As the Federals at Lebanon did not come after him he decided to remain at Springfield until eleven o’clock at night. This would give time for sleep for the men and opportunity to rest and feed the beasts. By the hospitable firesides of sympathizers, the Confederates warmed their benumbed limbs and the patient brutes were allowed to feed and munch to their fill. To multiply troubles, the temperature, already cold, had become colder. Sharp, penetrating winds whistled through the naked trees and whirled around the corners of the houses, warning the wise to seek and keep shelter. Wintry blasts notified the soldiers of what might be expected if they dared defy their suggestion. The mercury in the thermometer nestled several degrees below zero and hid far down in the tube as if afraid to expose itself to the cold. Morgan’s enemies had not learned exactly where he was, but they knew he was about and they knew that they were in his front.
General Boyle, commander of the Kentucky Department, telegraphed Abraham Lincoln in Washington: “Morgan is fleeing precipitately. He has paid dearly for what he has done.” The wires were kept busy by the Federals, prophesying what would happen to the bold raiders. Superiors were assured that disaster was bound to overtake Morgan within a few hours. Fate had decreed that these prophecies were not to be verified.
Everybody knew that really great work had been cut out for the night. No order was required to tell the men of this. The long rest at Springfield of eight hours was a sure augury that a furious night march was in store. The men prepared themselves as best they could. At the hospitable little town of Springfield, in cavalry parlance, “square meals” were available. This meant that one could eat enough at a sitting to tide over forty-eight to seventy-two hours without hunger’s interference. A common sense of danger filled the minds of all the soldiers at this resting place. They knew that heavy work was expected, certainly a night’s ride, facing the winds that cut to the marrow and cold that struck into the joints, and maybe a battle or attack in the darkness. They had wrapped blankets about their bodies and covered their feet with strips of cloth. The strain was too great for a few, and here and there a man or so had succumbed to the terrific pressure of the elements and had fallen out of line; but in thirty-nine hundred men that such a small number were unable to meet these difficulties was a great tribute to both the physical and mental vigor of these horsemen. They warmed themselves and satisfied their appetites to the limit, and with the bravado of true cavaliers, they bade care flee away and fears begone as they mounted into their saddles. They were not afraid to face any emergency, even all that the dreadful night ahead had in store for man and beast.
The aid of the best available guides was secured. These bundled themselves up as if they were in Lapland. At eleven o’clock on the night of the 30th, General Morgan set out on his journey around his enemies. He counted darkness as his best ally. It was nine miles from Springfield to Lebanon and nine miles from Lebanon to St. Mary’s, where he must pass the Federal trocha, and then it was fifteen miles from St. Mary’s to the point where General Morgan could hope in safety to strike the turnpike from Lebanon to Campbellsville. This meant a loss of fifteen miles, with jaded horses and tired men. Before General Morgan left Springfield he had a strong line of skirmishers drive in the Federal pickets. These stacked rails for a mile through the fields and then fired them. The reflection of the flames on the sky caught the eyes of the Federal pickets. The Union commanders came to the conclusion that no men would dare march through the wind and cold of such a night and Morgan was where the flames were blazing, and that on the morrow, to get by, he must engage them in combat. The mud roads which the Confederates must follow to St. Mary’s and to Newmarket were uneven, frozen, ragged. The cold was so intense that it partially stupefied the beasts. The men were compelled to dismount to keep themselves from being frost bitten, and walk beside their stumbling steeds. It seemed as if humanity could not stand the dreadful punishment that nature was inflicting upon these intrepid men. The game was too fierce for a few, and these by sheer exhaustion fell by the wayside. The horses in sympathy with their masters hung their heads low. Icicles gathered on their manes and breasts, covered their bridles and halters, and dangled from their nostrils. Ice coated the beards and moustaches of the men. Half the time they walked by their steeds, stamping their feet, swinging their hands and beating their bodies to drive away the stupor which extreme cold imposes upon flesh and blood. There was no loud word spoken. Commands, if given, were uttered in soft tones, and all were directed to ride, walk or march in absolute silence. These things added much to the hardships of the night’s work. If they could have jollied each other, or cheered or enlivened the hours with badinage, it would have somewhat relieved the oppressiveness of the continually lengthening miles. The men obeyed the orders in patient submission to the severe calls of the moment, and uncomplainingly bore the burdens that patriotism exacted of them in the dire emergency that war’s fortunes had decreed they must endure. Man and beast seemed to be well-nigh overwhelmed with the chilling air. It was a long, long night, and one that no man who had undergone its terrors would ever forget. Morgan’s men had suffered many hardships and were yet to know many more, but with one voice they declared that this march around Lebanon to St. Mary’s and back to the Campbellsville Pike was the most fearful experience they had ever suffered, except, when ninety days later, they rode the sixty miles from Saylersville to Mount Sterling with Cluke, on March 20th, 1863.
At half past six o’clock day began to dawn. The guides were bewildered or indifferent and had lost their bearings. When the light enabled them to take in the surroundings, it came out that the command had only made something like two miles an hour, and instead of being well on the road towards Campbellsville, they were only two and a half miles from Lebanon. The Federals in camp had laid upon their arms all night. They could sleep and cover up their heads and rest with some degree of comfort in their tents, but they were not astir very early, and they had no accurate knowledge whither Morgan had gone. It was a glad moment when light lifted the burdens from the weary marchers. The sun riding from the east through the clouds assured these nervy horsemen that the terrors of darkness no longer overshadowed them. Once again on the macadam highway, the horses seemed glad and quickened their pace. Increasing speed, with its accelerated motion, brought warmth to their bodies and cheer to their masters’ hearts. At nightfall the command was safe at Campbellsville. They pondered over the terribleness of the past night’s experiences, but the enemy was behind, and this repaid them for the sufferings and agony they had endured.
On the march up the long hill where the turnpike, by constant but easy and tortuous gradients, reaches the tablelands around Campbellsville, the county seat of Taylor County, occurred one of the real tragedies of the war. Colonel Dennis J. Halisy commanded the 6th Kentucky Federal Cavalry. He had charge of the advance in pursuit of Morgan. He was a bred fighter, young, ambitious, game to the core, and as adventurous as he was game. Halisy was following Morgan’s rear guard with the Federal horsemen, picking up the stragglers, if any could be found, and pushing the Confederates as strongly as prudence would allow. Captain Alex. Treble and Lieutenant George B. Eastin were both officers of the 2d Kentucky Confederate Cavalry. These lagged behind the rear guard in search of adventure, anxious to show that nobody retreating was afraid, and not unwilling for a fight, if favorable opportunities came their way.
The top of Muldraugh’s Hill, which overlooked the plain below, where Lebanon, St. Mary’s and Springfield had been passed, was reached a brief while after midday. Treble and Eastin were superbly mounted. Both were over six feet tall, wiry, vigorous men, whose nerves and muscles had been hardened by the exposure and training of severest military experiences. Coming along an open stretch, a thousand feet away, these two young soldiers observed Colonel Halisy and three officers quite far advanced ahead of the Federal column. They were both proud, born brave and dauntless, and they resented the idea that two Kentucky Confederate cavalrymen would run away from a fight with four Federals. Placing themselves behind a sudden turn in the road, they waited for the pursuers to appear. Both skilled revolver shots, they were confident that by a sudden onslaught they would kill two of those following and then grapple with the remaining couple and win out. If they had reasoned they would have, hesitated, but in that period of the war, the courage and pride amongst the Kentucky boys who went south did not consume time reasoning nor making many figures in calculating the hazards and dangers of rencontres, and so they resolved to stake their lives, or at least their liberties, on the issue with these foes, who appeared equally indifferent to peril.
GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN
Curiously, as Halisy and his lieutenant came close upon Treble and Eastin, their two companions fell back to the head of the column and thus left the battle two and two.