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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore) 8 0 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: June 20, 1864., [Electronic resource] 2 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for De Libby or search for De Libby in all documents.

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he city. We shall see. I rode around the lines to-night, and am impressed with the feeling that, were our numbers only equal to the spirit and courage of our men, no emergency could endanger Knoxville; but alas! our defences are as yet incomplete, and our lines are fearfully thin. If the rebels come on with the much boasted dash of the veterans of the Potomac, and assault, our lines may be broken, and the contemplation of the famous hospitalities, or rather infamous inhospitalities, of Libby, or Castle Thunder, may not be altogether out of order. Tuesday, November 17.--The storm is upon us. Longstreet's legions are investing Knoxville. Our boys are skirmishing already with their lines on the Lenoir road. General Sanders, with the One Hundred and Twelfth Illinois, Forty-fifth Ohio, Eighth Michigan, and Twelfth Kentucky, are in front. The sharp crack of musketry is heard, growing more and more frequent, and the affair is getting serious. The town is filled with rumors of co
s. That night they passed a camp of rebels, and could plainly see the smoke and camp-fire. But their wearied feet gave out, and they were compelled to stop and rest, having only marched five miles that day. They started again at daylight on the thirteenth, and, after moving awhile through the woods, they saw a negro woman working in a field, and called her to them, and from her received directions, and were told that the rebel pickets had been about there, looking for the fugitives from Libby. Here they lay low again, and resumed their journey when darkness set in, and marched five miles, but halted until the morning of the fourteenth, when the journey was resumed. At one point they met a negro in the field, and she told them that her mistress was a secesh woman, and that she had a son in the rebel army. The party, however, was exceedingly hungry, and they determined to secure some food. This they did by boldly approaching the house and informing the mistress that they were
tunate enlisted men, now in the hands of the enemy, is much worse than that of the officers. From early in May last, when I arrived in Richmond, to about the first of December, all the enlisted men were taken to what is called Belle Island, and turned into an inclosure, like so many cattle in a slaughter-pen. Very few of them had tents, or shelter of any kind, and the few tents furnished were so poor and leaky as to render them but little better than none. All the prisoners are taken to Libby when they first arrive in Richmond, for the purpose of counting them and enrolling their names; consequently I had a fair chance to see their condition when they arrived. Fully one half of the prisoners taken since May last were robbed by their captors of their shoes, and nearly all were robbed of their overcoats, blankets, and haversacks. At least one third of them had been compelled to trade their pants and blouses for mere rags that would scarcely hide their nakedness. Very many of the
yours, John C. Babcock, has reached the Libby, in company with the two or three hundred brigands he attempted to guide into the heart of Richmond. His name is John A. Hogan, an Irishman by birth, twenty-three years old, tall and lithe, with a fine open countenance. When asked his rank, he declared himself a full high private, and did not aspire to any thing else. Being interrogated as to his knowledge of Richmond and its suburbs, he said he knew it like a bog; he was a guest at the Hotel de Libby in July, 1863, and knew the officers of the prison. Then recognizing Mr. Ross, the clerk, Hogan broke out, How do you do, Lieutenant Ross? Glad to see you. Hogan boasted of his narrow escape, having had four bullets put through his clothing and hair. In reply to a question as to what he was fighting for, he replied he was fighting for fun. When such fun ends in a hempen rope, as we trust it will, Hogan will cease to estimate his business a joke. Hogan disposed of for the present, we