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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 12. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones). Search the whole document.

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January (search for this): chapter 87
ould naturally be on the north side. I had no fear of being arrested. I wore a nice citizen's suit generously given me by a comrade in Marshall. Moreover, I was small for my age, and could easily have passed for a boy of fifteen. No one would have suspected me of being an escaped prisoner. All that night and the next day I walked on the railroad leading to Terre Haute. My destination was Marshall, Ill., ninety miles west from Indianapolis, where I arrived Thursday night. The Confederate boys were all gone. A traitor had betrayed their councils. Some had been arrested; the rest were scattered. A kind family of Southern sympathizers kept me with them two weeks, and then gave me money to carry me to Boone county, Ky. There I found a squad, who, under Captain Wainwright, one of Duke's recruiting officers, were about to start for West Virginia. I joined them. Christmas week we crossed the line, and early in January I was with my brigade. Henry G. Damon. Corsicana, Texas.
1864 AD (search for this): chapter 87
re I would find Captain Castleman, to whose company I belonged, and other Confederate soldiers, most of whom also belonged to Morgan's command. I left Chicago that evening, arriving the next day at Marshall, where, to my surprise, I found, comfortably established at the leading hotel, several of my comrades from whom I had parted at Cynthiana. I do not know whether or not the history of the part played by the Confederate soldiers in Illinois and southern Indiana, in the summer and fall of 1864, has ever been written. Strange as it may appear, some of our men were to be found in several towns, mingling freely with the people, to a large number of whom their purposes were known. Under the directions of Castleman and Hines (the latter a member of Morgan's staff), they were quietly organizing the disaffected element into a force with which they expected to pounce upon Chicago or Indianapolis, or perhaps both, release the Confederate prisoners, and then, joined by a volunteer force fr
June 19th, 1864 AD (search for this): chapter 87
A Florida boy's experience in prison and in escaping. Henry G. Damon. On the 19th of June, 1864, I became an inmate of Rock Island prison, having been captured June 12th, at Cynthiana, in the last battle fought by Morgan on Kentucky soil—a battle that crowned with disaster a raid which, up to that time, had succeeded beyond every anticipation. We were so completely outnumbered, that it was hardly a battle. The enemy approached us in front, and flanked us right and left. In a few minutes the fight became a rout, and our men were flying in every direction. About two hundred and fifty were captured, a few of whom were taken to Camp Chase, some to Camp Morton, and the remainder to Rock Island. Rock Island prison, located on an island in the Mississippi, between the towns of Davenport, Iowa, and Rock Island, Illinois, was perhaps the strongest prison in the West. It was a large, rectangular pen, covering about twenty-five acres, and containing one hundred and twenty barracks,
September 19th (search for this): chapter 87
distance between them, one of our crowd, Buck Alexander, one of Morgan's most gallant soldiers, exclaimed: There's a good chance to get to the fence, and I believe I will try it. My heart sank when he uttered the last words, for nothing seemed easier, and I knew that not more than one could make the venture. The next day nothing was said about it. The day after I asked Buck if he was still in the notion of going to the fence. He answered, No. I resolved then to try it. That evening, September 19th, at dusk, and before the bugler had sounded the signal for prisoners to retire to their quarters, a few friends, with myself, leisurely sauntered about the yard, and finally stopped near the ditch, opposite the gate. As soon as the sentinels opposite had their backs turned—one going up, the other down the fence—I jumped into the ditch. I did not then attempt to go further, but, closely hugging the opposite bank, dug holes for my hands and feet, so when the time came there would be no d
June 12th (search for this): chapter 87
A Florida boy's experience in prison and in escaping. Henry G. Damon. On the 19th of June, 1864, I became an inmate of Rock Island prison, having been captured June 12th, at Cynthiana, in the last battle fought by Morgan on Kentucky soil—a battle that crowned with disaster a raid which, up to that time, had succeeded beyond every anticipation. We were so completely outnumbered, that it was hardly a battle. The enemy approached us in front, and flanked us right and left. In a few minutes the fight became a rout, and our men were flying in every direction. About two hundred and fifty were captured, a few of whom were taken to Camp Chase, some to Camp Morton, and the remainder to Rock Island. Rock Island prison, located on an island in the Mississippi, between the towns of Davenport, Iowa, and Rock Island, Illinois, was perhaps the strongest prison in the West. It was a large, rectangular pen, covering about twenty-five acres, and containing one hundred and twenty barracks,
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