this force he, late in June, set out from Sparta, Tennessee, and marched into Kentucky. After one or two small encounters, he reached New Market, and then set out for Lebanon. This town was guarded by a force of four hundred men who fought for seven hours, but were at last forced to surrender. Entering the place, the raiders supplied themselves with all they desired, and then pushed on to Bardstown and other places. At Shepardsville, a train was stopped, and the guerillas captured a number of soldiers, and confiscated a large amount of valuable mail matter.
The next stop was made at Brandenburg, where Morgan secured passage over the river into Indiana. There was now more alarm than ever, for the noted guerilla was steadily gaining strength, and there was no telling where he would strike next. The Union forces gathered at Springfield and marched to Brandenburg just after Morgan left it.
General Hobson was in command, with Kentucky and Ohio cavalry and mounted infantry numbering three thousand men. Other forces were speedily rushed to the front and traps were laid in all directions to catch the wily Confederate, who moved about with the slyness of a fox, striking when least expected and vanishing before he could be cornered.
But at last Morgan began to find himself gradually hedged in, and then his one thought was to get to the South again. After a brief stop at Harrison, he moved along through Glendale and other towns and crossed the Miami River at Miamiville, the Union forces being only a few hours behind him.
"We'll get him yet!" was the cry of those who were following, and day by day the pursuit was kept up, through numerous towns and villages and across rivers and mountains, until the Confederates reached the Ohio, near Buffington's Island. Here they tried to cross, but were driven back, and a small portion of them surrendered. Then the others were pursued, first to a spot fourteen miles above Buffington, where more of the guerillas were captured, and then to New Lisbon, where the noted raider Morgan was himself taken with four hundred more of his followers.
In the rounding up of Morgan and his daring men the Twenty-third Ohio took an active part. It was led by Colonel Hayes, who was at the head of two regiments and a battery of artillery. There was a small battle one day and a heavy contest the next. The Confederates, knowing it was their last chance, fought with a desperation wonderful to behold and worthy of a better cause. But they could not withstand the galling fire poured into them and at last surrendered as above mentioned.
When the fighting was over, the route taken by the raiders was carefully gone over, and it was found to be literally filled with things first taken and then cast aside because of the hurried flight, — carriages, wagons, rolls of silks, muslins and calicoes, lace goods, gloves, watches and jewelry, all mingled with guns, pistols, parts of uniforms, ammunition, and boxes of provisions. The woods were full of horses and mules, many shot dead or disabled by those who had thus been forced to leave them behind, and even large packages of United States greenbacks were discovered, torn to shreds. Some of the valuables were returned to their rightful owners, but the majority of the things remained unidentified, and were either kept by the victorious soldiers or turned over to the government at Washington.
CHAPTER VII
Winter in Camp — Dividing up with the Soldier Boys — A Disagreeable March — Battle of Cloyd Mountain — A Teamster's Tribute
Having assisted in the defeat and capture of Morgan and his raiders, the Twenty-third Ohio returned to Charleston, Virginia, and there went into winter camp, where it remained until the end of the following April.
The days proved long and dreary to the soldier boys, especially to those who could not obtain furloughs for the purpose of seeing their folks at home. There was a great deal of sleet and rain, and often a chilling wind would come up calculated to freeze the marrow in one's bones. Truly war isn't all glory, and Lieutenant McKinley found it so. But he stuck to his duty, and his old army friends say that he tried to make the best of the situation.
In those days delicacies were hard to get, and those who managed to obtain them were reckoned unusually fortunate. When a box of good things came in for anybody, the others would gather around, hoping for a share.
One day a small box came in for the second lieutenant, and was carried to his tent, to be opened in private.
"We won't get any of that," said one of the privates, a young man from Poland. "Mac's an officer now."
"Yes, but he's not the one to go back on his old friends," answered another. "You ought to know that as well as I."
"Ordinarily, yes; but we haven't had anything but bacon and hardtack for a week now, and I reckon he's as crazy for some good things as any of us," returned the first speaker.
By this time a little group had formed around those who were talking. They were all men from Poland, Niles, and the vicinity, who had known McKinley for years. Would he keep all his good things to himself, or would he "divide up," as had been his habit when in the ranks?
Presently one of the soldiers saw him come to the door of his tent and beckon to him. The private ran over. In his hand McKinley held a large round cake, out of which he had just cut one fair-sized slice.
"Just got this from home," he said. "You boys can divide it up between you. There are the other things I got." And he pointed to them, lying on his cot, — some new underwear and half a dozen pairs of heavy socks, made by his mother and sisters.
"Thank you, lieutenant," said the private, and hurried back to the crowd with the cake. "Told you he wouldn't go back on us," he said to his fellow-soldiers. "He's got some homemade socks in there, and I'll bet if any of us needs 'em, he'll divide up on those, too."
Early in February, 1864, there was a vacancy among the first lieutenants of the command, and some speculation was indulged in concerning who would obtain the coveted commission. But the speculation did not last long, for the honor went to McKinley, much to the satisfaction of his many friends.
"He deserves it," said an old veteran of several wars. "Watch him, and some day you'll see him a general."
A few weeks later, orders came to break camp, and move to the Kanawha, at a point a few miles above Brownstown. Although it was now the first of May, the ravines in the mountains lay deep with snow, and the weather was anything but springlike. For three days it rained and the sleet came down, and scarcely enough dry wood could be found with which to build a camp-fire. The long winter's inactivity had not put the men in good marching condition, and it was with much toil and pain that they fought their way through the great snowfilled hollows, and up the bleak and slippery mountain sides.
Veterans tell many tales of that march, which lasted the best part of a week. "I was used up by it," said one. "It was so cold at times I couldn't tell whether I had my nose or feet left, or not. When we laid down to sleep, our blankets would often freeze fast during the night, so that we'd have to take an axe and chop them loose in the morning.
"I remember McKinley well on that march. He had just been made a first lieutenant, and I imagine he had his eye on a captaincy — anyway, he did his full share toward hustling us along and helping stragglers. There was one poor chap who got dead beat out and in climbing the mountain side he slipped and rolled into a hollow at least two hundred feet out of the way. There was no ambulance corps around, and no doctor within call, and the sergeant detailed to look after stragglers was about as fagged out as the man who took the tumble. I was looking at the poor chap when McKinley rushes up to me, and cries, 'Come on, let's help him up!' And away he goes, and me after him. I can tell you it was a tough climb down into the hole, and a worse climb
