The Morgan raid is ended–the great marauder captured and safely quartered in the Ohio Penitentiary; the brave militia, who responded so nobly to the governor’s call to rally and drive the invaders from our soil, have returned to their homes, and the narration of adventures is now the order. As every incident connected with the raid is of interest, I propose to relate my experience with the raiders, how they looked, and what they said.*

*From the “Sciota Gazette.”

About an hour before the expedition under Colonel Runkle left, I received from Surgeon Scott a peremptory order to report forthwith for duty on his staff. Reported accordingly at the railroad depot, where Dr. Scott was already waiting with sundry ominous looking mahogany boxes, baskets of bandages, lint and other articles necessary in the care of sick and wounded. For an hour we waited at the depot, while in the dim starlight, companies and regiments of armed men marched and countermarched, forwarded and halted, and at last about midnight, all were safely stowed away in the cars, and the long train moved off amid enthusiastic cheers.

Arrived at Hamden about two o’clock. From there we could distinctly see the light of the burning depot at Jackson–evidence unmistakable that we were in the vicinity of “the enemy.” Our forces, numbering about 2,000, were unloaded and got in marching order, and about daylight the column began to move toward Berlin, distant six miles, where it was thought the rebels would pass on their way east from Jackson. Reached a position about half a mile from Berlin about six o’clock A. M., when a report was brought in that the rebs were still in Jackson, and would probably soon be in our vicinity. For a short time there was a little excitement along our column, but this soon died away, and it grew dull and tiresome, lying there by the roadside waiting for something to turn up. An hour passed away, and yet no rebels in sight or hearing; so, borrowing a couple of horses that our men had “pressed” into the service, Dr. J. D. Miller and myself organized ourselves into an independent scouting party and set out to gather what information we could about the enemy.

The morning was pleasant, the air pure and bracing, and the excitement just sufficient to render the ride delightful. Learning that a number of scouts had gone out on the Jackson road, we decided to strike south from Berlin to the road leading from Jackson to Gallipolis, which we thought it probable the rebels would take. All along the road the houses were apparently deserted; the doors were closed, the window-blinds down, and neither man, woman, child nor horse was to be seen. At one house we could see, through a broken window-pane, the breakfast-table standing with the morning meal apparently untouched. The family had probably heard the news of Morgan’s approach, and without waiting for his appearance had made a precipitate retreat. At another, where all was quiet and apparently deserted, on looking back after we had passed, we saw a terrified looking face peeping timidly out from behind a window-blind. The people along that road were evidently enjoying a tremendous scare.

At length we arrived at the little village of Winchester, on the road leading from Jackson to Gallipolis, and eight miles from the former. It is a pretty hard place, and I’ll wager an old hat that its voters are pretty nearly unanimous for Vallandigham. We had the luck to be mistaken here for a couple of Morgan’s men, which I can only account for from the fact that my companion, Dr. J. D. M., is an ardent Vallandighammer. I haven’t much doubt, however, but that we fared better than if we had been known as Union scouts. We inquired of a mild-looking old man, if he could tell us where we could get something to eat. He directed us up the street to a little eight-by-ten grocery; we rode up and found the door locked and the windows barred. After sundry vigorous knocks, we got an answer from the proprietor inside, who cautiously unlocked the door, when the following colloquy took place:

“Have you any bread?”

“No, sir.”

“Any pies?”

“No, sir.”

“Any crackers?”

“Yes, a few.”

“Any cheese?”

“Not a bit.”

“Well, give us some crackers, then;” and with trembling hand he weighed out a pound or so, that might have been a part of the stores in Noah’s ark. In the meanwhile a crowd of a dozen or so of rather variegated specimens of humanity gathered around, all eager to learn the news. We ate our crackers and departed toward Jackson, distant eight miles, keeping a sharp look-out from every hill-top for the rebels. We met one young man who advised us not to go any further on that road; he had been chased by about twenty-five of Morgan’s men.

“How near did they get to you?” I asked.

“Within about two miles.”

The young man was evidently a little frightened.

We rode on rapidly about a mile further, when leaving the main road we made a circuit of a mile or so through the fields toward the top of a high hill, from which we had been told we could see into Jackson. On the hill-side we tied our horsea to a fence where they were, as we thought well concealed by the brier and other bushes. Walking up to the top of the hill, we found a number of citizens there, eagerly watching the movements of the rebels, who could be seen from our position riding through the streets of the town, about a mile distant. In a short time they began to move out on the road we had travelled, and which passed within half a mile of our position on the hill. Securing the services of a young man to carry a dispatch back to Colonel Runkle, I left Dr. J. D. and the citizens on the hill, and went down to a house by the roadside where I could have a better view of the rebels and see how they were mounted, armed, &c.

I had been there but a few minutes when two of the raiders, who were about a quarter of a mile in advance of the main body, came along. Riding up to where I was standing, they inquired the distance to Gallipolis; what was the nearest point to the river; whether there was any Union troops about there, &c. I answered their questions so as to leave them rather more in the dark than before, and turning questioner asked them how many men they had.

“How many do you think we have?”

“There are various reports about your number,” I replied.

“Well, what is your opinion?”

“I don’t think you have more than four or five thousand.”

“Yes, we have over twelve thousand,” one of them replied.

“You haven’t half that number,” I answered.

“Well we have enough any how to ride through your state without any trouble,” said they.

“You’re not through yet,” I replied as they moved along.

Shortly the main body came up, and I began to count them. They rode along rather slowly,several of them stopping a few minutes to inquire about the road, the nearest route to the river, &c, but I managed to keep an accurate count until about five hundred had passed, while one of them rode up with the request:

“Will you be so good as to bring me a drink of water?”

He was very polite for a rebel and a horse-thief to boot and if it had not been for the company he was in would have passed for a gentleman. I can’t say I liked his polite request, but as it was backed by a pair of revolvers and a carbine, I concluded that it might be promotive of my longevity to comply, so without stopping to argue the matter, I merely remarked,

“Well sir, I don’t like to wait on a rebel, but as you are a pretty good-looking man, I guess I can get you a drink.”

Next came a man apparently fifty years of age riding in a buggy with a boy not more than fourteen or fifteen. “Will you please give me a cup of water for my sick boy? he asked. The boy was evidently quite sick. He was leaning heavily against his father, who supported him as well as he could with his left arm. I handed him the cup which he took with a trembling hand, thanking me very kindly for it, his eyes speaking more thanks than his lips. He was a fine looking boy, but what a training was it that he was receiving! His father I could see felt very anxious about his condition, and to my remark that “that was a hard business for a boy, especially a sick one,” he replied, “Yes, and I wish we were out of it.” My conversation with them was cut short by a fellow with a face that ought to have hung him long ago, who rode up to the fence and sung out.

“Here, stranger give me a drink.”

I took another look at his face, and then at the pair of revolvers in his belt, and concluded that I had better get rid of him as soon as possible: so I gave him a drink and he went on without so much as saying “Thank you.”

By this time quite a number had gathered around the place where I was standing, some wanting water, others bread, others pies, or anything else they could get to eat; while others appeared more anxious to learn the nearest road to the river. I told them to go to the well and help themselves to water, and a number of them rode in, while others dismounted, tied their horses to the fence and walked in. Their applications for food were not very successful; all they got was a cold biscuit and two cold potatoes,–the ladies at the house assuring them that they had nothing else prepared. One of the ladies was the mother and theother the wife of Lieut. Col. Dove of the Second (Union) Virginia Cavalry. Col. D. had returned home wounded, a few days before; but, on hearing of the approach of the raiders, had been taken to some place of concealment. The ladies, of course, were unconditional Unionists, and not at all disposed to furnish supplies for such a band of rebel marauders. One fellow rode up and inquired of Mrs. D. if there was a saddle about the place that he could get. She told him there was not.

“I’ll see if I can’t find one,” he said, as he rode over to the barn on the opposite side of the road.

He didn’t find a saddle, but there was a good buggy in the barn, to which he harnessed his horse, and driving out into the road, took his place in the ranks and went on, apparently very well pleased with the change in his moce of travelling.

“What do you think of rebels now?” inquired a rather jolly-looking young man, as they rode by.

“Rather a hard-looking set,” I answered.

“Well, I haven’t seen a good-looking Yankee, since I’ve been north of the river,” he replied; at which the squad he was with felt called upon to indulge in a laugh.

Another stopped and dismounted near where I was standing to arrange something about his saddle. His horse was small, poor and nearly worn out.

“If I got my horses as you do,” I remarked to him, “I’d ride a better one than that.”

“We can’t always get such as we want,” said he; “and they don’t raise any good horses through here.”

another came riding up on what had been one of the finest horses they had–a large and elegantly built iron gray–but very much worn down. The rebel said he had ridden him ever since they crossed the river–said he wanted a fresh horse, and asked if I had one I’d like to trade. Told him I didn’t know but I had.

“Where?”

“Across there.”

“How far?”

“About forty or fifty miles.”

“I guess I’ll not go to-cay,” he said, as he started off.

I asked another why they didn’t go to Chillicothe the day before?

“Were they looking for us there?”

“I believe some people were,”

“Well, we’re going on through two or three more States, and we’ll call as we return,” he replied.

“Provided Hobson isn’t in your way,” I said.

“Hobson won’t trouble us,” he answered. “All we know about him is what we see in the daily-papers.”

I thought, but didn’t say, that it was probable they would have the honor of a more intimate acquaintance ere many days.

But enough of what they said. A few words about how they looked.

Personally a majority of them would have been fine-looking men, if they had been washed and respectably dressed; but they were covered with dust and all looked tired and worn down. Many went nodding along half asleep. A hundred or more wore veils, most of which looked new, and I presume had been taken from the stores in Jackson; others had handkerchiefs over their faces to shield them form the dust. I noticed an intelligent looking contraband wearing a fine blue veil, which he raised very gracefully, as he rode up to a rebel, whom he accosted as “massa.” Scarcely any two were dressed alike. Their clothing was made of butternut jeans, tweed, cassimere, linen, cloth, and almost everything ever used for men’s wear. A few–perhaps a dozen–wore blue blouses and pants, such as are worn by United States soldiers.

A large number of them had various articles of dry goods,–bolts of calico and muslin, pieces of silks and satins, cassimeres, and broadcloths,–tied on behind their saddles. Some had two or three pairs of new boots and shoes hanging about them. I don’t think the stock of dry goods left in Jackson could have been very large or varied.

They were not well armed, as has been reported. A few had carbines, many had double-barrel shot guns, some muskets, a small number had revolving rifles, and nearly all had revolving pistols. There were not, I think, a dozen sabres in the whole division. They had three pieces of artillery, –brass six-pounders,–but not a single caisson, so that all the ammunition for these must have been carried in the boxes of the gun-carriages, which would have held but a small supply.

Their only wagon-train consisted of five light two-horse wagons. In four of these they had sick men; in the other, carpet-sacks, valises, a few trunks, &c, which I took to be the officers’ baggage.

They did not ride in any regular order, but two, three, four and sometimes eight abreast, just as it happened. The officers wore no badges, or anything that would distinguish them from privates. The last two men in the division rode up to where I was standing, and entered into conversation. One was perhaps twenty years of age, the other about twenty-five, and both appeared to be intelligent and well-informed. I learned from them that their division was under command of Col. Bushrod Johnson; that John Morgan and Basil Duke were both with the division that took the Berlin road from Jackson (and with which our boys fought the famous “battle of Berlin Heights.”) They admitted that they were very tired, but felt confident they could get safely out of the State. I told them, in the course of the conversation, that I was from Chillicothe, when they said they knew some of our citizens, and naming them, inquired if I was acquainted with them. Answering in the affirmative, they gave me some friendly messages for their Chillicothe friends and rode on. The name of the elder was George Logan, that of the younger, Lloyd Malone. I did not tell them that one of their friends was a Major in one of our militia regiments, and about that time was up at Berlin engaging their leader, John Morgan. I have since learned that Malone was until recently, a strong Unionist, and it was only after long continued importunity by his father that he was induced to espouse the rebel cause.

I think the number of men in that division was about 2,500, and comprised something more than half of Morgan’s entire force.

As soon as they had all passed, I started up the hill, intending to get my horse and ride back to head-quarters as speedily as possible and report to Col. Runkle. I had not gone far when I met a badly frightened individual making fast time down the hill. I managed to bring him to a halt, and learned from him that a squad of the rebels had just passed that way and taken our horses, saddles and bridles, leaving in their stead, two of their worn-down horses, and one mule, but no saddle or bridle. They were better horse-thieves than I gave them credit for being, or they never would have found our horses, away up there among the brier-bushes. Arriving at the top of the hill, I stopped a short time to consider “the situation.” My companion, J. D. M., after a liberal application of Jackson county free soil to his hands and face, borrowed an old coat and an old hat, and thus disguised, ventured, with the citizens who had collected on the hill, to go out to the roadside at a point half a mile or so beyond the house to which I had gone. I have heard, but don’t vouch for the truth of the report, that the doctor, in order to insure his personal safely and conciliate the rebs, assured a number of them that he was an ardent Vallandighammer.

I waited a short time for his return to the place we had left our horses, but he did not come, and I started alone on my way back to camp. He soon afterward returned, however, and secured the horses the rebels had left in place of ours, went to Jackson, and there got a conveyance to head-quarters, where he arrived about ten o’clock that night.

The rebels did not make anything by that trade–the horses they left, as soon as they recover from their fatigue, will be worth more than those they took.

My march back to camp was not a very pleasant one. To save distance, I took across hills and fields and through the woods. The mercury must have been about ninety, and those Jackson hills are high and steep and rough. I tried at several farm-houses to “press” a horse into service, but always found that Morgan’s men had been there just before me. I heard, as I neared Berlin, some exciting stories about the terrific “battle of Berlin Heights” –how there had been heavy cannonading all day, and how our gallant militia had “fought like demons.” Arrived at head-quarters about four P. M., and made my report to Col. Runkle, well satisfied with my day’s scouting.