_The War Spirit in Indiana—Breaking up a Traitorous Plot—Narrow
Escape from Enemies—Assists in Securing Recruits—Becomes
Chaplain of his Regiment—Exchange of Courtesies with a
Presbyterian Minister—An Embarrassing Predicament—Saves
Regiment from Capture—Organizes a Military Church—Chased by
Johnnies—An Exciting Homeward Journey._
Indiana was a storm center during the Civil War. Her position was a
strategic one. She was regarded as the keystone of the North. With Oliver
P. Morton, “Indiana’s great War Governor,” at the head of affairs,
she was held firmly to her moorings, and furnished a larger number of
soldiers for the Union Army in proportion to population than any other
State. Yet the State was constantly harassed by citizens who were
unfriendly to the Union cause, and who secretly or openly sympathized
with the South. Secret organizations for the purpose of aiding the
Confederacy were common. Conspicuous among these was the Knights of
the Golden Circle. Yet many not identified with these traitorous
organizations were utterly disloyal. Hence, much bitterness and not
infrequently bloodshed prevailed. It was not unusual for men in official
position to use their influence against the Government, or even to join
the army with traitorous intent.
Rev. Mr. Newgent was serving as pastor for the second year on the Clark’s
Hill charge, when in the fall of 1863, he was “persuaded,” as he said,
“to go into the army for safety.” With his wife he was paying a visit to
his father-in-law in Parke County. In the neighborhood lived a man who
was captain of Home Guards, but whose loyalty was strongly suspected. A
small brother of Mrs. Newgent sometimes visited with his children, and on
returning from one such visit, incidentally mentioned having seen some
pretty guns in the barn where they had been playing. Newgent understood
the meaning of these guns secreted on the premises of this traitorous
man, and telegraphed the news to Governor Morton. A squad of soldiers was
dispatched to the place and some three hundred guns were found. They were
confiscated and a traitorous scheme was thus frustrated.
Newgent at once became the object of a great deal of attention. That he
was responsible for the exposure, was generally surmised. A plan was
formed to do away with him. On Sunday evening following the episode he
was to preach at the Oak Ridge United Brethren Church in the community.
In the midst of the service, by a preconcerted plan, the lights were
suddenly extinguished, and his adversaries were about to execute their
design. He succeeded in making his escape in the darkness by the
assistance of an uncle. The outlook seemed rather stormy, and he was
convinced that it was safer in the army than out of it. Leaving his wife
in the care of her father, he hastened to Lafayette where a regiment, the
116th Indiana Infantry, was being formed by Colonel William C. Kise.
At that period recruits were hard to get and the work proceeded slowly.
Newgent asked the colonel what the chance would be for him to get the
appointment of chaplain.
“What church do you belong to?” the colonel asked.
“I am a United Brethren,” was the answer.
“I am sorry,” said the colonel, “I like the United Brethren Church and
would like to give you the appointment; but this is to be a Methodist
regiment; all the officers are to be Methodists, and it is understood
that the chaplainship is to be given to a Methodist preacher up in the
city.”
“Will you take me, then, as a private?” he asked.
“Certainly,” was the eager reply, “we shall be glad to take you, for
recruits are coming in awfully slowly.” There were then only seven
companies started. None of them were complete. Newgent offered to assist
in raising recruits.
“If you will give me transportation papers,” he said, “I think I can get
some men over in Warren County.”
“Warren County!” exclaimed the colonel in disgust. “It’s of no use to go
there for recruits. I have had a couple of good men over there for three
weeks and they have got only four men.” But Newgent insisted that he be
allowed to try. He understood those people and felt that he knew how to
approach them. The papers were finally given him, and he set out for
Rainsville in this doubtful territory.
Rainsville, it will be remembered, was a headquarters for southern
sympathizers, where little more than a year before but one Union man
could be found. The task was a challenge to Newgent, the kind of a
task he delighted in. Taking a boy with a drum and flag, he went to
the village and nearby points, and soon had the inhabitants inoculated
with the war microbe. The prospects of a draft about this time proved
an effective argument in favor of enlistment, which was used for all
it was worth. After an absence of six days he returned to camp with 104
men, which was the first full company in the regiment, this, too, from
territory that was as completely southern in sentiment as though it had
been in the very heart of the Confederacy.
The march to camp was a triumphal procession. The company of volunteers
was accompanied by several hundred men and boys who fell in on the way.
As they came into camp about twelve o’clock on Saturday night with colors
flying and giving vent to their enthusiasm by singing and hollowing, it
had the effect of a small army, not unlike that of Gideon’s band, when
they multiplied the effect of numbers by noise and enthusiasm and scared
the Midianites out of their wits. The colonel met them with a drum corps
and the company was welcomed amid the most extravagant expressions of
delight. The fact that recruits were coming in so slowly gave increased
cause for demonstration. When the general hubbub had somewhat abated,
the crowd demanded a speech from Newgent, and the demand was imperative.
Though worn by physical exertion and hoarse from much haranguing, he
gave a brief talk, at the close of which, amid great applause, some one
moved that “Rev. Mr. Newgent be made chaplain of the regiment.” It was
heartily seconded, and shouts of approval burst from every section of the
camp. So, by general consent the rule to make it a Methodist regiment
was waived, insofar as it related to the chaplainship, much to the
satisfaction of Colonel Kise, and Newgent became their spiritual adviser.
The Methodist brother, who, it was understood, was to receive the
appointment, came out the next afternoon (Sunday) to preach to the
boys and get acquainted; but on being apprised of what had taken place
the night before, he quietly withdrew, leaving Newgent in undisputed
possession of the honors which his tact and energy had won.
The regiment was finally completed and mustered in for a term of six
months, though it served considerably over time. Its first service was
rendered in guarding the U. S. Armory at Detroit, Michigan. The armory
was threatened by General Vallandigham, who had been banished from the
United States because of treasonable expressions, and had placed himself
at the head of a force in Canada with the purpose of threatening the
Union from the north. The regiment was later sent to reënforce General
Burnsides in east Tennessee.
This was during the terrible winter of ’63 and ’64, when Burnsides was
besieged by Confederate General Longstreet and was shut up in Knoxville.
The hardships suffered by the Union soldiers during that memorable siege
are matters of history and need not be recounted in detail here. Among
the foremost of the sufferers was Newgent’s regiment, the 116th Indiana.
All supplies having been cut off, the boys for many weeks had a hard
struggle to keep from succumbing to hunger and cold. For a time they each
had but one ear of corn a day; no tents, and not sufficient clothing
for protection even under favorable circumstances. In the midst of the
severest winter weather, over three hundred of the men were barefooted.
Newgent was the best dressed man in his regiment, and it was with
difficulty that he got his dress coat to hang together at the collar;
and he suffered no little uneasiness lest his trousers would dissolve
partnership with him.
A few characteristic army experiences will suffice in this connection and
occupy the remainder of this chapter.
On reaching Tennessee, the regiment was stationed temporarily at
Greenville. The care-free boys attended services the first Sunday
morning at the Presbyterian church in the city. The pastor, Rev. Samuel
McCorkle, treated them kindly. They were delighted with the reception
accorded them, and on the following Sabbath a large part of the regiment,
including the chaplain, turned out to worship at Rev. Mr. McCorkle’s
church. When Newgent appeared in his chaplain’s uniform, McCorkle
at once led him up to the pulpit and insisted that he preach. The
chaplain was never averse to preaching whenever there was occasion for
it, and so consented, under slight pressure. He observed the pastor’s
manuscript neatly tied up with red ribbon, which told him he had barely
escaped listening to a manuscript sermon. Newgent had little sympathy
for a written discourse and took advantage of the situation to indulge
in some pleasantries at the learned parson’s expense. He told the
congregation, the greater part of whom were soldiers, that he had no set
discourse, and that he never tried to palm off a written sermon upon a
helpless congregation, as such a procedure was “like a doctor writing a
prescription before examining the patient.” Rev. Mr. McCorkle accepted
the criticism good-naturedly and invited Newgent to take dinner with him
after the service. After several weeks of army rations, the dinner at
Rev. Mr. McCorkle’s home was a most delightful change.
He returned the courtesy that had been accorded him by inviting his host
to preach to his “boys” in the afternoon. The invitation was accepted.
McCorkle did not deem it judicious to use his manuscript after the
episode of the forenoon, and was visibly handicapped and embarrassed in
his attempt at extemporaneous delivery. He talked but a few minutes and
turned the service over to the chaplain.
After the service the two men had a heart-to-heart talk. McCorkle
confessed his chagrin at not being able to preach without his manuscript,
and expressed a determination to cultivate the habit of extemporaneous
delivery. That the determination was carried out was seen in the fact
that he became a leader in this method of preaching. And the two
preachers continued fast friends.
An incident more pleasing to relate than to undergo occurred at Tazewell,
Tennessee, where Newgent’s regiment had been dispatched with twenty-four
others to check a Confederate force that was approaching from that
quarter. They went into camp, building temporary fortifications with
the grave stones of a nearby cemetery. About midnight the army was
surprised by the sudden arrival of a force of Confederate cavalry that
captured some of the outposts. Newgent, with some of his regiment, was
garrisoned in an old building that had been used for a granary. As the
fire was opened he caught up his clothes in his arms, and, mounting
his horse, started down the hill for a more healthful location. The
horse stumbled over some rocks, throwing the rider to the ground and
scattering his precious wearing apparel to the four winds. There was no
time for trifles, and the clothes were abandoned for the time. They were
recovered about nine o’clock the next morning, much to the relief of the
reverend, whose situation in the meantime was as embarrassing as it was
uncomfortable.
On one occasion his coolness and ingenuity were the means of saving
his entire regiment from capture. The regiment had been ordered across
the Clinch River in east Tennessee to guard a narrow passage in the
mountains at what was called Bean’s Station. They had gotten across and
were camping in a bend of the river when news came that the rebels had
superseded them, and three brigades were between them and the gap. They
might easily have retreated, but the river became swollen from heavy
rains, and to cross a swift, mountain stream under such circumstances was
practically out of the question.
Newgent was sick at the time, being cared for at the colonel’s
headquarters. During the early part of the night the colonel came to him,
trembling with fear, and said, “Chaplain, what on earth is to be done?
There is a strong rebel force on one side of us, and an unfordable stream
on the other. If we are not out of here by morning every one of us will
be captured.”
The rebels were confident that they could not get away and so waited
until morning to bag their game.
“Bring six or seven of the boys here,” said Newgent. The boys were
brought. He told them to go down to the river where they would find an
old canoe partly filled with water. “Build a fire on the bank so that its
light will shine across the stream, bail the water out of the canoe, put
it in as good shape as possible, and then report.”
They followed his instructions, after which they came back to
headquarters, and the sick chaplain got out of his bed and went back with
them to the river. Though it was a perilous undertaking, the men got in
the water-soaked canoe, and by the uncertain light of the fire, made
their way to the other side of the angry stream. They went to General
Curtain’s headquarters, related the situation, and procured a supply of
cannon rope. With the rope they made a cable across the river. They thus
devised a rude ferry by means of an abandoned and partly submerged barge
which they raised and repaired for the purpose. The barge would carry
about twelve men or one horse at a trip. It was propelled by the men
holding to the cable and thus laboriously working their way from one side
of the stream to the other. Through the dark, stormy night they toiled,
and before daybreak the entire regiment with all appurtenances was out of
reach of the enemy. When the rebels reached forth their hand next morning
to bag their game, lo! it wasn’t there!
It was a terrible night’s work, however. The sick chaplain stayed with
the barge until the last man was saved. He was twice thrown into the
water, and ran a fearful risk in thus exposing himself at so critical
a time. After the excitement of the night, by which alone his physical
strength was sustained, he suffered a serious relapse. He was confined to
his bed at General Curtain’s headquarters for about two weeks, when he
again reported for duty. The men regarded him as their deliverer, and the
satisfaction of having saved his comrades from the horrors of a southern
prison compensated for all he suffered. For this heroic deed he was
complimented on dress parade by a special order from the general.
The following reference to this incident is found in the “Official
Records of the Army,” Series I., Vol. XXXI.:
Tazewell, Tenn., December 14, 1863.
Major-General Foster, Knoxville:
General: I have the honor of reporting that I arrived here this
evening at about dark, having left Rutledge at 9:00 a. m., and
Bean’s Station at 1:30 p. m.... At the crossing of the Clinch
River (Evan’s Ford) I found a sufficient guard, under the
command of Colonel Kise. The river was rising quite rapidly,
but the guard had raised and repaired the ferry-boat, which was
crossing successfully, being pulled back and forth by hand upon
a cable stretched from one shore to another. I think that it
would be well, as a matter of security, to have another boat
built there, and will so notify Colonel Babcock....