Curiously, as Halisy and his lieutenant came close upon Treble and Eastin, their two companions fell back to the head of the column and thus left the battle two and two.

Swinging out into the road as Colonel Halisy and his aide approached, the two officers in gray fired at their opponents. They were greatly surprised and disgusted that neither shot took effect. Four men, too brave and too intrepid to run away from a foe, grappled on their horses. They pulled each other from their mounts and fell, side by side, to the ground. Treble seized his foe and pushed his head into a pool or stream of water, from whence, half drowned, he asked quarter. Eastin had Halisy underneath him, and with his pistol at his head, forced him to surrender. The Federal colonel yielded but still held his pistol in his hand. As he arose from the earth, quickly cocking his revolver, he fired at his captor, but the bullet only grazed the cheek of the Confederate, who in turn instantly fired his weapon and killed Halisy. The conflict, the struggles, the shots, attracted the attention of the advancing Federals, who rushed to the rescue of their leader and comrade. Hastily taking the colonel’s sword and the pistols of the two men, Treble and Eastin galloped off to join the Confederate rear guard, which was now nearly out of sight. The Federals claimed that Colonel Halisy had been shot without provocation after he surrendered, but subsequent investigation showed that such a charge was totally unfounded and that Eastin was fully justified in the course he pursued. Just six months later, Captain Treble, having been transferred to Chenault’s regiment, was killed at Green River Stockade on July 4th, 1863, on the road between Campbellsville and Columbia, twenty-two miles from the scene of this conflict, as Morgan was commencing the Ohio Raid. In the assault on the Federal fortification Colonel Chenault was killed, and Major James B. McCreary, now governor of Kentucky, assumed command of the regiment. He rode down the line to notify Captain Treble that he was to act as lieutenant colonel, and in case he—McCreary—fell, to take charge of the regiment. As Treble rose from the line and waved his hand to salute his superior, to let him know the order was understood, he was struck by a shot from a Federal sharpshooter and fell dead at McCreary’s feet. Strangely enough, when Major Brent of the 5th Regiment, sent by General Morgan to get information as to how things were going, rode forward, as he lifted his hand to salute Colonel McCreary, he was shot through the brain and fell dead at his side.

Eastin, after a brilliant and highly adventurous war experience, became a learned and distinguished lawyer in Louisville, a member of the Kentucky Court of Appeals, and after a long and splendid career, died in Louisville in 1896. He was beloved and honored wherever he was known. He was courteous, gentle, brave and loyal in all phases of life and was universally mourned when he died at the early age of fifty-four.

The Federals, fortunately, had laid by large supplies of commissary stores at Campbellsville, and in these captured goods there was enough to satisfy, clothe and feed man and beast. Strong pickets were ordered out on every road so that there could be no possible surprise. The wear and tear of the day previous had been so dreadful that General Morgan resolved to give his horses and men time to recuperate. True, it was a risk, but the voice of humanity as well as necessity appealed for a brief respite to those men who so uncomplainingly had borne up under a physical strain that, in all the great war, where cavalry had done what no other cavalry ever did, had rarely been equalled and never surpassed. It was twenty-two miles to Columbia. The artillery had good roads and fresh horses, and they could keep any pace the cavalry might set. Caution spoke of a night march, but mercy protested, and mercy prevailed, and for eight hours riders and beasts slept as only the weary and cold could sleep. The day had not broken when the call of the bugles bid the sleepers rise and prepare for another struggle against nature and its adverse forces. There were enemies who were bravely and vigorously marching to thwart their escape from the state, and hem them in on their homeward ride.

When the command ascended a hill on the Columbia Road, heavy cannonading was heard. It was the sounds which were coming from the far-off battlefield of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, ninety miles away, and it fell like a pall upon the minds and hearts of these men far up in the Kentucky mountains. These dull, rumbling tones proclaimed that Bragg and Rosecrans on Stone River were grappling with each other in gigantic conflict.

When at three p. m. the division rode into Columbia, the marchers breathed more freely, as the first danger post was passed. Only a couple of hours was given for rest and food. The Cumberland River, the real line of safety, was thirty miles away. General Morgan, not sure that his foes might not yet intercept him, bade the men get ready for another all night ride. It was still bitter cold, the road to be traveled was rough and broken, but the voice of safety was whispering that over the Cumberland alone could absolute security be found. The leader loved his men. He realized how loyal, brave and patient they had been in the ten days since they had ridden out of Alexandria. It was a hard order to issue, but everything was at stake; he dare not, with all his love for his brave riders, compromise his duty to the Cause he and they loved so well, and for which they were placing their lives in constant jeopardy.

At night, in the darkness and bitter cold, the division rode into Burksville on the Cumberland River. No enemy appeared. The spirits of the men returned. Even the beasts seemed to catch the hopefulness of the hour, and by the night of the 2d of January the Cumberland River was crossed. The raid was ended. The expedition had been successful and the command was safe. The pursuit was not resumed, and so, leisurely marching down through Livingstone, they reached Smithville, Tennessee, on the morning of January 5th. Here they rested for several days to allow the men and horses to build up and to forget the dreadful experiences of the terrific march. They had been absent seventeen days. They had ridden five hundred miles, captured eighteen hundred and seventy-seven prisoners and stores indescribable, and of tremendous value. Twenty-six had been killed and sixty-four were wounded and missing. A few had fallen out of the line of march around Lebanon and been captured, but less than two and a half in every hundred were lacking when, on the south bank of the Cumberland, an inventory was taken and a roll call made. These thirty-nine hundred horsemen had been roughly handled and battered both by their foes and by the fierce elements, but they had borne it all with heroic fortitude and were not only ready but anxious at the earliest moment to try another issue with the enemies of their country.