A Union soldier of the 40th Illinois Infantry, Newby had returned to his home and family nearly thirty years after his supposed death at the battle of Shiloh in April 1862. Subsequently arrested and indicted on charges of fraud and imposture, he was the focus of a sensational trial that was held in Springfield, Illinois in the summer of 1893.
The book's author, Gilbert Jasper George, was a lawyer and Union veteran who served with Newby until the latter fell at Shiloh. This file contains his introduction and his first-hand account of the battle.
Along with new material and previously unpublished historical documents, the original manuscript has recently been reprinted in its entirety by WM. Kennann Publishing under the title "William Newby: A Civil War Soldier's Return." For more information on this new edition, see the bibliographic material at the end of this document.
WKP has provided the ASCII text for this upload. Permission to disseminate the file electronically is freely granted with the proviso that the full text be provided.
Early in 1861 William Newby enlisted in Company D, 40th Illinois Infantry, along with many of his old White County neighbors and friends. At Shiloh, on Sunday morning, April 6, 1862, when the rebels made their first grand charge upon the Union lines, the 40th met them in that deadly conflict, and in a few moments many fell. Many were killed and many wounded, and Newby, who was left on the field, was thought to be wounded fatally. The regiment retreated, and three days later his comrades thought they buried him with the rest. And this fact was so reported to the government.
It now seems that they were mistaken, and that, instead, he was taken prisoner and carried away into the South to Belle Isle, thence to Andersonville, where, although he had lost his reason from the wound upon his head, he was kept in that pen, and known there as "Crazy Jack," his identification being complete.
After being released he wandered over the world for twenty-nine years, finally coming to his own country, where he was discovered, captured, and brought home to his family, whom he did not know. Through the effects of kind treatment and familiar surroundings his reason was to some extent restored.
In due time he applied for discharge from the service and for a pension. The case being an important one, the government put upon the claim its special detective and examiner, who, after getting Newby's disjointed statements, and finding he had been at Nashville, Tenn., induced the claimant to go down to Tennessee, where a fellow by the name of "Rickety Dan" Benton was known before the war. Benton had many points in common with the claimant, and the agent found many people there who were willing to swear that Newby and Benton were identical. He was then brought back from Nashville to Springfield, Ill., where he was jailed, indicted, and tried as a fraud.
One trial is over, and another pending. One hundred and forty of his old
neighbors swear he is Newby; thirty Tennesseans swear that he is Benton; six
men who were in Andersonville swear that he is "Crazy Jack"- Three in One.
We then undertake the task of reducing three to one, and that one to be
William Newby, who served his country as a member of Company D., 40th
Illinois Infantry, and to assist in restoring him to his family and to his
rights as a brave soldier.
"William Newby, age 35; hair dark; eyes gray; height 5 ft 11 in." Such is the description of William Newby as it appears upon the records of the government when he entered the army in 1861. From Fairfield, where he was enrolled, he went with his company to Camp Butler, thence to Jefferson Barracks, thence to Paducah, KY., and finally, on Sunday morning, April 6, 1862, we find him with his regiment in Sherman's brigade, in camp a little north of Owl Creek, near Shiloh's meeting-house, answering to roll-call for the last time. The fates were hovering around us. In two hours Death had taken out his toll from our ranks, and Oblivion had marked Newby for his own.
In order to throw some light on the question, "Was Newby killed at Shiloh?" it is proper that I should set forth the events of that day as I saw them; and inasmuch as his post was very near my side I may be as competent to state the part that he took in this engagement as another, and there is no man in the world more desirous to record these events faithfully.
The first question always asked is 'Was it a surprise?" For this, every man has his own answer. I am willing to state most positively that I was surprised.
It was on a beautiful sunny morning, April 6, 1862. The reveille had been sounded, the men had answered to their names, and breakfast was in a more or less advanced stage of preparation among the different messes. I was multiplying contrivances to reduce my tincupful of coffee to a drinking temperature, when the bullets began to fall in the camp. This incident, trifling in itself, has always been proof to me "as strong as Holy Writ" that our superior officers did not know that the enemy were moving on us that morning in full force. For my part, I have always regretted that Sherman did not own up to being slipped up on unawares that Sunday morning, or, at least, that it was a surprise in some measure. Picket firing had been going on for a day or two, and we had become somewhat used to the crack of rifles at the front, but here was another state of affairs. Z-z-z-p a bullet; z-z-z-z-p another. Here were signs of a real battle--signs as unmistakable as the negro's signs of rain: "Thunder, lightning, and big drops falling in the mill-pond." An "ager," totally unlike the Wabash variety, seized me. The long roll sounded, and the boys fell in. It was our first battle. We faced south, crossed this creek, advanced up the hill, and soon saw the enemy sweeping on to the attack. We were ordered to fall back. We retreated across the creek, passed through our camp and through the woods in as good order as the nature of the case would permit, until we reached a small stream a quarter of a mile back (north) of our camp. In about a half hour we reformed, or, to be accurate, we reassembled. By this time the panicky feeling had passed away, and all the men were full of fight. We were drawn up in line on the brink of a little hill, near a swampy, little creek. It was here, about thirty paces from this stream, that I detailed Sergeant Merritt and R. H. Maricle to take William Watkins, who had just been struck by a stray missile, to a place of safety. This was their principal participation in the battle until their services in burying the dead after the smoke of the battle had cleared away.
After we had reformed we advanced in good order, regiment line of march, east about a quarter of a mile, or about the same distance we had fallen back. Here we were put in line of battle facing south, and were marched about six hundred yards front, where we halted for half an hour on the north side of a crooked little creek or ravine. The enemy were seen pushing through a sage-field in front of us, and we were ordered to charge.
Into the charge we good officers mounted, and the gray-coats charged into the woods and down upon us. Our line of battle was formed, say seventy-five feet south of the ravine. The companies, as they stood in line of battle, were in alphabetical order, beginning with A on the right, and K on the left, ten companies, letter J being omitted.
The left of Company C would rest on the right of Company D, which was Newby's company, and the right of Company E would rest on the left of D. Remember, they were charging south; the right, or Company A, to the west, and the left, or Company K, to the east. (See map.) The men, coming to the creek, which was very crooked, would tend, more or less, to cross it at right angles, and would be faced east or west, as the crooks or turns might bring them. As the line of battle was only a few steps south of the creek, and as there were trees and logs there, which were used by the soldiers to protect them from the bullets of the enemy, it is easily seen how men belonging to one company would naturally be thrown beside members of adjoining companies on their right or left, and also how men from different companies would be liable to see Newby in or after the fight.
In the arrangement of the men the largest were always at the head of the company next to the orderly sergeant. Adam Files, being the largest, was next to me, then came the three Newby boys, William, James and Whaley, all large men.
Files, the Newbys, and Levi Shores-another large man-pushed about twenty feet ahead of Captain Hooper and myself, and the Captain, thinking that they were exposing themselves too much to the enemy, went forward and told them to get down and fight low. Coming back to my side, he turned around, and, seizing my arm, he pointed to Adam Files, who had been instantly killed. Bullets were flying like hail, and in another moment Hooper himself fell at my feet dead. In a few minutes more (I can not tell the exact length of time) I saw William Newby, who had been lying low and firing on the enemy, squirming around on his right side, turning his head to the north, with his hand on his head, and blood flowing from the left side of his head, somewhere above the ear. He was near a tree, by which I think he stopped and ceased his efforts to crawl away. Whaley Newby lost the use of his right arm here. James escaped unhurt, and has since died in Texas.
The fire from the enemy becoming more and more deadly, and the officers and Captain Hooper having been killed, we retreated leaving seven men on the field.
The question is, was William Newby killed? Marion Files says he saw him by that tree in a sitting posture, and that Newby told him that he was badly hurt, or shot to pieces, or both--he was not certain which.
James Watson saw him after he was shot, and says that he was not shot in the forehead, and that he was not dead when he saw him. Sergeant Rose, John Null, and others, say that they saw him lying on the field, wounded on the side of the head.
William McNeely, who knew Newby, saw the dead about noon on Monday, about twenty-four hours after the battle, and he says that Newby was not one of them.
Peter J. Files, the hospital steward, whose duty it was to look after the wounded, says that Newby was not among the dead on the field on Monday afternoon. He was a brother-in-law to Newby, and a nephew of Adam Files, who was killed within a few feet of where Newby was shot, and whom he recognized. Mr. Files claimed, when the report of the battle was being made up, that we would have to look somewhere else for "Bill." The following is an extract from a letter just received from Mr. Files, which will explain itself.
HEBER, ARK., August 11, 1893.
Comrade G. J. George:
In regard to Bill Newby, I would say that I never saw him after he was shot. You doubtless know that I was on detail in hospital when the battle commenced, but joined the company on the left. Newby was on the right, so I did not see him shot; but after we drove the rebels back on Monday, past where our men were killed, I went back to where our men were killed and wounded, to take them off the field. That was Monday afternoon. I made a diligent search for Bill Newby, but could not find him. I found all the rest of our dead; I think forty in number. It was easy enough to recognize the dead when I first went back. I always did know our burying party never buried Newby, but supposed he was buried by some other party, for I made a diligent search for his body, but it was not anywhere near where any of the rest of the bodies were. It was claimed at the time that he was shot near the bodies of Uncle Ad (Files) and Captain Hooper. I knew that couldn't be so. I see it was sworn to that they turned him over and took a knife and some tobacco out of his pocket. Now, Bill Newby never used tobacco. I am satisfied that I saw the body of Hi Morris on the field.
The reason that I was not at trial was, I was away from home, and did not get home until the 19th, and supposed that the trial was over before I knew it was going on.
Yours truly,
Peter J. Files.
After the battle he wrote to his sister, Mrs. Newby, not to be in a hurry about a pension--that Bill was not found there.
William Murphy, who died about a year ago, told me that he saw Newby after he was shot, sitting up by a tree. Thomas Ellis, who also died about a year ago, said he saw him alive, and knew precisely where he was hit. He was seen by about twelve comrades after he was wounded, but no one claims to have seen him dead on the field of Shiloh. We marched and fought eastwardly along the Purdy road, and at the "Hornet's Nest" we held the enemy at bay until Prentiss was captured, when we retired into camp about a mile back (north) of where we were encamped in the morning.
On Monday morning we faced south again, and struck the enemy on the Purdy road, east of the point of our engagement on Sunday morning. We fought and drove them the next day without further loss, and camped Monday night about three miles southeast of the place where we first saw the enemy. On Tuesday we struck northwestwardly for our old camp, reaching that point about twelve o'clock on Tuesday.
Here the detail was made by me to go and bury the dead who fell on the bank of the ravine. They went and buried them on the afternoon of Tuesday, certainly more than fifty hours after they were killed. These facts are admitted by all except W. H. Merritt, one of the two men who positively swear that they buried Newby, and he claims that he buried him on Monday.
The men detailed went and dug a long ditch, and buried seven, including William Newby.
Did they or did they not? Is it possible that they could be mistaken? I believe now they were. Why? In the first place, we had seen him badly wounded. The impression among the boys was that he was probably killed, and the detail went upon the ground expecting to find him, and was ready to take any large man that might be lying around there for Newby, in the absence of the man himself.
Corpses, dressed alike in blue uniform, that have lain out in the sunshine and rain for nearly two nights and three days, and who are swollen and discolored, are more likely to be identified by their size and general appearance than by any close scrutiny of features. I accompanied the party myself, and saw the work done. The Files boys, sons of "Uncle Ad," who fell first, as before mentioned, being unable to go with the party, gave me a new blanket when we started, and requested me to see that it was placed around their father. I identified him mainly by his size and gray hairs. He, with the others, had lain there two nights and nearly three days, during which time there had been two heavy rains, with sunshine between. His face was black. He was greatly swollen, and the foam was running from his nose and mouth.
Any old soldier understands how this duty of burying the dead is performed. They are not buried as are neighbors at home, with hearse, procession, funeral, and sweet songs.
We must not say that a soldier does not care for a dead soldier, but after a man has stood in the ranks and shot at men for two or three days; has seen his friends crawling around on the ground bleeding like hogs; has seen brother or father fall by his side and give up the ghost with only a hollow groan; when he has made up his mind to share a like fate; when bloodshed and carnage have become familiar sights to eyes, and the cries and moans of the wounded and dying have become familiar sounds to his ears, the man's sensibilities become blunted. Then, after the enemy has been whipped and driven off the ground; when he is tired and worn out with hard fighting, to have to shoulder his spade and go out upon a field where the dead are thicker than sheaves in the harvest field, is, to say the least of it, no labor of love. He looks upon the burial of the dead, not as matter of sentiment, but as a strictly sanitary measure. The truth is, that many times he goes in a perfunctory manner among the blackened corpses, where friends and foes lie together in heaps, digs the trench, and lays or pitches them in, as the case may be. He knows they are indifferent to sentiment, and beyond suffering, so holds no inquest, and pronounces no funeral oration. He rarely gives the men he buries a thought or a look, but feels that the order of the superior officer is executed, and his duty performed, if he puts his fallen comrades away where fowls of the air may not prey upon them and the hogs will not root them up.
Under such circumstances mistakes might easily arise, and many have arisen. I was by, and did not know whether Newby was buried or not, and of all the men in the party but two claim that they identified him, and knew that he was buried--W. H. Merritt and Dr. Maricle.
And there are other and very good grounds for believing that Newby was not buried there. As has been stated, Company C was immediately to the right of where Newby stood, and it has been shown that the members of these two companies could have easily been mixed up in this particular place.
There were in Company C two men--"Hi" Morris and "Mi" Morris. "Mi" Morris was killed, and buried. "Hi" was last seen in that charge near Newby. He was not buried by Company C's men. They reported him missing but he has never been seen or heard of since. The adjutant general's report has it that "Hi" Morris was discharged. This is a mistake. As stated before, he has never been heard of. This is sworn to by all the members of his company, known to be a fact by the whole community. His widow failed to get a pension by reason of the fact stated, and married and now lives in an adjoining county.
The fact is, as we now believe, the boys thought they buried Newby, but buried "Hi" Morris instead. Another circumstance is worth noting. One of the men who believe that Newby was found dead on the field claims he turned the body over, and took from his pocket a knife and a plug of tobacco. It is a fact attested by all who knew William Newby that he never used tobacco before the war, nor does he now.
Now as to the testimony of Merritt and Maricle. As stated before, when William Watkins was wounded by a stray shot or shell, these two men were detailed to carry him off to a place of safety. This is the last we saw or heard of them until we finished up our triangular march, and struck the old camp on Tuesday, where we found them.
There seems to be a fatal weakness in the evidence of the first-named gentleman, from the fact that he claims and insists that I told him on Monday that Newby was dead; and he says on oath that he buried him on Monday. This last fact can not be true. The whole trend of the events, as well as the evidence of the other man, Dr. Maricle, and the whole company, is against him. If he was detailed by me at all, it must have been on Tuesday afternoon, when he had no better opportunity of identifying the body than other men.
Dr. Maricle, the most active witness for the government, the strong support of the burying theory--the Atlas on whose shoulders that theory rests--has changed his opinion on the matter twice since Newby came back, and on whichever side you find him you find him an active partisan. At the trial he swore that he knew Newby before the war and in the war. He was not in the battle, but saw him the third day after, when the dead were buried, identified him, and helped to place a board at the head of the grave.
It is singular that a man who has experiences that he is willing to swear to now should have expressed doubts as to those same experiences but a short time ago.
The case, stated bluntly by those who think they know, is simply this: These men thought that the Newbys were not going to "tote fair" with them in the matter of the pension, and they proceeded to jump on the old man with both feet to crush him.
It may be stated here that whatever the motive may have been, their turning had no such effect. There was no turning of public opinion, and no collapse except in the prestige, practice, and pill-bags of the doctor himself.
In concluding this chapter, I will say that in consideration of the fact
that no one saw William Newby killed; considering the length of time that
elapsed between the engagement and the time of the alleged burial; the
liability of mistakes under such circumstances, as shown by other cases
cited in this book; the character of the testimony on both sides--taking all
things into consideration--there is a presumption, amounting to a strong
probability, that he was not buried at the time alleged, and subsequent
developments will show conclusively, I think, that William Newby was not
killed at Shiloh.
My name is William Newby, age 68, nearly. I was born April 29, 1825. I live with my people near Mill Shoals, Illinois. I have no occupation. I used to be a farmer. I was a private in Company D. 40th Illinois Infantry. I enlisted as a recruit in August, 1861. The regiment was made up in the spring, but I was not then ready to enlist, as I wanted to make a crop for my family to live on. I enlisted at Burnt Prairie on the 8th of August 1861. I am not able to tell you who enlisted when I did. There were lots of them, and I am not good at remembering names.
I have always lived here, near Burnt Prairie, though I was born in Smith County, Tennessee, near Carthage. I am unable to tell you how far we lived from Carthage. I was only 3 or 4 years old when I moved to Illinois. My father's name was John Newby. He died in this neighborhood about 1844. My mother is still living. She lives with her daughter Paulina Campbell, wife of William Campbell, who lives about 3 miles northeast of Burnt Prairie. My father and mother had twelve children, eight of whom are now living. The following were the children: Carroll Newby, in the poorhouse at Mt. Vernon, Illinois; Betsy, who is dead. She was the wife of William Greathouse, Cisne, Illinois. William Newby, myself. I was the third child. Presley Newby, who lives near Mill Shoals. Martha Newby, now the widow of Daniel Greathouse. She now lives with her son, Trum [?] Greathouse, near Helena, Arkansas. James Newby, of my company, dead. Rowland Newby, who now lives somewhere in Texas. I don't know his whereabouts. Lucy, the wife of Sam Cates, who lives somewhere in Texas, I don't know whereabout. Paulina, the wife of William Campbell, Burnt Prairie, Illinois. Whaley Newby, who lives near Mill Shoals, Illinois. He was in my company. Whaley was named after an uncle from Tennessee, who has never lived here. I was named after my grandfather, who was William Newby. I don't remember that I ever saw him.
I remember seeing my father well. He was about my complexion. He had dark hair and dark eyes. My earliest recollections are of this vicinity where my father settled. He first moved to about a mile and a half northeast of Burnt Prairie and lived there a year or so, till he got disgusted with the chills and fever, and he sold the farm and bought another about two and a half miles southwest of Burnt Prairie. I never knew much about my father's people. I have heard them speak about Uncle Hezekiah, who lived in Mt. Vernon, Illinois, and kept a dry goods store. In fact, I knew this uncle. He has died since I went to the service. He had some children. I don't remember all their names. My oldest brother Carroll married one of the girls, but she is dead. He is in the Mt. Vernon poorhouse. Johnson Newby was one of Uncle Hezekiah Newby's sons. He is dead. He died with smallpox in the St. Louis hospital after I went to the army. When I first turned up in 1891 [?] began to say I was Johnson Newby, and my brother Carroll found out from one of Johnson's sisters that he died as aforesaid. I don't know the name of this sister. Father had but one brother here, Hezekiah. He had no sister living here. He had two sisters, but they died when they were children. There were only the three boys, Whaley, Hezekiah, and my father, John. Father was called Jack Newby in Tennessee. I never had a cousin named William Newby that I know of, but two William Newbys have been here to see me, one from Indianapolis, Indiana, and the other from somewhere in Nebraska forget the name of the town.
I was married to Fereby Files in 1849, and was living with her when I went to the army. We had six children, one of whom died about eight years ago. I had a farm of 200 acres of land, which was administered on, and divided up among my children by the court.
I claim pension on wound of head, back of left ear sustained in the
battle of Shiloh, Tennessee, April 6, 1862. I was struck by a piece of a
shell. I became insensible, and the next I knew of myself, I was in a
rebel prison. I was in the hospital. The prison was a penitentiary used
by the rebels to confine Yankee prisoners of war in. I cannot say for
sure whether it was in Tennessee, Georgia, or Alabama. I was there close
on to a year. My head was treated, but I don't remember what was done. A
"piece" was put in my head while I was in the hospital in this
penitentiary prison of war. I was sent from there to Belle Isle, where I
stayed about 11 or 12 months. I was next sent to Andersonville, where I
remained till the close of the war. I did not know anybody at
Andersonville. I was known by the name of Crazy Jack, and I laid in the
filth and ditches. I went naked with an old yarn gray shirt tied around
my waist. I was not myself there. I was as crazy as a bed bug, and had
no sense at all.
Bibliographic information:
Title: William Newby: A Civil War Soldier's Return, 1993
Author: George, Gilbert Jasper
WM. Kennann Publishing, Long Beach, CA.
240 pages; 6 x 9"; acid-free paper.
Includes original 1893 manuscript--with maps, engravings and photo illustrations--along with a new foreword, previously unpublished documents from National Archives records of the case, and a comprehensive index to the material.
Library of Congress Number: 93-80256
ISBN: 0-9638836-0-7 (hardback) $27.95 postpaid.
ISBN: 0-9638836-1-5 (paperback) $19.95 postpaid
WM. Kennann Publishing
2016 Fidler Ave
Long Beach CA 90815
(562) 597-7384
Additional information on Newby available at the Wm. Kennann
Publications site.