Free Raiding With Morgan by Jim R. Woolard Page A

Grant.”
    â€œAre you sure of what you say, young lady?”
    Placing her coffeepot on a nearby sideboard, Sallie walked to the hotel lobby and returned with the latest editions of the Indianapolis Star and the Corydon Weekly Democrat. One glance at the headlines and dispatches from the Union War Department confirmed her truthfulness.
    The instantaneous change in General John Hunt Morgan’s demeanor astonished onlookers. His eyes clouded and the corners of his mouth tightened. His crestfallen, mournful expression revealed a side of their commanding officer that his staff had not been permitted to see.
    Their superior sat silently for a long minute. Straightening his shoulders, he gathered himself and perused every single face in the room. “Gentlemen, this is news we prayed we’d never receive. The righteous cause so dear to our hearts has suffered a serious blow. But make no mistake, that cause is not yet hopeless. It falls to us to do our duty and force our enemy to commit as many soldiers and militia to forestalling our campaign as possible. We must terrorize and frighten the populace into demanding our capture—a clamor so loud it reaches President Lincoln’s desk. The longer we force the enemy’s attention on us, the more time our beloved country has to regroup and prepare for future battles. Are you with me?”
    The depressed atmosphere of the room vanished. Chins lifted, backbones stiffened, jaws jutted, and heads nodded, including Ty’s. Morgan’s key men, thanks to the persuasive power of their leader, were able to set aside the bad news for now. They were full-bellied and eager for the saddle once more.
    â€œFellow officers, I believe that speech deserves a round of applause.”
    Heads swiveled and there in the dining-room doorway stood the parent Ty was seeking. Captain Owen Mattson initiated the applause as he walked straight to Ty’s table.
    â€œGood afternoon, son,” Owen Mattson said, extending his hand. “You must be Ty. You were riding Boone Jordan’s gray gelding, with that black splotch on his face, at the Brandenburg Wharf—and you’re the only other redhead in the room.”
    Ty was taken aback. He’d often thought what might happen when he caught up with his father. How would they be introduced? What would they say in greeting each other? Would his father know him for certain?
    His father’s simple greeting and offering of his hand answered those questions with such lightning speed that Ty had to swallow hard to free his tongue. Remembering his grandfather’s dictum that no Mattson tendered any man a limp wrist, he secured a good grip on his father’s palm and matched his strength. “Hello, Father.”
    Owen Mattson’s warm smile told Ty he was pleased with his son’s handshake. Ty was thrilled that they seemed to be starting off on the right foot. He had a thousand questions to ask, but none would come to mind. He was so excited.
    His father filled the void. “I understand, Lieutenant Shannon, that you took my son to meet the elephant this morning.”
    Unsure whether or not his best friend approved of his untrained son being part of a cavalry charge under fire, Shawn Shannon was quick to answer. “He was safely in the rear, Owen, and that horse of Boone Jordan’s grabbed the bit on him. He done fine, though, once we were in the thick of it.”
    The conversation so important to Ty was interrupted by the abrupt appearance of hard-breathing Urea Haggy with two tin boxes. The entire room watched with considerable interest as the banker, looking harried and distraught, bargained with General Morgan. As the haggling progressed and became contentious, the banker’s normally florid face turned the deeper brick red of a bonfire. Eventually an agreement of $700 per mill, rather than $1,000, was reached. Urea Haggy’s explosive, snorting sigh of relief told everyone present that was the