February, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
67 
day. It was three weeks after the rear 
guard had passed before the Federal ad- 
vance appeared, loaded down with heavy 
knapsacks, and pursuing the foe at the 
rapid rate of five miles a day. The two 
armies finally met at Richmond, Ken- 
tucky, where the Federals were disas- 
trously defeated. Nothing else could be 
expected when raw recruits were pitted 
against such tried and hardened veter- 
ans. 
I N the summer of 1863 John Morgan 
made his spectacular raid through 
Ohio and Indiana. He was being pur- 
sued in Kentucky by a large force of 
cavalry under Colonels Hobson and 
Woodford, I think, and was pocketed 
near the Ohio river, which he was forced 
to cross. He commandeered two steam- 
boats and succeeded in getting his men 
safely across into Indiana, and then 
burned the boats. His only chance of 
escape was to recross the river into 
Kentucky or West Virginia, and the 
nearest ford was at Buffington Island, 
near New Lisbon, Ohio. In his rapid 
march around Cincinnati he rode a hun- 
dred miles between sunset and sunrise. 
There was great excitement in the city 
and martial law was proclaimed. All 
available troops within a reasonable dis- 
tance were hurriedly rushed to the city; 
but as fast as they arrived they were 
sent up to Buffington Island by General 
Burnside. I happened to be in town on 
business, and as I had seen all of John 
Morgan that I cared for, I went to the 
office of the provost-marshal for a pass 
out of the city, in order to return to 
Cynthiana. There I met an old friend, 
Sam N., the proprietor of a tobacco fac- 
tory. He told me that he was quarter- 
master of an independent cavalry com- 
pany that had been ordered out for scout 
duty that night. He insisted on my go- 
ing along as there would be some fun, 
and jokingly added that I might be need- 
ed to identify Morgan, if captured! At 
last I consented and we went to see Cap- 
tain B., the commander, who appointed 
me assistant surgeon to Dr. T., the sur- 
geon of the company. But Sam wanted 
me appointed assistant quartermaster so 
that I could be with him during the day. 
This was done and we went at once 
to the Government Corral on the Orphan 
Asylum Lot, where Music Hall now 
stands, but could procure but fifty horses 
for eighty men. I picked out one that 
showed saddle-marks on his back. We 
spent the afternoon at the Government 
warehouses collecting, and loading into 
wagons, equipment for fifty men, includ- 
ing saddles, bridles and bits, stirrup 
leathers and fenders, and Burnside car- 
bines. It was nightfall when we arrived 
at the corral, and with lanterns and can- 
dles we unpacked the boxes. The vari- 
ous articles were packed in dozens, so 
that when the company was lined up we 
distributed to each man a saddle, a bridle 
and bit, stirrups and fenders and a 
Burnside carbine. As the different 
pieces had to be properly assembled, and 
as some of the men were green hands, it 
took a long time, an hour or two. I had 
just opened a box of cartridges when the 
order was given to “Form company!” I 
* 
put a handful in my pocket and handed 
another handful to Sam, when the com- 
mand was given “Prepare to mount!” 
Sam and I had the only ammunition in 
the entire command. 
Then the officer in charge shouted 
“Mount!” and fifty men sprang into fifty 
saddles. Some of the horses were badly 
broken and became restive, and being 
pulled too hard with the heavy curbed 
bits, squatted on their haunches, and two 
or three men were thrown ; but their 
places were promptly filled by others 
only too anxious to go. The command 
was then given to “Form company by 
fours!” soon followed by “Quick March!” 
As the gate of the corral was only wide 
enough for two horses to pass through 
abreast, some idea of the congestion and 
confusion that ensued may be imagined 
when the passage was attempted by 
“fours” at a canter. 
Having at last got through the nar- 
row gate, the command was reformed 
and we went gaily down Elm street to 
Ninth, thence to Burnside’s headquart- 
| 
Cumberland River, near Eddyville, Ky. 
ers, where we waited ten minutes for a 
parley. Then another officer appeared 
and we galloped down to the lower end 
of Broadway to General Cox’s headquar- 
ters, where an additional officer was fur- 
nished. Being now fully equipped with 
officers and men and supplied with every- 
thing required except ammunition, the 
shoes of the horses struck sparks of fire 
from the bowlders as we galloped out of 
town, through the suburbs and out to the 
Reading Road, several miles from the 
city, where it was learned that Morgan 
had passed along more than an hour pre- 
viously, furiously riding to the eastward. 
The company was then divided into 
several quads, each commanded by an 
officer, and the rest of the night was 
spent in patrolling the various roads in 
the vicinity. We managed to pick up 
about a dozen of Morgan’s command 
who, dead tired, were asleep in fence 
corners, while their crippled horses were 
quietly grazing by the roadside. At sun- 
rise we were assembled at the sound of 
the bugle, and with our prisoners rode 
back to town covered with glory and 
limestone dust. 
Morgan and his entire command were 
captured near Buffington Island. Mor- 
gan was confined in the Ohio penitenti- 
ary at Columbus, but escaped and was 
treacherously killed the next year in 
East Tennessee. 
I N Cincinnati, on June 9, I was married 
to Miss Hester Stansbury Ferguson, 
in the old family homestead in which 
she was born, on Vine and Sixth streets, 
now occupied by the Palance Hotel. Miss 
Ferguson’s great - grandfather, Major 
James Ferguson, was an army officer who 
went West with General Anthony Wayne 
to fight the Indians. He was one of the 
engineers who built Fort Washington on 
the site now covered by the city of Cin- 
cinnati. He fought through the cam- 
paigns of Harmar and St. Clair against 
the Indians. He was one of the earlier 
settlers of Cincinnati. His farm em- 
braced an area now occupied by thirty 
city blocks, extending from Main to Elm 
streets, and from Sixth to Twelfth 
streets, which he entered as sub-divisions 
from time to time on the city plat, and 
which now comprise the heart of the city. 
He donated a tract to the town for 
a cemetery, which is now Washington 
Park, opposite Music Hall. He also do- 
nated a tract for two market-houses, 
which now comprises two small parks, 
extending from Vine to Race and Elm 
streets, on Eighth street. 
During our wedding journey we vis- 
ited my native city of Baltimore. It 
happened that a militia regiment from 
Cincinnati was stationed at Fort Mc- 
Henry for a hundred days, the garrison 
of regulars having gone to the front. I 
was acquainted with many of the fellows 
in the regiment, and one day went to the 
fort to see the boys. To my great sur- 
prise I was informed by Captain Young 
that my old chum, Johnnie, was confined 
as a prisoner in the fort. Young had 
met him in Cincinnati when Johnnie vis- 
ited me for a day or two. (I after- 
ward learned that he was arrested as a 
spy in Baltimore, on information given 
to the provost-guard by his brother-in- 
law, who was scheming to get possession 
of the family estate, Johnnie’s parents 
having died while he was in the Confed- 
erate service.) Johnnie was tried by a 
court-marshal, but having had his uni- 
form under his civilian garb, he was not 
convicted, but was being held for fur- 
ther evidence. 
Captain Young said he was the leader 
in several attempts to escape made by 
the prisoners, and was watched very 
closely. On one occasion they dug a tun- 
nel from the prison to the sea-wall of the 
fort, which was discovered just in time 
to prevent the escape of all the prisoners. 
Being very desirous, of course, to see 
Johnnie, I applied to Colonel Harris for 
the privilege. He said that strict orders 
had been issued not to allow visitors to 
see the prisoners. We then went to Col- 
onel Miller, the provost-martial of the 
fort, who consented provided that he 
might hear the conversation between 
Johnnie and myself. As we went 
through the gate we saw the prisoners 
sitting on a bench outside of the prison 
pinging “Bonnie Blue Flag,” being led 
by Johnnie’s fine tenor voice. 
He was called to the front by Colonel 
Miller, and was surprised but very glad 
to see me. Hardly knowing how to be- 
gin, I said: 
“What are you doing here, Johnnie?” 
(continued on page 94) 
