Gen. John Hunt Morgan
"There lived a knight, when
knighthood was in flower,
Who charmed alike the tilt-yard and the bower."
--Gen. Basil W. Duke.
From the N. O. Picayune, October 13, 1907.
The soldiers of the Civil War are ever ready to recite
reminiscences of camp and field. They forgive, but they cannot
forget. Fresh in memory are scenes of life and light, of courage
and death, of rollicking gayety and abject despair, of music and
dancing, of the piteous cry of the wounded, the exultant shout of
the victor and the imprecation of the vanquished. A mere boy, I
left my old Kentucky home to follow the plume of General John H.
Morgan, the beau sabreur who rode far into the enemy's country,
greeting the sons of the morning with a strange new flag.
In person General Morgan was notably graceful and handsome. Six
feet in height, his form was perfect, a rare combination of
grace, activity and strength. The prince of Kentucky cavaliers,
Morgan was the peer of the immortals--Stuart and Hampton, Forrest
and Wheeler. Associated with him, always second in command, was
Basil W. Duke, the Baron Henry of the youthful
cavalrymen--the flower of "old Kentucky."
While Morgan was bold in thought and action, he neglected no
precaution that would insure success or avert disaster. His
rapidly formed plans, promptly and brilliantly executed,
surprised his friends and confounded his foes. He was the
originator of the far-reaching raid, and the author of a system
of tactics and strategy that was novel and effective.
When invading a "far country," preferably when
"The bloom was on the alder And the tassel on the
corn," he marched swiftly and continuously, much of his
success being due to his possession of a faculty that enabled him
to move with as great facility and confidence without maps and
guides as with them. When advancing he rarely declined to fight,
believing that then a concentration of superior forces against
him was more difficult, the vigor of his enemy being somewhat
paralyzed by the celerity of his own movements and the mystery
that involved them. When retreating, however, he would resort to
every strategem to avoid battle, fearing that while fighting one
enemy another might overtake and assail him.
Lee was marching toward Pennsylvania and Bragg, in danger of
being overwhelmed by Rosecrans, directed Morgan to create a
diversion by marching into Kentucky and threatening Louisville.
Being essential a free lance, accustomed to independent action,
Morgan determined to cross the Ohio River, General Bragg's order
to the contrary notwithstanding. Hitherto the career of the
cavalry chieftain had been brilliantly successful but the
contemplated long ride from the sunny hills of Tennessee through
Kentucky, Indiana and Ohio was to end in grave and almost
irreparable disaster. In high feather and in full song Morgan's
gallant young cavalrymen formed in column, looking toward
Kentucky. There were two brigades, the one commanded by Colonel
Basil W. Duke, the other by Colonel Adam R. Johnson. Following
the cavalry were four pieces of artillery--a section of
three-inch Parrott guns and two twelve-pound Howitzers. When
General Morgan, tastefully dressed
and superbly mounted, rode along the column, going to the front,
the men cheered and sang their song:
"Here's the health to Duke and Morgan,
Drink it down;
"Here's the health to Duke and Morgan,
Drink it down;
"Here's the health to Duke and Morgan,
Down, boys, down, drink it down."
To this ovation General Morgan, hat in hand, smilingly bowed his
acknowledgement and appreciation. When Colonel Duke, with
flashing eye and flowing plume, appeared there were more cheers
and another song, "My Old Kentucky Home." When 'the
bugles again sounded the cavaliers, two thousand four hundred and
sixty effective men, "With all their banners bravely spread,
And all their armor flashing high," moved from Alexandria,
Tenn., June 11, 1863, toward the Cumberland River.
When the raiders arrived at Burkesville, on the Cumberland River,
the river was at flood tide, and a detachment of Judah's
formidable cavalry was on the opposite shore. No commander less
resolute or more timorous than Morgan would have attempted to
cross the swollen stream in the face of a threatening enemy. As
usual, however, he deceived the Federals by doing what was least
expected of him. Having crossed the river and dispersed the
opposing troopers, he boldly and swiftly marched due north,
leaving a strong force of Federal cavalry in his rear. Adhering
to his policy of fighting, instead of avoiding, all troops that
opposed him when advancing, Morgan was unfortunate on this great
raid, even in Kentucky, where on former occasions he had been
signally successful. On the Fourth of July, he undertook to
capture a small force of Michigan infantry occupying a naturally
strong and skillfully-fortified position in a bend of the Green
River. Replying to a demand for his surrender, the Commander,
Colonel H. Moore, said: "This is Independence Day. I shall
not lower my flag without a fight." Having repeatedly
assaulted the position, and lost in killed and wounded nearly one
hundred of his most gallant men, the discomfited Morgan made a
detour and marched away, leaving his dead and wounded comrades to
the tender mercies of the Federal Commander, who was no less
humane than he was brave.
Marching to Lebanon, the raiders captured the garrison, about
three hundred men, but not without the loss of fifty of their
comrades, among the killed being Lieutenant Tom Morgan, the
general's brother, a mere boy, the idol of the command.
At Springfield Morgan began to send detachments in various
directions, and to further mystify the pursuing and environing
Federals he resorted to the telegraph, a resource that had often
served him on former daring expeditions. Attached to his staff
was an expert telegraph operator named George A. Ellsworth, whom
the men called "Lightning." Having cut a wire,
Ellsworth would connect his own instrument with the line and take
off the dispatches. If none of interest came his way he would
place himself in communication with the Federal commanders. If
Morgan had 1,000 men, "Lightning" would gravely inform
them that he had 2,000. Locating the detachments promiscuously,
he would have the main column and detached squadrons marching in
directions contrary to their objective points. Leaving
Springfield, Morgan deflected from the straight northward
route,hitherto pursued, and marched westward to Bardstown,
threatening Louisville. By this time the "rough riders"
had become weary and sleepy. While the column was making the
night march from Springfield to Bardstown, the brilliant Colonel
Alston, Chief of Staff, sought "nature's sweet
restorer" on the veranda of a roadside residence, and awoke
to find himself in the
hands of the pursuing Federal cavalry.
From Bardstown the Confederates marched rapidly to Brandenburg,
on the Ohio River, forty miles below Louisville.
When the column reached Brandenburg, early in the morning of July
8, General Morgan was delighted to find two good steamboats lying
at the wharf, the transports having been secured by two of his
most adventuresome captains, Sam Taylor and Clay Meriwether, who
had been sent in advance for that purpose.
Impatient of delay, Morgan made immediate preparations to cross
the river. A dense fog prevented his seeing what was on the other
side, but he knew that a strong force of determined Federal
cavalry was close upon his rear. A shot from a rifled cannon and
a volley of musketry announced the presence of an unseen enemy on
the Indiana shore.
The disappearing mist, however, soon revealed a small force of
combatants, presumably militia, and one piece of artillery,
mounted upon two wheels of an ordinary road wagon. The first shot
from one of the Parrott guns made the patriotic Indianians,
unused to war's alarms, nervous, and the second induced them to
abandon their "battery" and flee to the wooded hills,
six hundred yards from the river.
When two dismounted regiments had been transferred to the
opposite shore, a small gunboat appeared and viciously threw
shells at the Confederates on both sides of the river. For about
an hour there was an interesting duel between the bellicose
steamer and the Parrott guns planted on a high bluff on the
Kentucky shore. To General Morgan it was a supreme moment--a time
to try his soul. Two of his best regiments were separated from
their comrades by the intervening river, and General Hobson's
strong column of fine cavalry was closely pressing his rear. To
his great relief, however, the saucy and disquieting little
gunboat suddenly and unexpectedly withdrew from the combat, and,
standing up the river, disappeared from view. By midnight
Morgan's entire command had crossed to the Indiana shore. Duke's
merry cavaliers, strangers in a strange land, singing
"Here's the health to Duke and Morgan, Drink it down,"
marched to a point six miles from the river and went into camp
for a brief rest. The rear guard of Johnson's Brigade, the last
to cross the river, stopped on the margin of the stream long
enough to burn the transports and to wave their hats, bidding
Hobson's pursuing cavalry, then on the other shore, good-by.
Then, following the column, they sang:
"The race is not to them that's got
The longest legs to run,
Nor the battle to that people
That shoots the biggest gun."
At Corydon, fifteen miles north of the river, a force of militia,
or home guards, formidable in numbers only, attempted to delay
the march, but when the advance guard charged their barricade of
fence rails in front and a regiment threatened their flank, they
unhesitatingly fled.
At Salem, thirty miles further north, there was a similar
occurrence. Apparently the whole of Indiana was in arms, one
blast upon a native's horn being worth a thousand men. The home
guards were patriotic and commendably brave, but their
inexperience and lack of discipline rendered them ineffective
when opposing the march of Morgan's veteran cavaliers.
From Salem the column moved eastward to Vienna, where Ellsworth
captured the telegraph operator and put himself in communication
with Louisville and Indianapolis, sending the usual fiction
regarding Morgan's movements and receiving desirable information
as to those of the enemy. As the invaders advanced, marching
rapidly day and night, the needlessly
alarmed people fled from their homes, leaving doors wide open and
cooked "rations" invitingly displayed in kitchen and
dining hall, the quantity being great and the quality good. If
the fleeting horsemen from Dixie fared sumptuously every day and
night in a land where they had no friends, what must have been
the abundance that greeted the swiftly pursuing cavalry, composed
largely of Kentuckians, Ohioans and "Michiganders." At
Vernon Morgan found himself confronted by the usual hostile
multitude. Having thrown out detachments to threaten and deceive,
he sent a truce flag to the commandant, courteously requesting
him to capitulate. This overture the Federal officer declined,
asking, however, for an armistice of two hours that the
non-combatants might be removed beyond the zone of danger. Always
humane, the Confederate chieftain readily granted the request.
While the non-bellicose people were being removed from the town,
the wily Morgan adroitly abandoned the siege, and, making a
detour, marched away, leaving the warlike force at Vernon
unmolested.
What especially impressed the thoughtful men of Morgan's raiders
was the dense population, apparently untouched by the demands of
the war. In one day they encountered at least ten thousand home
guards. Plainly the invaders were facing a condition, not a
theory. The Morgan men, pardonably I think, point with pride to
the fact that in a land swarming with their enemies, they burned
only one private dwelling, and even that one would have been left
uninjured had not a hostile band made a fortress of it. Their
sins were many, but burning houses, making war on women and
children and mistreating prisoners were not among them.
Dispersing or eluding all hostile forces, cutting telegraph wires
and throwing out detachments to deceive the Federal officers,
Morgan marched swiftly on and on, day and night, night and day,
until he reached Harrison, Ohio, where he began to maneuver to
mystify the commanding officer at Cincinnati. He had reason to
believe that the city was garrisoned by a
strong force under General Burnside, and that a supreme effort
would be made to intercept and capture him when he should attempt
to cross the Hamilton and Dayton Railroad.
After two or three hours' halt at Harrison the column moved
directly toward Cincinnati, all detachments coming in before
nightfall. Hoping that his previous demonstrations would induce a
concentration of Federal troops up the railroad, and that if any
were left at Cincinnati his subsequent threatening movements
would cause them to withdraw into the city and remain
on the defensive, permitting him to march around it without
attacking him, General Morgan sought to approach as near the city
as possible, without actually entering it, and involving his
command in a conflict with any garrison that might be there.
Having started that morning, July 13, from a point fifty miles
from Cincinnati, and reaching the vicinity of the city in the
night, he had found it impossible to obtain any definite
information as to the location or strength of the enemy.
Moreover, of the two thousand four hundred and sixty effective
troopers with which he had started from far-away Tennessee, he
had scarcely two thousand left. He could find sufficiently
strenuous employment for this force without running into a
labyrinth of unfamiliar streets and among houses, every one of
which might be made a fortress from which an unseen enemy,
soldier or citizen, could
shoot his men from their horses, causing confusion, if not
irretrievable disaster.
The men in the ranks and the officers as well, were worn and
demoralized by the fatigue of continuous marching and the loss of
sleep. Besides, General Morgan had given himself a particular
work to perform. He was going to Buffington Island before
attempting to re-cross the river--as planned before starting on
the long raid.
The night march around the city was extremely difficult and
hazardous. The many suburban roads were confusing, especially as
the night was intensely dark. Small bonfires of paper and such
inflammable material as could be found were used to light the
way. The danger of taking the wrong road was always imminent, the
rear battalions often being at a loss to ascertain
which one of the many roads had been taken by those in advance,
from whom they had been separated by reason of much straggling
and the confusion incident to the darkness of the night, the
horses' tracks on the much-traveled roads furnishing no clew as
to the route taken by General Morgan, who rode in front. The
direction in which the dust "settled or floated" was
the most reliable guide, as when the night is calm, as on this
occasion, the dust stirred up by a column of cavalry will remain
suspended in the air for a time, moving slowly in the same
direction that the horses which have disturbed' it are traveling.
Strong men fell from their saddles, and at every halt the
officers, themselves exhausted, were compelled to use heroic
measures to arouse the men who, having fallen from their horses,
were sleeping in the road. Not a few crept off into the fields
and slept until they awoke to find themselves in the hands of the
enemy. When day dawned the column had passed through
Glendale, a beautiful suburban village, within sight of the
city's spires, and was near the Little Miami Railroad, the last
point where Morgan thought he would encounter serious opposition.
Having crossed the railroad unopposed the column halted, and the
horses were fed within sight of Camp Dennison. That evening the
weary Southerners were at Williamsburg, twenty-eight miles east
of Cincinnati, having marched more than ninety miles in
thirty-five hours, the greatest march that even Morgan had ever
made.
On an expedition such as the "Ohio Raid" the
exchanging, or impressment, of horses is a military necessity.
When Morgan crossed the Ohio River his men were riding fine
Kentucky horses, many of them thoroughbred, peculiarly adapted to
service on a long and exhausting raid into an enemy's country,
but they had their limitations. Traveling rapidly and
continuously a
distance of a thousand miles was too much, even for horses that
were "bred in Old Kentucky, where the meadow grass is
blue." When the Kentucky cavalryman exchanged his faithful
equine friend for an Indiana or Ohio farm horse, he did so
reluctantly, even tearfully, and felt that he had made a bad
"trade." Some of the raiders necessarily "swapped
horses" three or four times within twenty-four hours. To the
cavalryman who is far from his base, and dismounted, visions of
prison life appear, and if a horse is anywhere within reach he
will "capture" it, peacefully if he can, forcibly if he
must.
Relieved of the depressing suspense incident to the march around
Cincinnati, and having enjoyed a night's rest at Williamsburg,
the invaders resumed their merry ways. Looking toward the
bordering little hills beyond the river they began to sing,
"The Old Kentucky Home." Among them were many
musicians, white and colored. Somewhere, en route, they had
"confiscated" two violins, a guitar and a banjo. The
sentimental guitarist was softly singing "Juanita,"
when he was interrupted by a rollicking fiddler who played
"The Hills of Tennessee." Simultaneously another gay
violinist broke one of his three strings in an attempt to play
"The Arkansas Traveler," and then inconsiderately threw
away the fiddle and the bow. A homesick
little darky took possession of the banjo and sang: "All up
and down the whole creation, Sadly I roam, Still longing for the
old plantation, And for the old folks at home."
Bugle sounds interrupted the inharmonic musicale, and soon the
cavaliers were in their saddles, bound for the ford at Buffington
Island. On this march the fighting was almost continuous, not
only with the militia that industriously barricaded the roads,
but with encompassing regular troops. Even the women frowned,
their voluble speech being uncomplimentary. Neither
in Indiana nor in Ohio did Morgan's "Rough Riders" see
any "bright smiles to haunt them still."
Unfortunately for Morgan his column did not reach Buffington
Island until after nightfall, July 18, too late to attempt the
crossing of the river, especially as the night was very dark. His
scouts informed him that the ford was guarded by three hundred
infantry, protected by an earthwork, and two heavy guns. The
delay was fatal. Early on the following morning, however, about
five hundred men succeeded in crossing the river, despite the
dense fog and the rising tide, unprecedented at that time of the
year. Unknown to Morgan, the infantry guard at the ford had
abandoned the earthwork some time in the night. At an early hour
the troops that had not crossed the river were attacked
simultaneously by Hobson's pursuing column and by Judah's forces
that had come up the river. At the same time the gunboats
appeared and promptly began to throw shells and grapeshot into
the ranks of the Confederates who, for a very short time, made a
gallant but hopeless fight. The ensuing melee and demoralization
I cannot describe. It is sufficient to say that the combat ended
in the dispersion and capture of nearly the whole of Morgan's
command.
In the early morning General Morgan rode into the
river, but when about half way across, seeing that the greater
number of his men would be forced to remain on the Ohio shore, he
turned and rode back to that side of the stream, resolved to
share the fate of his men.
Accompanying the raiders were a number of active and intelligent
colored boys serving their young masters, to whom they were
singularly devoted. Among them was a little fellow named
"Box," a privileged character, whose impudent airs were
condoned by the cavaliers in consideration of his uniform
cheerfulness and enlivening plantation melodies. When General
Morgan had returned to the Ohio shore he saw Box plunge into the
river and boldly swim toward the other side. Fearing the little
fellow would be drowned, the General called to him to return.
"No, Marse John," cried Box, "if dey ketch you dey
may parole you, but if dey ketch dis nigger in a free State he
ain't a-gwine ter git away while de wah lasts." Narrowly
missing collision with a gunboat, Box crossed the river all right
and escaped southward to the old plantation.
With about one thousand gallant but hopeless men, General Morgan
withdrew from the melee at Buffington Island and rode eastward,
closely pursued by Hobson's indefatigable cavalry. Weary and
harassed, the Confederate chieftain continued to elude his
relentless pursuers for six days, when, his followers reduced to
two hundred men, he surrendered, July 26, to a detachment of
Hobson's Kentucky Cavalrymen--Greek against Greek. The
sensational escape of Morgan and six of his captains from the
Ohio prison is another story.