Col. D. Howard Smith. He mounted his horse and led the assault himself, calling on us to follow him, in plain view of the enemy and under a terrific fire from the depot, not exceeding a hundred yards from our advancing columns. On the other side of the building, in the charge of the Second Kentucky, just before the surrender, Lieut. Thomas Morgan, a younger brother of Gen. Morgan was killed—shot through the heart. He was idolized by his regiment, and many of his comrades, infuriated by his death, in the excitement of the moment, would have shown no quarter to the Federal soldiers had it not been for the noble and magnanimous conduct of Gen. Morgan himself. Although stricken with grief over the lifeless body of his favorite brother, and with his eyes filled with tears, I saw him rush to the front inside the depot, and with drawn pistol in hand he stood between Col. Hanson’s men and his own, and declared he would shoot down the first one of his own men who molested a prisoner. And here I may venture the assertion that no officer in either army, as far as my knowledge extends, was kinder to prisoners or more considerate of their rights than Gen. Morgan.

When our command crossed the Ohio River at Brandenburg, in two steamboats we had captured, I experienced some peculiar sensations as I set foot on Indiana soil and realized that I was engaged in a hostile invasion of my adopted State. I soon got over this feeling, however, and regarded our march into the enemy’s country as one of the exigencies of war and entirely justifiable. I was in the advance guard under Capt. Thomas H. Hines (afterward one of the judges of the Court of Appeals of Kentucky) through Indiana and Ohio, and was captured at Buffington Island. I rode down eight horses on that raid, and although this number was perhaps above the average to the man, there were doubtless fifteen thousand horses ridden at different times by Morgan’s Men on the Indiana and Ohio raid.

About seven hundred of our command under Col. Richard Morgan, surrendered at Buffington Island, and we were started down the river on a boat next day in charge of some Ohio troops (the 12th Ohio Infantry, as I recall), who treated us with great courtesy. Gen. Morgan and the remainder of his troops (except four hundred of them under Col. Adam R. Johnson who crossed the Ohio river at Buffington Island and thus escaped) were not captured until a week later.

IMPRISONMENT AT CAMPS MORTON AND DOUGLAS.

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.

That night I made my way to Alpheus Lewis’, an old gentleman who lived near our camp as we went South at the beginning of the war. We had camped there around a sulphur spring. It was an exceedingly cold evening, the latter part of November. In crossing a water-gap over Stoner Creek, I slipped and fell into the water and got pretty well soaked. I had on a suit of butternut jeans clothing, and in ten minutes after I had gotten out, the water had frozen and my clothing rattled like sheet iron. I found my way to Lewis’ home, and stayed there part of the night and then left, because I had