MORGAN’S CHRISTMAS RAID, DECEMBER 22, 1862, TO JANUARY 2, 1863
The distance between Nashville and Murfreesboro is thirty miles. For
sixty days after assuming command of the Federal forces at Nashville,
General Rosecrans was making his preparations to advance south. The
Confederate Army was at Murfreesboro. The center, under General
Leonidas Polk, around the town; the right wing, under General McCown,
at Readyville, ten miles east of Murfreesboro; and the left wing at
Triune and Eaglesville, under General W. J. Hardee, ten miles west
of Murfreesboro. These comprised the entire Confederate Army called
the “Army of Tennessee.” It was in front of the Federal forces,
styled the “Army of the Cumberland,” and covered the lines around
Murfreesboro.
General Rosecrans took with him out of Nashville forty-seven thousand
men. He had seventy-five hundred at Nashville, thirty-five hundred
at Gallatin and four thousand at Bowling Green, Kentucky, and
Clarksville, Tennessee. General Bragg, all counted, had thirty-eight
thousand men to resist the Federal advance.
Between Murfreesboro and Nashville there was a macadam road. Along
this, Rosecrans advanced, and it took him four days to get close
enough to Murfreesboro to justify an attack on the part of the
Confederates. The outlook to the Federals was flattering. On the
afternoon of the 30th, General Palmer, who was commanding the Union
vanguard, telegraphed that he was “in sight of Murfreesboro and the
enemy was running.” On the next day, he discovered that this was a
great mistake, and when he felt the impact of the Confederates on the
31st, he realized that if “the men in gray were running,” they had
suddenly changed their mind and their ways. The four days consumed
by Rosecrans in making this twenty miles were full of intense
activities. Generals Wheeler and Wharton of the Confederate cavalry
were the potent factors in delaying and embarrassing the Federal
movements.
No one in the Confederate service knew better than General Wheeler
how to obstruct an advancing foe. On the 26th, 27th, 28th and 29th,
he harassed and assailed the Federals at every opportunity and made
them hesitant and extremely cautious.
At midnight, on the 29th of December, General Wheeler was ordered
by General Bragg to ride around the Federal Army. It was only a
thirty-five mile dash, but it had much of excitement, danger and
difficulty. On the morning of the 30th, Wheeler reported that he had
captured a brigade train and fifty prisoners. At Lavergne, a few
hours later, he took seven hundred prisoners and destroyed an immense
train. This carried with it a loss to the Federals in supplies and
munitions of many hundreds of thousands of dollars. Nearby, at Rock
Springs, he caught another train. At Nolensville he captured still
another and three hundred prisoners, and then without any disturbance
from his foes, he proceeded to take his place on the left wing of
the Confederate Army. In these brief hours he had swung the circle
and deeply impressed on his opponents that they might expect trouble
at every step of their way.
At dawn of the day following, General McCown opened the Battle of
Murfreesboro. General Wheeler, with his cavalry, joined in the attack
on the Federals and aided in driving them two miles. General Wharton,
with the other portion of the Southern cavalry, was ordered also to
ride to the rear of the enemy. He captured hundreds of prisoners, and
as if defying all rules of safety, he turned the head of his column
due north, in the direction of Nashville. He destroyed many wagons
and made numerous prisoners. A large majority of those he safely
delivered within the Confederate lines. The Federals had good guns;
Wharton, inferior ones. He immediately provided his two thousand
riders with the improved arms which had been taken from the Federals,
and then returned to the rear of the enemy, passing entirely around
the Federal forces. These successes inspired every man in Bragg’s
army with courage and hope. The example of these bold horsemen was
contagious, and the infantry were anxious to try their luck with the
invading columns.
Not satisfied with these adventures, on the 1st day of January,
General Wheeler with his own and Wharton’s cavalry, decided to return
to the rear of the Federal Army, where there was such rich reward for
his labors. Revisiting Lavergne, he attacked the garrison, burned
many wagons and captured a number of infantry and a splendid piece
of artillery. Fate was so propitious in all these expeditions and
the field for destruction so wide, the same night he again went to
Rosecrans’ rear, capturing a large number of wagons and horses and
prisoners, and by two o’clock the next morning was on the left flank
of the army. At nine o’clock on the night of the 1st, he made his
last expedition to the Federal rear, and, as before, found his foes
easily demoralized and ready to flee or surrender when vigorously and
promptly assailed. On the 4th of January, after these adventurous
and successful operations, he emerged from his Federal surroundings
to find that General Bragg had fallen back. No cavalry in any great
battle of the war played a more distinguished part than Wheeler’s
and Wharton’s men at Murfreesboro. Their audacity was only equalled
by their success, and it is difficult to comprehend how even the
greatest of leaders, with only twenty-nine hundred horsemen, could
make such havoc with foes, or move with such ease, celerity and
with freedom from disaster, in the rear of an opposing army, when
rarely was he at any time more than ten miles from the tents of
its commanders. A few hundreds of Federal cavalry properly led and
disposed, with such numbers of infantry close by, ought not only to
have obstructed Generals Wheeler and Wharton in their marches, but
should have forced or driven them discomfited within their own lines.
In the battle the Federal losses in killed and wounded was eight
thousand, seven hundred and seventy-eight and three thousand six
hundred and seventy-three captured, making a total of twelve thousand
four hundred and fifty-one. Rosecrans also lost twenty-eight pieces
of artillery. Bragg, with thirty-eight thousand men, had a loss of
ten thousand, two hundred and sixty-six, of which nine thousand were
killed and wounded, and about twelve hundred of them were left in the
hospitals at Murfreesboro, which later were taken possession of by
the Federal Army.
A third of the forces in this battle were from Tennessee. They
fought desperately on their native soil, contesting for their homes
and firesides, and they suffered a terrific decimation. Cheatham’s
division, composed entirely of Tennesseeans, had thirty-six per cent
wounded or killed. Cleburne’s division suffered a like mortality,
and Johnson’s and Palmer’s Tennessee brigades sustained a loss of
twenty-nine and a half per cent.
In order to prevent reinforcements at Clarksville, Nashville and
Bowling Green from coming to the assistance of Rosecrans, General
John H. Morgan was directed by General Bragg on the 22d of December,
1862, to make a raid along the Louisville and Nashville railroad into
Kentucky, and, as far as possible, destroy it, so as to break the
Federal communications.
Alexandria, in Wilson County, Tennessee, was forty miles east of
Nashville. The Federals did not spread out very far from Nashville
in this direction, and there was a neutral zone in and around
Lebanon, the county seat of Wilson County, to which the Federals and
Confederates each now and then came. It was necessary to protect this
line in order to prevent danger to Knoxville. It was still in the
nominal possession of the Confederacy. South and west of Nashville,
Wheeler, Wharton and Forrest were campaigning. Forrest’s December
raid into West Tennessee had not only demonstrated that he was one of
the most ferocious fighters in the Confederate service, but also the
tremendous power of cavalry when skillfully handled. He had largely
recruited his skeleton regiments, and when he came out, although he
had seen hard service, he numbered several hundred more men than when
he was ordered, against his judgment, by General Bragg to make the
raid, in the face of most inclement weather and with an ill-equipped
force. His personal pride had been subordinated to his patriotism,
and he was ready to give and do his best for the work now before
Bragg.
Morgan was now to be given a chance to try his hand in Kentucky. For
some months there had been no material interruption of the Louisville
and Nashville railroad, and Rosecrans was using it and the Cumberland
River to supply his army at Nashville. General Bragg was perfectly
familiar with the preparations that Rosecrans was making for the
advance of his army southward, and he knew that a decisive battle
could not be long delayed.
General Morgan’s name was now on every tongue. His July raid from
Knoxville into Kentucky, where he had marched a thousand miles,
destroyed millions of dollars worth of property, and terrorized a
district three hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, his services
during the invasion of Kentucky by General Bragg, and his splendid
exhibition of genius demonstrated in covering General Bragg’s retreat
from Kentucky in October, and the Battle of Hartsville had given him
not only a well-deserved but wide reputation. The things he had done
were along new lines and everywhere created wonder and admiration.
The Battle of Hartsville, one of the most brilliant exploits in
the history of the Confederacy, resulted in Morgan’s being advanced
to brigadier general. Seven days after the Hartsville expedition,
General Morgan was married to Miss Ready, of Murfreesboro, among
the most brilliant, charming and attractive women of the Southland.
There were those at the time who predicted that this marriage, under
the circumstances surrounding Morgan’s military career, would affect
his success. Be this as it may, this splendid woman enthusiastically
entered into the military hopes and ambitions of her now greatly
distinguished husband, and moved and inspired with the loyalty and
courage that filled the hearts of the women of the South, urged
rather than restrained the enterprise and activity of her companion.
Morgan always did best when he was allowed to act independently. When
operating his own way and managing his campaigns, he was one of the
most successful, dangerous and destructive of Confederate cavalry
leaders. Full of resource, glorying in adventure, he imbued his men
with his marvelous fervor and passionate ardor. Within a few days
after his promotion to brigadier general, his forces were materially
strengthened. Colonels W. C. P. Breckinridge and Robert G. Stoner
each recruited battalions in Kentucky in the fall of 1862. These were
now consolidated and thereafter known as the 9th Kentucky Cavalry,
with Breckinridge as colonel and Stoner as lieutenant colonel. Toward
the end of September Colonel Adam R. Johnson reached Murfreesboro
with a regiment which he had recruited in Western Kentucky, of about
four hundred men. It had been battered by service, and received
rough handling in the Federal lines, but had a splendid organization.
Its lieutenant colonel, Robert M. Martin, was confessedly one of
the most daring and dashing of the men who wore the Confederate
uniform. The brigade was now thirty-nine hundred strong. The
misfortunes of war had dismounted some of the troops, and part of
them were not fully armed, but all knew that the next raid would
remedy these deficiencies. Morgan divided his regiments into two
brigades, the first under command of General Basil W. Duke, Colonel
of the 2d Kentucky, and the second under command of Colonel W. C.
P. Breckinridge, of the 9th Kentucky. Colonel A. R. Johnson was at
this time considered the ranking colonel, and when offered by General
Morgan the command of the second brigade, declined it, preferring
to act as colonel of the 10th Kentucky. Later, however, he accepted
promotion to a brigadier.
Then, many believed that Colonel Roy S. Cluke, of the 8th Kentucky,
should have been made brigadier general, and it is said that his
raid into Kentucky, which followed in February and March, 1863, was
projected in order to equalize things on account of Colonel Cluke
being ranked at this time by Colonels Breckinridge and Johnson.
Both Cluke and Johnson hesitating, Morgan appointed Breckinridge
to command the second brigade. The first was composed of the 2d
Kentucky, Duke’s, the 3d Kentucky, Gano’s, the 8th Kentucky, Cluke’s,
with Palmer’s battery of four pieces. The second was composed of the
9th Kentucky, Breckinridge’s, the 10th Kentucky, Johnson’s, the 11th,
Chenault’s, and the 14th Tennessee under Colonel Bennett. These had
a Parrott gun and two mountain howitzers. By November, 1862, Morgan’s
forces had reached in equipment and numbers a very high grade of
efficiency. True, there were some unmounted and unarmed men, but
these could be used as horse holders, and as out of every four men,
one must hold horses, when four thousand cavalrymen should go into
battle, one thousand of them would have to remain at the rear with
the animals while the other three-fourths dismounted to fight.
For a few days preceding the 21st, the farriers were busy shoeing
the horses. Equipments were inspected with minutest scrutiny.
Ammunition was counted out, the mounts were carefully examined, as
only soldiers and horses that could stand a strenuous and long drawn
out expedition were to be taken. These men and beasts were to be
subjected to the rigors of storms, travel and cold that would try
out the highest resistance of flesh and blood to nature’s warfare.
These preparations the rank and file knew portended immediate and
intense activity. The division then comprised a remarkable body of
young men. It represented a full share of the chivalry and flower of
the states of Kentucky and Tennessee. Lawyers, physicians, farmers,
clerks, and here and there clergymen were either officers or in
the ranks. A large proportion of these were liberally educated.
Intelligent and patriotic and full of the spirit of adventure and
romance which attached to cavalry, they were ready for any service
and always would go without fear where duty called. They were proud,
and that made them brave. The vast majority of the men were under
twenty-five years of age, and youth always makes the best soldiers
if the material and leadership are good.
On the morning of December 22d, in and around the little town of
Alexandria, the lines of the divisions were formed. The Kentuckians
sat astride their horses most anxiously, longing for the command to
move. They looked and acted like men who understood that work was cut
out for them.
In a brief while a general order from their leader was read. There
was no longer any reason for concealment. In a few moments they knew
they were going into Kentucky, and the hope and promise of home-going
caused the blood to tingle in their veins and their hearts to beat
with quickened rapture and joy. These boys could guess the path
they would follow, and the confidence of their commander added new
courage to their hearts. He told them candidly where they were going;
he reminded them who they were, and he impressed upon them what was
expected of them. Prolonged and vociferous cheering was heard when
the order was read, and the hills and the woods were filled with
the glad shouts of these exiled youths who were now to turn their
faces homeward. With wild hurrahs they expressed their delight, and
with exultant outcries gave dauntless response to the call of their
chieftain. The one Tennessee regiment felt the spirit of the hour.
Though going from home, they caught the delirium of joy that thrilled
these horsemen, now commencing one of the great marches of a great
war.
From Alexandria for some distance there was a good road. In a little
over two hours the column had covered eight miles. Suddenly the
stillness of the march was disturbed. The men far up in front heard,
away to the rear, triumphant yells and tremendous cheering. They knew
what this meant. Morgan was coming. Alongside the column, with a
splendid staff, magnificently mounted, superbly dressed, riding like
a centaur, bare-headed, with plumed hat in his right hand, waving
salutations to his applauding followers, the general came galloping
by. Pride and happiness were radiated from every feature of his
joyous face. He was now a brigadier general, and new opportunity was
opened to add to his already superb fame. He had just been married
to one of the most beautiful and gracious women of the South. As he
released himself from her tender embrace and felt the touch of her
lovely lips upon his own and saw the tear-drops trickle down her
cheek, painted by the delicate touch of nature with most exquisite
colors, he caught an inspiration that lifted him up to the sublimest
heights of human heroism, and imbued him with a valor that stirred
every fibre of his soul, and made him feel that with him there must
be victory or death. He had with him four thousand Kentucky boys,
well armed, for so large a force well mounted, and there spread
out before his enraptured fancy scenes of conquest and glory that
filled his mind with ecstasy and delight. There was in such an hour
of splendor no omen of the gloom and darkness of the future, and no
signal came to warn of the time when, a few months later, by war’s
harsh and cruel edict, his hopes would be shattered, when his dead
body would be mutilated by his vengeful foes and the weeping wife
and an unborn babe would feel forever the rude shock of the awful
bereavement.
No time was now to be wasted. Every moment must count. To do the work
that he had undertaken and to do it well meant that he must ride
like the whirlwind and march like the storm. Biting cold, drenching
rains, chilling sleet, were not to be considered. Rapid night
rides, days without food, sleepless watchings, ceaseless vigils,
constant battle, fording or swimming rivers, and defiance of nature’s
protest and barriers, held out no terrors for these high-spirited
riders. All believed that leaders and men were invincible and that a
generous fate would protect and guard them in whatever dangers and
difficulties the fortunes of war would bring, on the campaign to
which their country and Cause had bid them come.
By the night of the 22d, the first brigade had forded the Cumberland
River at Sand Shoal, and at dawn the second had crossed the stream.
There were not enough rations to require long delays for feeding. The
horses ravenously munched the meagre supply of corn and fodder that
had been impressed to satisfy their hunger. By sundown the column had
covered thirty miles. There was heavy work ahead. They would meet and
attack Federal garrisons who were in stockades and forts. This made
it necessary to have the artillery; but the guns, however important,
slowed down the speed of the march.
By the 6th of May, 1862, Andrew Johnson had spoken savagely of Morgan
and his men. In writing to Horace Maynard, Member of Congress, he
said: “Morgan’s marauding gang should not be admitted to the rules
of civilised warfare, and the portion of his forces taken at Lebanon
should not be held as prisoners of war. I hope you will call
attention of Secretary Stanton to the fact of their being a mere
band of freebooters.” The seven months that had transpired since
this utterance had not increased the good opinion of the Federals
concerning Morgan’s brigades. The Union forces were so much afraid of
General Morgan and talked so much of his exploits and his expeditions
that they created in the minds of the public, who did not sympathize
with the South, a most exaggerated and ridiculous idea of him and
his men. They were singing and talking of “Morgan, Morgan and his
terrible men.”
By the 24th of December Morgan had reached up into Barren County,
five miles from Glasgow and ninety miles from the place where he had
started. Two companies were sent forward to secure information of
conditions at Glasgow. One of these was commanded by Captain William
E. Jones of the 9th Kentucky Cavalry. About this time the advance
guard of a battalion of the 2d Michigan Cavalry entered the place
upon the opposite side from that which Jones had come in. As both
parties were looking for trouble, it did not take long to bring on a
fight, and they met about the center of the town. Jones was mortally
wounded, and William Webb, of Breckinridge’s regiment, one of the
best men in Kentucky, fell in the conflict. In the melee Lieutenant
Samuel O. Peyton, of the 2d Kentucky, was wounded, having been shot
in the arm and hip. His foes, gathering around him, demanded his
surrender. He fired his revolver, killing one of his assailants,
grappled with the second, threw him to the ground and stabbed him
to death with his knife. The Federals were not expecting such a
reception or such resistance, and so within a very few minutes,
they were driven away. Twenty-two prisoners, including a captain,
were captured and paroled. The gage of battle had been thrown down
and conflict must be expected at any moment. The command was in a
territory where both garrisons and obstructing and opposing forces
would be vigilant and aggressive, and where every energy of the
Federal authorities was put under stern requisition to harass and
delay or destroy this Confederate force, which on mischief and
devastation bent, in the face of winter’s defiance, and far from
supports, was offering battle’s wage to those who stood in their
pathway of ruin and destruction.
The roads had now become better. There was a turnpike leading
from Glasgow toward Louisville. Mysteriously Morgan’s coming had
been known to the citizens. The entire length of the Louisville
& Nashville Railroad was thickly studded with stockades, and
every bridge of any importance had a full guard, and towns like
Elizabethtown and Munfordsville, Bowling Green and Shepherdsville
were all protected by strong garrisons. The great importance of the
Louisville & Nashville Railroad as a means of feeding and supplying
the Federal Army at Nashville and below, demanded that it should be
fully and thoroughly defended, and no small force could hope to avail
against this thorough preparation on the part of the Federals for the
guarding of this essential highway.
Captain Quirk, in command of the advance guard and the scouts, had
not gone very far until he found a battery across the road and
supports on either side. An impetuous attack was the answer to
this challenge, and it did not require very long to brush this
obstruction out of the Confederate path. Johnson’s regiment had been
sent in the direction of Munfordsville to threaten that place, but
General Morgan turned his forces south and east of the Green River,
which was not forded without much difficulty. The banks were steep
and muddy and the water high enough to give great inconvenience. As
there was a long railroad bridge at Munfordsville, a strong Federal
garrison had been gathered at that point to defend it. His force
was not large enough to assault the earthworks protecting this
structure. General Morgan had determined to destroy the trestles at
Muldraugh Hill, six miles north of Elizabethtown. The damage there
would more than equal any he could inflict at Munfordsville. It was
of importance that he should create upon the minds of the Federals
the impression that he would assail the garrison at Munfordsville
and force them to concentrate there, when his men should reach
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad between Munfordsville and
Elizabethtown, and bridges and culverts torn up, there need not be
any particular worry about the Federal forces in the rear. Infantry
would have to be moved along the railroad and they would stand a
slight chance to catch Morgan and his horsemen on lines removed from
the thoroughfare. Little sleep was allowed that night. On the morrow
General Morgan had mapped out great work. He intended to take the
stockades at Bacon’s Creek and Nolin River and destroy the bridges
there. During the night a tremendous rain had fallen, and all day it
still kept coming down in torrents. The cannon and caissons in the
mud and slush made slow progress and prevented very rapid movement.
A regiment had been despatched to Bacon’s Creek bridge, and at eleven
o’clock the cannonading there was distinctly heard. It was necessary
to reduce the stockade and capture the Federal garrison at that point
in order to prevent the Federals from sending new troops to Nashville.
The force sent thither not returning delayed the march, and it was
three o’clock before it got under way. General Morgan took the
reinforcements that had arrived from the feint toward Munfordsville,
and he went over with these to learn what was the cause of the
detention at Bacon’s Creek. Upon his arrival, peremptory demand was
made by him for surrender, and the Federal forces under Captain James
of the 19th Illinois promptly complied. The stockade was immediately
burned and the torch applied to the trestle. The garrison at Nolin
was less disposed to fight than those at Bacon’s Creek, and these
laid down their arms without resistance. The stockade and bridge were
consigned to the flames. Great fires were built along the tracks of
the Louisville & Nashville for several miles, the iron rails, torn
from the ties, were placed upon these and were warped and bent so as
to be unfit for use until carried to a rolling mill.
On the morning of December 27th General Morgan learned of the
presence of a considerable force at Elizabethtown, and moved over to
that place. When within a short distance of the town a most ludicrous
communication was sent out under a flag of truce. It ran somewhat
like this: “Elizabethtown, Kentucky, December 27th, 1862. To the
commander of the Confederate forces: I have you surrounded and will
compel you to surrender. I am, sir, your obedient servant, H. S.
Smith, Commander United States Forces.” General Morgan smiled and
chuckled. He informed the bearer of this extraordinary despatch that
he trusted he would convey the impression to his commander that the
positions were reversed, that it was the Federal forces that were to
surrender and not the Confederates, and he requested their immediate
capitulation, to which he received the rather unique reply that “it
was the business of a United States officer to fight and not to
surrender.” As nothing but a fight would satisfy the six hundred and
seventy men under command of Colonel Smith, General Morgan prepared
to give him what he wanted. Surrounding the town, skirmishers
were thrown forward and the position of the enemy developed. He
had taken position in brick houses on the outside of the town and
resolved to have a street fight. The Federals had no artillery, and
the Confederates had seven pieces. It was a very unequal contest.
The Confederates marched boldly in. They had seen street fighting
before. Colonel Cluke and Lieutenant Colonel Stoner, who later at
Mount Sterling in February and March were to win additional fame,
entered the town at the head of their men. A few well-directed shells
convinced the Federals of the folly of resistance. The gallant
Federal colonel still refused to surrender, but his men, rushing out,
displayed the white flag, and left him to his fate. Six hundred and
fifty-two prisoners, including twenty-five officers, were the result
of this fight.
The great prize for which the Confederates were contending was yet
six miles away. Two mighty trestles, one nine hundred and one a
thousand feet long and ninety feet high, were the means by which
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad climbed Muldraugh’s Hill and
debauched on the Elizabethtown side of that small mountain range. The
bridges and trestles heretofore destroyed were small in comparison to
these two immense structures. Both of these trestles were defended
by garrisons, and both were well fortified. These troops had been
especially ordered to fight to the last ditch. Seven hundred men had
been placed to guard these giant viaducts. They were the highest
and most valuable on the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, and the
Confederates had never been able to reach them before. Full stores
had been collected at this point. On this expedition Captains Palmer
and Corbett handled the artillery with consummate skill and bravery.
Their well-directed shots in a brief while brought both garrisons to
terms. The flames ascending high into the air told the story of the
victory and triumph of the Confederate forces, and the columns of
smoke lifting their shadows up toward the heavens proclaimed to the
pursuers that the dreaded calamity had overtaken the all-important
trestles which meant so much to the railway, and that they had gone
down before the avenging hand of enemies. Small forces were sent
out a few miles north toward Shepherdsville and destroyed some
unimportant structures. General Morgan had wrecked the road now for
something like fifty miles. Nothing inflammable had escaped the touch
of his destructive torch. Having accomplished all they had intended
to do, with Federal forces south and southeast and others in the path
in every direction, he now faced the problem of safely escaping from
these foes which beleaguered and beset him on every side. He had now
reached one hundred and seventy miles into the enemy’s territory.
He had destroyed twenty-three hundred feet of bridging and put the
railroad out of commission for many weeks.
In cavalry experiences it is sometimes easier to get in than to get
out. The whole country south and east of Morgan was aroused. The
Federal commanders at Washington and Nashville were beginning to
question with vehement pertinacity how Morgan had been allowed to
ride so far and do so much damage without serious interruption. It
was true that the defenders at Bacon’s Creek were not very numerous,
that those at Nolin were less so, and that those at Elizabethtown
and the Muldraugh trestles had no chance against the well-directed
artillery of the Confederates, backed by thirty-five hundred cavalry;
but up in Louisville, at Nashville, at Washington, Morgan seemed
to be going where he pleased and doing what he pleased. At these
centers, so far removed from the scene of his action, it appeared
that those who were opposing him, or following, were neither diligent
nor brave. The men at Washington, Louisville, or Nashville were not
marching in the cold, or riding through the mud and the rain. They
could not take in the surroundings of the men who were at work on
the spot, and so they became both inquisitive and critical. General
Morgan, however, was not underrating the efforts of his foes to
minimize the damage he might do or to prevent his escape. Great
soldier as he was, he foresaw what he must face and overcome when he
turned his face southward and undertook to break through the cordon
his enemies were establishing around him. He had before him for
outlet a territory sixty miles wide, filled with numerous highways.
Nearly all these were merely country roads, which when cut by his
artillery and churned by the sixteen thousand feet of the horses his
men were riding, would be only streams of mire.
[Illustration: MAP SHOWING APPROXIMATELY MORGAN’S CHRISTMAS RAID]
Mud and slush would face him along any line he should march except
one, and that was through Bardstown and Springfield, Lebanon and
Campbellsville. Lebanon was on the railroad and it could be promptly
and largely reinforced. The Confederate chieftain was too great a
leader to be trapped. He realized that he must go higher up the
Cumberland in the first place, and find another crossing, and in
the second place to get out of the line of those who were bent on
his destruction. The Federal leaders did not seem to be in a very
great hurry. He turned southeast and on the night of the 28th of
December camped on the Rolling Fork, a tributary of Salt River. This
was a deep and ordinarily a sluggish stream, with high banks. The
rain, a few days before, had filled its bed with angry currents and
good fords were infrequent, and particularly fords that would let
artillery over. There was a peculiar pride in part of the artillery
that made the command ready to fight savagely for them. One of the
pieces was a Parrott gun, a trophy of their valor at Hartsville.
It was called “Long Tom” because of its extreme length. Closely
associated with the victory at Hartsville, it became a great pet of
the division, and was treasured as a mascot.
In the midst of the exciting surroundings of the campaign, a court
martial had been sitting at intervals, as a little leisure could
be spared, upon Lieutenant Colonel Huffman, in command of Gano’s
regiment. General Morgan had given generous terms to those who
surrendered at Bacon’s Creek, and he was displeased with Colonel
Huffman’s apparent violation of these terms, and five regimental
commanders, Duke, Breckinridge, Cluke, Hutchinson and Stoner,
comprised this court. Marching all day and some nights, with an
average of forty miles every twenty-four hours, with an occasional
diversion of a fight, it was rather difficult for these judges to
apportion exact justice to the offending officer. An hour would be
taken at night and a little while during the rest of the day, but
on this particular morning a full session was held and Huffman was
acquitted. As the court martial was writing its finding, couriers
came scurrying from the rear with the information that a large
Federal force of infantry and cavalry was close at hand and had
opened fire. The firing of the pickets and skirmishers was already
audible. Some of the troops had crossed the Rolling Fork, but the
others were on the same side with the Federals. Cluke’s regiment
under Major Bullock had been sent to burn a railroad bridge, and
to hold the enemy in check, but the enemy did not seem willing
to be checked and they vigorously pressed his rear guard. If the
fording of the Rolling Fork had been practicable at every point, it
would be easy enough for those now defending it to ride across, but
when Cluke’s men got down to the stream it was found there to be
impassable. The fields and roads were full of bluecoats, and they
were coming where Morgan’s men were. They were not advancing very
eagerly, but all the same they were coming. The skirmishers along
the fences and in the woods were delaying their progress as much
as possible, but formalities seemed to be waived, and the Federals
were pressing down upon the men on their side of the stream in large
force. The Federal artillery, well managed, got the range of the ford
where the Confederates were crossing and was throwing shells with
accuracy and rapidity, which was splashing the water along the line
where the men in gray must pass. About seven hundred men, including
several companies of Cluke’s regiment, were on the west side of
Rolling Fork. The Federal Army, composed of infantry and cavalry, was
closing in upon them. With an enemy in front and the river behind
them it looked especially gloomy for the men under Cluke. This 8th
Kentucky Cavalry in camp, with a high type of soldierly pride, styled
themselves “Cluke’s War Dogs,” and it looked now as if the “war dogs”
were to get all the war that they could possibly desire.
At this moment General Duke was struck on the side of the head by
a fragment of a shell and rendered unconscious. A brave and agile
soldier sprang behind him and held him on his horse and carried him
over the stream. The skirmishers were plugging away at each other
at close range. One of the enemy’s batteries was proving especially
destructive, and Captain Virgil Pendleton of the 8th Kentucky was
ordered to charge this battery. He killed the cannoneers or drove
them from their guns, and this silenced these destructive agents for
a quarter of an hour. This brave captain was struck by an exploding
shell from other guns of the enemy and seriously and dangerously
wounded. Ninety days later he was killed while charging through the
streets of Mount Sterling.
Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge assumed command of the Confederates on
the side with the Federals, and with great skill and gallantry helped
bring them out of the perils that were thick around them.
Seconds were lengthened into minutes. The strain was intense. It
was a critical moment for the Confederates not yet over the stream.
Another assault by the Federals meant capture or death or a plunge
into the deep, icy waters of Rolling Fork. At this juncture the
Federals suddenly retreated. No one has ever been able to explain
this let-up at this opportune time for the advancing hosts, nor been
able to guess why the men in blue failed to attack and scatter their
foes when victory was so easy and only needed the closing in to
insure its certainty.
Hope appeared to be departing, and when it looked darkest, some
of Cluke’s men, by riding into the stream, had found a possible
but difficult ford. This had been experimentally discovered. The
emergencies forced the men to ride out into the water. They had no
guides, and fortunately someone had found by testing that there was
a way of escape, and in the lull the rearguard of the Confederates
hurried across the stream. The bulk of the casualties fell to Cluke’s
regiment. They had sustained their reputation as “war dogs.” They
were proud that the enterprise of their leaders, their luck, and
their courage had brought them safely through.
General Morgan now turned detachments loose upon the bridges upon
the Lebanon Branch; some of these were destroyed. This would prevent
reinforcements from rapidly reaching Lebanon. The stockade at Boston
and other small structures were burned. On the night of the 30th
the division camped at Bardstown, and by three o’clock next day it
bivouacked at Springfield, nine miles from Lebanon. The fierce cold,
the long ride, the severe strain, physical and nervous, demanded
a brief halt. The leader realized that Morgan’s men were human.
He apprehended the seriousness of the situation. Over at Lebanon,
stretched far away along the pike up towards Campbellsville and
Muldraugh’s Hill, the Federals were waiting to contest the only good
road by which he could reach the Cumberland River. If he could get
around Lebanon to Campbellsville, he calculated that over the pike
from Campbellsville to Columbia he could make a forced march that
would enable him to outride the Federals, who were taking a short cut
from Glasgow and surrounding towns, to head him off from Burksville
on the Cumberland River.
The Federals had been massing forces at Lebanon. The glare of the
camp fires could be seen from Springfield, where Morgan was resting
for the great spurt. Enemies were there in such numbers that General
Morgan dared not attack the town. They were reported eight thousand.
Harlan, who had crossed swords with him at Rolling Fork, was in his
rear. Colonels Halisy and Hoskins and their eight thousand men were
in his front. The night was intensely dark, and the thermometer was
below zero. The turnpike between Springfield and Lebanon was full of
Federal pickets, backed up by infantry, that were double Morgan’s
numbers.
Early in the night Colonel A. R. Johnson of the 10th drove in the
pickets on the Lebanon road and attacked them with such fierceness
that a cavalry regiment which was stationed six miles from Lebanon,
on the Campbellsville road, was called in to help defend the town.
The withdrawal of this cavalry regiment opened up a possible way of
escape for Morgan without a fight. At Springfield there were many
friends and sympathizers. They were honest and safe advisers. Had
Morgan’s men been fresh and his horses not wearied, the situation
would have been less perplexing to the dauntless general. From every
direction enemies were fast approaching and, stirred deeply by the
criticisms of superiors, were closing in to destroy the Confederate
leader.
The hour had now come for Morgan again to demonstrate the force of
his genius and the extent of his resources. He saw that the best
way of escape was the longest way; that he could not whip the eight
thousand Federals at Lebanon and he must manage to get around them.
He determined to make a detour to the right of Lebanon, pass the
Federal Army there, then swing back on to the road which led from
Lebanon to Campbellsville and rush to the latter place with all
possible speed. He calculated that by outwitting the enemy and by a
forced march, he would reach Campbellsville before his escape would
be discovered and before the Federals could get in his front to
seriously interfere with his going.
An appalling night’s experiences were now to face the bold raider
and his hardy followers. They were without even hope of succor or
support. Here Morgan could rely only upon himself and those who were
with him to rid his path of the dangers, which, if he doubted or
hesitated, would be unsurmountable.
As the Federals at Lebanon did not come after him he decided to
remain at Springfield until eleven o’clock at night. This would give
time for sleep for the men and opportunity to rest and feed the
beasts. By the hospitable firesides of sympathizers, the Confederates
warmed their benumbed limbs and the patient brutes were allowed to
feed and munch to their fill. To multiply troubles, the temperature,
already cold, had become colder. Sharp, penetrating winds whistled
through the naked trees and whirled around the corners of the houses,
warning the wise to seek and keep shelter. Wintry blasts notified
the soldiers of what might be expected if they dared defy their
suggestion. The mercury in the thermometer nestled several degrees
below zero and hid far down in the tube as if afraid to expose itself
to the cold. Morgan’s enemies had not learned exactly where he was,
but they knew he was about and they knew that they were in his front.
General Boyle, commander of the Kentucky Department, telegraphed
Abraham Lincoln in Washington: “Morgan is fleeing precipitately. He
has paid dearly for what he has done.” The wires were kept busy by
the Federals, prophesying what would happen to the bold raiders.
Superiors were assured that disaster was bound to overtake Morgan
within a few hours. Fate had decreed that these prophecies were not
to be verified.
Everybody knew that really great work had been cut out for the night.
No order was required to tell the men of this. The long rest at
Springfield of eight hours was a sure augury that a furious night
march was in store. The men prepared themselves as best they could.
At the hospitable little town of Springfield, in cavalry parlance,
“square meals” were available. This meant that one could eat enough
at a sitting to tide over forty-eight to seventy-two hours without
hunger’s interference. A common sense of danger filled the minds of
all the soldiers at this resting place. They knew that heavy work
was expected, certainly a night’s ride, facing the winds that cut to
the marrow and cold that struck into the joints, and maybe a battle
or attack in the darkness. They had wrapped blankets about their
bodies and covered their feet with strips of cloth. The strain was
too great for a few, and here and there a man or so had succumbed to
the terrific pressure of the elements and had fallen out of line; but
in thirty-nine hundred men that such a small number were unable to
meet these difficulties was a great tribute to both the physical and
mental vigor of these horsemen. They warmed themselves and satisfied
their appetites to the limit, and with the bravado of true cavaliers,
they bade care flee away and fears begone as they mounted into their
saddles. They were not afraid to face any emergency, even all that
the dreadful night ahead had in store for man and beast.
The aid of the best available guides was secured. These bundled
themselves up as if they were in Lapland. At eleven o’clock on the
night of the 30th, General Morgan set out on his journey around his
enemies. He counted darkness as his best ally. It was nine miles from
Springfield to Lebanon and nine miles from Lebanon to St. Mary’s,
where he must pass the Federal trocha, and then it was fifteen
miles from St. Mary’s to the point where General Morgan could hope
in safety to strike the turnpike from Lebanon to Campbellsville.
This meant a loss of fifteen miles, with jaded horses and tired
men. Before General Morgan left Springfield he had a strong line
of skirmishers drive in the Federal pickets. These stacked rails
for a mile through the fields and then fired them. The reflection
of the flames on the sky caught the eyes of the Federal pickets.
The Union commanders came to the conclusion that no men would dare
march through the wind and cold of such a night and Morgan was where
the flames were blazing, and that on the morrow, to get by, he must
engage them in combat. The mud roads which the Confederates must
follow to St. Mary’s and to Newmarket were uneven, frozen, ragged.
The cold was so intense that it partially stupefied the beasts. The
men were compelled to dismount to keep themselves from being frost
bitten, and walk beside their stumbling steeds. It seemed as if
humanity could not stand the dreadful punishment that nature was
inflicting upon these intrepid men. The game was too fierce for a
few, and these by sheer exhaustion fell by the wayside. The horses in
sympathy with their masters hung their heads low. Icicles gathered
on their manes and breasts, covered their bridles and halters, and
dangled from their nostrils. Ice coated the beards and moustaches of
the men. Half the time they walked by their steeds, stamping their
feet, swinging their hands and beating their bodies to drive away
the stupor which extreme cold imposes upon flesh and blood. There
was no loud word spoken. Commands, if given, were uttered in soft
tones, and all were directed to ride, walk or march in absolute
silence. These things added much to the hardships of the night’s
work. If they could have jollied each other, or cheered or enlivened
the hours with badinage, it would have somewhat relieved the
oppressiveness of the continually lengthening miles. The men obeyed
the orders in patient submission to the severe calls of the moment,
and uncomplainingly bore the burdens that patriotism exacted of them
in the dire emergency that war’s fortunes had decreed they must
endure. Man and beast seemed to be well-nigh overwhelmed with the
chilling air. It was a long, long night, and one that no man who had
undergone its terrors would ever forget. Morgan’s men had suffered
many hardships and were yet to know many more, but with one voice
they declared that this march around Lebanon to St. Mary’s and back
to the Campbellsville Pike was the most fearful experience they had
ever suffered, except, when ninety days later, they rode the sixty
miles from Saylersville to Mount Sterling with Cluke, on March 20th,
1863.
At half past six o’clock day began to dawn. The guides were
bewildered or indifferent and had lost their bearings. When the
light enabled them to take in the surroundings, it came out that the
command had only made something like two miles an hour, and instead
of being well on the road towards Campbellsville, they were only two
and a half miles from Lebanon. The Federals in camp had laid upon
their arms all night. They could sleep and cover up their heads and
rest with some degree of comfort in their tents, but they were not
astir very early, and they had no accurate knowledge whither Morgan
had gone. It was a glad moment when light lifted the burdens from
the weary marchers. The sun riding from the east through the clouds
assured these nervy horsemen that the terrors of darkness no longer
overshadowed them. Once again on the macadam highway, the horses
seemed glad and quickened their pace. Increasing speed, with its
accelerated motion, brought warmth to their bodies and cheer to their
masters’ hearts. At nightfall the command was safe at Campbellsville.
They pondered over the terribleness of the past night’s experiences,
but the enemy was behind, and this repaid them for the sufferings and
agony they had endured.
On the march up the long hill where the turnpike, by constant
but easy and tortuous gradients, reaches the tablelands around
Campbellsville, the county seat of Taylor County, occurred one of the
real tragedies of the war. Colonel Dennis J. Halisy commanded the 6th
Kentucky Federal Cavalry. He had charge of the advance in pursuit of
Morgan. He was a bred fighter, young, ambitious, game to the core,
and as adventurous as he was game. Halisy was following Morgan’s rear
guard with the Federal horsemen, picking up the stragglers, if any
could be found, and pushing the Confederates as strongly as prudence
would allow. Captain Alex. Treble and Lieutenant George B. Eastin
were both officers of the 2d Kentucky Confederate Cavalry. These
lagged behind the rear guard in search of adventure, anxious to show
that nobody retreating was afraid, and not unwilling for a fight, if
favorable opportunities came their way.
The top of Muldraugh’s Hill, which overlooked the plain below, where
Lebanon, St. Mary’s and Springfield had been passed, was reached a
brief while after midday. Treble and Eastin were superbly mounted.
Both were over six feet tall, wiry, vigorous men, whose nerves and
muscles had been hardened by the exposure and training of severest
military experiences. Coming along an open stretch, a thousand feet
away, these two young soldiers observed Colonel Halisy and three
officers quite far advanced ahead of the Federal column. They were
both proud, born brave and dauntless, and they resented the idea that
two Kentucky Confederate cavalrymen would run away from a fight with
four Federals. Placing themselves behind a sudden turn in the road,
they waited for the pursuers to appear. Both skilled revolver shots,
they were confident that by a sudden onslaught they would kill two of
those following and then grapple with the remaining couple and win
out. If they had reasoned they would have, hesitated, but in that
period of the war, the courage and pride amongst the Kentucky boys
who went south did not consume time reasoning nor making many figures
in calculating the hazards and dangers of rencontres, and so they
resolved to stake their lives, or at least their liberties, on the
issue with these foes, who appeared equally indifferent to peril.
[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN]
Curiously, as Halisy and his lieutenant came close upon Treble and
Eastin, their two companions fell back to the head of the column and
thus left the battle two and two.
Swinging out into the road as Colonel Halisy and his aide approached,
the two officers in gray fired at their opponents. They were greatly
surprised and disgusted that neither shot took effect. Four men, too
brave and too intrepid to run away from a foe, grappled on their
horses. They pulled each other from their mounts and fell, side
by side, to the ground. Treble seized his foe and pushed his head
into a pool or stream of water, from whence, half drowned, he asked
quarter. Eastin had Halisy underneath him, and with his pistol at his
head, forced him to surrender. The Federal colonel yielded but still
held his pistol in his hand. As he arose from the earth, quickly
cocking his revolver, he fired at his captor, but the bullet only
grazed the cheek of the Confederate, who in turn instantly fired his
weapon and killed Halisy. The conflict, the struggles, the shots,
attracted the attention of the advancing Federals, who rushed to the
rescue of their leader and comrade. Hastily taking the colonel’s
sword and the pistols of the two men, Treble and Eastin galloped
off to join the Confederate rear guard, which was now nearly out of
sight. The Federals claimed that Colonel Halisy had been shot without
provocation after he surrendered, but subsequent investigation showed
that such a charge was totally unfounded and that Eastin was fully
justified in the course he pursued. Just six months later, Captain
Treble, having been transferred to Chenault’s regiment, was killed
at Green River Stockade on July 4th, 1863, on the road between
Campbellsville and Columbia, twenty-two miles from the scene of this
conflict, as Morgan was commencing the Ohio Raid. In the assault on
the Federal fortification Colonel Chenault was killed, and Major
James B. McCreary, now governor of Kentucky, assumed command of
the regiment. He rode down the line to notify Captain Treble that
he was to act as lieutenant colonel, and in case he—McCreary—fell,
to take charge of the regiment. As Treble rose from the line and
waved his hand to salute his superior, to let him know the order was
understood, he was struck by a shot from a Federal sharpshooter and
fell dead at McCreary’s feet. Strangely enough, when Major Brent of
the 5th Regiment, sent by General Morgan to get information as to
how things were going, rode forward, as he lifted his hand to salute
Colonel McCreary, he was shot through the brain and fell dead at his
side.
Eastin, after a brilliant and highly adventurous war experience,
became a learned and distinguished lawyer in Louisville, a member of
the Kentucky Court of Appeals, and after a long and splendid career,
died in Louisville in 1896. He was beloved and honored wherever he
was known. He was courteous, gentle, brave and loyal in all phases
of life and was universally mourned when he died at the early age of
fifty-four.
The Federals, fortunately, had laid by large supplies of commissary
stores at Campbellsville, and in these captured goods there was
enough to satisfy, clothe and feed man and beast. Strong pickets
were ordered out on every road so that there could be no possible
surprise. The wear and tear of the day previous had been so dreadful
that General Morgan resolved to give his horses and men time to
recuperate. True, it was a risk, but the voice of humanity as well
as necessity appealed for a brief respite to those men who so
uncomplainingly had borne up under a physical strain that, in all
the great war, where cavalry had done what no other cavalry ever
did, had rarely been equalled and never surpassed. It was twenty-two
miles to Columbia. The artillery had good roads and fresh horses, and
they could keep any pace the cavalry might set. Caution spoke of a
night march, but mercy protested, and mercy prevailed, and for eight
hours riders and beasts slept as only the weary and cold could sleep.
The day had not broken when the call of the bugles bid the sleepers
rise and prepare for another struggle against nature and its adverse
forces. There were enemies who were bravely and vigorously marching
to thwart their escape from the state, and hem them in on their
homeward ride.
When the command ascended a hill on the Columbia Road, heavy
cannonading was heard. It was the sounds which were coming from the
far-off battlefield of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, ninety miles away,
and it fell like a pall upon the minds and hearts of these men far up
in the Kentucky mountains. These dull, rumbling tones proclaimed that
Bragg and Rosecrans on Stone River were grappling with each other in
gigantic conflict.
When at three p. m. the division rode into Columbia, the marchers
breathed more freely, as the first danger post was passed. Only a
couple of hours was given for rest and food. The Cumberland River,
the real line of safety, was thirty miles away. General Morgan, not
sure that his foes might not yet intercept him, bade the men get
ready for another all night ride. It was still bitter cold, the road
to be traveled was rough and broken, but the voice of safety was
whispering that over the Cumberland alone could absolute security
be found. The leader loved his men. He realized how loyal, brave
and patient they had been in the ten days since they had ridden
out of Alexandria. It was a hard order to issue, but everything
was at stake; he dare not, with all his love for his brave riders,
compromise his duty to the Cause he and they loved so well, and for
which they were placing their lives in constant jeopardy.
At night, in the darkness and bitter cold, the division rode into
Burksville on the Cumberland River. No enemy appeared. The spirits of
the men returned. Even the beasts seemed to catch the hopefulness of
the hour, and by the night of the 2d of January the Cumberland River
was crossed. The raid was ended. The expedition had been successful
and the command was safe. The pursuit was not resumed, and so,
leisurely marching down through Livingstone, they reached Smithville,
Tennessee, on the morning of January 5th. Here they rested for
several days to allow the men and horses to build up and to forget
the dreadful experiences of the terrific march. They had been absent
seventeen days. They had ridden five hundred miles, captured eighteen
hundred and seventy-seven prisoners and stores indescribable, and of
tremendous value. Twenty-six had been killed and sixty-four were
wounded and missing. A few had fallen out of the line of march around
Lebanon and been captured, but less than two and a half in every
hundred were lacking when, on the south bank of the Cumberland, an
inventory was taken and a roll call made. These thirty-nine hundred
horsemen had been roughly handled and battered both by their foes
and by the fierce elements, but they had borne it all with heroic
fortitude and were not only ready but anxious at the earliest moment
to try another issue with the enemies of their country.