Free Raiding With Morgan by Jim R. Woolard

grandfather had insisted that Ty read and digest the papers’ contents and be prepared to discuss them at dinner and in the evening hours before bed. Their discussions ranged from the selling prices of Thoroughbreds in the three cities to the seasonal status of the hemp and grain market.
    With the advent of the conflict between North and South, the war became a daily topic for the grandfather and grandson. Ty learned early on that Grandfather Mattson believed guerrilla warfare behind established lines of defense was an abomination and violation of the proper conduct of war. To him, General John Hunt Morgan and his raiders were loathsome; they were an affront to decency, deserving nothing but the lynching rope.
    Though he didn’t dare admit it openly, Ty admired the exciting and daring General Morgan. He could hardly wait for the details of Morgan’s latest venture behind enemy lines. He frequently met his grandfather’s courier at the bottom of the lane.
    Ty didn’t sway Grandfather Mattson’s opinion whatsoever when he read to him how Morgan’s troopers respected civil property and didn’t result to horse stealing or general thievery. They destroyed warehouses containing military stores, depots, telegraph poles, railroad trestles and rolling stock, tore up iron rails and burned wooden ties, and misdirected troop trains with fake telegraphic messages—military tactics designed to disrupt the Union’s means of communication, reinforcement, transportation, and supply. Unless they armed themselves and joined the home guards or local militia and stepped into General Morgan’s path, civilians were in little danger of harm.
    But as Ty had heard just minutes ago, those tactics had undergone a major transformation with the raiders crossing of the Ohio River into Indiana. Horse thievery, ransom for money, looting, and mill burning were now permissible with the blessing of General John Hunt Morgan himself.
    Much as Ty wanted to succeed as a soldier and not embarrass his father, the thought of what was in store for the peaceful countryside of Indiana and Ohio made him shudder.
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    The fare of the Eagle Hotel, if not “first class,” a term new to Ty, was certainly belly-filling and tasty. The hotel owner—gray-haired, big-nosed, bull-necked, wearing a stained white apron tied off at the waist—refused to serve uninvited and what would be nonpaying guests, according to the rumors Ty was hearing.
    â€œGeorge Kintner feeds only those welcome at his tables. I leave you to my daughter. Sallie may do as she wishes,” the hotel owner said, disappearing into the kitchen.
    Sallie Kintner was a yellow-haired, charming gal in her early twenties. She pooh-poohed her father’s rude exit and announced, ”Dinner is served.”
    The kitchen door swung open and waiters appeared with platters of roasted beef and fried chicken, large bowls of boiled potatoes and pole beans, and smaller dishes of cove oysters, maize pudding, and sliced cheese. An abundant supply of freshly baked bread, butter, and beef-dripping gravy, along with pots of black coffee and pitchers of milk, reached the table next. Twelve hungry males ate as if they hadn’t tasted food for a year of Sundays.
    General Morgan was his usual warm, engaging self after the ice-veined confrontation with Urea Haggy. He soon learned that Sallie and her father were originally from Virginia, and Sallie was not totally hostile to the Confederate cause.
    Charmed by John Morgan’s openness, Sallie Kintner served him an Eagle Hotel delicacy: mint-flavored pudding with dried apples. “I certainly hope you fare better than General Lee and your soldiers at Vicksburg.”
    â€œHow do you mean that, my dear girl?”
    Sallie hesitated, and then said, “Oh, my, you haven’t heard. General Lee has been defeated at Gettysburg, and the Confederate Army besieged at Vicksburg surrendered to General