Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away--
Gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of hay--
We lived in the log-house yonder, poor as ever you've seen;
Roschen there was a baby, and I was only nineteen.
Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle;
How much we thought of Kentucky, I couldn't begin to tell--
Came from the Blue-Grass country; my father gave her to me
When I rode north with Conrad, away from Tennessee.
Conrad lived in Ohio--a German he is, you know--
The house stood in broad corn-fields, stretching on, row after
row;
The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be
But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of Tennessee.
O, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that is never still
But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky--
Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye!
From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon,
Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon;
Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn;
Only the "rustle, rustle," as I walked among the corn.
When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more,
But moved away from the corn-lands out to this river shore--
The Tuscarawas it's called, sir--off there's a hill, you see--
And now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee.
I was at work that morning. Some one came riding like mad
Over the bridge and up the road--Farmer Rouf's little lad;
Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say;
"Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way;
"I'm sent to warn the neighbors. He isn't a mile behind;
He sweeps up all the horses--every horse that he can find;
Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men,
With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen."
The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door;
The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor;
Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone;
Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!
Sudden I picked up the baby, and ran to the pasture-bar;
"Kentuck!" I called; "Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far!
I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right,
And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.
As I ran back to the log-house, at once there came a sound--
The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground--
Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen--
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.
As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm!
But still I stood in the doorway, with baby on my arm.
They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped
along--
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band six hundred strong.
Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through
day;
Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away,
To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the West,
To ford the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.
On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance;
Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways
glance;
And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain,
When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.
Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face,
As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place:
I gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see;
Faint and worn; with dim blue eyes, and he'd sailed on the
Tennessee.
Only sixteen he was, sir--a fond mother's only son--
Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun!
The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish
mouth;
And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South!
O, pluck was he to the backbone; and clear grit through and
through;
Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't
do;
The boy was dying sir, dying, as plain as plain could be,
Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.
But, when I told the laddie that I too was from the South,
Water came into his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth;
"Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistfully began to say;
Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.
I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to;
I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do;
And, when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone,
Morgan's men were miles away, galloping, galloping on.
"O, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away!
Morgan, Morgan is waiting for me! O, what will Morgan say?"
But I heard the sound of tramping, and kept him back from the
door--
The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.
And on, on came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry--
And fast they rode, and back they looked, galloping rapidly;
They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day
and night;
But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.
And rich Ohio sat startled through all these summer days;
For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways;
Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east,
now west,
Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her
best.
A bold ride and a long ride! But they were taken at last;
They had almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast;
But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the
ford,
And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.
Well, I kept the boy till evening--kept him against his will--
But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still;
When it was cool and dusky--you'll wonder to hear me tell--
But I stole down to the gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle.
I kissed the star on her forehead--my pretty, gentle lass--
But I knew that she'd be happy, back in the old Blue-Grass:
A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had,
And Kentucky, pretty Kentucky, I gave to the worn-out lad.
I guided him to the southward, as well as I knew how:
The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow;
And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell;
And down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!
When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high,
Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why--
But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall,
And a thin old horse with drooping head stood in Kentucky's
stall.
Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me,
He knew I couldn't help it--'twas all for the Tennessee;
But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass--
A letter, sir, and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass.
The lad got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle;
And Kentuck she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well;
He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or
spur;
Ah! we've had many horses, but never a horse like her!