“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 [pg 238]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.

A short distance beyond Corydon stood a fine house, which, with all its surroundings, showed it to be the dwelling of a rich and prosperous farmer. When Calhoun came up, the owner, bareheaded and greatly excited, was engaged in controversy with one of Calhoun’s scouts who had just appropriated a fine ham from the farmer’s smoke-house and was busily engaged in tying it to his saddle-bow.

“You have no business to take my property without paying for it!” the farmer was saying, angrily. “I am a friend of the South; I have opposed the war from the beginning.”

Seeing Calhoun, and noticing he was an officer, the farmer rushed up to him, crying, “Stop them! Stop them! they are stealing my property!”

“Well, I declare, if it isn’t my old friend Jones!” exclaimed Calhoun. “How do you do, Mr. Jones? Where are those five hundred armed Knights who you said would meet us here? Where is [pg 239]your hat, that you are not throwing it high in air? Why are you not shouting hallelujahs over our coming?”

Jones had stopped and was staring at Calhoun with open mouth and bulging eyes. “Bless my soul,” he at length managed to stammer, “if it isn’t Mr. Harrison!”

“Lieutenant Pennington, at your service. But, Jones, where are those Knights of the Golden Circle you promised would join us here?”

Jones hung his head. “We—we didn’t expect you to come so soon,” he managed to answer; “we didn’t have time to rally.”

“Mr. Jones, you told me this whole country would welcome us as liberators. They did welcome us back there in Corydon, but it was with lead. Sixteen of our men were killed and wounded. Mr. Jones, there will be several funerals for you to attend in Corydon.”

“It must be some of those Union Leaguers,” exclaimed Mr. Jones. “Glad they were killed; they threatened to hang me the other day.”

“They were heroes, compared to you!” hotly exclaimed Calhoun. “You and your cowardly Knights can plot in secret, stab in the dark, curse your government, but when it comes to fighting like men you are a pack of cowardly curs.”

But Mr. Jones hardly heard this fierce Phillipic; his eyes were fixed on his smoke-house, which was being entered by some more of the soldiers.

“Won’t you stop them,” he cried, wringing his [pg 240]hands; “they will take it all! Why, you are a pack of thieves!”

“Boys, don’t enter or disturb anything in the house,” cried Calhoun, turning to his men, “but take anything out of doors you can lay your hands on; horses, everything.”

The men dispersed with a shout to carry out the order. Calhoun left Mr. Jones in the road jumping up and down, tearing his hair and shouting at the top of his voice, “I am going to vote for Abe Lincoln. I am—I am, if I am damned for it!”

In all probability Morgan’s raid in Indiana and Ohio made more than one vote for old Abe. Of all the thousands of Knights of the Golden Circle in Indiana and Ohio, not one took his rifle to join Morgan, not one raised his hand to help him.

In speaking of this to General Shackelford, who captured him, Morgan said, bitterly: “Since I have crossed the Ohio I have not seen a single friendly face. Every man, woman, and child I have met has been my enemy; every hill-top a telegraph station to herald my coming; every bush an ambush to conceal a foe.”

The people who lived along the route pursued by Morgan will never forget his raid. What happened has been told and retold a thousand times around the fireside, and the story will be handed down not only to their children, but to their children’s children. Morgan was everywhere proclaimed as a thief and a robber. They forgot that he had to subsist at the expense of the country, [pg 241]and that he had to take horses to replace those of his own which had broken down. Not only that, but it was life to him to sweep the country through which he passed clear of horses, that his pursuers might not get them. The Federals in pursuit took horses as readily as Morgan’s men.

Those who proclaim Morgan a thief and a robber sing with gusto “Marching through Georgia,” and tell how “the sweet potatoes started from the ground.” They forget how Sheridan, the greatest cavalry leader of the Federal army, boasted he had made the lovely Shenandoah Valley such a waste that a crow would starve to death flying over it. The Southern people look upon Sherman and Sheridan as the people of Ohio and Indiana look upon Morgan. These generals were not inhuman; they simply practised war. It is safe to say that less private property was destroyed in Morgan’s raid in Indiana and Ohio than in any other raid of equal magnitude made by either side during the war.

One can now see by reading the dispatches the panic and terror caused by Morgan in this raid. From Cairo, Illinois, to Wheeling, West Virginia, the Federals were in a panic, for they knew not which way Morgan would turn, or where he would strike. From the entire length of the Ohio, the people were wildly calling on the government to send troops to protect them from Morgan. There were fears and trembling as far north as Indianapolis. Governor Tod, of Ohio, declared martial law through the southern part of his state, and [pg 242]called on Morton to do the same for Indiana. But Morton, cooler, more careful, and looking farther ahead as to what might be the effect of such a measure, wisely refused to do so.

From Corydon Morgan rode north to Salem. The Federals now thought for sure that Indianapolis was his objective point, but from Salem he turned northeast and swept through the state, touching or passing through in his route the counties of Jackson, Scott, Jennings, Jefferson, Ripley, and Dearborn, passing into Ohio, in the northwest corner of Hamilton County, almost within sight of the great city of Cincinnati. Turning north, he entered Butler County. Here, as in Indiana, he met only the scowling faces of enemies.

“And here is where they worship Vallandigham!” exclaimed Calhoun, passionately. “Here is where they told me almost every man belonged to the Knights of the Golden Circle, and that the whole county would welcome us. Here is where even the Democratic party meet in open convention, pass resolutions in favor of the South, denounce Lincoln as a monster and tyrant, and demand that the war cease at once and the South go free, saying they will support no man for office who in the least way favors the war. And now not a word of welcome, not a single hand reached out in aid. Oh! the cowards! the cowards!”3

Morgan made no bitter reply, but said. “You warned us, Lieutenant, how it would be. I have [pg 243]expected no aid since the first day we entered Indiana. But with God’s help we shall yet escape from our foes. Oh, if my gallant men were across the Ohio once more! It is only that river which stands in between us and safety. There is now no hope of securing a steamboat. But at Buffington Island the river is shoal, and can be forded. If we can reach Buffington Island before our enemies, we can laugh at our pursuers.”

And for Buffington Island Morgan headed, threatening each place along the way, to keep the Federals guessing where he would attempt to cross. Like a whirlwind he swept through the counties of Warren, Clermont, Brown, Adams, Pike, Jackson, Gallia, Meigs, brushing aside like so many flies the militia which tried to impede his progress.

The goal was nearly reached. Hobson was half a day behind, still trailing, still following like a bloodhound. The Confederates knew of no force in front except militia. Safety was before them. The river once passed, Morgan would have performed the greatest exploit of the war. His men were already singing songs of triumph, for the river was in sight. Night came on, but they marched through the darkness, to take position. In the gray of the morning they would sweep aside the militia and cross over.

In the morning a heavy fog hung over river and land, as if the sun were afraid to look down upon the scene to be enacted. In the gloom, Colonel Duke and the dashing Huffman formed their com[pg 244]mands and moved to the attack. They were received with a fire which surprised them, coming as they supposed from militia. But with loud cheers they swept forward, and the Federals were forced back, leaving a piece of artillery. A little farther and the ford would be won; then there came a crashing volley, mingled with the thunder of artillery, and they saw before them, not militia, but long lines of blue-coated veterans. General Judah’s brigade had been transported up the river in steamboats, and landed at Pomeroy. They had marched all night, and were now in possession of the ford.

In vain the gallant Duke and Huffman struggled against that force. They were driven back. Flight was to be resumed up the river, when couriers came dashing in with the news that Hobson was up. They were hemmed in. There was one place yet, a path through the woods, by which a few could escape, if the Federal force could be held back for a time.

“Go!” cried Duke to Morgan, “and I will hold them until you are gone.”

“Go!” cried Huffman, faint and bleeding from a wound, “and I will stay and help Colonel Duke.”

“Go!” cried Calhoun, “if you are saved I care not for myself.”

Then there arose a storm of protests. Who could so well guard and protect the chief as Calhoun and his scouts? And so, against Morgan’s will, Calhoun went with him.

“Come, then, we will clear the way,” Calhoun [pg 245]cried to his scouts, and before the way was closed, six hundred men with Morgan had escaped.

Hemmed in on every side, the Confederates fought as only desperate men can fight; but as soon as it was known that Morgan was well away, Duke and Huffman, and with them many other gallant officers, saw it would be madness to fight longer, and with breaking hearts they surrendered to their exultant foes. Then it was that some two or three hundred, in spite of shot and shell, in spite of the leaden hail which fell around them, plunged down the bank into the river. The bodies of many floated down, their life blood reddening the water. The current swept many a steed and rider down, and they were seen no more. A few there were who struggled through to safety, and these were all that escaped of the thousands that crossed the Ohio at Brandenburg.