L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

“Miss Laura said you were breaking down the jail, and I want to see McAllister, the jailer. Where is he?” was the reply.

“Well, suppose I am breaking down the jail: what are you going to do about it?”

“I am going to stop it if I can.”

“What's your name?”

“ Lowry Johnson.”

By this time Morford had grasped the muzzle of the gun, and told him to let go. Instead of complying, Johnson tried to pull it away; but a blow upon the neck from Morford's sabre soon made him drop it. Morford now began to search him for other weapons, but before he had concluded the operation Johnson broke away, leaving a part of his clothing in Morford's hands. The latter drew his revolver and pursued, firing five shots at him, sometimes at a distance of only six or eight paces. A cry, as of pain, showed that he was struck, but he managed to reach the hotel (kept by his brother), and, bursting in the door, which was fastened, escaped into the house. Morford followed, but too late. Johnson's brother now came out and rang the bell in front, which gathered a crowd about the door; but Morford, not at all daunted, told them that if they wanted to guard the jail they had better be about it quick, as he was going to burn it and the town in the bargain. This so frightened them that no further demonstration was made, and Morford returned to the jail unmolested. There he and his men made so much shouting and hurrahing as to frighten the people of the town beyond measure; and many lights from upper story windows were extinguished, and the streets were deserted.