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With the field secured, a Parrott gun battery was established within easy range of the town. Two shells were fired. One was a dud. Ty saw the second explode in the center of town’s main street. He didn’t discern any real damage for General Morgan, but the single explosion was sufficient. Colonel Lewis Jordan, of the Indiana Legion, hoisted a white flag and surrendered the town.
    The first pubic building spotted by the raiders, a small Presbyterian church, was converted to a field hospital for the wounded. The Confederate dead were placed beneath white sheets in the church’s fenced yard. Prisoners being excess baggage for Morgan’s rapidly invading command, home guard captives were herded into lines at the limestone courthouse for paroling without arms.
    Shouts of indignation on the part of Corydon citizens attracted Ty’s attention. Raiders were helping themselves to horses and emerging from retail establishments carrying pants, shirts, boots, and hats by the armfuls, with the complaining sellers dogging their heels. Four Indiana merchants stepped in front of Glencoe and confronted General Morgan.
    A florid-faced older male in a black suit, starched snow-white shirt, and red string tie spoke for the four of them. “By what right do your men take what they want and offer worthless Richmond greenbacks or no payment at all in return?”
    General Morgan stood in his stirrups and pointed to the hundreds of troopers occupying the town’s entire center. “They, sir,” he said, “are my authority.”
    Dropping back into the saddle, General Morgan said, “And what might your name be, sir?”
    â€œUrea Haggy, sir.”
    â€œWhat’s your position in this community, Mr. Haggy?”
    Skeletal chest puffed, voice dripping with pride, Urea Haggy said, “I’m Corydon’s sole banker.”
    â€œHow fortunate, Mr. Haggy. You are the proper person to carry our demand to your fellow businessmen. My scouts reported there are three gristmills in the Corydon area. It is one o’clock by your courthouse clock. The ransom for each mill is one thousand dollars to be paid by two o’clock. If the monies aren’t forthcoming to the minute, we will burn the mills. Understood?”
    â€œBut those mills are no threat to you or your men,” the outraged Haggy protested vehemently.
    â€œBanker Haggy, you Northerners have enjoyed a full belly and full larder far from the fighting. But the bloom is off the stem. Henceforth, we will provision ourselves from your rich land. Every horse, mill, bridge, trestle, depot, telegraph wire, Federal greenback, morsel of food, and ton of forage are now fair game. We will allow you to experience—as we Southerners have—the harsh bite and deprivation of conflict.”
    Peering about, General Morgan located his adjutant. “Lieutenant Hardesty, where are we dining?”
    â€œThe Eagle Hotel, sir. First-class fare, according to the locals.”
    Focusing his icy glare on the Corydon merchants again, General Morgan said, “That’s where you may bring the ransom. One hour, gentlemen, one hour.” His casual, dismissing wave infuriated Urea Haggy. The banker huffed and fumed; but aware any further protests would be of no avail, he shooed his companions toward a brick bank building across the crowded street, which displayed his name in gold-painted script on the front window.
    With no specific orders, Ty reined Reb behind Glencoe and Lieutenant Shannon’s black gelding. The gist of the general’s lecturing of the Corydon citizenry stuck in Ty’s craw, for it declared a major shift in tactics for his raiders.
    Ty was better educated than some of General Morgan’s officers. Grandfather Mattson had an extensive library and the Cincinnati, Louisville, and Lexington newspapers were delivered weekly to the family manse at his grandfather’s expense. From the time Ty was twelve years old, his