Raiding With Morgan (9 page)

Since he lacked his father's courage, that advice didn't alleviate Ty's fears. However, it was obvious from the tone of his father's voice that the subject was closed for now.

And a good trooper obeyed orders.

Or tried to, as best he could.

We crossed the Ohio-Indiana border and arrived at Harrison, Ohio this morning. We have covered 188 miles in 6 days since departing Brandenburg. Our most pressing need around the clock is suitable horses. By my rough estimate, we have impressed 1,850 mounts since crossing the Ohio. The exchange has been so rapid troopers are far past weeping over the loss of their beloved Thoroughbreds. To their disgust, their replacement mounts of indiscriminate breed last but a day or two, some not that long. Ahead awaits our greatest and most demanding challenge to date, a challenge that will test the stamina and lungs of every animal we ride, for General Morgan has decided we must skirt well-armed Cincinnati to the north in the dark of night, a beastly venture.

—Journal of Clinton J. Hardesty, Morgan's Confederate Cavalry, 13 July 1863

T
y leaned from the saddle and emptied his stomach in spasms of violent retching. Lieutenant Shannon reined close and studied his contorted features, especially the dark spittle dangling from his chin. “You sick, Corporal? Your face is yellow, green, and three shades of blue.”

Ty fought for breath. “Ebb White gave me a wedge of Mule Harness to chew. He told me it would keep the dust from drying my mouth out.”

“Ebb's been chewing that black tobacco for years. If a mule isn't used to it, it will make him blanch. I haven't seen you spitting any.”

Ty's innards growled something awful. “He claimed real chewers don't expectorate. They swallow the juice.”

“Yep, they do after their stomachs grow an iron lining,” Shawn Shannon said with a hearty laugh. He reached into his leather shoulder bag and produced a handful of smooth white stones. “Like before, suck on one of these. They won't make you sick, and be leery of that corn likker Ebb's got hidden somewhere. That stuff will put a hammer inside your young brain for days.”

Ty's naiveté disgusted him. He had disgraced his rank. Despite E.J. Pursley's warning shake of the head, he'd made himself ill trying to stick his chest out in front of his messmates. Hadn't Grandfather Mattson taught him stupidity comes at a cost most don't want to pay?

The morning wasn't a total loss. The yellow ointment Lieutenant Shannon obtained from a Salem apothecary had soothed the fiery pain besetting his blistered hindquarters and thighs into a dull ache. The cure had been a simple matter of asking for help without fear of embarrassment.

The road to Harrison, Ohio, descended between two bluffs to the Whitewater River. A stout bridge of heavy oak timbers spanned the fast-flowing waters. White church steeples, cornices of brick buildings, and a courthouse cupola caught Ty's eye during the raiders downhill ride.

Iron shoes pounding the planks of the bridge reminded Ty of rolling thunder. The raiders entered Harrison at a trot without opposition. Once General Morgan's entourage was across the river, he dropped back alongside Ty and Shawn Shannon. “Lieutenant Shannon, you and Corporal Mattson observe the destruction of the bridge. Rearguard scouts reported General Hobson and his four thousand troopers are only five hours' riding time behind us. Once this bridge is down, they will be hours finding a ford suitable for their artillery.”

General Morgan winked. “Those Union boys don't like to move too far in advance of their heavy guns.”

After the column's wagons had crossed, troopers covered the near end of the bridge with straw and brush. The dry, weather-beaten timbers caught fire with a sudden
whoosh,
flame shooting fifty feet into the air. Finding the heat was so intense, Ty and Shawn Shannon eased their horses back a fair distance.

Ty had come to trust Shawn Shannon to keep private whatever he said, the same as he did with his shortly-known father. “Maybe I'm not meant to be a soldier. Burning valuable property and stealing just don't seem right to me, and I don't think I'll ever feel any different. Does that make me a bad soldier?”

Lieutenant Shannon stepped down from his horse and knelt to watch the blazing fire. Ty dismounted and knelt beside him. “Corporal, I've been campaigning against either Mexicans, Comanche, or Yankees for half my years. Yet, I've never come to like or enjoy the killing, the burning and looting, and the shabby treatment of those not wearing uniforms. I've never taken pride in any killing. Trouble is, you usually don't have a choice about joining the war. You join the army that believes the same as you. If you refuse to fight, you'll hang or rot in prison.

“What keeps my bobber afloat is that everything about war isn't mean, ugly, and bloody. Every now and then, you can smile and chuckle. Remember that ham factory in Dupont. We swiped two thousand hams. When have two cavalry brigades ever ridden away from a looting and not a single trooper could complain he was left out? How about that wagon full of lager beer at New Alsace? Dry as we were, swallowing road dust, wasn't it grand to see foam on every lip as those kegs passed the length of the column? Then there's Cally Smith. Remember how he thought he was drinking brandy, which was actually sweetened laxative? He was off his horse running for the bushes from Salem to Vienna. He turned dead white. I'll never forget his moaning that he'd shat out everything up to his throat! And if he stopped talking, his tongue was gone, so just shoot him.”

Ty had to smile and chuckle.

“Maybe the best was General Morgan's ruse outside Lexington,” Lieutenant Shannon said. “You weren't with the van that morning. You were serving as courier. We rounded a bend in the road and encountered three hundred home guards resting in a grove of oak trees. Their horses were tied to the trees and a fence rail bordering the road. The old captain asked one of our men who we were and he shot back Wolford's cavalry. The old captain was delighted to see blue-belly Kentucky boys and asked where Wolford was.

“Ty, John Hunt Morgan is a mighty clever rascal. He rode up, introduced himself as Colonel Frank Wolford, First Kentucky Union Cavalry, and asked the captain what he was planning to do with all those horses and men. The old captain stated that John Hunt Morgan and his horse-thieving raiders were in the area, and they were hoping to give him what-for if they found him.

“Out of the blue, the old captain made a fatal mistake. Recognizing veteran cavalrymen when he saw them, he asked General Morgan to show his greenhorns a military drill. Our general declined, claiming his horses were too tired. The old captain told him to take his horses, and our dear general gladly obliged him. The Hoosiers actually helped switch our saddles to their fresh mounts.”

Ty had heard what happened next at the nightly mess fire. A firsthand account from an eyewitness made it even funnier. “We raiders mounted up and General Morgan took the point. Promising to execute an evolution the Hoosier captain had probably never seen before, the general told those home guards to line up on both sides of the road. Like sweet lambs headed for slaughter, they followed his orders. General Morgan whooped at the top of his lungs and we lit out at a gallop. Those green Indiana boys were absolutely dumbfounded, and we were out of range before a single one of them could fire a shot.”

The collapse of the burning Harrison Bridge timbers accompanied by rising clouds of steam stilled Ty and Shawn Shannon's schoolboy laughter. Shawn Shannon sighed, mounted Buster, and waited for Ty to swing aboard Reb.

“Ty, it will help if you keep in mind your father's words after that nasty brush we had with Federal troops at Tebbs Bend before you joined us. Owen said then, ‘It's too late to jaw about who's right and who's wrong in this war. We fight it out to the end, win or lose, live or die, no matter who suffers or what's destroyed. We're riding a wagon rolling downhill with no brakes, and there's no stopping it.' Corporal, we best hunt up General Morgan.”

Ty couldn't refute his father's observation. He was in that runaway wagon with every other member of General Morgan's column. He had taken an oath and was honor bound to perform the duties assigned him. There was no allowance for a queasy stomach or sympathy for those caught in the column's path. His personal feelings were a minute pockmark on the entire face of the war.

 

Given Campbell and Harlan Stillion joined Ty and Shawn Shannon as they rode into the center of Harrison. The last of General Morgan's troopers were winding through town, enjoying a final binge of looting. Now that they sensed the greatest danger to their health was past, Yankee citizens could be spotted at doors and windows, watching the departure of the hated secesh.

“Ever notice,” Given Campbell said, “that the young gals are braver in showing themselves while we're still out and about than their fathers. Why do you suppose that is, Harlan?”

Harlan Stillion stroked his bearded chin. A mischievous glint shone in his deep brown eyes when he said with a chuckle, “Maybe cause we're so handsome and daring?”

Given Campbell grinned and said, “You've come along right smartly since our prowling days at Fort Davis. Women just can't restrain themselves when their young hometown boys are off fighting far from home and a dangerous-looking man shows up on horseback, with guns hanging from his waist and saddle. It don't matter what flag he's serving. The sight of him stirs them something awful. It's like watching a moth drawn to a flame, ignorant of the fact he could be snuffed like a candle if he comes too close. Look ahead there, that's what I'm talking about.”

Two Morgan troopers were lounging in their saddles beneath the second-story veranda of a large private dwelling. Two yellow-haired lasses hung over the railing above the men; their delicate cheeks, pretty necks, and hands smooth as fresh cream gleamed in the morning sunshine.

“Young ladies, may I have your names?” asked the bolder of the two Morgan men.

Given Campbell's rampant curiosity about anything having to do with the fairer sex provoked a tightening of reins and his horse halted. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, his fellow riders followed suit. The watching raiders constituted a small crowd, when Cally Smith and Sam Bryant drew alongside Ty's mount for the day.

“Come on, you Ohio lovelies,” the bold trooper persisted. “What's the harm in my knowing you two by name?”

Eyelashes fluttered on the veranda and the two young Harrison gals stifled a rash of giggles. The bosomy girl on the right caved in to a show of male attention after months of boredom in a town filled with upright Bible pounders, lecherous old codgers, and boys too young to appreciate feminine charm if someone smacked them upside the head.

“Why do you want to know?” one of the young gals asked.

“Well, I can't make up my mind which one of you is the prettier, so I believe I'll come back after the fighting's done and marry the one of you whose name I like the best.”

The girl on the left broke in, saying, “Well, I've never heard a brasher thing in—”

“Janine and Trisha Collins,” the girl on the right said, tossing proper etiquette to the wind. “I'm Janine and she's Trisha.”

“Janine,” the other sister cried, stamping her foot. “Papa's going to be terribly upset if he hears you acted like a brazen hussy in front of total strangers.”

“Don't you dare let her interfere, Janine,” the bold raider said, straightening in his saddle. “My name is Trace Franklin. I hail from Lynnville, Kentucky. The word of us Franklin men is revered for its unfailing honesty. I'll be back with horse and buggy and flowers and coin in hand to court you. You tell your papa you'll be well cared for and no man will ever respect a woman more.”

With a smile broader than the Ohio in flood, Trace Franklin continued, “Had I the time, I'd mosey up there and collect a kiss to seal the bargain.”

A serene expression of pure joy softened Janine Collins's creamy face. Blowing her suitor the kiss he desired, she said, ”I'll be here waiting for you, Mr. Trace Franklin, of Lynnville, Kentucky. Just don't you take up with another gal and leave me high and dry. Write to me now.”

Trace Franklin saluted Janine and said, “On my word, I will grace your doorstep a second time. Good day, my love.”

Trace Franklin and his companion spun their mounts and trotted down the street. Enthralled by what he'd observed and heard, Ty turned to Given Campbell. “Do you suppose they'll ever see each other again?”

“I've never claimed to be an expert in understanding the romantic inclinations of God's greatest creatures, especially the young ones, though some have attributed that skill to me. But I can safely say that if Mr. Trace Franklin survives the peace, he'll share more than a blown kiss with Miss Janine Collins.”

“Let's move along,” Lieutenant Shannon ordered.

Once the detail was in motion behind Shannon, the affable Given Campbell, riding beside Ty, chuckled and said, “It can be much more interesting when two sisters want the same man.”

“How do you mean?”

“Twin sisters at Fort Davis fell wildly for the same Texas Ranger with every inch of their beings. They looked so much alike, you couldn't tell one from the other. The Ranger married Sarah Anne. He went off right after the ceremony with his Ranger company, hunting Mexican bandits. While he was away, his new bride was killed in a Comanche raid on her home place on the Staked Plain. When the Ranger returned home, unbeknownst to him, the other sister, the sole member of her family to survive, loved him so much she assumed her dead sister's name and spared him the grief of losing a wife he'd worshiped.”

An incredulous Ty couldn't resist interrupting to ask, “Did he ever learn the truth?”

“Yes, a fever put Corinne down three years later. On her deathbed, she told him how she'd switched places with her dead sister.”

“Did he forgive her?”

“Yes, he'd suspected the truth, but he was so happy with her and how much of herself she'd given to him, he'd stayed his tongue.”

Still questioning if Given Campbell might be toying with his bobber, Ty said, “Did someone tell you this story, or did you know the Ranger and the twin sisters personally?”

Given Campbell nodded and said, “I knew them, knew all of them dear as you can. I've often wondered how I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to love two of the grandest ladies ever to draw a breath on this earth. Never stop seeking the love of a good woman, lad. Seek it like other men foolishly seek gold. You'll be much happier than they ten times over.”

And with that, Ty Mattson, of Morgan's Raiders, departed Harrison, Ohio, impressed once more by how little of real life he'd experienced growing up in the safe confines of the Mattson manse in Elizabethtown, Kentucky.

 

General Morgan allowed his command a three-hour rest, four miles east of Harrison. A temporary camp was established beside a stream flanking a large pasture that fronted a field of corn ripe for the picking. Many troopers helped themselves and fed their horses.