by Michael Ross
Albinia felt immense relief.
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Luther rode north, traveling at night. He was armed and not the same scared youth who had escaped to freedom on this road. If anyone tried to stop him, he would fight. He dodged some Federal patrols, but wasn’t concerned about them. If Federals questioned him, he could simply reference the Third Ohio and Howland would vouch for him. He wasn’t deserting, since he’d never officially been part of the Third Ohio. He was more cautious about the prospect of running into Confederates—no telling what they would do to a black man out on the roads.
In the end he reached John Parker’s house without difficulty, and he asked for news of Ned and Ruth Jones.
“Luther, they left. After what happened, Ned just didn’t feel safe anymore. I heard they tried up in Oberlin, but Ned couldn’t find enough work. Just recently, I hear they turned up in Georgetown, over by Madison, Indiana. I think someone else you know is over there too—Albinia Horner, used to be Crump.”
“Ruth and Albinia are in Indiana?”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Thank you kindly, Mister Parker.”
With that, Luther rode through Ohio and on to Indiana. He would find Ruth. If it was safe, he’d send for Jemima and Olivia.
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Julia required several days of rest and good food to begin to recover. Her knee was bandaged. She walked with a limp. She had come very close to death and it scared her thoroughly. Hiram had to follow his regiment. She found her way north through the Union lines, to the river. Now she was on one of Hiram’s steamboats, headed back to Cincinnati. He’d extracted a promise from her—no more spying. She would go home and wait for him. She barely had the presence of mind but asked him about an idea she had before she was taken prisoner, that of expanding the company into railroads. He had approved, so she had a new, safer mission to perform.
She reflected back over the past few months and thanked God for His protection. Her spying had little effect in the end, except to make her realize how much she truly loved Hiram and how dependent she was on God for everything. After the dangers she had endured, even the prospect of dealing with Mama Kirsten seemed tame.
MORGAN’S RAID
December 1862
The winter of 1862 had its triumphs and disasters for the Raiders. Morgan spent less time with the troops, Will observed, and more time with his new wife, Mattie. This changed somewhat when the shocking news came that Mattie’s sister was arrested as a Union spy, along with a man carrying letters between Morgan and Mattie. In another instance, when Morgan was preoccupied, there was almost a repeat of the Lebanon disaster, with Morgan barely escaping capture.
Will was greatly troubled and discouraged. He’d seen Hiram, but still knew nothing about his parents. And after raising hopes, Jenny seemed lost to him forever. The war seemed to drag on. In early December, the Raiders fought at the Battle of Hartsville, but Will spent the time in the hospital tent, ill with fever. The running battle continued intermittently for a few weeks, with the Confederates winning initially. For Will, it was a bleak Christmas in the hospital at the rear. Will wanted nothing more than to go home—except that home no longer existed for him. He heard that Morgan was promoted to general, and Duke to colonel. Morgan’s command swelled to seven regiments. In the end, however, at Stones River, the last day of the year, the Federals routed them. Will found himself stumbling to a hospital wagon to be evacuated. As part of the Second Kentucky, Will was under Duke’s command, with Lieutenant Colonel Gano in between.
When Will recovered and returned to duty, his unit had retreated as far as McMinnville, Tennessee. It was now mid-January, and bitter cold. There was little to eat. Will requested and received extra blankets, obtained in the last raid. His tent mate, Thomas Hines, was away on a scouting mission. Will wanted to stay well, and built a large fire in front of his tent. He foraged for food, and occasionally brought the camp a deer or an “escaped” pig.
Throughout January, February, and March, the entire command was constantly moving. Expeditions of all kinds, dashes at the enemy, and fights between reconnoitering parties were almost a daily occurrence. When Colonel Gano and General Breckinridge were not harassing the enemy, they were recipients of enemy attack. Will could barely keep track of it all. In all his time with Morgan’s cavalry, they’d never been busier than the last few months.
Sitting one night with Duke around the campfire, Duke said, “If all the events of this winter could be told, it would form a book by itself of daring personal adventures, of patient endurance, of great and continued hardship, and heroic resistance against fearful odds. We’ve done so much. So many faces of good men lost pass my memory.”
Will looked up at him, “Where will it end, sir?”
“I don’t know, Will. But we must try and never stop trying for victory.”
After the Confederate defeat at Stones River and retreating out of Kentucky, Will again began questioning whether this war was worth the cost. As he sat around the campfire, others expressed the same doubts.
“There ain’t no glory in starvin’,” said one.
“For sure, and no matter how many Federals we kill, seems ten more pop up. Early days we didn’t hardly lose anybody till Shiloh. Stones River, I heard we lost eleven thousand. That’s more’n in my whole hometown. We ain’t defendin’ our homes—the Federals got’em already. Then there’s all the ones died of the brain fever and the quickstep.”
“But ol’ Bragg, he’ll shoot us sure, do the Federals’ job for ‘em if we light out for home.”
“I hear they takin’ blacks into the Federals now, to fight! And any of us they capture, no prisoner exchange.”
Will said gloomily, “I wonder sometimes if capture might be better. I can’t count the friends I’ve lost anymore. Sometimes I even wonder where is God in all of this—can’t He stop the slaughter?”
“Only problem with that is if it stops, it spares the Federals, too.”
“My shoes got holes the size of ‘Bama. I ain’t seen nothin but Lincoln coffee, that chicory stuff, since Christmas.”
They heard a bugle, and scrambled for their horses.
✳ ✳ ✳
The end of May arrived and the news spread through camp. They were between the towns of Liberty and Alexandria, Tennessee. A private called Will to an officer’s meeting. Duke was presiding.
“Men, it’s time to do some damage. We’re going to hurt the Federals and make them chase us. Morgan has permission to go north. We’re going to be raiding in Kentucky. Confidentially, we intend to go north to Ohio, against orders. Anyone who doesn’t want to go, I’ll see he gets a transfer. We’ll either come back victorious or we won’t come back at all. The idea is to disrupt the Federals and cause so many of them to chase us that Lee and Bragg have a clear field. I won’t lie to you—going on this raid is going to be different from the ones we’ve done in the past. There’s a good chance we’ll all be killed or captured—but it’s the chance for our cause to win. If you want to transfer, apply by tomorrow. Then we move north.”
Will hadn’t been reading his Bible. He hadn’t even really prayed in weeks. Now he had a decision to make and little time to consider. He drew out the Bible from the bottom of his knapsack. Leafing through, he stopped at Luke 9:62, “And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” It was talking about following Jesus, but he thought it applied equally to his situation. He’d followed Morgan into this war—now was not the time to turn aside. Many did take the transfer though, and Morgan’s force diminished as units were detached to other commands.
Will wondered and second-guessed his decision when they encountered bad roads and worse weather. However, just before the beginning of the raid, a large quantity of supplies came in by rail, so that the men now had food, blankets, and clothing. Will rarely saw Morgan himself now, interacting mostly with Duke.
In Lebanon, they ran into Federal resistance but managed to cross the
Cumberland by early July. Will guided Shadow, swimming across at a shallow part near Burkesville, though the river flooded and ran swiftly.
“The Federals will never expect this,” said Duke. “We’ll surprise them.”
Will hoped this was true—he figured some amount of supplies would be lost in the crossing. They moved toward Tebb’s Bend, just north of the Green River. On July 4, Will moved with his company to attack a bridge and a force of Federals defending it. The mud was like glue, and the horses moved slowly through it and the thick timber. Finally the company dismounted, owing to the steep terrain and thick underbrush. Will heard firing below as they descended to help another company pinned down. They came to a clearing with a rifle pit holding fifty Federals. Duke sent a flag of truce, asking for the Federals’ surrender, but they refused. There was no high point to climb and gain advantage. Will held his ears and hugged the ground as artillery raked the rifle pit and the Federals retreated to higher ground, behind fortifications already prepared.
There was no way to use artillery on the area the Federals now occupied. The ground was all open, with no cover, until reaching a group of felled trees stacked haphazardly in front of the Federal earth works. The trees effectively prevented a cavalry charge, since the horses could not jump over them. Will saw that all they could do was an infantry charge, right across the open field. Colonel Johnson ordered his company to advance and Will relayed the order, much against his better judgement. He charged, running with his men, and heard the screams as they fell around him. The Federals were not laying down a barrage of fire, but selectively picking them off from covered positions. Will and about fifty others dropped to a prone position and fired. It was difficult to tell with the smoke and the upward slope whether the shots through the felled trees had any effect. Will heard Colonel Johnson call retreat, and as some men bravely returned covering fire, they retreated again to the woods, regrouped, and charged again. Will felt a ball hit the ground next to his boot, but otherwise was unscathed. The fire from the Federals became heavier. Will knelt and fired, knelt and fired. He heard the bugle sound retreat, and fell back, still firing occasionally to cover for others. Back in the woods, he was breathing hard and sweating—he hadn’t realized how afraid he was until it was over. Word came that Morgan decided to bypass the Federals rather than lose more men in another vain attempt. Will mounted Shadow, and they were soon moving north again, to Lebanon, Kentucky, on the Danville Highway.
The morning broke bright and clear. A large group of Federals held the town congregating at the train depot. Here Will was able to station himself above the depot and used the Whitworth with some effect. Then Duke ordered Will’s regiment to take the depot, and they charged. Will gained the walls of the depot and fired pistols in through the windows. Will flinched with horror as General Morgan’s brother, Thomas, a friend, rushed to the middle of the field in front of the depot, fired into the windows. Thomas made no attempt at cover. Another brother, Calvin, caught Thomas as he fell, shot through the heart. Will had no time to stop and grieve, but knew he had lost yet another friend. Blast this stupid war anyway! His rage led him to empty both pistols into the depot, and was at the front of the charge when his men stormed inside, capturing it. He and some others were angry enough to have shot the surrendering Federals. Arm shaking, Will ordered his men to stand down and take them prisoner.
Within two days, they reached the Ohio River. An Ohio militia on the other side attempted to fire at them, but Will watched as one of the Confederate artillery fired, and the Federals soon retreated. The river at this point was too broad for effective sharpshooting. Thomas Hines, Will’s tent mate, rejoined them, now promoted to captain. Hines had secured two large steamers. Will and the rest of the Second Kentucky left their horses on the Kentucky bank and crossed to Indiana to challenge the Federals. Just as they disembarked and formed a skirmish line, shells began to fall among them. Will heard the roar, then the whistling sound, followed by cries. A Federal gunboat steamed down the river, threatening their rear.
“Take cover!” Will yelled. With the militia ahead and the gunboat behind, no horses, and Morgan’s command divided, the situation was tense. Will looked about for an advantage, but with shot landing everywhere, the best he could do was the cover of a fallen tree near the shore. The Federal militia tried advancing, but Will ordered a volley and they retreated. Will felt immense relief when Morgan’s artillery repositioned and fired from a hill above the river. Will watched as the Confederate shots landed all around the boat, not seeming to harm it, but slackening its rate of fire in his direction. Around him, Will could almost smell the fear.
“Here they come!” yelled someone to his right. The Federal militia was again venturing out, this time being very unmilitary, not coming in a line but dashing from one point of cover to another, as if trying to reach a position of advantage. Will stopped worrying about the gunboat and turned, jumping to the other side of the log, to meet this new threat. The Federals were now about one hundred yards away, behind some houses and fences, slowly advancing. A ball hit the log, another kicking up dust and stones in front of his position. Will had only his Enfield carbine issued by the CSA and his pistols. The Whitworth was on the other side of the river. He concentrated on whoever was closest, taking careful aim. Spray from a shot fired by the gunboat drenched his legs, but he ignored it. He fired, and the running Federal fell. He rolled signaling one of the men to cover for him, then reloaded while still lying down. If the Federals could be unmilitary, so could he. He rolled back quickly and took aim again. Before he could fire, another of his company brought down the advancing Federal, and Will transferred his aim to the next. They hit more than they missed, and over the next twenty minutes, which seemed like hours, the Federals were discouraged and fell back. Turning, Will and his men cheered as they saw the gunboat steaming up river, away from them.
Will looked to the other side of the river, waving an all clear, while stationing three pickets in case the militia advanced again. His joy surged as a boat bearing their horses set out from the other side. He was never so glad to see Shadow. Apparently the Federals were discouraged, as they got no further challenge from them. Within three hours, using the two boats Hines got for them, the entire command was in Indiana, just east of Maukport.
Encouraged by their success and escape from danger, Morgan ordered them to press forward, until they reached Corydon, about twenty-six miles west of Louisville. Will saw a house ahead, with smoke coming through the chimney. He dismounted, gave Shadow to a private, and choosing two others, pushed forward cautiously. When they arrived at the house, they found it empty, but evidently the occupants had recently fled in the middle of preparing supper. Numerous chickens were scattering around the yard, and there was one fat hog. Will sent a message to Duke by one of the men, who returned with a favorable reply for camping and spending the night.
An hour later, Will sat comfortably in front of the fireplace, listening to the hiss of chickens turning on the spit, while his men tended the horses and posted lookouts. Two others were butchering the hog. He sighed with weariness and satisfaction—they would be well fed and rested tonight.
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Albinia didn’t know whether to be joyful or frightened. The news rippled through the small Indiana town of Madison. Morgan’s men were at hand. Albinia wondered if Will was with them. Regardless, it couldn’t mean good things for her people. But maybe it meant that Will was alive. She hurried over to a general store and bought a copy of the Louisville Daily Democrat for July 11, 1863. The paper recorded Morgan entering Corydon, pillaging and burning, with a force of at least four thousand men. Other people whispered that it was eleven thousand, with women and children fired upon.
She mounted her wagon and hurried back to the farm.
“Pa! We have more to worry about than Knights of the Golden Circle!” she shouted. Climbing down, she showed her father the newspaper.
“What if they come here, Pa? I don’t know whether to hope Will is with t
hem or whether to be ashamed that he might be a part of such crimes.”
Robert took her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “It’s war. Union troops did the same, some even worse. The Confederates are desperate now. We have to prepare—even if Will was with a group that came here, it’s doubtful he could stop them. We just need to work faster.” He turned and went to talk to the workers, including Ned Smith. In the last several months they built a brick kiln, and were now making their own bricks. Using these, and Ned’s skill at the forge, they built a brick wall topped by wrought iron spikes around the farmyard, with loopholes to shoot rifles from. The Georgetown community was grateful to Albinia, and they mounted a round-the-clock watch, taking turns until the wall was nearly completed. Now they only had one section near the east road left unfinished. Robert formed a company of Negro militia and trained them in what he had learned of war.
Peter came down from Lancaster regularly, but insisted that Albinia stick close to the farm, teaching the children in Georgetown rather than making the longer trek to Lancaster. Occasionally, Mary King came with him. Albinia watched them together, and had trouble pushing away twinges of jealousy. Was it her safety or Mary that made him not want her in Lancaster?
At night, the iron gate closed and locked. Just as the gate was about to close for the night, a lone horseman approached. Albinia watched as her father took his rifle and hobbled over to the gate, loading and taking aim in case of trouble. The horseman drew closer.
“Miss Albinia! Miss Albinia! I’m looking for Albinia Horner,” shouted the horseman, seeing the rifle.
“Who wants her?” responded Robert, not lowering the gun but hesitating, seeing a black man on horseback with no hood or arms in sight.
“It’s Luther. Luther Clay.”
“It’s Luther, Pa! Put the gun away!” Albinia ran to meet him.
He dismounted, and she took his hand warmly. “You’re welcome here! We’re glad to see you.”
