the mill-owners instead of burning their property. At Salem, the next
place after leaving Corydon, he collected three thousand dollars from
three mill-owners. Capturing, at another time, Washington De Pauw, a man
of large wealth, he said to him,--
"Sir, do you consider your flour-mill worth two thousand dollars?"
De Pauw thought it was worth that.
"Very well; you can save it for that much money."
De Pauw promptly paid the cash.
"Now," said Morgan, "do you think your woollen-mill worth three thousand
dollars?"
"Yes," said De Pauw, with more hesitation.
"You can buy it from us for that sum."
The three thousand dollars was paid over less willingly, and the
mill-owner was heartily glad that he had no other mills to redeem.
Another threat to burn did not meet with as much success. Colonel
Craven, of Ripley, who was taken prisoner, talked in so caustic a tone
that Morgan asked where the colonel lived.
"At Osgood," was the answer.
"That little town on the railroad?"
"Yes," said the colonel.
"All right; I shall send a detachment there to burn the town."
"Burn and be hanged!" said the colonel; "it isn't much of a town,
anyhow."
Morgan laughed heartily at the answer.
"I like the way you talk, old fellow," he said, "and I guess your town
can stand."
As the ride went on Morgan had more and more cause for alarm. Hobson
was hanging like a burr on his rear, rarely more than half a day's march
behind--the lack of fresh horses kept him from getting nearer. Judah was
on his flank, and had many of his men patrolling the Ohio. The governors
had called for troops, and the country was rising on all sides. The Ohio
was now the barrier between him and safety, and Morgan rode thither at
top speed, striking the river on the 19th at Buffington Ford, above
Pomeroy, in Ohio. For the past week, as Cunningham says, "every
hill-side contained an enemy and every ravine a blockade, and we reached
the river dispirited and worn down."
At the river, instead of safety, imminent peril was found. Hundreds of
Judah's men were on the stream in gunboats to head him off. Hobson,
Wolford, and other cavalry leaders were closing in from behind. The
raiders seemed environed by enemies, and sharp encounters began. Judah
struck them heavily in flank. Hobson assailed them in the rear, and,
hemmed in on three sides and unable to break through the environing
lines, five hundred of the raiders, under Dick Morgan and Ward, were
forced to surrender.
"Seeing that the enemy had every advantage of position," says
Cunningham, "an overwhelming force of infantry and cavalry, and that we
were becoming completely environed in the meshes of the net set for us,
the command was ordered to move up the river at double-quick, ... and
we moved rapidly off the field, leaving three companies of dismounted
men, and perhaps two hundred sick and wounded, in the enemy's
possession. Our cannon were undoubtedly captured at the river."
Morgan now followed the line of the stream, keeping behind the hills out
of reach of the gunboat fire, till Bealville, fourteen miles above, was
reached. Here he rode to the stream, having distanced the gunboats, and
with threats demanded aid from the people in crossing. Flats and scows
were furnished for only about three hundred of the men, who managed to
cross before the gunboats appeared in sight. Others sought to cross by
swimming. In this effort Cunningham had the following experience:
"My poor mare being too weak to carry me, turned over and commenced
going down; encumbered by clothes, sabre, and pistols, I made but poor
progress in the turbid stream. But the recollections of home, of a
bright-eyed maiden in the sunny South, and an inherent love of life,
actuated me to continue swimming.... But I hear something behind me
snorting! I feel it passing! Thank God, I am saved! A riderless horse
dashes by; I grasp his tail; onward he bears me, and the shore is
reached!" And thus Cunningham passes out of the story.
The remainder of the force fled inland, hotly pursued, fighting a
little, burning bridges, and being at length brought to bay, surrounded
by foes, and forced to surrender, except a small party with Morgan
still at their head. Escape for these seemed hopeless. For six days more
they rode onward, in a desperate effort to reach the Ohio at some
unguarded point. They were sharply pursued, and, at length, on Sunday,
July 26, found themselves very hotly pressed. Along one road dashed
Morgan, at the full speed of his mounts. Over a road at right angles
rushed Major Rue, thundering along. It was a sharp burst for the
intersection. Morgan reached it first, and Rue thought he had escaped.
But the major knew the country like a book. His horses were fresh and
Morgan's were jaded. Another tremendous dash was made for the Beaver
Creek road, and this the major reached a little ahead.
It was all up now with the famous raid. Morgan's men were too few to
break through the intercepting force. He made the bluff of sending a
flag with a demand to surrender; but Rue couldn't see it in that light,
and a few minutes afterward Morgan rode up to him, saying, "You have
beat me this time," and expressing himself as gratified that a
Kentuckian was his captor.
A mere fragment of the command remained, the others having been
scattered and picked up at various points, and thus ended the career, in
capture or death, of nearly all the more than four thousand bold raiders
who had crossed the Ohio three weeks before. They had gained fame, but
with captivity as its goal.
Morgan and several of his officers were taken to Columbus, the capital
of Ohio, and were there confined in felon cells in the penitentiary.
Four months afterward the leader and six of his captains escaped and
made their way in safety to the Confederate lines. Here is the story in
outline of how they got free from durance vile.
Two small knives served them for tools, with which they dug through the
floors of their cells, composed of cement and nine inches of brickwork,
and in this way reached an air-chamber below. They had now only to dig
through the soft earth under the foundation walls of the penitentiary
and open a passage into the yard. They had furnished themselves with a
strong rope, made of their bed-clothes, and with this they scaled the
walls. In some way they had procured citizen's clothes, so that those
who afterward saw them had no suspicion.
In the cell Morgan left the following note: "Cell No. 20. November 20,
1863. Commencement, November 4, 1863. Conclusion, November 20, 1863.
Number of hours of labor per day, three. Tools, two small knives. _La
patience est amere, mais son fruit est doux_ [Patience is bitter, but
its fruit is sweet]. By order of my six honorable confederates."
Morgan and Captain Hines went immediately to the railroad station (at
one o'clock in the morning) and boarded a train going towards
Cincinnati. When near this city, they went to the rear car, slackened
the speed by putting on the brake, and jumped off, making their way to
the Ohio. Here they induced a boy to row them across, and soon found
shelter with friends in Kentucky.
A reward of one thousand dollars was offered for Morgan, "alive or
dead," but the news of the ovation with which he was soon after received
in Richmond proved to his careless jailers that he was safely beyond
their reach.
A few words will finish the story of Morgan's career. He was soon at the
head of a troop again, annoying the enemy immensely in Kentucky. One of
his raiding parties, three hundred strong, actually pushed General
Hobson, his former pursuer, into a bend of the Licking River, and
captured him with twelve hundred well-armed men. This was Morgan's last
exploit. Soon afterward he, with a portion of his staff, were surrounded
when in a house at Greenville by Union troops, and the famous
Confederate leader was shot dead while seeking to escape.
_HOME-COMING OF GENERAL LEE AND HIS VETERANS._
Sad is defeat, and more than sad was the last march of General Lee's
gallant army after its four years of heroic struggle, as it despondently
made its way along the Virginian roads westward from the capital city
which it had defended so long and valiantly. It was the verdant
spring-tide, but the fresh green foliage had no charms for the
heart-broken and starving men, whose food supplies had grown so low that
they were forced to gnaw the young shoots of the trees for sustenance.
It is not our purpose here to tell what followed the surrounding of the
fragment of an army by an overwhelming force of foes, the surrender and
parole, and the dispersion of the veteran troops to the four winds, but
to confine ourselves to the homeward journey of General Lee and a few of
his veterans.
Shortly after the surrender, General Lee returned to Richmond, riding
slowly from the scene on his iron-gray war-horse, "Traveller," which had
borne him so nobly through years of battle and siege. His parting with
his soldiers was pathetic, and everywhere on his road to Richmond he
received tokens of admiration and respect from friend and foe. Reaching
Richmond, he and his companions passed sadly through a portion of the
city which exhibited a distressing scene of blackened ruins from the
recent conflagration. As he passed onward he was recognized, and the
people flocked to meet him, cheering and waving hats and handkerchiefs.
The general, to whom this ovation could not have been agreeable, simply
raised his hat in response to the greetings of the citizens, and rode on
to his residence in Franklin Street. The closing of its doors upon his
retiring form was the final scene in that long drama of war of which for
years he had been the central figure. He had returned to that private
family life for which his soul had yearned even in the most active
scenes of the war.
It is our purpose here to reproduce a vivid personal account of the
adventures of some of the retiring soldiers, especially as General Lee
bore a part in their experiences. The narrative given is the final one
of a series of incidents in the life of the private soldier, related by
Private Carlton McCarthy. These papers, in their day, were widely read
and much admired, and an extract from them cannot fail still to be of
interest. We take up the story of the "Brave Survivors, homeward bound:"
"Early in the morning of Wednesday, the 12th of April, without the
stirring drum or the bugle call of old, the camp awoke to the new life.
Whether or not they had a country, these soldiers did not know. Home to
many, when they reached it, was graves and ashes. At any rate, there
must be, somewhere on earth, a better place than a muddy, smoky camp in
a piece of scrubby pines; better company than gloomy, hungry comrades
and inquisitive enemies, and something in the future more exciting, if
not more hopeful, than nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, nothing to do,
and nowhere to go. The disposition to start was apparent, and the
preparations were promptly begun.
"To roll up the old blanket and oil-cloth, gather up the haversack,
canteen, axe, perhaps, and a few trifles,--in time of peace of no
value,--eat the fragments that remained, and light a pipe, was the work
of a few moments. This slight employment, coupled with pleasant
anticipations of the unknown, and therefore possibly enjoyable future,
served to restore somewhat the usual light-hearted manner of soldiers
and relieve the final farewells of much of their sadness. There was even
a smack of hope and cheerfulness as the little groups sallied out into
the world to combat they scarcely knew what. As we cannot follow all
these groups, we will join ourselves to one and see them home.
"Two 'brothers-in-arms,' whose objective-point is Richmond, take the
road on foot. They have nothing to eat and no money. They are bound for
their home in a city which, when they last heard from it, was in flames.
What they will see when they arrive there they cannot imagine, but the
instinctive love of home urges them. They walk on steadily and rapidly,
and are not diverted by surroundings. It does not even occur to them
that their situation, surrounded on all sides by armed enemies and
walking a road crowded by them, is at all novel. They are suddenly
aroused to a sense of their situation by a sharp 'Halt! Show your
parole.' They had struck the cordon of picket-posts which surrounded the
surrendered army. It was the first exercise of authority by the Federal
army. A sergeant, accompanied by a couple of muskets, stepped into the
road, with a modest air examined the paroles, and said, quietly, 'Pass
on.'
[Illustration: LEE'S HOUSE AT RICHMOND.]
"This strictly military part of the operation being over, the social
commenced. As the two 'survivors' passed on they were followed by
numerous remarks, such as, 'Hello, Johnny! I say--going home?' 'Ain't
you glad?' They made no reply, these wayfarers, but they _thought_ some
very emphatic remarks.
"From this point 'on to Richmond' was the grand thought. Steady work it
was. The road, strangely enough, considering the proximity of two
armies, was quite lonesome, and not an incident of interest occurred
during the day. Darkness found the two comrades still pushing on.
"Some time after dark a light was seen a short distance ahead, and there
was a 'sound of revelry.' On approaching, the light was seen to proceed
from a large fire, built on the floor of an old and dilapidated
outhouse, and surrounded by a ragged, hungry, singing, and jolly crowd
of paroled prisoners of the Army of Northern Virginia, who had gotten
possession of a quantity of cornmeal and were waiting for the ash-cakes
then in the ashes. Being liberal, they offered the new-comers some of
their bread. Being hungry, they accepted and ate their first meal that
day. Finding the party noisy and riotous, the comrades pushed on in the
darkness after a short rest and spent the night on the road.
"Thursday morning they entered the village of Buckingham Court-House,
and traded a small pocket-mirror for a substantial breakfast. There was
quite a crowd of soldiers gathered around a cellar-door, trying to
persuade an ex-Confederate A. A. A. Commissary of Subsistence that he
might as well, in view of the fact that the army had surrendered, let
them have some of the stores; and, after considerable persuasion and
some threats, he decided to forego the hope of keeping them for himself
and told the men to help themselves. They did so.
"As the two tramps were about to leave the village and were hurrying
along the high-road which led through it, they saw a solitary horseman
approaching from the rear. It was easy to recognize at once General Lee.
He rode slowly, calmly along. As he passed an old tavern on the roadside
some ladies and children waved their handkerchiefs, smiled, and wept.
The general raised his eyes to the porch on which they stood, and,
slowly raising his hand to his hat, lifted it slightly and as slowly
again dropped his hand to his side. The 'survivors' did not weep, but
they had strange sensations. They passed on, steering, so to speak, for
Cartersville and the ferry.
"Before leaving the village it was the sad duty of the 'survivors' to
stop at the humble abode of Mrs. P. and tell her of the death of her
husband, who fell mortally wounded, pierced by a musket-ball, near
Sailor's Creek. She was also told that a companion who was by his side
when he fell, but who was not able to stay with him, would come along
soon and give her the particulars. That comrade came and repeated the
story. In a few days the dead man reached home alive and scarcely hurt.
He was originally an infantryman, recently transferred to artillery, and
therefore wore a small knapsack, as infantry did. The ball struck the
knapsack with a 'whack!' and knocked the man down. That was all."
The night was spent in an old building near the ferry, and in the
morning the ferryman cheerfully put them across the river without
charge.
"Soon after crossing, a good, silver-plated tablespoon, bearing the
monogram of one of the travellers, purchased from an aged colored woman
a large chunk of ash-cake and about half a gallon of buttermilk. This
old darky had lived in Richmond in her younger days. She spoke of grown
men and women there as 'chillun what I raised.' 'Lord! boss--does you
know Miss Sadie? Well, I nussed her and I nussed all uv their chillun;
that I did, sah. You chillun does look hawngry, that you does. Well,
you's welcome to these vittles, and I'm pow'ful glad to git dis spoon.
God bless you, honey!' A big log on the roadside furnished a comfortable
seat for the consumption of the before-mentioned ash-cake and milk.
"The feast was hardly begun when the tramp of a horse's hoofs were
heard. Looking up, the 'survivors' saw with surprise General Lee
approaching. He was entirely alone and rode slowly along. Unconscious
that any one saw him, he was yet erect, dignified, and apparently as
calm and peaceful as the fields and woods around him. Having caught
sight of the occupants of the log, he kept his eyes fixed on them, and
as he passed turned slightly, saluted, and said, in the most gentle
manner, 'Good-morning, gentlemen; taking your breakfast?' The soldiers
had only time to rise, salute, and say, 'Yes, sir,' and he was gone.
"It seems that General Lee pursued the road which the 'survivors' chose,
and, starting later than they, overtook them, he being mounted and they
on foot. At any rate, it was their good fortune to see him three times
on the road from Appomattox to Richmond. The incidents introducing
General Lee are peculiarly interesting, and the reader may rest assured
of the truthfulness of the narration as to what occurred and what was
said and done.
"After the feast of bread and milk, the no longer hungry men passed on.
About the time when men who have eaten a hearty breakfast become again
hungry,--as good fortune would have it happen,--they reached a house
pleasantly situated, and a comfortable place withal. Approaching the
house, they were met by an exceedingly kind, energetic, and hospitable
woman. She promptly asked, 'You are not deserters?' 'No,' said the
soldiers; 'we have our paroles; we are from Richmond; we are homeward
bound, and called to ask if you could spare us a dinner.' 'Spare you a
dinner? Certainly I can. My husband is a miller; his mill is right
across the road there, down the hill, and I have been cooking all day
for the poor, starving men. Take a seat on the porch there, and I will
get you something to eat.'
"By the time the travellers were seated, this admirable woman was in the
kitchen at work. The 'pat-a-pat, pat, pat, pat, pat-a-pat, pat' of the
sifter, and the cracking and 'fizzing' of the fat bacon as it fried,
saluted their hungry ears, and the delicious smell tickled their
olfactory nerves most delightfully. Sitting thus, entertained by
delightful sounds, breathing the air and wrapped in meditation, or
anticipation, rather, the soldiers saw the dust rise in the air and
heard the sound of an approaching party.
"Several horsemen rode up to the road-gate, threw their bridles over the
posts or tied them to the overhanging boughs, and dismounted. They were
evidently officers, well-dressed, fine-looking men, and about to enter
the gate. Almost at once the men on the porch recognized General Lee and
his son. They were accompanied by other officers. An ambulance had
arrived at the gate also. Without delay they entered and approached the
house, General Lee preceding the others. Satisfied that it was the
general's intention to enter the house, the two 'brave survivors,'
instinctively and respectfully venerating the approaching man,
determined to give him and his companions the porch. As they were
executing a rather rapid and undignified flank movement to gain the
right and rear of the house, the voice of General Lee overhauled them
thus, 'Where are you men going?' 'This lady has offered to give us a
dinner, and we are waiting for it,' replied the soldiers. 'Well, you had
better move on now--this gentleman will have quite a large party on him
to-day,' said the general. The soldiers touched their caps, said, 'Yes,
sir,' and retired, somewhat hurt, to a strong position on a hen-coop in
the rear of the house. The party then settled on the porch.
"The general had, of course, no authority, and the surrender of the
porch was purely respectful. Knowing this, the soldiers were at first
hurt, but a moment's reflection satisfied them that the general was
right. He, no doubt, had suspicions of plunder, and these were increased
by the movement of the men to the rear as he approached. He
misinterpreted their conduct.
"The lady of the house--_a reward for her name_--hearing the dialogue in
the yard, pushed her head through the crack of the kitchen door and, as
she tossed a lump of dough from hand to hand and gazed eagerly out,
addressed the soldiers: 'Ain't that old General Lee?' 'Yes, General Lee
and his son and other officers come to dine with you,' they replied.
'Well,' she said, 'he ain't no better than the men that fought for him,
and I don't reckon he is as hungry; so you just come in here. I am going
to give you yours first, and then I'll get something for him.'
"What a meal it was! Seated at the kitchen table, the large-hearted
woman bustling about and talking away, the ravenous tramps attacked a
pile of old Virginia hoecake and corn-dodger, a frying-pan with an inch
of gravy and slices of bacon, streak of lean and streak of fat, very
numerous. To finish--as much rich buttermilk as the drinkers could
contain. With many heartfelt thanks the 'survivors' bade farewell to
this immortal woman, and leaving the general and his party in the quiet
possession of the front porch, pursued their way.
"Night found the 'survivors' at the gate of a quiet, handsome, framed
country residence. The weather was threatening, and it was desirable to
have shelter as well as rest. Entering and knocking at the door, they
were met by a servant girl. She was sent to her mistress with a request
for permission to sleep on her premises. The servant returned, saying,
'Mistis says she is a widder, and there ain't no gentleman in the house,
and she can't let you come in.' She was sent with a second message,
which informed the lady that the visitors were from Richmond, members of
a certain company from there, and would be content with permission to
sleep on the porch, in the stable, or in the barn. They would protect
her property, etc., etc., etc.
"This message brought the lady of the house to the door. She said, 'If
you are members of the ---- ----, you must know my nephew, he was in that
company. Of course they knew him, 'old chum,' 'comrade,' 'particular
friend,' 'splendid fellow,' 'hope he was well when you heard from him;
glad to meet you, madam.' These and similar hearty expressions brought
the longed-for 'Come in, gentlemen. You are welcome. I will see that
supper is prepared for you at once.' (Invitation accepted.)
"The old haversacks were deposited in a corner under the steps and their
owners conducted downstairs to a spacious dining-room, quite prettily
furnished. A large table occupied the centre of the room, and at one
side there was a handsome display of silver in a glass-front case. A
good big fire lighted the room. The lady sat quietly working at some
woman's work, and from time to time questioning, in a rather suspicious
manner, her guests. Their direct answers satisfied her, and their
respectful manner reassured her, so that by the time supper was brought
in she was chatting and laughing with her 'defenders.'
"The supper came in steaming hot. It was abundant, well prepared, and
served elegantly. Splendid coffee, hot biscuit, luscious butter, fried
ham, eggs, fresh milk! The writer could not expect to be believed if he
should tell the quantity eaten at that meal. The good lady of the house
enjoyed the sight. She relished every mouthful, and no doubt realized
then and there the blessing which is conferred on hospitality, and the
truth of that saying of old, 'It is more blessed to give than to
receive.'