"Morgan's Men," a Narrative of Personal Experiences

by Henry Lane Stone

After our arrival in Cincinnati, we were shipped in box cars to Camp Morton at Indianapolis. I now began to appreciate what it was to be a prisoner of war, and that, too, within forty miles’ of the home of my parents. I was not entirely sure, either, of what would be the fate of a Rebel from the Hoosier State. I was, however, shown much kindness by one of the companies of the 71st Indiana Regiment, which constituted our prison guard. It was made up of my neighbor boys in Putnam County, and they all seemed rejoiced to see me there. Through their intervention I received clothing and other necessaries from home and obtained an interview with my brothers and some of my old friends, who had learned of my capture and came over to Indianapolis to see me.

Remaining one month at Camp Morton, we were then sent to Camp Douglas, at Chicago.

ESCAPE FROM CAMP DOUGLAS.

On the night of October 16, 1863, having been confined in prison three months, accompanied by one of my messmates, William L. Clay, I tied my boots around my neck and in my sock feet climbed the prison fence, twelve feet high, between two guards and made my escape. I still have the handkerchief which I tied around my neck and from which my boots swung down my back under my coat, on that occasion. I have it here in my pocket. (This handkerchief was exhibited to the audience.) I have kept it all these fifty-five years. It is a cotton handkerchief of the bandana order. I do not know whether it is still intact or not. It seems to be in fairly good condition. I have said I keep it, but the truth is my wife did so as a cherished relic. My brother, Dr. R. French Stone, who afterward practiced his profession at Indianapolis until his death, five years ago, was then attending Rush Medical College at Chicago. We found him next morning after making my escape as he was entering the college building. He showed us over the city, and during the day we dined at the Adams House, an excellent hotel. It was the first “square meal” Clay and I had eaten in several months, and I have often thought since that it was the best dinner I ate during the war.

My comrade and I left the city by the Illinois Central, going to Mattoon, thence to Terre Haute, where we tarried at a German hotel two days, most of the time playing pool, having written home to some of my family to meet me there. After seeing two of my brothers and obtaining some additional funds, we came by rail to Cincinnati, thence by boat to Foster’s Landing, Ky., and from there footed it through Bracken, Nicholas and Bourbon Counties. Clay separated from me in the latter county. He died several years ago in this city, where he practiced medicine, and is buried in our lot at Cave Hill. I attended his funeral.

RECAPTURED IN BATH COUNTY. IMPRISONED IN JAIL AT MT. STERLING.

I reached Bath County a few days afterward, and early one morning I was captured in the very house where I was born by a squad of home guards in charge of Dr. William S. Sharp, who was my father’s family physician when we lived in Kentucky. I was taken to Mount Sterling, and there lodged in jail—in the dungeon. To keep the rats from eating my bread I tied it up to the wall with the chains which were said to have been used in the confinement of runaway slaves before the Civil War. My imprisonment there, however, was greatly relieved by the visits of kind friends, among whom was the one destined to become my wife. I saw that old jail building every day, when at home, during the seven years I resided and practiced law in Mount Sterling from 1878 to 1885, when I removed to Louisville. It had been converted into a dwelling-house, and was then owned by Col. Thomas Johnson, an ex-Confederate Colonel, who lived to be over ninety years of age.

To make good my escape from Camp Douglas and to be again taken prisoner after getting five hundred miles on my way back to Dixie was extremely mortifying. I was confined in jail at Mount Sterling two weeks, and was then started in a covered army wagon with other prisoners to Lexington.

ESCAPE AT WINCHESTER.

Having serious apprehensions as to the reception I would meet with at the hands of Gen. Burbridge (who had about that time an unpleasant way of hanging and shooting such Rebels as he caught in Kentucky, having only a short time before so disposed of Walter Ferguson, one of Morgan’s men, whom I knew quite well), I succeeded in making my escape in the nighttime at Winchester, eluding the vigilance of Lieut. Curtis and his thirty mounted guards, who fired a few harmless shots at me as I disappeared in the darkness.