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<div class="maintitle">
“MORGAN’S MEN”</div>

<div class="center"><big>A<br />
Narrative of Personal Experiences</big><br />
<br />
<br /><small>BY</small><br />
<br />
HENRY LANE STONE<br />
<br />
<small>DELIVERED BEFORE</small><br />
<br />
GEORGE B. EASTIN CAMP, No. 803<br />
United Confederate Veterans<br />
<br />
<small>AT THE</small><br />
<br />
FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY<br />
<small>LOUISVILLE, KY.</small><br />
<small>April 8, 1919</small><br />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 365px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:h:henry-lane-stone-morgans-men-i003.jpg" width="365" height="600" alt="Portrait and signature of H. L. Stone" />
</div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>




<h2>PREFACE</h2>


<p>This narrative is printed in pamphlet form to
comply with the request of numerous friends and to
meet the suggestion contained in the editorial notice
of the Louisville Evening Post in its issue of May 29,
1919, as follows:</p>


<h2 class="small">“MORGAN’S MEN.”</h2>

<p>“The Evening Post has received a copy of an address
delivered a short time ago before the George B.
Eastin Camp of Confederate Veterans, by Col. Henry
L. Stone, of the Louisville bar, general counsel of the
Louisville &amp; Nashville Railroad Company, the address
being largely in the nature of a narrative by the
speaker of his personal experiences as a soldier in the
famous cavalry command of Gen. John H. Morgan.</p>

<p>“The Evening Post much regrets that it can not
find the space for this exciting and instructive story.
It covers thirty type-written pages, or seven or eight
columns in our print, and the story is so well told that
we feel that nothing could be eliminated, and all that
is possible is to express the hope that either Colonel
Stone or the local camp of veterans will later see fit
to issue the address in pamphlet form. Certainly we
have never seen elsewhere in so condensed a form so
vivid a picture of the war-time experiences of those
dashing cavalrymen that the people of the South still
allude to as “Morgan’s Men.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>

<p>“Passing by this narrative as something that one
who did not participate therein is incompetent even
to review, the Evening Post would call attention,
if only for the importance it may have relative to the
soldiers now returning to civil life, to the part played
in the affairs of Kentucky and the Union by these
soldiers of Morgan’s command after the war was
over. It was a very creditable part. No doubt there
were the few exceptions that prove the rule, but, as a
broad proposition, wherever one of “Morgan’s Men”
settled, the community gained a good citizen. We
will not attempt to call the roll of those who helped
to make the history of Louisville in the past fifty
years. Many of them, indeed, have passed away—Basil
W. Duke, John B. Castleman, George B. Eastin,
Thomas W. Bullitt and others whose names recall
the best traditions of Louisville. Henry L. Stone
remains with us, vigorous in body, keen in mind, always
ready to fight, and fight hard, for a good cause,
an ornament to the bar and a splendid specimen of
that splendid manhood that the soldiers of the Confederacy
furnished a reunited country.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>


<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Comrades, Ladies and Gentlemen</span>:</p>

<p>I was asked by Col. Milton, our commander, to
give a “talk” to our Camp this evening. I see, though,
in his notices which he sent out—I received one—and
in the newspapers, he has dignified what I am to
say to you as an “address.” I will leave it to you,
after I get through, whether it is one or the other, or
both.</p>

<p>I regret that I have not had an opportunity to
prepare much that would be worth while to my Comrades
who are here to-night, but will deal with some
of my own experiences during the Civil War and
give you a narrative of them. This I will undertake
to do, with the hope my account may prove somewhat
interesting to you. I can only vouch for the truthfulness
of what I shall detail from my own personal
knowledge.</p>

<p>There is no tie of friendship so strong and lasting
as that wrought by a common service among soldiers
engaged in a common cause. Time and distance are
powerless to sever such a tie or to erase from memory
the vivid recollections of dangers encountered and
hardships endured.</p>

<p>On a September night nearly fifty-eight years ago,
John H. Morgan led forth from the City of Lexington
his little squadron of faithful followers, who
formed the nucleus of that gallant command which
afterward, under his matchless leadership, executed
so many brilliant military achievements and won for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
him and themselves imperishable renown. Gen. Morgan’s
bold, original, and skillful methods of warfare
attracted the admiration of thousands of young
men in Kentucky, and even other States, who enthusiastically
gathered under his banner.</p>


<h2 class="small">EARLY TRAINING. ADVOCATE OF STATE RIGHTS.</h2>

<p>As already stated, I propose on this occasion to
give an account of some of my own experiences as one
of Morgan’s Men. A native of Bath County, Ky.,
when a boy nine years old, I became a resident of
Putnam County, Ind., to which State my father removed
in the autumn of 1851. In the presidential
campaign of 1860, at the age of eighteen, I canvassed
my County for Breckinridge and Lane. There were
three other young men representing the tickets of
Abraham Lincoln, John Bell and Stephen A. Douglas,
respectively. We styled ourselves: “The Hoosier
Boys—All Parties Represented,” and canvassed the
County, speaking on Saturday afternoons at as many
as ten or a dozen points before the day of election.</p>

<p>When the War between the States came on, I was
an earnest advocate of State rights, and determined
to embrace the first opportunity offered to go South
and enlist in that cause, which I believed to be right.
Three of my brothers were in the Federal army, but
I could not conscientiously go with them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>


<h2 class="small">LEAVING INDIANA TO JOIN THE CONFEDERATE ARMY.</h2>

<p>On September 18, 1862, after the battle of Big
Hill, near Richmond, Ky., and the occupation of
this State by the forces of Gens. Smith and Marshall,
I put aside the study of law, bade farewell to my
parents, and left Indiana to join the Confederate
army. I came to Cincinnati while it was under martial
law, passed the pickets above the city, in a
countryman’s market wagon, took a boat at New
Richmond, Ohio, and landed on a Sunday morning
at Augusta, Ky. That day I attended Sunday-school
in Augusta, and walked to Milton, in Bracken
County, where I stayed all night. The next day I
reached Cynthiana, and found there the first confederate
soldiers I ever saw, being a portion of Morgan’s
Men under Col. Basil W. Duke. I remember
I was struck with the odd appearance of some of
these soldiers, particularly observing their large rattling
spurs and broad-brimmed hats, many of which
were pinned up on one side with a crescent or star.</p>


<h2 class="small">DUKE’S FIGHT AT AUGUSTA. KY.</h2>

<p>This was but a few days before Col. Duke’s desperate
fight at Augusta.</p>

<p>An incident occurs to my mind here. Ten years
later I was Democratic Elector for the Ninth Congressional
District, making a campaign in behalf of
Greeley and Brown, and Augusta was one of my
points to speak. While at the hotel that night, a
young man came to my room and that of Hon. John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
D. Young, who was the Democratic candidate for
Congress and traveling with me, and he told us all
about the fight of Col. Duke, what a bloody affair
it was, and how the people had noticed a young man
a few days before passing through Augusta and going
to Sunday-school, and they attributed Duke’s
plans to that young man’s story of how conditions
were in Augusta; in other words, that he had acted
as a spy for Duke. I said, “Young man, you are
mistaken about that matter and your people are mistaken.
I was the lad that came through your town
and went to Sunday-school, but I had then no idea
of Duke’s contemplated fight whatever, and did not
know anything about it until after it occurred, so you
are all laboring under a mistake in thinking I had
anything to do with it.”</p>


<h2 class="small">ENLISTMENT IN THE CONFEDERATE ARMY.</h2>

<p>I arrived at Mount Sterling, and set foot “on my
native heath,” in Bath County, within a week after
my departure from Indiana.</p>

<p>On October 7, 1862, I enlisted at Sharpsburg in
Capt. G. M. Coleman’s company, composed chiefly
of my boyhood schoolmates and belonging to Maj.
Robert G. Stoner’s battalion of cavalry, which was
subsequently, in Middle Tennessee, consolidated with
Maj. Wm. C. P. Breckinridge’s battalion, thus forming
the 9th Kentucky Regiment in Morgan’s command.</p>

<p>I was appointed sergeant major of Maj. Stoner’s
battalion, and served in that capacity until the consolidation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
mentioned, when I became ordnance sergeant
of the regiment. Since the War I have been
promoted to the position of “Colonel,” but I never
was a Commissioned officer.</p>


<h2 class="small">THE BATTLE AT HARTSVILLE.</h2>

<p>Sixty days after my enlistment our regiment was
engaged in its first fight at Hartsville, Tenn., where
Col. Morgan won his commission as brigadier general
and achieved, perhaps, his most brilliant victory by
killing and wounding over four hundred of the enemy
and capturing two splendid Parrott guns with more
than two thousand prisoners. On the day after this
battle, I wrote a letter to my father and mother (the
original of which has been preserved), headed as follows:
“In camp two miles from Gen. Morgan’s
headquarters and eight miles from Murfreesboro on
the Lebanon Pike, Monday, December 8, 1862.” The
fight occurred on Sunday.</p>

<p>Among other things, I gave in this letter the following
account of our engagement at Hartsville,
which may serve to illustrate the exuberance of
spirits felt over that victory by a soldier of twenty
years of age, after only two months’ service:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>We’ve had only one battle yet, and that was
on yesterday at Hartsville, in this State. I’ll
give you a short description of it. Day before
yesterday morning at nine o’clock we left camp
with all of Morgan’s Brigade, except two regiments
(Duke’s and Gano’s), and also the Ninth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
and Second Kentucky Regiments of Gen Roger
Hanson’s brigade of infantry—in all about
twenty-five hundred men, with five or six pieces
of artillery. We marched through Lebanon, and
went into camp after traveling thirty-four miles.
Our battalion and two pieces of artillery were
within four miles of the enemy. The other portions
of our force took another route, crossing
the Cumberland in the night and getting in the
enemy’s rear. We left camp after sleeping one
hour and a half, and got in position in five hundred
yards of the enemy at five o’clock in the
morning, before it was light. This hour was set
by Morgan to begin the attack on the enemy on
all sides; and well was it carried out, Morgan’s
portion firing the first gun. The firing soon became
general, and of all the fighting ever done
that was the hottest for an hour and fifteen
minutes. The bombs fell thick and fast over our
heads, while Morgan’s men yelled at every step,
we all closing in on the Yankees. I fired my
gun only two or three times. We took the whole
force prisoners, about twenty-two hundred men,
the 10th Illinois, 106th and 108th Ohio, and two
hundred Indiana cavalrymen, with two pieces
of artillery. We took also all their small arms,
wagons, etc.</p></div>

<p>Then occurs in this letter what may seem now
somewhat ludicrous, but it is here and I will read it:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>I captured a splendid overcoat, lined through
and through, a fine black cloth coat, a pair of
new woolen socks, a horse muzzle to feed in, an
Enfield rifle, a lot of pewter plates, knives and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
forks, a good supply of smoking tobacco, an extra
good cavalry saddle, a halter, and a pair of
buckskin gloves, lined with lamb’s wool—all of
which things I needed.</p></div>

<p>The officers of the forces captured were paroled
and sent through the lines. One of them promised to
see that this letter reached its destination, and in it I
stated:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>I’ll tell you how I’ve met with a chance to
send this to you. It is by a very gentlemanly
Yankee lieutenant whom we captured yesterday
who says he’ll mail it to you from Nashville, and
I think he’ll be as good as his word. I shall leave
it unsealed, and he’ll get it through for me without
trouble, I think.</p></div>

<p>But he failed to discharge the trust he had assumed.
Some three weeks afterwards it was found
at Camp Chase, Ohio, and sent to my father by a man
named Samuel Kennedy.</p>


<h2 class="small">THE CHRISTMAS RAID INTO KENTUCKY.</h2>

<p>On our celebrated raid into Kentucky during the
Christmas holidays of 1862 we captured at Muldraugh’s
Hill an Indiana regiment of about eight
hundred men, who were recruited principally in Putnam
County, many of whom were my old friends and
acquaintances. I saw and conversed with a number
of them while prisoners in our charge, and had my
fellow-soldiers show them as much kindness as possible
under the circumstances. This regiment had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
only a few months before been taken prisoners at
Big Hill, Ky., and after being exchanged were armed
with new Enfield rifles, all of which fell into our boys’
hands and took the place of arms much inferior.</p>

<p>That was my first acquaintance with the Louisville
&amp; Nashville Railroad. We burned all the trestles
on Muldraugh’s Hill, and thus cut the connections
of the Federal army in Tennessee.</p>


<h2 class="small">THE INDIANA AND OHIO RAID.</h2>

<p>There are doubtless some here to-night who were
on Morgan’s remarkable raid into Indiana and Ohio,
nearly fifty-six years ago. The first brigade crossed
the Cumberland River at Burksville, Ky., July 2,
1863, when it was out of its banks, floating driftwood,
and fully a quarter of a mile wide. The crossing of
our twenty-four hundred men and horses was effected
by unsaddling and driving the horses into the
swollen stream, twenty or thirty at a time, and letting
them swim to the opposite bank, where they were
caught and hitched, while the men went over in two
flat-boats and a couple of indifferent canoes. I shall
never forget the perilous position I was in on that
occasion. There were twelve of us, who crossed over
between sundown and dark, with our twelve saddles
in one canoe. The surging waters came lapping up to
within three inches of the edges of the canoe, and on
the upper side once in a while they splashed in. The
two men at the oars were inexperienced, and made
frequent mistakes during the passage, but finally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
landed us safely on this side. I breathed much freer
when I got out.</p>

<p>On this raid, after the disastrous attack of July
4, upon the stockade at Green River bridge, where
we lost so many brave officers and men, we, the next
day, drove Col. Charles Hanson’s infantry regiment,
the 20th Kentucky, into the brick depot at Lebanon,
Ky. Our troops surrounded the building, but were
greatly exposed to the enemy’s fire, and suffered
under the heat of a broiling sun for four hours. Some
of our men concealed themselves by lying down in or
behind the tents just vacated by the Federal troops.
When the order was given by Gen. Morgan to charge
the enemy, I witnessed an admirable exhibition of
courage on the part of 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
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.</p>


<h2 class="small">IMPRISONMENT AT CAMPS MORTON AND DOUGLAS.</h2>

<p>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 <i>there</i>. 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.</p>

<p>Remaining one month at Camp Morton, we were
then sent to Camp Douglas, at Chicago.</p>


<h2 class="small">ESCAPE FROM CAMP DOUGLAS.</h2>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
medicine, and is buried in our lot at Cave Hill. I
attended his funeral.</p>


<h2 class="small">RECAPTURED IN BATH COUNTY. IMPRISONED IN JAIL AT
MT. STERLING.</h2>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>


<h2 class="small">ESCAPE AT WINCHESTER.</h2>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 made some
inquiries on the road, and was fearful I might be
caught if I remained all night.</p>

<p>A few days later, finding no opportunity to get
South, owing to the presence of Federal troops in
Eastern Kentucky, with the aid of friends I got on
the train at Paris, Ky., and went to Canada via Cincinnati,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
Toledo, and Detroit. I went from the house
of a friend, residing near Mt. Sterling. A colored boy
about eighteen years old named “Wash,” was sent
with me to Paris. We rode horse-back, and he was
to take my horse back. He knew I was a Confederate
soldier, but he was faithful to his trust. He afterward
joined the Federal army.</p>

<p>Just before entering Paris, I saw two guards in
Federal uniform, and “Wash” told me there was
difficulty in getting passes out of Paris, and it was
right difficult to get into Paris. As soon as I saw
these soldiers—I had to make up my mind quickly—I
addressed them first, before they had time to say or
do anything. I said “See here, gentlemen, I have
got a boy here with me that is going to take my horse
back. I am going to Cincinnati with stock, and I
want to know if he will need a pass to get out?” One
of the guards answered “No, that will be all right.
We will recognize him and let him through,” and
so they did.</p>


<h2 class="small">SOJOURN IN CANADA.</h2>

<p>I stayed in Canada, at Windsor and Kingsville,
four months. During that winter (1863-4) occurred
cold New Year’s Day. I went to a Methodist watch
meeting the night before and stayed until after midnight.
When I got back to my hotel at Kingsville
it was blustering and getting cold fast. The next
morning by seven or eight o’clock it was so cold that
neither the young man that was with me nor myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
could hardly get out of bed. It was eighteen degrees
below zero then, and got worse during the day. Lake
Erie froze over from side to side so thick as to allow
heavy teams to cross over it a distance of forty miles.
Some Confederate prisoners who were confined at
Johnson’s Island made their escape on the ice to
Canada. One of these in making his escape was
wounded by the Federal guard and was taken to a
farmhouse near Kingsville. Everybody skated in
that country, and I soon learned the sport. While
so engaged I became acquainted with the Misses
Harris, two handsome and refined young ladies, residing
at Kingsville, who were the granddaughters
of Simon Girty, the renegade. Their mother, the
daughter of this infamous character in the pioneer
days of our country, was then still living.</p>

<p>I learned to make cigars while I was up there in
Canada, and I got short of funds before I left, and
my landlady took my stock of cigars which I had
left for a balance on my board-bill. It was very
small,—only $1.75 a week for board and lodging.</p>

<p>When I went to Canada, I got to the Hirons
House in Windsor and thought I would register. I
looked over the register to see if I knew anybody
stopping there. I knew there was a lot of Confederates
who had gotten out of Camp Douglas and gone
to Canada. I looked over the page, and nearly every
one whose signature I saw on it—I recognized a good
many of them—had registered his name, Company,
Regiment, Brigade, Confederate States Army.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
Thinks I, if they can so register, I can too. So I
wrote my name in full with Company and Regiment,
Gen. John H. Morgan’s Command, C. S. A.</p>


<h2 class="small">RETURN TO KENTUCKY.</h2>

<p>When I prepared to leave Canada, I knew a Confederate
soldier was watched by detectives from
across the Detroit River. I got on the train from the
East as it slowed up and came into Windsor. I do not
recall whether it was a Grand Trunk train or the
Canadian Pacific, but at any rate I got off the train
before we reached the depot, and some detective evidently
saw me. When I got out among the other
passengers and undertook to get on the ferry boat, he
was following me. Thinks I, this won’t do, and I got
off and mixed up with the other passengers again.
After eluding him, I went down in the engine room
of the ferry boat, and stayed there until I crossed
over to Detroit, and he was thus unable to find me.</p>

<p>Another thing: I thought I had become pretty
well known, and to disguise myself, I had my hair
dyed before leaving Windsor. You can imagine
what a sight I was. My moustache and chin whiskers
were dyed a deep black with nitrate of silver or some
sort of preparation. I paid five dollars for it, I
know. In that way, I came on to Kentucky without
being detected. I came to Covington, and at a restaurant
there I sat right opposite a man that was with me
and knew me well in Windsor. He had gone up
there, I think, to evade the draft. He did not recognize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
me at all. I did not say anything to him, nor he
to me. I was pretty well disguised.</p>

<p>It was in April, 1864, when I returned to Kentucky
from Canada. While watching a chance to go
back to the Confederacy, I worked on a farm three
weeks near Florence, in Boone County, a town afterward
celebrated, in John Uri Lloyd’s novel, as
“Stringtown-on-the-Pike.” While there I visited, on
Sundays, my aunt and family, who lived nearby.</p>


<h2 class="small">BACK WITHIN THE CONFEDERATE LINES.</h2>

<p>On General Morgan’s last raid into the State, I
joined a small portion of his forces near Mount Sterling,
having made my way to them alone on horseback
from Boone County. By the way, I got my horse—borrowed
it, of course—from the enemy. There were
a lot of Government horses in the neighborhood
where I was at work. On reaching Virginia, in June,
1864, I attached myself temporarily to Capt. James
E. Cantrill’s battalion, which was a remnant of Gen.
Morgan’s old command, with which I remained until
the following October, when after the defeat of Gen.
Burbridge at the battle of Saltville I got with my old
regiment, commanded by Col. Breckinridge then
forming a part of Gen. John S. Williams’ Brigade.
Meantime Gen. Morgan was killed at Greenville,
Tenn., on September 4, 1864, where I was present as
a member of Cantrill’s battalion (under the command
of Gen. Duke, who had been exchanged), and
a few days later was one of those who went,
with a flag of truce, to recover his dead body,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
which was sent to Richmond, Va., for burial. After
the war it was disinterred and brought to Lexington,
Ky., whose beautiful cemetery is its last resting
place. In that city in later years, as you know, a
magnificent and life-like equestrian monument to our
beloved General’s memory was dedicated in the presence
of a vast throng of people, including many survivors
of his old command.</p>


<h2 class="small">SHERMAN’S MARCH THROUGH GEORGIA.</h2>

<p>We returned to Georgia in time to follow in the
rear of Sherman in his “march to the sea.” Under
Gen. Wheeler, as we followed in the path of desolation
left by Sherman’s army, we were daily engaged
with Gen. Kilpatrick’s cavalry, and for eight days
were without bread or meat, living on sweet potatoes
alone, the only food left from destruction by the
Federal troops. The first meat we ate after this fast
was some fresh beef, which we found in a camp from
which we had just driven the enemy before they had
had time to cook and eat it.</p>


<h2 class="small">THE SURRENDER.</h2>

<p>When the news of Gen. Lee’s surrender was received,
our brigade was at Raleigh, N. C. President
Davis and his Cabinet officers joined us at Greensboro,
N. C., and our command escorted them from
there to Washington, Ga., where it disbanded. I rode
to Augusta, Ga., with Lieut. William Messick, who
was from Danville, Ky., and there I surrendered to
the 18th Indiana Infantry Regiment, then occupying
the city, and received my parole May 9, 1865.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>

<p>Before we were disbanded at Washington, Ga.,
the remnants of the funds of the Confederate States,
in specie, that had been hauled by wagons through
from Richmond, was distributed among the troops at
that time. I remember the men of our brigade got
$26.00 a piece. Most of it was in Mexican dollars,
silver money. I brought it home with me. Fortunately,
I had enough to get home on without using that
money, and, after our marriage, my wife and I
thought it would be a good idea to have that silver
made into spoons. We took it down to Duhme &amp;
Company, at Cincinnati, and enjoined upon them to
use that silver, and no other, in a set of tablespoons,
and those spoons are on our table today.</p>

<p>No man can fully or correctly appreciate the
value of personal liberty who has never been a prisoner.
At least three-fourths of Morgan’s men felt
what it was to endure the fearful life of a Northern
military prison, and many of them were humiliated
by incarceration in the loathsome dungeons and cells
of penitentiaries while prisoners of war. Fortunately
for me, I escaped from Camp Douglas in time
to avoid the starvation policy subsequently inaugurated
there, which was said to have been enforced
by way of retaliation for the treatment Federal prisoners
received at Andersonville, Ga. The difference
between the two was that at Andersonville the Confederates
did not have the food to give the prisoners,
while in the North, the Federal authorities had
plenty, and refused to supply it to Confederate prisoners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
in sufficient quantities. Of the seven members
of our mess Clay and I left in Camp Douglas, three
died there, one took the oath, and the other three,
after twenty-one months of horrid prison life, were
exchanged a few weeks before the close of the war.
Only one of these three is now alive. He is living in
Montgomery County, near Mount Sterling. Of the
three who died there, one was James Richard Allen,
who, in the presidential campaign of 1860 by the
“Hoosier Boys” referred to, was the representative
of Douglas; and afterward, in 1862, came South, and
joined the Confederate Army as I had done. He
had been captured somewhere in Virginia, as I now
recall.</p>


<h2 class="small">DARING SPIRIT OF MORGAN’S MEN.</h2>

<p>The same restless, daring spirit that actuated
Morgan’s men in the field characterized them in
prison, and out of eighteen hundred prisoners taken
on the Indiana and Ohio raid not less than six hundred
of them escaped from Camps Morton and Douglas.
I have heard that one of the Chicago newspapers
stated during the war that even if Morgan’s
men had done nothing to distinguish them before
their capture on the raid through Indiana and Ohio,
they had immortalized themselves by their wonderfully
successful escapes from prison.</p>

<p>The extraordinary escape of Gen. Morgan himself,
together with Capts. Hines, Sheldon, Taylor,
Hockersmith, Bennett and McGee, from the Ohio
State Prison, stands without a parallel in military<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
history. You cannot imagine my surprise after getting
on the cars at Paris en route to Canada, on the
occasion already referred to, in December, 1863,
when I picked up a Cincinnati Daily Gazette, some
passenger had left on the seat, and read the graphic
account of this unexpected escape of our General and
six of his Captains the night before. My heart
leaped with joy at the news, but I dared not give
expression to my delight by the utterance of a word.</p>


<h2 class="small">INCIDENT ON FERRY BOAT AT COVINGTON.</h2>

<p>Getting on the ferry boat at Covington on the
Kentucky side, on my trip to Canada, just as it was
landing coming over from the Cincinnati side, I saw
ten or fifteen steps ahead of me my uncle, Higgins
Lane, and my aunt, his wife, from Indiana. He was
my mother’s brother, whom I dearly loved, but knew
to be an intense Union man. And uncle as he was, I
was afraid that he would expose me and have me
arrested. I immediately dodged around the boat and
did not see him any more. I learned afterward that
I had misjudged him, and done him an injustice. He
announced that he would not have thought of such a
thing as having me arrested. At my home at Owingsville,
in Bath County, after the war, my wife and I
had the pleasure of entertaining him and my aunt as
hospitably as was in our power.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>


<h2 class="small">INCIDENT AT THE ISLAND HOUSE IN TOLEDO.</h2>

<p>I may further relate, on that trip to Canada, I
stopped at the Island House in Toledo. I thought
I would go into Detroit in daylight, and see where I
was going when I got there, and crossed the river
into Canada. I registered at the hotel mentioned as
usual, and went up to supper on the next floor. After
I finished and was walking out of the dining room, a
fellow stepped up behind me and said: “I guess we
will settle right here.” Well, one has to think pretty
fast under those circumstances. He impressed me
as a detective, who thought he had found his man. I
said, “Settle for what?” He responded, “Settle for
your supper.” I was greatly relieved. I said, “Why,
my dear sir, I have registered here at this hotel and
expect to stay all night.” He said, “Well, that is different.
Then I will go down and see the register.” I
was in the habit of registering at hotels under almost
any sort of name that occurred to me at the time. I
never registered under my own name, and I had to
look at the register to see what it was. I knew I
could tell my handwriting. When I got up to the
register and saw what it was, I said, “There it is.”
Said he, “That’s all right.”</p>


<h2 class="small">COL. GEORGE ST. LEGER GRENFELL.</h2>

<p>Most of the survivors of Gen. Morgan’s command
remember that brave and gallant soldier, Col. George
St. Leger Grenfell, who came to us and was on Gen.
Morgan’s staff, after long and faithful service in the
British army. He did me a kindness during the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
war, which I have remembered with gratitude ever
since. By an accident my horse’s back had become
so sore he could not be ridden, and in the fall of 1862,
while leading him and wearily walking in the column
over a mountain road in East Tennessee, Col. Grenfell
came riding by, accompanied by a subordinate,
who had in charge a led horse. Observing my plight,
he stopped, and asked me the cause; and when told,
requested me to mount his led horse, and when mine
got well to return his to him, which offer I gladly
accepted.</p>

<p>Afterward, Col. Grenfell, for alleged complicity
in the plot to release the Confederate prisoners from
Camp Douglas, was arrested by the Federal authorities
and sentenced to imprisonment at Fort Jefferson,
Tortugas Island. In April, 1867, my brother,
Maj. Valentine H. Stone, of the 5th United States
Regular Artillery, who had been stationed at Fortress
Monroe for eighteen months, was assigned to
take command at Fort Jefferson. He was two years
older than I, and he was the brother who, as one of
the “Hoosier Boys,” advocated the cause of Bell and
Everett in 1860. He afterward went into the Army,
the 5th Regular U. S. Artillery. I will have
more to say of him directly. On learning where
he had been assigned, I wrote to him, giving an account
of Col. Grenfell’s kindness to me on the occasion
referred to, and requesting him to do all in his
power, consistent with his duty, to alleviate the
prison life of my old army friend, who was, as a true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
soldier and gentleman, worthy of such consideration.
With this request there was a faithful compliance
on the part of my brother, which Col. Grenfell gratefully
appreciated. I was permitted to correspond
with Col. Grenfell, and several letters passed between
us.</p>

<p>In September, 1867, yellow fever broke out at
Fort Jefferson. Col. Grenfell, having had large experience
with this dreadful disease, faithfully nursed
all who were stricken down among the garrison as
well as other prisoners. My brother’s wife was one
of the first victims. After her death, my brother
started North with his little three-year-old boy, but,
was taken ill of yellow fever while aboard the vessel,
and died at Key West. In a letter written by Col.
Grenfell the next day, in which he gave me an account
of my brother’s death, he stated:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>I deeply regret that his leaving this place
prevented my nursing him throughout the malady.
Care does more than doctors, and he had
great confidence in my nursing. * * * I am
tired and grieved, having been now twenty-one
days and nights by the bedsides of the sick (last
night was my first night passed in bed)—grieved
on account of the death of your brother, who
was the only officer that ever showed me any
kindness since I first came here. I wish I could
say that they had not been positively inimical
and cruel. But your brother’s arrival put an
end to all that. I am much afraid that the old
system will soon again be in force.</p></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>

<p>From this grand old soldier I received a few
months later the following interesting letter:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right">
Fort Jefferson, January 15, 1868.<br />
</p>

<p class="unindent">H. L. Stone, Esq.—Dear Sir: Your always welcome
letter of the 22nd of December was duly
received, and, believe me, I appreciate and reciprocate
your kind expressions of regard. I
owe to your friendship the knowledge imparted
to Gen. Basil Duke that the heavy restrictions
placed on me for no fault of mine by former
commanders had been removed by the humanity
of your poor brother, and I am happy to say
that the present commander, Maj. Andrews,
walks in Maj. Stone’s steps. As long as our conduct
is good, we need fear no punishment. I was
rather afraid when I read in your letter that you
had published mine to you. I do not know what
I wrote, but believe that you would not have
done so if I had said anything unguardedly
which might get me into trouble. This is not to
be wondered at when I tell you that I was shut
up in a close dungeon for ten months, every orifice
carefully stopped up except one for air, denied
speech with any one, light, books, or papers.
I could neither write nor receive letters. I was
gagged twice, tied up by the thumbs twice, three
times drowned (I am not exaggerating), and all
this for having written an account to a friend
of some punishment inflicted on soldiers and
prisoners here, and the bare truth only, which
statement he (Gen. Johnson) published in the
New York World. I fear, therefore, giving publicity
to anything; not that I am afraid of Maj.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
Andrews (I have really not a fault to find with
him), but tigers have claws and sometimes use
them.</p>

<p>It was gratifying to hear that your poor little
orphan nephew arrived safely at his maternal
grandfather’s. I knew little of the child, but
from what I heard he was a very shrewd one.
He was too young to feel his loss deeply. I have
two cypresses which I am taking care of (they
came from Havana) and mean to place on Mrs.
Stone’s grave, which is on an island about a mile
from this.</p>

<p>Maj. Stoner’s bridal trip was nearly turned
into a funeral. (I forget that instance. I wrote
him something about it. Perhaps some of you
remember Maj. Stoner’s bridal trip when he
married Miss Rogers. He had some trouble with
the conductor. I forget now what it was.)</p>

<p>What a savage the conductor must have been!
The Major wanted two or three of his command
to be near him at the time of the assault.</p>

<p>Basil Duke and Charlton Morgan write that
they are busy enlisting in my favor all the influence
that they can command—Mr. G. Pendleton
and others. I have also a very good letter from
a Mrs. Bell, of Garrettsville, Ky., wife of Capt.
Darwin Bell, who promises that Garrett Smith
and some other friends of hers will interest
themselves to procure my release. She read in
some local paper an extract from, I suppose, my
letter to you, and she says: “My husband, who
bears a kindly remembrance of you in the war,
and myself, felt ashamed to sit over our happy
fireside whilst his old comrade was wearing out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
his life in captivity, and we determined to work
until we obtained your liberty.” I have also a
letter from Mr. S. M. Barlow, of New York, a
prominent Democrat and friend of Mr. Johnson’s.
He had written to the President and to
Gen. Grant, but had received no direct answer;
but Montgomery Blair, whom he had commissioned
to see the President, says: “I have seen
the President for Grenfell. He has promised to
try to pardon him, although he says there are
several hard points in his case.” Yes, the case
is full of hard points, but they all run into me.
The hardship is mine. I do not build much on
all this, and yet if a regular system of petition
was gotten up by many influential parties at once
the President might yield. I wish that my
friends by a concerted movement, combined with
the Archbishops of Ohio and Missouri, R. C.,
would petition His Excellency. Bishop Quintard,
of Tennessee, would, I am convinced, willingly
help an old friend and comrade. But, alas!
I am in prison and can combine nothing.</p>

<p>I shall be happy to receive your scrawls, as
you call them, whenever you have time to indite
one, although I can offer you nothing but wails
and lamentations in return.</p>

<p>Whilst you are blowing your fingers’ ends
from cold, I keep close to an open window with
one blanket only, and that oftener off than on.
I have tomatoes, peppers, and melons in full
bloom. Salad, radishes, and peas and beans at
maturity in the open air, of course. In fact, I
am obliged to use sun shades from ten to three
all through the garden, for be it known to you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
they have turned my sword into a shovel and a
rake, and I am at the head of my profession
here. What I say or do (horticulturally) is law.
Other changes than this are made here. A
learned physician, Dr. Mudd, has descended to
playing the fiddle for drunken soldiers to dance
to or form part of a very miserable orchestra at
a still more miserable theatrical performance.
Wonders never cease, but my paper does; so I
will simply wish you a happy New Year and
subscribe myself your sincere friend,</p>

<p class="sig">
G. St. L. Grenfell.<br />
</p></div>

<p>Some time after this letter was written, how long
I do not remember, Col. Grenfell undertook to make
his escape from the Dry Tortugas in a small boat on
a stormy night, hoping to be able to reach the Cuban
coast, but was never heard of afterward.</p>


<h2 class="small">MAJ. VALENTINE HUGHES STONE.</h2>

<p>My brother, Maj. Stone, while in command at
Fortress Monroe, requested and obtained from President
Jefferson Davis an autograph letter addressed
to myself, believing that I would prize it very highly,
and delivered it to me at a family reunion at my
father’s house, in Carpentersville, Putnam County,
Ind., in May, 1866. I still have this original letter
in my possession, having placed it in a frame for
preservation. It is as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>Capt. Hy. L. Stone—My Dear Sir: Accept
my best wishes for your welfare and happiness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
It is better to deserve success than to attain it.</p>

<p class="sig">
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your friend,</span><br />
Jeffn. Davis.<br />
</p></div>

<p>Here (showing it) is that autograph letter. If
any of you would like to see it, I have it here for that
purpose. I have preserved it since I received it fifty-three
years ago from my brother.</p>

<p>Speaking of my brother being in charge of Fortress
Monroe (which was after the cruel treatment
of Jefferson Davis at the hands of his predecessor),
in the book of Mrs. Davis on the life of her husband,
and in the book of Dr. Cravens, I believe it was, they
speak of my brother’s kindness to President Davis
while he was in charge at Fortress Monroe, and before
he went to the Dry Tortugas.</p>

<p>In February, 1868, the remains of Maj. Stone
and wife were removed and re-interred in Montgomery
Cemetery, overlooking the Schuylkill River, at
Norristown, Penn., the home city of his father-in-law,
Judge Mulvaney. Some ten years ago my
brother, Dr. Stone, and I caused a monument to be
erected over our brother’s grave, with the following
inscription thereon:</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>Valentine Hughes Stone, Major Fifth Artillery,
U. S. Army. Born in Bath County, Ky.,
December 22, 1839, and died aboard the steamer
from Fort Jefferson to Key West, Fla., Sept.
24, 1867. He was enrolled April 18, and mustered
into service April 22, 1861, in the 11th Indiana
Infantry Volunteers, Gen. Lew Wallace’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
Regiment of Zouaves, being the first Volunteer
from Putnam County, Ind., to respond to the
call of President Lincoln. He was appointed
First Lieutenant, 5th U. S. Artillery, May 14,
1861; was the heroic defender of Jones’ Bridge
across the Chickahominy in the Seven Days’
Battles about Richmond. In command of Battery
No. 9 his artillery was the first to enter
Petersburg, Va., March 25, 1865. He was promoted
to be Captain and brevetted Major, same
regiment, upon the personal request of General
U. S. Grant, for gallant and meritorious services
on the battle field. He died of yellow fever while
in command of Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas,
Gulf of Mexico.</p>

<p>This monument was erected and dedicated to
his memory by his brothers, Henry L. Stone,
who served in the Confederate Army, and R.
French Stone, who served in the Union Army,
during the Civil War.</p></div>


<h2 class="small">THE COURSE OF EX-CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS SINCE THE
CIVIL WAR.</h2>

<p>The course of ex-Confederates since the war
closed deserves, as a rule, the highest commendation.
As far as my observation extends, good soldiers in
time of war make good citizens in time of peace. The
toils and hardships of army life fit and prepare them
for the battles of civil life. The success of ex-Confederates
as civilians has been commensurate with
their success as soldiers. Kentucky has selected
from Morgan’s men some of her highest legislative,
judicial and executive officers. From our ranks this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
and other States have been furnished mechanics,
farmers, merchants, bankers, teachers, physicians,
lawyers, and ministers of the gospel. There was
hardly a neighborhood in Kentucky in which there
did not reside after the war closed one or more ex-Confederate
soldiers, while many became useful and
honored citizens of other States. Coming out of the
army, most of them ragged and poor, some of them
crippled for life, with no Government pension to depend
upon, they went to work for a living, and their
labors have not gone unrewarded.</p>


<h2 class="small">DRY-GOODS CLERK AFTER THE WAR.</h2>

<p>I want to say for myself, I got back from the Civil
War in the summer of 1865. For four months, I
clerked in a dry goods store at Ragland’s Mills, on
Licking River, in the east end of Bath County. How
much do you reckon my salary was? I got my board
and $12.50 a month! I am glad to say I receive, in
my present position, a little more than that now.</p>


<h2 class="small">SPECIAL PARDON.</h2>

<p>After the surrender in April, 1865, President
Andrew Johnson issued a proclamation, whereby the
rights of citizenship were withheld from certain
classes who participated in waging war against the
United States Government, among whom were those
who had left a loyal State and joined the Confederate
Army. It became necessary, therefore, for me
to obtain a special pardon from the President, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
I did in the summer of 1865, through the aid of my
uncle, Henry S. Lane, then United States Senator
from Indiana.</p>


<h2 class="small">THE PRESENT AND FUTURE.</h2>

<p>Most of us have passed far beyond the meridian
of life, but I trust there is much usefulness in store
for us yet. We should not content ourselves with
the victories and honors of the past. The present and
future have demands upon us. The welfare of our
respective communities and States, as well as of our
common country, calls for our continued labors in
their behalf.</p>

<p>I shall always remember a remark made by my
friend, Jerry R. Morton, of Lexington (one of Morgan’s
men, and, for many years after the war, Circuit
Judge of that district), who has passed on ahead
of us, one day while we were in Canada together.
We were walking along the Detroit River, and as
we took in the broad landscape view that stretched
out before us, and saw the United States flag floating
from a fort below the city on the other side, he
stopped and, pointing across the river, exclaimed:
“I tell you, Stone, that’s a great country over yonder!”
I acknowledged the correctness of his estimate
of the American republic. Standing on foreign
soil, poor, self-exiled Rebels as we were, we did not
feel at liberty to call this <i>our</i> country then. But all
of us have the right to call it <i>our</i> country today.
With peace and prosperity throughout the land and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
all sections again united in fraternal feeling, we
have, even in this progressive age, beyond question
the greatest country in the world.</p>

<p>In the world war that has practically, if not entirely,
closed, we know what our country did for the
cause of human liberty. The boys in khaki went
across the seas,—the descendants of those who wore
the gray and those who wore the blue, and they
turned the tide of battle against the foe. That is conceded.
We are today looked up to by all the nations
of Europe to bring about a Treaty of Peace, and a
League of Nations, that will prevent, as far as possible,
wars for the future. We have, in my opinion,
dealing with that situation and laboring with it in
Paris, as great a President as this country has ever
had; and if he comes back home, as I believe he will,
with this League of Nations secured, and a Treaty
of Peace that shall do justice to all the belligerents,
including our recent foes, as well as the other nations
of the world, he will go down in history, in my
opinion, as the greatest statesman of all time—Woodrow
Wilson. May God bless him! [Great applause.]</p>
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