, hot, wet or dry, we're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly.
'Tis but in vain ;
. I mean not to upbraid you, boys; "Tis but in vain,
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For a soldier to complain.
If next campaign sends us to Him who made us, boys, We're freed from all pain.
But if we do remain, the bottle and kind sweetheart, boys, Cures all again."
(At this point Captain Becker was called out, and sang, with great effect, the foregoing song, when Major Woodcock resumed.)
Allow me to say that Boyce's wine was not very old; that the strongest drink the Regiment was accustomed to imbibe was coffee; that, if my memory serves me, I never saw a Ninety- Second boy drunk, and I never expect to. The days that followed were days of blood. September nineteenth and twentieth came the terrible battle of Chicamauga. History describes it, but fails to depict its horrors-no pen nor tongue can do that. In it, boys, you took an honorable part; some of you bear scars to-day of wounds there received ; some of you are cripples for life, Captain Thompson, of Company E, of that number. Many of our brave comrades sleep the sleep of death upon Chicamauga's bank.
In this battle was enacted a small theatrical scene. The actors were General Atkins and a private of King's brigade. At the time the earth was trembling, quaking beneath the united dis- charge of a thousand cannon, while the roll of musketry sounded like muttering thunder, King's brigade in front of us had given way before the Rebs, and broke through our ranks. Gen- erals Atkins, Sheets and others tried to rally them. As a boy was dashing by, the General ordered, " Halt!" Boy halted. Gen- eral said, " Fall into your ranks!" Boy said, "Show me my ranks." General said, "Fall into these ranks," pointing to the Ninety-Second. Boy said, "I won't!" General Atkins's sabre gleamed in the sunlight as he brought it up in the attitude of the downward stroke. Boy wheeled into position of guard against cavalry. Pantomime-General Atkins, towering up to his full heighth, his blade gleaming, quivering as it was about descending upon the boy's skull; boy at a guard, with long Enfield Rifle, a wicked, glittering bayonet on its end, pointed at the General's breast, ready to parry. The pantomime lasted just three seconds, when the Rebel fiends, howling like devils in their charge, caused the curtains to drop upon the scene.
In the month of April, 1864, the Regiment was stationed at Ringgold, doing out-post duty for Sherinan's army. From Ring. gold, in a south-west direction, for many miles extends Taylor's
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Ridge, a rocky, sharp-crested mountain, being a part of the Cum- berland Range. On the opposite side of this mountain was the Rebel army. Along this range, to a distance of ten miles from camp, were established the outposts, or videttes. The mounted men were so few in number that to occupy this space, the videttes had to be stationed too far apart; so distant that, in a dark night, the enemy could pass between the videttes unseen. We who did this duty knew that we were isolated from the command, and in great danger of being killed or captured, but it was our business to obey orders. A detail for forty-eight hours, every other morning, was made from the Regiment for this duty. When the detail would start from camp for the mountain, we were wont to say jocosely, "Good-bye, boys;" but we meant it, and the boys knew it. On the morning of the twenty-second of April, Captain Sco- ville, with about forty men from the Ninety-Second, was detailed for the ridge. As the Captain, with his men mounted and equipped, were making their way out of the camp for the field of danger, as usual you called out, " Good-bye, Lieutenant Scoville, good-bye, boys." "Good-bye, good-bye," was the response. It was the last good-bye spoken by many of that noble band. The night following was very dark. The Rebels, as we had feared, passed between the videttes, and accumulated a large force in the rear of our men ; they barricaded the road in the direction of camp. A heavy force then charged over the ridge; the boys were sur- rounded ; they fought with desperation ; several were killed in the fight; crushed with overwhelming numbers, they surrendered. The Rebels, on horseback, started for the gap below. Our boys, on foot, were ordered to keep up with them as they trotted their horses. In rear of the boys rode the Rebel Lieutenant Pointer, cursing them with every breath, threatening to shoot the first man that failed to keep up. Soon, overtaxed, nature began to fail; as a boy's breath grew short and thick, his form to stagger, and his speed to diminish, Pointer, that fiend incarnate, would shoot him through the heart. Several had thus been cruelly murdered, when Willie Cattanach, of Company B, began to totter and his strength to fail. Pointer threatened ; Willie plead, "Don't shoot me, I'll keep up." Regardless of his entreaty, Pointer fired ; the ball struck the noble boy, but he did not fall, and continued his exertion to keep up; the black-hearted villain fired again, the ball passing through Willie's lungs, inflicting a terrible wound. Willie fell, mortally wounded, but lived long enough to tell the heart-rending story. Oh! what a terrile crime! Can such a
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