Camp Dick Robinson


This Site:

Civil War

Civil War Overview

Civil War 1861

Civil War 1862

Civil War 1863

Civil War 1864

Civil War 1865

Civil War Battles

Confederate Generals

Union Generals

Confederate History

Robert E. Lee

Civil War Medicine

Lincoln Assassination


Site Search

Civil War Links


Civil War Art

Mexican War

Republic of Texas


Winslow Homer

Thomas Nast

Mathew Brady

Western Art

Civil War Gifts

Robert E. Lee Portrait

Civil War Harper's Weekly, November 1, 1862

Welcome to our online collection of Harper's Weekly newspapers. This archive has all the Harper's published in the Civil War. This collection has incredible content, to help you develop a more in depth knowledge of this important era of American History.

(Scroll Down to See Entire Page, or Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to a specific page of interest)



Pirate Ship "Alabama"

Bragg and Buell in Kentucky

Bragg and Buell in Kentucky

Writ of Habeas Corpus

Writ of Habeas Corpus

Camp Dick Robinson

Camp Dick Robinson

Battle of Perryville

The Battle of Perryville

Stuart's Cavalry Raid into Maryland

Stuart's Cavalry Raid into Maryland

The Battle of Corinth

John Bull

John Bull Cartoon



Perryville, Kentucky Battle

The Battle of Perryville, Kentucky

Stuart's Cavalry Raid

JEB Stuart's Cavalry Raid

Battle of Corinth

Battle of Corinth




[NOVEMBER 1, 1862.



WE publish on this page a view of CAMP DICK ROBINSON, Garrard County, Kentucky, a very famous place, which has just been vacated by the rebel army under Bragg and reoccupied by Union troops. Our picture is from a sketch by Mr. W. T. R. Brown, of Cincinnati.

Camp Dick Robinson is situate about midway between Cincinnati and Cumberland Gap, 126 miles from the former place, 27 miles from Lexington, and 8 miles east of Danville, the residence of the Rev. R. J. Breckinridge. It is on the farm of the famous Captain Dick Robinson, an uncompromising Union man, and a very popular citizen of Kentucky. The camp is well known as having been the first rallying-place for the Kentucky Unionists and the refugees from Tennessee. Hither were sent the arms furnished by Government to the Union Home Guards of Kentucky, which have formed the nucleus of the Union army in that State; its importance as a military depot during the first year of the war was second to that of no other spot in the State. The late Major-General Nelson was one of its early commanders; he may he said, in fact, to have founded it. He always loved the place, and after he was shot he expressed a wish to be buried on the spot which had been the scene of his patriotic endeavors to preserve his State in the Union. The rebels, in their recent invasion of Kentucky, took possession of Camp Dick Robinson, and rechristened it Camp Breckinridge. They found but little there, however, to reward them for the capture. Quite recently they evacuated the place with precipitation, and the loyal residents believe that no flag but the old Stars and Stripes will ever again float over Camp Dick Robinson.

Our picture is taken from the southwest. Captain Robinson's house is seen just over the tents, a little to the left of the centre of the picture. The road in front of the house, passing to the right of the picture, is the turnpike to Cumberland Gap, along which Bragg's army lately skedaddled and Buell followed in pursuit.


HE has gone, and I have sent him!

Think you I would bid him stay, Leaving, craven-like, to others

All the burden of the day?

All the burden? nay, the triumph!

Is it hard to understand

All the joy that thrills the hero Battling for his native land?

He has gone, and I have sent him!

Could I keep him at my side

While the brave old ship that bears us

Plunges in the perilous tide?

Nay, I blush but at the question,

What am I, that I should chill

All his brave and generous promptings

Captive to a woman's will?

He has gone, and I have sent him!

I have buckled on his sword,

I have bidden him strike for Freedom,

For his country, for the Lord!

As I marked his lofty hearing,

And the flush upon his cheek,

I have caught my heart rebelling

That my woman's arm is weak.

He has gone, and I have sent him!

Not without a thought of pain,
For I know the war's dread chances,

And we may not meet again.

Life itself is but a lending,

He that gave perchance may take;

If it be so, I will bear it

Meekly for my country's sake.

He has gone, and I have sent him!

This henceforward be my pride,

I have given my cherished darling

Freely to the righteous side.

I, with all a mother's weakness,

Hold him now without a flaw;

Yet when he returns I'll hail him

Twice as noble as before.


THOMAS WHITMEAD, Joseph Anscombe, and Henry Aldham lived at Stratford, in the county of Wiltshire, in England, and worked a chalk-pit on Salisbury Plain for their joint benefit. This so-called pit was in the form of a crescent, the excavation having been begun at the foot of a large mound, so that the entrance should be on a level with the adjoining plain. After the excavation had been carried on for some time, they cut out a chamber in the chalk for the purpose of shelter in storms, and for holding tools, wheel-barrows, and other things. On the 16th of April a terrific storm arose, the wind blowing with peculiar violence on this plain, owing to its great extent and the few obstacles which exist there to impede its progress. The rain fell in torrents, and the flashes of lightning succeeded each other so rapidly that the air seemed all ablaze. The three men sat down in their nook to wait till the storm had passed over. Whitmead and Anscombe struck a light and began smoking, but Aldham, who was a man of an unusually serious turn of mind, and much given to the study of religious subjects, sat down a little within the entrance, just out of reach of the driving rain, and began reading the Pilgrim's Progress, the numbers of which were left at the pit by a book-hawker who crossed the plain at regular intervals during the year. Being asked by his partners to

read aloud, he commenced with the account of Christian's journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The exciting character of the narrative, combined with the awe inspired by the raging storm, caused the other two to listen with such breathless interest that their pipes were forgotten and the light died out. Just as Aldham was reading the passage—"The flames would be reaching toward him; also, he heard doleful voices and rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles together; and coming to a place where he thought he heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped and began to muse what he had best to do"—a more furious blast came, the howling and roaring of which drowned the reader's voice, and almost overpowered the sound of the falling of a large fir-tree, several of which grew within a few paces of the top of the cave. This tree fell over the entrance, and its matted roots tore up a large portion of the earth which formed the roof of the cavern, and to this circumstance the two men were probably indebted for their escape from instant suffocation from the consequence of what followed almost immediately afterward. They were still trembling from the fright when the lightning descended upon the fallen tree, tearing it into fragments, and from thence passed into the earth, rending it, and causing the chalk to fall into the cavern where they had sheltered themselves, and burying them therein. Anscombe and Whitmead being at the bottom of the excavation happened to be under that part of the surface from which the earth had been torn up by the roots of the tree, and were able to breathe with tolerable facility, though unable to extricate themselves from the mass of chalk which surrounded them; their position being still further aggravated by the rain which, continuing to pour without slackening for some time, trickled through the mass and streamed down their faces and saturated them to the skin. After a night passed in this position, during which they could hear the groans of their unfortunate companion, they were rescued by their fellow-villagers without other injuries than a few bruises of no importance. As for poor Aldham his case was much worse. Having been seated near the entrance of the cave, under the roof from which no portion of the earth had been removed, he had been completely buried in the chalk, the pressure being to some extent increased by the body of the tree. To the circumstance that chalk fractures in pieces and not in powder it was owing that he was dug out alive; had it been earth he must have been stifled. Though, however, he was yet alive when he was placed on a hurdle and carried to his cottage, he received such severe internal injuries that the doctor, who had been sent for in anticipation, after a very brief examination, pronounced his case hopeless. Still he lingered on day after day, with the shadow of the hand of death on his face and the point of his dart pressing against his breast. Meanwhile his partners had recovered their health and strength and were able to work again.

I have now to relate a very extraordinary occurrence which forms part of this painful history. The three men whose names I have mentioned, with ten others, formed a club, which combined for numerous beneficial purposes. Their meetings were held on a certain evening every week in a little house in a garden belonging to a maltster, who was one of the members of the club. The entrance to this garden was through his house, or through a door opening into the fields, of which each member had a key. On the fifth evening after the accident they were assembled as usual. Some of them were smoking, and had jugs of beer before them, but all were unusually grave and silent, for Whitmead and Anscombe, who were present, had called on their suffering partner on their way down and found him speechless and at the point of death. While they were sitting thus, expecting every instant to hear the passing-bell tell of his soul's departure, the figure of their friend, with no clothing except a shirt upon him, appeared in the room. It looked about for an instant, and then sat down in a vacant chair near the door. Not doubting that it was the apparition of their friend, and not a being of flesh and blood, no one dared to speak. The figure sat still for some minutes without speaking, quite regardless of every thing around, then repeating in a low monotonous tone, "He hath turned the shadow of death into the morning," it rose, glided noiselessly from the room, and disappeared through the door opening into the fields. It is not known, nor is it possible to form an idea with any certainty, how many minutes elapsed before any of those present had so far recovered their self-possession as to open the door and look out; but when they did, the figure was not visible, though they could see for some distance along the path leading in the direction of Aldham's house. After exchanging a few remarks, Whitmead, Anscombe, and another, named Jennings, agreed to go to their friend's house and ascertain his condition; but before they returned the tolling of the church bell informed those who remained behind that Aldham had ceased to exist. The information which the three bought back, was, that Aldham had died at twenty minutes past six o'clock; upon which one of the party averred that this was the very time when the figure entered the room, as he had his watch in his hand at the moment for the purpose of showing his neighbor the time—an assertion which his neighbor confirmed.

The narrative of Jacob Hirzig, a Jew, who was buried alive in a poisoned well.

In the year 5108, which in the European calendar is 1348, a Jewish physician named Balavignus, who dwelt at Thonon, near Chillon, not having the fear of the Mot Holy One before his eyes, did, under the influence of torture, he having been racked several times, and being, moreover, threatened with other and more grievous torments, confess that he had received from Rabbi Jacob Hirzig, through the hands of a Jewish boy, a packet of (Next Page)

Camp Dick Robinson




Site Copyright 2003-2018 Son of the South.  For Questions or comments about this collection, contact

Privacy Policy

Are you Scared and Confused? Read My Snake Story, a story of hope and encouragement, to help you face your fears.