Raiding with Morgan
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“What would you do if Morgan came?” asked Calhoun.
“Do? I would throw my hat in the air and yell until I was hoarse,” was the answer.
“What if Morgan should want some of your horses?” asked Calhoun.
Mr. Jones’s countenance fell. At length he mumbled, “Of course he would pay me for them?”
“Of course,” replied Calhoun, in a tone which the old gentleman did not quite understand.
Just before Calhoun was ready to leave Indianapolis Bowman told him Morton was to hold a reception, and asked him if he would not like to attend and see the great War Governor.
Nothing would suit Calhoun better. He had a desire to see the man of whom he had heard so much – a man who had the majority of his legislature against him, yet held the state as in the hollow of his hand – a man who borrowed hundreds of thousands of dollars in his own name, that the soldiers of his state might be thoroughly equipped. He had overcome every difficulty, and held his state firmly for the Union. Now, with thousands of the citizens of the state secretly plotting against him, he moved serenely along the path he had marked out. Urged to adopt the most severe measures, he knew when, and when not, to make an arrest. He avoided angering his enemies except when the public safety demanded it. His very name caused every member of the Knights of the Golden Circle to tremble. Little did Calhoun think that when he promised to attend the governor’s reception that Morton’s detectives were already looking for him. The renewed activity of the Knights had aroused the Governor’s suspicions, and he was not long in finding out the cause. To locate and arrest the Southern officer who was causing the ferment, was his order to his detectives.
A large crowd attended the reception, and in such a gathering Calhoun felt in no danger. He saw in Morton a thickset, heavy man with a massive head and brain. He looked every inch the intellectual giant that he was.
“The grandest figure,” thought Calhoun, “that I have seen in the North. He is a man to beware of. No wonder the Knights stand in fear of him.”
When Calhoun, passing along in the throng, took the Governor’s hand, Morton bent his piercing look upon him, and the question came as if shot out of his mouth, “Where from, young man?”
The suddenness of the question threw Calhoun off his guard, and almost involuntarily he answered, “From Kentucky.”
“From Kentucky, eh! And how goes it down there?”
Calhoun was himself again. “Of course,” he answered, “we are greatly divided in that state, but all the powers of Jeff Davis cannot tear it from the Union.”
“Good, pass on,” and the Governor turned to the next in line.
But a feeling as of impending danger took possession of Calhoun. Why that question to him? He had heard it asked of no other. Could it be he was suspected? Forcing his way through the throng, he got out of the building as soon as possible.
It was well that he did so, for hardly had the Governor let go Calhoun’s hand, when he motioned to General Carrington, and whispered to him: “Arrest that young man. Do it as quietly as possible, but see he does not get away. He is the Southern officer we have been looking for, I am sure. I have a full description of him.”
General Carrington in turn whispered to a couple of quiet-looking men, dressed in citizen’s clothes who stood near the Governor. They nodded, and started after Calhoun, who was now nearly lost to view in the crowd.
Once out of the building Calhoun found that hundreds of spectators had gathered out of curiosity. They were hurrahing for Lincoln and Morton, and shouting for the Union, and some were singing, “We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour-apple tree.”
Rapidly pushing his way through this mob, he reached the outer edge of the circle. Here groups of men were standing, but they were not hurrahing. Instead, their looks were dark and surly, and it was plain they were not enjoying the proceedings. Just as Calhoun reached these groups, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and a stern low voice said: “You are our prisoner; better come quietly and make no disturbance.” And in a trice Calhoun felt each of his arms grasped by strong hands. He was powerless in the iron grip by which he was held; if help there was, it must come from the outside.
“Oho ne! Oho ne! Oho ne!”
The despairing cry cleft the night air like a knife. It fell on the astonished ears of hundreds who did not understand it. But to those groups of silent, sullen-browed men it came as the call of a trumpet, summoning them to duty.
“Oho ne! Oho ne!” they answered, and before the surprised officers could draw a weapon, could raise a hand to defend themselves, they were beaten down, and their prisoner snatched from them.
The alarm was raised, and a company of soldiers came on the run, with fixed bayonets, scattering the crowd right and left. But when they reached the spot they found only a couple of half-dazed and bleeding officers. They could only say they had been set upon, knocked down, and their prisoner taken from them. By whom they did not know, for it was dark, and the crowd had dispersed.
When the onset came, Calhoun felt himself grasped by the arm, and a voice whispered, “Follow me, quick!”
Into the darkness Calhoun dashed, following his guide. In the shadow of buildings, through dark alleys, they ran. At last they came to a part of the city where only a lamp gleamed here and there. They stopped running, both exhausted, their breath coming in quick gasps.
“We are safe now,” said the guide, “but it was a close shave for you. What did they arrest you for?”
“To hang me,” answered Calhoun, with a shudder. “I am a Confederate officer.”
“I thought you must be some big gun, or old Morton wouldn’t have tried to arrest you in that crowd; but don’t worry, you are all right now.”
His guide, whose name proved to be Randall, soon came to a house which he said was his home, “and,” he exclaimed, “none of Abe Lincoln’s minions will ever find you here. I have sheltered more than one escaped Confederate prisoner from that infernal pen out there called Camp Morton. It should be called Camp Hades.”
Calhoun was ushered into the house, and shown a room. “Sleep soundly, and without fear,” said Mr. Randall.
Calhoun took his advice, but before he went to sleep he did not forget to return thanks for his escape, and he also had a great deal more respect for the Knights of the Golden Circle than he had had before. The next morning the papers came out with a full description of Calhoun, telling of his escape, and saying he was a famous spy. The article ended with the announcement that so important did the government consider his person that a reward of one thousand dollars would be paid for his recapture. Calhoun now knew that his work was done in the North. The only thing that remained for him was to get out of it as secretly as possible.
Two days afterwards he was conveyed out of the city concealed in a farmer’s wagon. He was passed on from the hands of one true Knight to another, and at the end of three days he found himself on the banks of the Ohio, a few miles above Madison. In the darkness of the night he was rowed over, and his feet once more pressed the soil of his native state. In his ecstasy he felt like kissing the ground, for was it not the soil of Kentucky?
At the house of a true Southerner he found refuge. His measure was taken into Carrolton, where a tailor made him a fine uniform. Purchasing a horse of the gentleman with whom he stayed, he bade him good-bye, and sprang into the saddle. The sun had just set, and the whole west glowed with the beauty which we ascribe to the Golden City. In the midst of the gold hung the new moon like a silver bow.
“See! see!” cried Calhoun, “the new moon, I saw it over my right shoulder. It means good luck.”
And while the happy omen still gleamed in the west, he galloped away.
CHAPTER XVI.
CALHOUN MAKES HIS REPORT
By keeping off the main roads and avoiding the towns, Calhoun had no trouble in making his way back into Tennessee. He had been gone nearly a month, and was glad to see his old command, who gave him a royal welcome. He was showered with questions as to where he had been, but to each and every one he would laugh and say, “Be glad to tell you, boys, but can’t.”
“Thought you had deserted us,” said his scouts.
“Not till death,” replied Calhoun. “I was on a secret mission. The General knows where I was.”
“It’s all right then, but mark my word, there will be some deviltry going on shortly,” one of them remarked, sagely.
As General Breckinridge was greatly interested, Calhoun did not make his report until that General could meet with Morgan. Then Calhoun gave a detailed account of all he had seen and heard. He was listened to with breathless attention.
“His report agrees perfectly with all I have heard,” remarked Breckinridge, much pleased. “I have had a dozen different agents in the North, and they all agree.”
“But you have not given us your own conclusions, Lieutenant,” said Morgan.
“It might seem presumptuous in me,” answered Calhoun.
“By no means; let us hear it,” replied both generals.
Calhoun, thus entreated, gave the conclusions he had formed, not from what had been told him by the leaders of the Knights of the Golden Circle, but from his own observations. He was listened to with evident interest.
“Your conclusions seem to be at utter variance with all that was told you, and every fact given,” said Breckinridge. “You admit that dissatisfaction in the Democratic party is almost universal over the way the war is being conducted; you say that we have not been deceived regarding the numbers of the Knights of the Golden Circle, that there are eighty thousand of the order in Indiana alone, of whom forty thousand are armed; as you know, every member of that order has taken an oath not to take up arms against the South; that they believe in states’ rights; that they will resist by force the tyranny of the Federal government; and yet you say it is your belief that if General Morgan should invade the state, not a hand would be raised to help him. I cannot understand it.”
“I will try to make myself plain,” said Calhoun. “The Democratic party is sick and tired of the war, and want it stopped. They believe we can never be whipped, and in that they are right. But they love the Union, revere the old flag. They indulge the vain hope that if the war were stopped, the Union might be restored. We know how foolish that hope is. I speak of the rank and file. Many of their leaders are notoriously disloyal, but they deceive the people with fine words. They make the party believe that if the Republican party were only defeated, things would be as they were.
“As to the Knights of the Golden Circle, the great mass who join it are told it is only a secret political society. They scarcely comprehend its oaths; they are kept in ignorance of the real motives of the order. These Knights hate the party in power with a bitter hatred. They are friendly to the South, believe we are right; but mark my word, they will not fight for us. They are armed, but their idea is to resist the draft. Go among them to-day, and not one in a thousand would enlist to fight in the Southern army. Fighting is the last thing they want to do for either side. For these reasons I conclude that if General Morgan invaded Indiana he would receive no direct aid from the Knights of the Golden Circle. I confess these conclusions are entirely different from what the leaders told me.
“As for the leaders, they are heart and soul with us. They want us to succeed. If they dared they would rise in revolt to-morrow. They are doing all they can, without open resort to arms, to have us succeed. But they are a band of conspirators. They want us to succeed, because they want utterly to destroy the Federal Union. They want to break loose and form a Northwest Confederacy. They dare not tell their followers this, but it is what they are working for.”
When Calhoun had stated his opinion, both Breckinridge and Morgan asked him many questions. He was then dismissed. Unknown to Calhoun there were three or four other Southern officers present, who had also been in the North. They were called in, and questioned on the points raised by Calhoun. Every one differed with him. They believed that if an opportunity were presented the Knights would rise almost to a man at the call of their leaders.
Breckinridge and Morgan held an earnest consultation. Morgan was greatly disappointed over Calhoun’s report, for he had set his heart on making a raid into Indiana and Ohio. He believed it would be the greatest triumph of his life, and with the Northwest in open revolt, the independence of the South would be assured.
“Lieutenant Pennington must be mistaken,” said Breckinridge. “My acquaintance in the North is extensive, and I believe my friends there will do just as they say they will.”
Before Morgan and Breckinridge parted, it was fully agreed that Morgan should make the raid. But when the subject was broached to Bragg, that general absolutely refused to sanction it. He gave Morgan permission to make a raid into Kentucky and capture Louisville if possible. That was as far as he would go, and even with that object in view, he limited Morgan’s force to two thousand.
Morgan apparently acquiesced in this decision of his commander; but in his heart he resolved to disobey if, when he neared Louisville, he found conditions at all favorable for the invasion of Indiana.
Some time had passed since Morgan had made a raid, and the news that they were again to ride north, probably clear to Louisville, was welcomed by the rough riders. To them a raid was but a holiday. It did not take Morgan long to prepare. His men were always ready to move. “To Louisville,” was the cry, “we want to call on George D.,” meaning George D. Prentice, the editor of the Louisville Journal.
In all probability few men in the Confederate army knew that Morgan was on another raid, until he was well on his way. This time he entered Kentucky farther east than was his custom, and the first intimation the Federals had that he was in the state, he was crossing the Cumberland River at Burkesville. This was on the second day of July. The alarm was given. The frenzied Federals telegraphed right and left for troops to head off Morgan. It was thought that he intended to strike the Louisville and Nashville Railroad again at his favorite place – Bacon Creek. General Judah hurried from Tompkinsville with a brigade to head him off, but his advance under General Hobson was struck at Marrowbone, and hurled back. This left Morgan an open road to Columbia, and that place fell an easy prey on the 3d.
Leaving General Hobson to pursue Morgan, General Judah hurried back to Glasgow to bring up another brigade. But General Judah never overtook Morgan until days afterwards, and then he caught him at Buffington Island.
As for Hobson, he stuck to Morgan’s trail as an Indian sticks to the trail of his enemy. He followed him all through Kentucky, all through Indiana, all through Ohio, never but a few hours behind, yet never in striking distance until Buffington Island was reached.
After leaving the forces of Judah and Hobson in the rear, Morgan had nearly an open road to Louisville. The 4th found him at the crossing of Green River on the road between Columbia and Campbellsville. Here a portion of the Twenty-fifth Michigan, under Colonel Moore, was strongly fortified, and a charge made by Morgan was bloodily repulsed. As both Judah and Hobson were close in his rear, it would take too much time to bring these determined men to terms, and so Morgan, much to his regret, was forced to leave them, and pass on. The 5th of July found him at Lebanon. The garrison under Colonel Hanson fought desperately, but was forced to capitulate, and Lebanon with all its stores and three hundred and fifty prisoners was again in Morgan’s hands.
The next day found him at Bardstown, where twenty-five men of the Fourth Regular Cavalry, under the command of Lieutenant Thomas Sullivan, threw themselves into a livery stable, strongly fortified it, and refused to surrender. Here Morgan made a mistake. He should have left them and passed on; but angered that he should be defied by so few men, he determined to capture them and it delayed him twenty-four precious hours. So enraged were his men over what they considered the obstinacy of the brave little band, that they began to misuse the prisoners, but Morgan stopped them, saying: “The damned Yankees ought to be complimented on their pluck.”
Never, in any of his raids, had Morgan met with so fierce resistance as on this one. Cut to the quick by the numerous criticisms which had been published in Northern papers, that cowardice prompted nearly every one of the surrenders to Morgan, these troops fought long after prudence should have caused them to surrender.
From Bardstown Morgan moved to Shepherdsville. He was now within striking distance of Louisville. Here it was that he fully decided, if he had not done so before, upon the invasion of Indiana, instead of attempting the capture of Louisville. At Shepherdsville he was on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad, where a long bridge spans the Salt River. But he did not stop to capture the garrison which guarded the bridge, nor did he attempt to burn it; time was too precious. Instead, he rode straight west, and on the 9th was in Brandenburg. Before him rolled the Ohio River, beyond lay the green hills of Indiana. It was the first time he had led his men clear to the Ohio River. The sight of Yankee land aroused them to the utmost enthusiasm. They would have attempted to cross if ten thousand foes had opposed them.
Calhoun had had the advance into Brandenburg with instructions to sweep through the place, stopping for nothing, and to capture any steamboats which might be at the landing. This he did. Far in advance of the main body, he galloped into the town, to the astonishment and dismay of its citizens.
Two small steamboats were lying at the landing, and before the terrorized crews could cut the hawsers and drift out into the stream, Calhoun and his men were on board and the boats were theirs.
The means of crossing the river were now in Morgan’s hands. But a fresh danger arose. A gunboat came steaming down the river from Louisville and opened fire. Morgan brought every piece of his artillery into action, and for two hours the battle raged. Then the gunboat, discomfited, withdrew and went back to Louisville, leaving the way open. There was now nothing to prevent Morgan from crossing the river.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON
Who can tell the thoughts of John H. Morgan, as he sat on his horse that July day, and with fixed gaze looked out upon the river. Beyond lay the fair fields of Indiana, the Canaan of his hopes. Should he go in and possess? The waters needed not to be rolled back. He had the means of crossing. Before him all was calm, peaceful. No foe stood on the opposite bank to oppose him; no cannon frowned from the hilltops. Behind him were thousands of angry Federals in swift pursuit. Would it be safer to go ahead than to turn back?
As Cæsar stood on the bank of the Rubicon debating what to do, so did Morgan stand on the bank of the Ohio. Like Cæsar, if he once took the step, he must abide the consequences. But if there was any hesitation in the mind of Morgan, he did not hesitate long. “Cross over,” was the order which he gave. “We shall soon know,” he said to Calhoun, “whether they are friends or foes over there; whether the forty thousand Knights who were so anxious for me to come will appear or not.”
Now, to look upon the invasion of Indiana and Ohio by Morgan seems like sheer madness. He had a force of only a little over three thousand, and the states which he invaded had millions of population. But he had reasons to believe that thousands of that population were friendly to him, would welcome him with gladness. When he so nearly escaped though no hand was raised to help him, what would he have accomplished if only a few thousand had come to his relief? That there were thousands in the two states who would have flocked gladly to his standard if they had dared, there is no doubt. But the hand of the government was too strong for them to resist. The fires of loyalty burned too fiercely to be quenched by them. With all their boasted strength, the Knights of the Golden Circle were powerless when the supreme moment came.
The order to cross the river was hailed with enthusiasm by every man in Morgan’s command. Where they were going they knew not, cared not; they would go where their gallant leader led. He had never failed them, he would not fail them now. They knew only that they were to invade the land of their enemies; that was enough. The war was to be brought home to the North as it had been to the South. Calhoun caught the fever which caused the blood of every man to flow more swiftly through his veins. He had been full of doubts; he trembled for the results if that river were once passed. He had been through the North and noted her resources, how terribly in earnest her people were that the Union should be saved. What if there were thousands of traitors in their midst? There were enough loyal men left to crush them. What if the state of Indiana was honeycombed with camps of the Knights of the Golden Circle? The lodges of the Union League were fully as numerous. He now forgot all these things. Did not the Knights come to his relief in his hour of sore distress? Surely they would not forget their oaths, when Morgan came. So he tossed his hat in the air, and shouted, “Boys, over there is Yankee land! we will cross over and possess it.”
The order to cross once given, was obeyed with alacrity. In an incredibly short time the three thousand men and horses were ferried across the river.
“Burn the boats,” was Morgan’s order.
The torch was applied, and as the flames wrapped them in their fiery embrace, lo! on the other side came the eager troopers of Hobson. Like beasts baffled of their prey, they could only stand and gnash their teeth in their rage. Between them and Morgan rolled the river, and they had no means of crossing.
“Why don’t you come across, Yanks?” Morgan’s men shouted in derision.
“Got any word you want to send to your mammy? We are going to see her,” they mockingly cried.
And thus with taunt and laugh and hurrah, Morgan’s men rode away, leaving their enemies standing helpless on the farther bank.
“Twenty miles to Corydon,” said Calhoun, as he galloped with his scouts to the front to take the advance. “I wonder if I shall meet my friend Jones, and whether, when he sees us, he will throw his hat on high, and give us a royal welcome? If he spoke the truth, the bells of Corydon will ring a joyful peal when the people see us coming, and we shall be greeted with waving flags, and find hundreds of sturdy Knights ready to join us.”
But in that twenty miles not a single waving flag did Calhoun see, not a single shout of welcome did he hear. Instead, the inhabitants seemed to be in an agony of fear. They met only decrepit old men and white-faced women and children. Not a single cup of cold water was freely offered them in that twenty miles. If Calhoun could only have seen the welcome given Hobson’s men the day after as they came over the same road, the flags that were waved, the shouts of welcome that greeted them, how women and children stood by the roadside with cooling water and dainty food to give them, and sent their prayers after them – if Calhoun could have seen all these things, his heart would have sunk, and he would have known that there was no welcome for Morgan’s men in Indiana.
But he was soon to have a ruder awakening. As he neared Corydon, he and his scouts were greeted with a volley, and sixteen of his men went down. The raid for them was over.
“Charge!” shouted Calhoun, and like a whirlwind he and his men were on the little band of home guards, who thought they could withstand Morgan’s whole force.
In a few brief minutes the fight was over, and on the sod lay several motionless figures. In spite of himself, Calhoun could not help thinking of Lexington and the farmer minute men who met Pitcairn and his red-coats on that April morning in 1775. Were not these men of Corydon as brave? Did they not deserve a monument as much? He tried to dismiss the thought as unworthy, but it stayed with him for a long time.