Raiding with Morgan
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Title: Raiding with Morgan
Author: Byron A. Dunn
Release date: August 24, 2009 [eBook #29786]
Most recently updated: June 20, 2020
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAIDING WITH MORGAN ***
Raiding with Morgan
[Illustration: AS HE SAT ON HIS HORSE AND LOOKED OUT UPON THE RIVER.]
The Young Kentuckians Series
Raiding with Morgan
BY
Byron A. Dunn
Author of “General Nelson’s Scout,” “On General Thomas’s Staff,”
“Battling for Atlanta,” “From Atlanta to the Sea”
Chicago
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1903
COPYRIGHT
BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO
A. D. 1903
-------
PUBLISHED SEPT. 30, 1903
PREFACE.
General John H. Morgan was one of the most picturesque figures in the
Civil War, an officer without a peer in his chosen line. During the two
years of his brilliant career he captured and paroled at least ten
thousand Federal soldiers, and kept three times that number in the rear of
the Federal army guarding communications. When we consider the millions of
dollars’ worth of property he destroyed, and how he paralyzed the
movements of Buell, we do not wonder that he was considered the scourge of
the Army of the Cumberland.
General Morgan was a true Kentucky gentleman, and possessed one of the
kindest of hearts. The thousands of persons captured by him almost
invariably speak of the good treatment accorded them. The following
incident reveals more clearly than words his generous spirit. In reporting
a scout, he says:
“Stopped at a house where there was a sick Lincoln soldier, who died that
night. No men being in the neighborhood, his wife having no person to make
a coffin or bury him, I detailed some men, who made a coffin.”
The adventures of Calhoun as a secret agent of the “Knights of the Golden
Circle” opens up a portion of the history of the Civil War which may be
almost unknown to our younger readers. During the war the whole North was
honeycombed with secret societies, whose members denounced Lincoln as a
usurper and a bloody monster, and maintained that the government had no
right to coerce the South. They resisted the draft, encouraged desertions,
and embarrassed the Federal Government in every way possible. In secret
many of the leaders plotted armed rebellion, the liberation of Confederate
prisoners, and the burning of Northern cities. They held out inducements
to the South to invade the North, and there is but little doubt that
Morgan was lured to his destruction by their representations.
Shortly after the close of the war the author met a gentleman who had
served on the staff of General Breckinridge. This officer affirmed that he
carried a message from Breckinridge to Morgan, saying that the former had
positive information that forty thousand armed “Knights” stood ready to
assist Morgan if he would invade Indiana. Everything goes to show that
Morgan relied on these reports, and it was this belief that induced him to
disobey the orders of General Bragg.
It is an interesting question whether General Breckinridge was really
privy to the plans of the “Knights,” and whether he secretly encouraged
Morgan to disobey orders, hoping that the appearance of a Confederate
force in the North would lead to the overthrow of the Lincoln Government
and the independence of the South. The author has taken the ground that
Breckinridge was fully cognizant of Morgan’s intended move.
This volume mentions only the greatest of the General’s raids, and the
author has tried to narrate them with historical accuracy as regards time,
place, and circumstances. In stating the number of his men, his losses,
and the damage he inflicted on the Federals, the General’s own reports
have been followed; these, as was to be expected, differ widely in many
cases from those of the Federal officers.
The tale of the exploits of Calhoun is substantially true, though the hero
himself is fictitious, for every one of his most notable feats was
accomplished by one or other of Morgan’s men. It was Lieutenant Eastin, of
Morgan’s command, who killed Colonel Halisy in single combat. Calhoun’s
achievements in the escape from the Ohio Penitentiary were actually
performed by two different persons: a sharp dining-room boy furnished the
knives with which the prisoners dug their way to liberty; Captain Thomas
H. Hines planned and carried to a successful termination the daring and
ingenious escape. Captain Hines fled with General Morgan; and every
adventure which befell Calhoun in “The Flight to the South” actually
befell Captain Hines. The Captain’s marvellous story was published in the
January number of “The Century,” 1891, and to this narrative the author is
indebted for the leading facts.
B. A. DUNN.
August 1, 1903.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AFTER SHILOH 15
II. THROUGH THE LINES 28
III. RECRUITING IN KENTUCKY 49
IV. MORGAN’S FIRST RAID 69
V. MORGAN’S FIRST GREAT RAID 82
VI. CAPTURED BY HOME GUARDS 94
VII. CALHOUN TAKES FRED PRISONER 108
VIII. THE CAPTURE OF GALLATIN 113
IX. THE DUEL 126
X. HARTSVILLE 142
XI. MORGAN’S SECOND GREAT RAID 151
XII. A SPY! A SPY! 161
XIII. UNDER ARREST 181
XIV. THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE 196
XV. OHO NE! OHO NE! OHO NE! 214
XVI. CALHOUN MAKES HIS REPORT 226
XVII. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON 234
XVIII. THE RIDE OF THE SIX HUNDRED 246
XIX. AN ANGEL OF MERCY 253
XX. CALHOUN AWAKES TO LIFE 269
XXI. THE ESCAPE 281
XXII. PRISON DOORS ARE OPENED 292
XXIII. THE FLIGHT TO THE SOUTH 303
XXIV. CHIEF OF THE SECRET SERVICE 310
XXV. THE LONE RAIDER 318
XXVI. “COME” 328
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
As he sat upon his horse and looked out upon the river _Frontispiece_
He easily distanced all his pursuers 31
Sauntering into the depot they gazed curiously around 76
They silently crept down the gorge 101
He fired at Conway 120
The force of the blow threw the Colonel forward on 157
his saddle
He cautiously crept up on the Sergeant 183
Into the darkness Calhoun dashed, following his guide 223
Escape of Morgan from prison 302
She held her breath and listened to catch the sound 319
of battle
RAIDING WITH MORGAN.
CHAPTER I.
AFTER SHILOH.
The great battle of Shiloh had been fought, and victory had been snatched
from the hands of the Confederates by the opportune arrival of Buell’s
army.
The Southerners had lost their beloved commander, slain; a third of their
number had fallen. Although defeated they had not been conquered. They had
set forth from Corinth in the highest hopes, fully expecting to drive
Grant’s army into the Tennessee River. This hope was almost realized, when
it suddenly perished: twenty thousand fresh troops had arrived upon the
field, and the Confederates were forced to retreat. But they had fallen
back unmolested, for the Federal army had been too severely punished to
think of pursuing. Both armies were willing to rest and have their
decimated ranks filled with fresh troops.
Of all the Southern troops engaged at Shiloh none felt their defeat more
keenly than the Kentucky brigade under the command of Colonel Trabue. They
had fought as only brave men can fight; they left one-third of their
number on the field, killed and wounded. Defeat could not demoralize them,
and it fell to their lot to cover the retreat of Beauregard. They had
stood like a wall of adamant between their fleeing army and the victorious
Federals. No charge could pierce that line of heroes. With faces to the
foe, they slowly fell back, contesting every inch of ground.
Fondly had they hoped that Grant would first be crushed, then Buell
annihilated, and their march to Nashville would be unopposed. From
Nashville it would be an easy matter to redeem their beloved Kentucky from
the ruthless Northern invaders.
It was but a few days after the battle that there was a social gathering
of Kentucky officers at the headquarters of General John C. Breckinridge.
Conspicuous in that group of notable men was one whose insignia of office
showed him to be only a captain. But he was already a marked man. He had
greatly distinguished himself in Kentucky and Tennessee as a daring raider
and scout, and at the battle of Shiloh he had rendered invaluable service
at the head of a squadron of independent cavalry.
It was but natural that in such a gathering the situation would be freely
discussed. “It looks to me,” said Breckinridge, with a sigh, “that if we
are forced to give up Corinth, our cause in the West will be lost. I am in
favor of holding Corinth to the last man.”
“What is your opinion, Morgan?” asked one of the officers, turning to the
captain of whom we have spoken.
Thus addressed, John H. Morgan modestly answered: “The General will pardon
me if I differ with him somewhat in his opinion. Corinth should be held,
as long as that can be done with safety to the army. But Corinth itself is
of little value to us, now that the railroad between here and Chattanooga
is in the hands of the enemy. It is not worth the sacrifice of a hundred
men.”
“What! would you give up Corinth without a struggle?” asked the officer,
in surprise.
“Not if a battle offered a reasonable hope of victory,” replied Morgan.
“What I mean is, that the place should not be held so long as to endanger
the safety of the army. Corinth is nothing; the army is everything.”
“Then you believe, Captain, that Corinth could be lost, and our cause not
greatly suffer?”
“Certainly. The further the enemy advances into the South, the more
vulnerable he becomes. Even now, give me a thousand men, and I can keep
forty thousand of the enemy busy protecting their lines of communication.”
“Morgan, you are joking!” exclaimed several of the officers.
“No joke about it. I expect to see old Kentucky before many days; and if I
do, there will be consternation in the ranks of the Yankees.”
“Do you think you can reach Kentucky with a thousand men?” asked
Breckinridge, in a tone which showed his doubt.
“I shall make the attempt with less than half of that number,” replied
Morgan, coolly.
A murmur of surprise arose, and then Trabue asked: “Will Beauregard let
you make the hazardous attempt?”
“Yes, with my own squadron, but he will risk no more men in the venture.”
“Well, good-bye, John, if you try it,” said one of the officers, laughing.
“Why good-bye, Colonel?”
“Because the Yankees will get you sure.”
“Perhaps!” answered Morgan, dryly, as he arose to go.
“The whole South will ring with the praises of that man one of these
days,” remarked Breckinridge, after Morgan had made his exit.
“A perfect dare-devil. I am proud he is a Kentuckian,” remarked Trabue.
Not knowing the flattering words spoken of him, Morgan wended his way to
his headquarters, where he was informed by the orderly who took his horse
that a young Confederate officer had been waiting for some time to see
him.
“He said he must see you,” continued the orderly, “and if necessary he
would wait all night.”
“All right, I will see what he wants,” replied Morgan, as he turned and
entered his headquarters. There he was greeted by a young man, not much
more than a boy, who wore the uniform of a Confederate lieutenant.
Morgan gave him a swift glance, and then exclaimed: “Bless my heart! if
this isn’t Calhoun Pennington, son of my old friend Judge Pennington! I am
more than glad to see you. I have heard of some of your exploits, and
often wondered why you did not seek to take service with me. Let’s see!
You were on the staff of the late lamented Governor Johnson, were you
not?”
“Yes,” replied Calhoun; and his voice trembled, and tears came into his
eyes in spite of himself, as he thought of the death of his beloved chief.
“A grand man, a brave man,” said Morgan, gently. “Now that he has gone,
what do you propose doing?”
“That is what I have come to see you about. General Beauregard has offered
me a position on his staff, but I wanted to see you before I accepted.”
“What! a position on the staff of General Beauregard! That is a rare honor
for one so young as you are. Of course you are going to accept?”
“I do not know yet; I am to give him an answer in the morning, as I said I
wanted to see you first. Great as the honor is which has been offered me,
I feel it is a service which would not be agreeable to me. I much prefer
the freer life of a scout and ranger. Perhaps you may know, I have done
much of this kind of work. I have even performed more dangerous tasks than
that of scouting, and I confess I rather like it.”
Morgan mused for a moment, and then suddenly asked: “Are you not a cousin
of Frederic Shackelford, son of the late Colonel Richard Shackelford of
our army?”
Calhoun’s brow clouded. “Yes,” he answered; “but why do you say the late
Colonel Shackelford? Uncle Dick is not dead.”
“Is that so? I am rejoiced to hear it. It was reported he was among the
slain.”
“He was desperately wounded,” answered Calhoun, “but he did not die, and
he is now a prisoner in the hands of the Yankees. Uncle Dick is a hero;
but as for that traitor cousin of mine, I hate him!” and again Calhoun’s
brow grew dark.
“I have no reason to love him,” laughed Morgan, “but I cannot help
admiring him. He it was who discovered our well-laid plans, and forced me
to flee from Lexington, as a thief in the night.”
“Aye!” answered Calhoun, “but for him and that brute Nelson, Kentucky
would now have been out of the Union. But that is not all. Had it not been
for the same two traitors there would have been a different story to tell
of Shiloh. Grant’s army would now have been prisoners, Buell’s in full
flight, and our own pressing northward to redeem Kentucky. Had there been
no Nelson, Buell’s army would not have reached Grant in time to save him
from destruction. If there had been no Fred Shackelford I should have
borne the news to General Johnston that Buell would join Grant by the
fifth, and Johnston would have made his attack a couple of days earlier. I
was bearing the news to Johnston that Nelson would reach Savannah by the
fifth when I was captured.”
“Captured?” echoed Morgan, in surprise.
“Yes, captured, and by no less a personage than my cousin Fred
Shackelford. But for this I would have reached Johnston by the second; as
it was, I did not reach Shiloh until the morning of the last day of the
battle.”
“Then you escaped?” queried Morgan.
“No; my cousin let me go, after he had held me until he knew my
information would be of no value. I was dressed in citizen’s clothes. He
could have had me hanged as a spy. I suppose I ought to be thankful to
him, but I am not.” And Calhoun shuddered when he thought how near he had
been to death.(1)
“That was kind of him,” said Morgan; “and you ought to be thankful to him,
whether you are or not. To tell the truth, I took a great fancy to young
Shackelford, and tried hard to get him to cast his lot with me. But as I
failed to get him, I believe you would make a splendid substitute. You
still think you had rather go with me than be on Beauregard’s staff?”
“A thousand times, yes. I had rather go with you as a private than be a
lieutenant on the General’s staff,” answered Calhoun, with vehemence.
Morgan’s eyes sparkled. “That is the finest compliment I ever had paid
me,” he said, “but I cannot allow the son of my old friend Judge
Pennington to serve in the ranks as a private soldier. Yet my companies
are fully officered now. Let’s see! How would you like to go back to
Kentucky?”
“Go back to Kentucky?” asked Calhoun in surprise.
“Yes, to recruit for my command. Do you think you could dodge the
Yankees?”
“I believe I could. I could at least try,” answered Calhoun, his face
aglow with the idea.
“The case is this,” said Morgan: “I am going to make a raid in a few days,
and am going to try to reach Kentucky. My present force is small—not much
over four hundred. I do not look for much help from the Confederate
Government. Those in authority do not regard with much favor independent
organizations. To augment my force, I must in a great measure rely on my
own efforts. I know there are hundreds of the flower of Kentucky youths
eager to join me if they had the opportunity. You are just the person to
send back to organize them. When can you start?”
“In the morning,” answered Calhoun.
Morgan smiled. “Good!” he said. “You are made of the right material. We
will make full arrangements to-morrow. Good night, now, for it is getting
late.”
Thus dismissed Calhoun went away with a light heart. He was to be one of
Morgan’s men. It was all he wished.
The next morning Calhoun informed General Beauregard that while sensible
of the great honor which he would bestow on him by appointing him a member
of his staff, yet he believed he could be of more service to the South by
casting his fortune with Morgan, and he had concluded to do so.
“While I greatly regret to lose you,” replied the General, “I believe you
have chosen well. To one of your temperament service with Morgan will be
much more congenial than the duties of a staff officer. In fact,”
continued the General, with a smile, “I think you resemble Morgan in being
restive under orders, and prefer to have your own way and go where you
please. A command or two of partisan rangers may do, but too many would be
fatal to the discipline of an army. Morgan may do the enemy a great deal
of mischief, but after all, the fate of the South must be decided by her
great armies.”
“True, General,” replied Calhoun, “but if Morgan can keep thousands of the
enemy in the rear guarding their communications, the great armies of the
North will be depleted by that number.”
“That is true also,” answered Beauregard; “and for that reason Morgan will
be given more or less of a free rein. I have recommended him for a
colonelcy. Convey to him my regards, and tell him I heartily congratulate
him upon his last recruit.”
General Beauregard’s kind words touched Calhoun deeply. “Thank you,
General,” he replied, with feeling. “I trust I shall never prove myself
unworthy of your good opinion. May God bless you, and crown your efforts
with victory!”
After parting with Beauregard, Calhoun lost no time in reporting to
Morgan. He found his chief in command of about four hundred men, rough,
daring fellows who would follow their leader wherever he went. A more
superb body of rough-riders was never formed.
Calhoun was introduced to the officers of the squadron, and when it became
known that he was going back to Kentucky to recruit for the
command—although many of the officers wondered why their chief had
selected one so young—they gave him a hearty welcome. But when it became
known that he was the son of Judge Pennington, of Danville, that he had
already won renown as a daring scout, and had been offered a position on
the staff of General Beauregard, their welcome was doubly enthusiastic.
To this welcome there was one exception. One of Morgan’s officers, Captain
P. C. Conway, had applied to Morgan for permission to go back to Kentucky
on this same duty, and had been refused. He was a short, thickset,
red-faced man with a very pompous air. His weakness was liquor; yet he was
a brave, efficient officer. What he considered an affront was never
forgiven, for he was of a revengeful disposition. It was consistent with
his character that he should become a mortal enemy of Calhoun.
When he was introduced to Calhoun he merely bowed, and did not offer to
give his hand.
“I believe I have heard of Captain Conway,” said Calhoun, with a smile. “I
have heard a cousin of mine speak of him.”
“Why, yes,” spoke up Morgan, with a twinkle in his eye, “Captain,
Lieutenant Pennington is a cousin of your particular friend, Captain Fred
Shackelford, of the Yankee army.”
Conway fairly turned purple with rage. “Lieutenant Pennington has no
reason to be proud of his relationship to that sneak and spy,” he snorted.
“I have no more reason to love my cousin than you,” replied Calhoun, with
some warmth. “He may have played the spy; so have I; but sneak he is not,
and I would thank you not to use the term again, traitor though he is to
the South and his native state.”
Conway glared at him for a moment, but there was something in Calhoun’s
eye which told him that if he repeated the term it might cause trouble, so
he snapped: “Well, spy and traitor, if those terms suit you better; but it
may be of interest to you to know that I have sworn to see that precious
cousin of yours hanged, and”—with a fearful oath—“I will see that he is.”
With these words he turned on his heel and stalked away.
“Shackelford’s name has the same effect on Conway that a red rag has on a
mad bull,” laughed Morgan. “He can never forget that trick your cousin
played on him.”
“Ah! I remember,” said Calhoun; “Fred told me all about it. Conway may
take a dislike to me simply because I am Fred’s cousin. I noticed that he
greeted me rather coldly.”
“I reckon he will not carry his hatred so far as that,” replied Morgan,
“yet it may be best not to mention Shackelford’s name to him.”
But Morgan might have changed his mind if he had heard Conway talking to a
brother officer.
“Just to think,” he fumed, “that the Captain picked on that young upstart
to go back to Kentucky to recruit instead of one of us. I volunteered to
go yesterday, and he put me down. To my mind, Pennington is no better than
that sneak of a cousin of his, and Morgan will find it out some day.”
“Better keep a still tongue in your head, Conway,” dryly replied the
officer, a Captain Matthews, to whom Conway was complaining. “Morgan will
give you hell if he finds you are trying to create dissatisfaction.”
“I am not afraid of Morgan,” muttered Conway, but he said no more.
In the mean time Calhoun was hurriedly making preparations for his
journey. Many of the officers and men were engaged in writing letters to
send back by him to the dear ones in Kentucky. Morgan intrusted to him
several important communications to prominent Southern sympathizers.
Just as Calhoun was ready to start, Morgan gave him his secret
instructions.
“What I now tell you,” he said, “is too important to commit to writing.
You may be captured. For hundreds of miles you must ride through a country
swarming with Yankees. You will need discretion, as much or more than you
will need courage. Much depends on your success. I intend to make a raid
north about the first week in May. If possible (and I think it is), I
shall try to reach Kentucky. My force when I start will not reach five
hundred. If I could be joined by a thousand when I reach Kentucky, I
believe I could sweep clear to the Ohio River. But with the short time at
your disposal that will be impossible. But join me at Glasgow with all you
can. I expect to be in Glasgow by the tenth of May at the latest.”
“All right,” replied Calhoun, “I will try to meet you there at that time,
with at least one or two good companies.”
Little did Morgan think at the time how badly he would need those
companies.
At last all was ready, and amid shouts of “Good-bye” and “Success to you,”
Calhoun vaulted into the saddle and rode away eastward.
CHAPTER II.
THROUGH THE LINES.
At the time Calhoun started for Kentucky, General Halleck was
concentrating his immense army at Pittsburg Landing, preparatory to an
attack on Corinth. Federal gunboats patrolled the Tennessee River as far
up as Eastport. General Mitchell held the Memphis and Charleston Railroad
between Decatur and Stevenson, but between Corinth and Decatur there was
no large body of Federals, and the country was open to excursions of
Confederate cavalry. In Middle Tennessee every important place was held by
detachments of Federal troops. To attempt to ride through the lines was an
exceedingly dangerous undertaking, but that is what Calhoun had to do to
reach Kentucky. He expected to meet with little danger until he attempted
to cross the lines of General Mitchell, which extended along the railroads
that ran from Nashville southward. The country through which he had to
pass was intensely Southern, and the Yankee cavalry did not venture far
from the railroads.
When Calhoun left Corinth, he rode straight eastward, until he reached
Tuscumbia, Alabama. Here he found little trouble in finding means to cross
the Tennessee River. Once across the river he took a northeast course,
which would take him through Rogersville. Now and then he met small squads
of Confederate cavalry. They were scouting through the country, and did
not seem to be under very strict military discipline, doing much as they
pleased.
Now and then he came across a party of recruits making their way to the
Confederate army at Corinth. They were mostly country boys, rough,
uncouth, and with little or no education. They knew or cared little of the
causes which had led up to the war; but they knew that the Southland had
been invaded, that their homes were in danger, and they made soldiers
whose bravery and devotion excited the admiration of the world.
In order to find out what General Mitchell was doing, and as nearly as he
could, to ascertain the number of his forces, Calhoun resolved to ride as
near the line of the Nashville and Decatur railroad as was prudent. As he
approached Rogersville, he learned that the place had just been raided by
a regiment of Yankee cavalry, and the country was in a panic.
Approaching the place cautiously, he was pleased to ascertain that the
cavalry, after committing numerous depredations, had retreated to Athens.
He now learned for the first time of the atrocities which had been
committed on the defenceless inhabitants of Athens, and his blood boiled
as he listened to the recital. No wonder the citizens of Rogersville were
in a panic, fearing that their fate might be the same.
“The whelps and robbers!” he exclaimed; “how I should like to get at them!
But their time will come. Never will the South lay down her arms until
every Northern soldier is driven in or across the Ohio.”
In Rogersville Calhoun met with a Doctor Jenkins, who was especially well
informed as to the strength and positions of the Federal army, and as to
the feelings of the citizens.
“At first,” said he, “the result of the battle of Shiloh greatly
discouraged us, and the slaughter was horrifying. But we are getting over
that now, and every true son of the South is more determined than ever to
fight the war to the bitter end, even if we see our homes in flames and
the country laid waste. How is it that Kentucky does not join hands with
her sister states?”
“She will, she must,” cried Calhoun. “Already thousands of her sons are
flocking to the Southern standard. It needs but a victory—a Confederate
army to enter her territory, and the people will rise _en masse_. There
are not enough traitors or Yankees in the state to keep them down.”
“Do you think Beauregard can hold Corinth?” asked the Doctor.
“He can if any one can. He is a great general,” answered Calhoun. “But
Morgan thinks the loss of Corinth would not be fatal if the army were
saved. ‘Under no consideration,’ says Morgan, ‘should Beauregard allow
himself to be cooped up in Corinth.’ ”
“I reckon he is right,” sighed the Doctor; “but may the time never come
when he will have to give it up.”
“Amen to that!” answered Calhoun.
From Rogersville Calhoun made his way north. He ascertained that the
railroad which Mitchell was engaged in repairing was not strongly guarded,
and he believed that with five hundred men Morgan could break it almost
anywhere between Athens and Columbia.
Near Mount Pleasant he met a Confederate officer with a party of recruits
which he was taking south. He sent back by him a statement to Morgan of
all he had learned, and added: “Taking everything into consideration, I
believe that Pulaski will be the best place for you to strike. I have no
fears but that you can capture it, even with your small force.”
Calhoun met with his first serious adventure shortly after he had crossed
the railroad, which he did a few miles south of Columbia. Thinking to make
better time, he took the main road leading to Shelbyville. He was
discovered by a squad of Federal cavalry, which immediately gave chase.
But he was mounted on a splendid horse, one that he had brought with him
from Kentucky. He easily distanced all his pursuers with the exception of
three or four, and he was gradually drawing away from all of them, except
a lieutenant in command of the squad, who seemed to be as well mounted as
himself.
[Illustration: HE EASILY DISTANCED ALL HIS PURSUERS.]
“Only one,” muttered Calhoun, looking back, as a pistol-ball whistled by
his head; “I can settle him,” and he reached for a revolver in his
holster. As he did so, his horse stepped into a hole and plunged heavily
forward, throwing Calhoun over his head. For a moment he lay bruised and
stunned, and then staggered to his feet, only to find the Federal officer
upon him.
“Surrender, you Rebel!” cried the officer, but quick as a flash, Calhoun
snatched a small revolver which he carried in his belt, and fired.
Instead of hitting the officer, the ball struck the horse fairly in the
head, and the animal fell dead. Leaving the officer struggling to
extricate himself from his fallen horse, Calhoun scrambled over a fence,
and scurried across a small field, beyond which was a wood. A scattering
volley was fired by the foremost of the pursuers, but it did no harm, and
Calhoun was soon across the field. Mounting the fence on the other side,
he stood on the top rail, and turning around, he uttered a shout of
defiance, then jumping down, disappeared in the wood.
The foremost of the Federals, a tall, lanky sergeant named Latham,
galloped to the side of his commander, who was still struggling to
extricate himself from his fallen horse. Springing from his saddle, he
helped him to his feet, and anxiously inquired, “Are you hurt,
Lieutenant?”
“The Rebel, the Rebel, where is he? Did you get him?” asked the
Lieutenant.
“Get him!” drawled the Sergeant, “I think not. He got across that field as
if Old Nick was after him. But once across he had the cheek to stand on
the fence and crow like a young rooster. I took a crack at him, but
missed.”
“Why didn’t you pursue him?” demanded the officer, fiercely.
“What! in those woods? Might as well look for a needle in a haymow. But
are you hurt, Lieutenant?”
“My leg is sprained,” he groaned; “but the worst of it is, Jupiter is
dead. Curse that Rebel! how I wish I had him! I would make him pay dearly
for that horse.”
“Here is the Rebel’s horse. I caught him!” exclaimed one of the men,
leading up Calhoun’s horse, which he had captured. “He looks like a mighty
fine horse, only he seems a little lame from his fall.”
“That is a fine horse,” said Latham, looking him over, “but he has been
rode mighty hard. Wonder who that feller can be. I see no signs of any
other Reb. He must have been alone. Say, he was a Jim-dandy whoever he
was. I thought you had him sure, Lieutenant.”
“So did I,” answered the Lieutenant, with an oath. “When his horse threw
him I had no idea he would try to get away, and ordered him to surrender.
But quick as a flash he jerked a revolver from his belt, and fired.”
“Better be thankful he hit the horse instead of you,” said the Sergeant.
For answer the Lieutenant limped to a stone, and sitting down, said:
“Examine that roll behind the saddle of the horse. Perhaps we can find out
who the fellow was.”
Sergeant Latham took the roll, which was securely strapped behind
Calhoun’s saddle, and began to unroll it as carefully as if he suspected
it might be loaded.
“A fine rubber and a good woollen blanket,” remarked the Sergeant. “Looks
mighty like those goods once belonged to our good Uncle Samuel. Bet your
life, they are a part of the plunder from Shiloh. Ah! here is a bundle of
letters.”
“Give them to me,” said the Lieutenant.
The Sergeant handed them over, and the officer hastily glanced over them,
reading the superscriptions.
“Why,” he exclaimed, in surprise, “these letters are all addressed to
persons in Kentucky. What could that fellow be doing with letters going to
Kentucky? We will see.” He tore open one of the letters.
He had read but a few lines when he exclaimed, with a strong expletive,
“Boys, I would give a month’s pay if we had captured that fellow!”
“Who was he? Who was he?” cried several soldiers in unison.
“He was—let me see—” and the Lieutenant tore open several more of the
letters, and rapidly scanned them—“yes, these letters make it plain. He
was a Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington, and he was from the Rebel army at
Corinth. I take it he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for the
command of a Captain John H. Morgan. Morgan—Morgan, I have heard of that
fellow before. He played the deuce with us in Kentucky last winter: burned
the railroad bridge over Bacon Creek, captured trains, tore up the
railroad, and played smash generally. These letters all seem to be private
ones written by the soldiers in Morgan’s command to their relatives and
friends back in Kentucky. But he may have carried important dispatches on
his person. We let a rare prize slip through our fingers.”
“Can’t be helped now,” dryly remarked Sergeant Latham. “If you had
captured him it might have put one bar, if not two, on your
shoulder-strap.”
The Lieutenant scowled, but did not reply. All the letters were read and
passed around. Three or four of them occasioned much merriment, for they
were written by love-lorn swains whom the cruel hand of war had torn from
their sweethearts.
“Golly! it’s a wonder them letters hadn’t melted from the sweetness they
contained,” remarked Sergeant Latham.
“Or took fire from their warmth,” put in a boyish looking soldier.
“Not half as warm as the letter I caught you writing to Polly Jones the
other day,” laughed a comrade. “Boys, I looked over his shoulder and read
some of it. I tell you it was hot stuff. ‘My dearest Polly!’ it commenced,
‘I——’ ”
But he never finished the sentence, for the young soldier sprang and
struck him a blow which rolled him in the dust.
“A fight! a fight!” shouted the men, and crowded around to see the fun.
“Stop that!” roared the Lieutenant, “or I will have you both bucked and
gagged when we get to camp. Sergeant Latham, see that both of those men
are put on extra duty to-night.”
When things had quieted down, others of the letters were read; but some of
them occasioned no merriment. Instead, one could see a rough blouse sleeve
drawn across the eyes, and a gulping down as if something choked the
wearer. These were letters written to the wives and mothers who were
watching and waiting for their loved ones to return. These letters
reminded them of their own wives and mothers in the Northland, waiting and
praying for them.
Suddenly the Lieutenant spoke up: “Boys, we have been wasting time over
those letters. That fellow was making his way back to Kentucky. He has no
horse. What more natural than that he would try and obtain one at the
first opportunity? That old Rebel Osborne lives not more than a mile
ahead. You remember we visited him last week, and threatened to arrest him
if the railroad was tampered with any more. It was thought he sheltered
these wandering bands of Confederates who make it dangerous to step
outside the camp. If we push on, we may catch our bird at Osborne’s.”
“If not, it will at least give you a chance to see the pretty daughter,”
remarked the Sergeant.
“Shut up, or I will have you reduced to the ranks,” growled the
Lieutenant.
The subject was rather a painful one to the Lieutenant, for during his
visit to the Osbornes the week before, when he tried to make himself
agreeable to the daughter, the lady told him in very plain words what she
thought of Yankees.
“It’s nearly noon, too,” continued the Lieutenant, after the interruption,
“and that spring near the house is a splendid place to rest our horses and
eat our dinners; so fall in.” The Lieutenant slowly mounted Calhoun’s
horse, for his fall had made him sore, and in none the best of humor, he
gave the command, “Forward!”
The plantation of Mr. Osborne was soon reached. It was a beautiful place.
The country had not yet been devastated by the cruel hand of war, and the
landscape, rich with the growing crops, lay glowing under the bright April
sky. The mansion house stood back from the road in a grove of noble native
trees, and the whole surroundings betokened a home of wealth and
refinement.
From underneath a rock near the house gushed forth a spring, whose waters,
clear as crystal, ran away in a rippling stream. It was near this spring
that Lieutenant Haines, for that was the officer’s name, halted his
troops.
“Better throw a guard around the house,” he said to Sergeant Latham, “for
if that Rebel has found his way here, he may make a sneak out the back
way. After you get the guard posted, we will search the house.”
As the Sergeant was executing his orders, Mr. Osborne came out of the
house, and approaching the troop, to Lieutenant Haines’s surprise, gave
him a cordial greeting.
“I cannot say I am rejoiced to see you again,” he exclaimed, with a smile,
“except you come in peace. I trust that the telegraph wire has not been
cut, or the railroad torn up again.”
“Nothing of the kind has happened,” answered the Lieutenant.
“Then I reckon I am in no danger of arrest, and I trust you will take
dinner with us. It is nearly ready.”
The invitation nearly took away the Lieutenant’s breath, but he accepted
it gladly. As they were going toward the house, Mr. Osborne remarked,
carelessly, “I see you have thrown a guard around the house. Are you
afraid of an attack? I know of no body of Confederates in the vicinity.”
“The truth is,” replied Haines, “we ran into a lone Confederate about a
mile from here. We captured his horse, but he succeeded in escaping to the
woods, after killing my horse. I did not know but he might have found
refuge here; and, excuse me, Mr. Osborne, but I may be under the necessity
of searching your house.”
“Do as you please,” replied Mr. Osborne, coldly; “I have seen no such
Confederate; but if I had, I should have concealed him if I could. But do
not let this circumstance spoil our good nature, or our dinner.”
Just then they met Sergeant Latham returning from posting the guard.
“Sergeant, you may withdraw the guard,” said the Lieutenant; “Mr. Osborne
informs me he has not seen our runaway Confederate.”
The Sergeant turned back to carry out the order, muttering, “Confederate!
Confederate! The Lieutenant is getting mighty nice; he generally says
‘Rebel.’ ”
If Lieutenant Haines was surprised at the cordial greeting he had received
from Mr. Osborne, he was more than surprised at the reception he met from
Mrs. Osborne, and especially the daughter, Miss Clara.
Miss Osborne was a most beautiful girl, about twenty years of age. No
wonder Lieutenant Haines felt his heart beat faster when he looked upon
her. When he met her the week before, she treated him with the utmost
disdain; now she greeted him with a smile, and said, “I trust you have not
come to carry papa away in captivity. If not, you are welcome.”
“Nothing of the sort this time, I am happy to say,” exclaimed the
Lieutenant, with a bow, “and I hope I shall never be called upon to
perform that disagreeable duty.”
“Thank you,” she answered, with a smile. “Now, you must stay and take
dinner with us while your men rest.”
“The Lieutenant tells me he met with quite a little adventure, about a
mile below here,” said Mr. Osborne.
Miss Osborne looked up inquiringly. Before more could be said Mrs. Osborne
announced that dinner was ready, and the Lieutenant sat down to a most
sumptuous repast.
“What was Lieutenant Haines’s adventure you spoke of?” at length asked
Miss Osborne of her father.
“Better let the Lieutenant tell the story, for I know nothing of it,”
answered Mr. Osborne; “but he spoke of searching the house for a supposed
concealed Confederate.”
As Mr. Osborne said this, Miss Osborne gave a little gasp and turned pale,
but quickly recovering herself, she turned a pair of inquiring eyes on the
Lieutenant—eyes that emitted flames of angry light and seemed to look him
through and through.
Lieutenant Haines turned very red. “Forgive me if I thought of such a
thing,” he replied, humbly. “Your father has assured me he has neither
seen nor concealed any Confederate officer, and his word is good with me.
Make yourself easy. I shall not insult you by searching the house.”
A look as of relief came over the face of Miss Osborne as she answered: “I
thank you very much. I shall never say again there are no gentlemen among
the Yankees. But tell us of your adventure. I thought I heard firing about
an hour ago. Was there any one hurt?”
“Only my poor horse; he was killed,” answered Haines.
“Ah! in the days of knighthood to be unhorsed was to be defeated,”
exclaimed Miss Osborne, gayly. “You must admit yourself vanquished!”
Haines laughingly replied: “I am sorry to disappoint you; but as I
captured my enemy’s horse and he fled on foot, I cannot admit defeat.”
“Then your enemy was a solitary knight?” queried Miss Osborne.
“Yes, but to all appearances a most gallant one.”
“Strange,” she mused, “who he could be, and what he could be doing in this
section. The place for true knights, at this time, is at Corinth.”
“From letters captured with his horse, I take it he was from Corinth,”
said Haines. “From those letters we learned that his name was Calhoun
Pennington, that he was a lieutenant in the command of Captain John H.
Morgan, a gentleman who has given us considerable trouble, and may give us
more, and that he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for Morgan’s
command.”
“You say you captured letters?” queried the girl.
“Yes, a whole package of them. They were from members of Morgan’s command
to their friends back in Kentucky. The boys are having rare fun reading
them.”
“I suppose it is according to military usages to read all communications
captured from the enemy,” remarked Miss Osborne with a slight tinge of
sarcasm in her tone, “but it seems sacrilege that these private letters
should fall into profane hands.”
“Some of them were rich,” laughed Haines; “they were written by loving
swains to their girls. There were others written to wives and mothers,
which almost brought tears to our eyes, they were so full of yearnings for
home.”
“Lieutenant, there was nothing in those letters of value to you from a
military standpoint, was there?” suddenly asked Miss Osborne.
“Nothing.”
“Then I have a great boon to ask. Will you not give them to me?”
“Why, Miss Osborne, what can you do with them?” asked Haines, in surprise.
“I can at least keep them sacred. Perhaps I can find means of getting them
to those for whom they are intended. Think of those wives and mothers
watching, waiting for letters which will never come. Oh! give them to me,
Lieutenant Haines, and you will sleep the sweeter to-night.”
“Your request is a strange one,” said the Lieutenant; “yet I can see no
harm in granting it. You can have the letters, but the boys may have
destroyed some of them by this time.”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you! You will never regret your kindness. I shall
remember it.”
“I only ask you to think better of Yankees, Miss Osborne; we are not all
monsters.”
Dinner was now over, and Sergeant Latham came to report that the hour for
the halt was up, and to ask what were the Lieutenant’s orders.
“Have the troop ready, and we will return to camp. I see nothing more we
can accomplish here,” answered the Lieutenant.
The Sergeant saluted and turned to go, when the officer stopped him with,
“Say, Sergeant, you can gather up all those letters we captured and send
them up here with my horse.”
“Very well,” said the Sergeant, but he muttered to himself, as he
returned, “Now, I would like to know what the Lieutenant wants of those
letters. I bet he has let that girl pull the wool over his eyes.”
In a few moments a soldier appeared leading the Lieutenant’s horse.
The family had accompanied Lieutenant Haines to the porch. Stepping down
to where his horse was, he said to the soldier, “You may return and tell
Sergeant Latham to move the troop. I will catch up with you in a few
moments. Did you bring the letters?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the soldier, saluting, and handing the package to his
commander.
“Very well, you may go now.”
Lieutenant Haines stood and watched the soldiers while his order was being
obeyed, for he did not wish to have any of his men see him give the
package to Miss Osborne.
After his troop had moved off, Haines placed the bridle of his horse in
the hands of a waiting colored boy, and returning to the porch where Mr.
Osborne and the ladies still stood, said: “That is the horse I captured
from my foe. He is a beauty, isn’t he? Jupiter was a splendid horse, but I
do not think I lost anything by the exchange. Here are the letters, Miss
Osborne; you see I have kept my promise,” and he reached out the package
to her.
But before she could take them they were snatched from Haines’s hand, and
a stern voice said, “I will take the letters, please.”
Had a bombshell exploded at Lieutenant Haines’s feet he would not have
been more surprised, and his surprise changed to consternation when he
found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Lieutenant Haines was
no coward, but he was unarmed save his sword, and there was no mistaking
the look in Calhoun’s eye. It meant death if he attempted to draw his
sword.
As for Mr. Osborne, he seemed as much surprised as Lieutenant Haines. Miss
Osborne gave a little shriek, and then cried. “Oh, how could you betray
us!” and stood with clasped hands, and with face as pale as death.
Mr. Osborne was the first to recover from his surprise. “I know not who
you are,” he said, “but Lieutenant Haines is my guest, and I will have no
violence. Lower that weapon!”
Without doing so, Calhoun answered, “If I have done anything contrary to
the wishes of those who have so kindly befriended me, I am sorry; but I
could not withstand the temptation to claim my own. As it is, I will bid
you good day.”
Thus saying, he dashed past them, and snatching the bridle of his horse
from the negro boy, he vaulted into the saddle and was away at full speed.
For a moment not a word was spoken, and then Lieutenant Haines turned on
Mr. Osborne and said, bitterly, “I congratulate you on the success of your
plot. I will not be fool enough again to take the word of a Southern
gentleman.”
Mr. Osborne flushed deeply, but before he could reply, his daughter sprang
in front of him, and faced Lieutenant Haines with flashing eye.
“I will not have my father accused of deception and falsehood,” she cried.
“He knew nothing of that Confederate being concealed in the house. I alone
am to blame, and I told you nothing. I strove to entertain you and keep
you from searching the house, and I accomplished my purpose.”
“And you got those letters from me to give to him?”
“Yes.”
Lieutenant Haines groaned. “It may be some satisfaction to you,” he said,
“to know that this may mean my undoing, disgrace, a dishonorable dismissal
from the service.”
“I shall take no pleasure in your dishonor,” she exclaimed, the color
slowly mounting to her cheeks. “I did not intend that Lieutenant
Pennington should show himself. It was his rashness that has brought all
this trouble.”
“How can I return to camp without arms, without a horse? It would have
been a kindness to me if your friend Lieutenant Pennington had put a
bullet through my brain.”
Mr. Osborne now spoke. “Lieutenant Haines,” he said, “my daughter speaks
the truth when she says I knew nothing of the Confederate officer being in
my house. Had I known it, I should have tried to conceal him, to protect
him; but I should not have invited you to be my guest. As my guest, you
are entitled to my protection, and I shall make what reparation is in my
power.” Then turning to the colored boy who had stood by with mouth and
eyes wide open, he said, “Tom, go and saddle and bridle Starlight, and
bring him around for this gentleman.”
“Surely you do not intend to give me a horse, Mr. Osborne,” said Haines.
“As my guest, I can do no less,” replied Mr. Osborne. “If Lieutenant
Pennington had not taken his, I should have let him have one to continue
on his way to Kentucky. So you see, after all, I am out nothing.”
Just then they were aroused by the sound of horses’ feet, and looking up
they saw Sergeant Latham accompanied by two soldiers coming on a gallop.
Riding up, the Sergeant saluted, and casting his sharp eyes around, said,
“Lieutenant, excuse me, but you were so long in joining us that I feared
something—an accident—had befallen you, so I came back to see. Where in
the world is your horse, Lieutenant?”
“Coming,” answered his superior, briskly, for he had no notion of
explaining just then what had happened.
When the colored boy came leading an entirely strange horse with citizen
saddle and bridle on, the Sergeant exchanged meaning glances with his
companions, but said nothing.
Mounting, Lieutenant Haines bade the family good day, and rode moodily
away. No sooner were they out of hearing than the Sergeant, forgetting
military discipline, exclaimed, “What in blazes is up, Lieutenant? I
suspected something was wrong all the time.”
“That is what made you come back, is it?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Yes; I did not march the command far before I halted and waited for you.
Pretty soon we heard the sound of a galloping horse, and thought you were
coming. But when you didn’t appear, I became alarmed and concluded to ride
back and see what was the matter.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, for your watchfulness. I shall remember it.”
Then as they rode along, the Lieutenant told Latham his story.
“And that pesky Reb was concealed in the house all the time, was he?”
asked Latham.
“Yes; the girl worked it fine.”
The Sergeant laughed long and loud. “And she coaxed the letters from you
too. Oh, my! Oh, my!” And he nearly bent double.
“Shut up, you fool you!” growled Haines. “Say, you must help me out of
this scrape.”
“Trust me, Lieutenant; I will tell how brave you were, and how you run the
Rebel down, and how you would have captured him if he hadn’t shot your
horse. But look out after this how you let Southern girls fool you.”
The Lieutenant sighed. “She is the most beautiful creature I ever saw,” he
murmured. “Gods! I shall never forget how she looked when she sprang in
between me and that Pennington when he had his revolver levelled at my
head.”
“Forget her,” was the sage advice of the Sergeant; but the Lieutenant did
not take it.
CHAPTER III.
RECRUITING IN KENTUCKY.
It did not take Calhoun long after he had plunged into the wood to
ascertain that he was not pursued; so he slackened his headlong pace, then
stopped that he might catch his breath.
“Whew!” he panted, “here is a go. Horse gone—arms, except this small
revolver, gone—baggage gone—letters gone. Thank God the dispatches are
safe,” and he tapped his breast, where they lay hidden. “That is about as
tight a place as I care to be in,” he continued, as he began to work his
way through the woods. “I call this blamed tough luck. Here I am nearly
three hundred miles from my destination. A horse I must and will have, and
that quickly. Surely the planters in this section are too loyal to the
South not to let me have a horse when they know the predicament I am in. I
will try my luck at the very first opportunity. If worse come to worst, I
will steal one; that is, I will confiscate one.”
With this resolve he pushed rapidly on, and after going a half mile or
more, he came out of the woods, and beyond lay a fine plantation. “I
wonder if those pesky Yankees will trouble me if I try to make that
house,” he thought. “I will risk it anyway, for if I can reach it, it
means a horse.”
Making his way cautiously he soon reached the road in safety. He listened
intently, but could hear nothing of the enemy; but from the opposite
direction there came the measured beat of a horse’s hoofs. Looking up he
saw, not a Yankee, but a lady approaching, at a swift gallop. Calhoun’s
heart gave a great bound, for he knew that no Southern woman would betray
him, and he stepped out from his place of concealment and stood in plain
view by the side of the road.
When the rider saw him she gave a start of surprise, and then reined in
her horse with such ease and grace as to charm him. He saw at a glance she
was young and exceedingly beautiful.
“Pardon me,” he exclaimed, reaching for his hat, and then he remembered he
had none, having lost it when his horse fell. “Excuse my appearance,” he
laughed. “I find I have no hat to take off. Probably some Yankee has it as
a trophy by this time. I am a Confederate officer in distress, and as a
daughter of the South, I know I can appeal to you, and not in vain.”
“You can,” she replied, quickly. “I thought I heard firing and I rode down
to see what it meant, as I knew of no party of Confederates in the
vicinity.”
“A company of Federal cavalry were firing at me,” answered Calhoun. “My
horse fell, and I had to run, or be captured.”
“Were you all alone?” she queried.
“Yes, all alone.”
“Then I forgive you for running,” she answered, with a ringing laugh,
“otherwise I should not. But how came you here, and all alone?”
In a few words Calhoun told her who he was and his business.
“Come with me,” she cried, quickly. “Let us gain the house before the
Yankees come, as no doubt they will. Father will let you have a horse. If
no other be forthcoming, I will give you my Firefly here, although it
would almost break my heart to part with him,” and she lovingly patted the
neck of her gallant steed.
“I sincerely hope such a sacrifice will never be called for,” replied
Calhoun.
“No sacrifice is too great to aid our beloved cause,” she answered; “but
come, we are losing time, the Yankees may be here any moment.”
If Lieutenant Haines had not stopped to read the captured letters, Calhoun
and his fair guide would not have reached the house undiscovered. As it
was, they had hardly entered it when the Federals hove in sight.
“There is that Yankee officer riding my horse!” exclaimed Calhoun. “How I
should like to meet him alone.”
“They are going to stop,” gasped the girl. “They may search the house, but
they will not if I can outwit them. Mother,” she said, to an elderly lady
who had just entered and was gazing at Calhoun in surprise, “take this
officer upstairs and conceal him. There is now no time for explanations.
The Yankees are in the yard.”
The mother, without a word, motioned Calhoun to follow her, and led him
upstairs. Hardly had they disappeared when her father entered.
“There is that Lieutenant Haines and his company visiting us again,” he
said, with some anxiety. “I wonder what they want.”
“Father,” said the girl, “go and meet Lieutenant Haines, use him nicely.
Invite him to dinner.”
Mr. Osborne looked at his daughter in surprise. “I never expected to see
the time you would want me to invite a Yankee officer to dinner,” he said.
“Never mind now, I will explain afterwards. Go quick, for I see he is
throwing a guard around the house,” was her answer.
Mr. Osborne went, wondering what had come over his daughter, and was
entirely successful in carrying out her scheme, although it was unknown to
him. Before his return, Mrs. Osborne came downstairs, her face denoting
her anxiety.
“Mother,” said the girl, “do not let father know we have any one
concealed. It will enable him to say truly he knows of no Confederate
around. And, mother, I have told him to invite the Federal commander—it’s
that odious Lieutenant Haines—to dinner. Be nice to him. Use him like a
welcome, honored guest. We must disarm all suspicion, and keep them from
searching the house, if possible.”
We have seen how well her plan worked, and how completely Lieutenant
Haines was thrown off his guard. Little did he think that while he was
enjoying his dinner downstairs, the Confederate officer who had escaped
him was feasting like a king upstairs.
It soon became evident to Calhoun that there was no danger of the house
being searched, and from a window he observed all that was passing
without. When he saw the troop ride away, and his own horse led up to the
house for the Federal commander, that spirit of recklessness for which he
was noted came over him, and without thinking of what the effect might be
on those who had, at great risk, so kindly befriended him, he resolved to
try to capture his own. With satisfaction he saw the last Yankee depart,
leaving the commander behind.
“Now is my time!” he exclaimed, exultingly, and looking to see that his
revolver was in perfect condition, he crept softly downstairs, and as has
been noted, was perfectly successful. So sudden was his appearance, so
swift were his movements, that the little company could only gaze after
him in astonishment until he had disappeared.
For a few minutes Calhoun was hilarious over the success of his bold dash;
then came to him the thought that he had cruelly wronged the Osbornes in
what he had done. He suddenly checked his horse, and then turned as if he
would ride back, hesitated, then turned once more, and rode on his way,
but more slowly.
“It is too late now,” he sighed, to himself, “to undo the wrong I may have
done. To think I may have brought trouble on the head of that glorious
girl, who even would give me her own horse! It’s the meanest trick you
ever did, Calhoun Pennington, and it would serve you right if the Yankees
captured you.”
It was in no enviable frame of mind that Calhoun continued his journey. It
was not long before he noticed that his horse was lame. The fall that he
had had, had evidently strained his shoulder. Calhoun more bitterly than
ever regretted that he had not restrained himself. If he had, he might now
have been riding a good fresh horse, given him by Mr. Osborne.
“Serves me right,” he groaned. “Oh, what a fool, and not only a fool, but
a brute, I have been. That girl! I can’t help thinking that I may have got
her into serious trouble.”
A few miles more and his horse became so lame that Calhoun had to come
down to a walk. He dismounted with a ruthful face.
“It’s no use,” he said; “I shall have to leave him. Where can I get
another horse?”
The opportunity came sooner than he expected. He had dismounted in a wood,
a thick growth of cedars screening him from the observation of any one
passing along the road. Hearing the sound of an approaching horseman, he
crept to the side of the road, and to his surprise saw a Federal officer
approaching unattended. He was riding leisurely along unsuspicious of
danger, and whistling merrily. With Calhoun to think was to act.
“Halt! Surrender!” were the words which saluted the startled officer, as
Calhoun sprang into the road by his side, and levelled a revolver at his
breast.
The officer was a brave man, and he reached for his revolver.
“Touch that weapon, and you are a dead man,” said Calhoun, in a low, firm
voice. “Fool, don’t you see I have the drop on you?”
The set features of the Federal relaxed, he even smiled as he replied: “I
guess you are right. No use kicking. What is your pleasure?”
“Dismount. No, on this side.”
The officer did as he was bidden. Calhoun took hold of the horse’s bridle,
still keeping the man covered with his revolver.
“Now,” continued Calhoun, “your name, rank, and regiment.”
“Mark Crawford, Captain Company B, —th Ohio Cavalry,” was the answer.
“Captain Crawford, I am very happy to have met you. As it may be a little
inconvenient for you and me to travel together, I ask you to give me your
parole of honor that you will not bear arms against the Southern
Confederacy until regularly exchanged.”
“May I be permitted to ask,” replied the Captain, with a peculiar smile,
“who it is that makes this demand?”
“Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry.”
“Well, Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry, you may go to
the devil, before I will give you my parole.”
Calhoun was astounded at the reply. “I am afraid I shall have to shoot
you,” he said.
“Shoot an unarmed prisoner if you will,” was the fearless reply; “it would
be an act worthy of a Rebel and traitor. Lieutenant Pennington, I am well
aware you are alone, that you cannot take me with you. It would be an act
of cowardice in me to give you my parole.”
As Captain Crawford said this, he folded his arms across his breast and
looked Calhoun in the face without the quiver of a muscle.
Calhoun was filled with admiration at the bravery of the man. “Captain,
you are too brave a man to die a dog’s death, neither would I think of
shooting a defenceless man. I shall let you go, but shall be under the
necessity of borrowing your horse. You will find mine in the bushes there
badly crippled. Good-bye. May we meet again.” Thus saying, Calhoun sprang
on the Captain’s horse, and dashed away.
Captain Crawford stood looking after him until he was out of sight. “May
you have your wish, my fine fellow!” he exclaimed; “I would ask nothing
better than that we should meet again.”
Both had their wish; they met again, not once, but several times.
“A brave fellow, that,” said Calhoun to himself, as he galloped away. “I
would as soon have thought of shooting my brother. He didn’t bluff worth a
cent.”
The horse which Calhoun had captured was a good one, and he rode him for
many a day. We will not follow Calhoun in all his adventures in his
journey toward his destination in Kentucky. Suffice it to say, he met with
numerous perils and made some narrow escapes, but at last found himself
near Danville. There resided a few miles from Danville a rich planter
named Ormsby. Calhoun knew him as an ardent friend of the South, one well
versed in all secret attempts to take Kentucky out of the Union, and one
who kept well posted in everything which pertained to the welfare of the
Confederacy; and at Ormsby’s he resolved to stop and lay his plans for the
future.
He was received with open arms. “So you are from John Morgan,” said Mr.
Ormsby, “and wish to recruit for his command. You have come at an
opportune time. To-morrow there is a secret meeting of prominent
Confederates near Harrodsburg. I am to attend. You will meet a number
there for whom you have letters. Of course you will go with me?”
Tired as he was, Calhoun rode that night with Mr. Ormsby to be present at
the meeting. If he was to meet Morgan at Glasgow during the first days of
May, his time was short, very short, and what he should do had to be done
quickly.
When he was introduced to those present as from Morgan, and just from
Corinth, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. He had to tell the story of
Shiloh, of the tragic death of Governor Johnson, of the retreat, but how
the spirit of the Southern army was unbroken, and that the South would
not, and could not, be conquered.
To his delight, Calhoun found that two companies of cavalry were nearly
ready to take the field, and it was unanimously agreed that they should
cast their fortune with Morgan.
“I believe that Morgan with a thousand men can ride clear to the Ohio
River,” declared Calhoun. “It only remains for Kentuckians to rally to his
standard, and give him the support that he desires.”
It was agreed that the companies should be filled as soon as possible, and
should go whenever Calhoun said the word.
Calhoun returned with Mr. Ormsby, as he wished to enter Danville to visit
his parents. Disguised as a country boy with produce to sell, he had no
trouble in passing the pickets into town. With a basket of eggs on his
arm, he knocked at the back door of his father’s residence. It was opened
by Chloe, the cook.
“Want eny good fresh eggs?” asked Calhoun.
“No; go way wid ye, yo’ po’ white trash,” snapped the old negro woman, as
she attempted to shut the door in his face.
“Chloe!”
The dish which she held in her hand went clattering to the floor. “Fo’ de
land’s sake!” she cried, “if it isn’t Massa Calhoun. De Lawd bress yo’,
chile! De Lawd bress you!” And she seized him and fairly dragged him into
the house.
“Hush, Chloe, not so loud. Don’t tell father I am here yet. And, Chloe,
don’t whisper I am here to a soul. If the Yankees found out I was here,
they might hang me.”
“Oh, Lawd! Oh, Lawd! hang youn’ Massa?” she cried. “Ole Chloe tell no
one.”
“That’s right, Aunt Chloe. Now bake those biscuits I see you are making,
in a hurry. And make my favorite pie. I want to eat one more meal of your
cooking. No one can cook like Aunt Chloe.”
“Yo’ shell hev a meal fit fo’ de king!” cried the old negress, her face
all aglow.
“You must hurry, Chloe, for I can’t stay long. Now I will go and surprise
father.” And surprise him he did. The old Judge could hardly believe the
seeming country boy was his son.
“Where in the world did you come from?” he asked.
“From Corinth,” answered Calhoun. “I am now back to recruit for Morgan.”
“So you have joined Morgan, have you?”
“Yes. Now that Governor Johnson is killed, I know of no service I would
like as well as to ride with Morgan.”
“You could have come home, my son.”
“Father! what do you mean? Come home while the South is bleeding at every
pore? Come home like a craven while the contest is yet undecided?”
“I am wrong, my son; but it is so hard for you, my only child, to be in
the army. Oh! that dreadful battle of Shiloh! The agony, the sleepless
nights it has caused me! Thank God you are yet safe.”
“Yes, father, and I trust that the hand of a kind Providence will still
protect me. But here is a letter from Morgan.”
The Judge adjusted his spectacles, and read the letter with much interest.
“My son,” he said, after he had finished it, “it is well you were not
captured with such letters on your person. It might have cost you your
life. Even now I tremble for your safety. Does any one know you are in
Danville?”
“Only Aunt Chloe, and she is as true as steel.”
“Yet there is danger. I know the house is under the closest surveillance.
The Federal authorities know I am an ardent friend of the South, and they
watch me continually. Morgan says in his letter that he hopes it will not
be long before he will be in Kentucky.”
“And mark my word,” cried Calhoun, “it will not be! Before many weeks the
name of Morgan will be on every tongue. He will be the scourge of the
Yankee army. But, father, what of Uncle Dick and Fred?”
“Colonel Shackelford is at home minus a leg. The Federal authorities have
paroled him. Fred is at home nursing him. Your uncle won imperishable
honors on the field of Shiloh. What a pity he has such a son as Fred!”
Calhoun’s face clouded. The remembrance of his last meeting with Fred
still rankled in his breast. “I never want to see him again,” he said.
The Judge sighed, “Oh, this war! this war!” he exclaimed; “how it disrupts
families! You and Fred used to be the same as brothers. I thought nothing
could come in between you and him. Calhoun, he is a noble boy,
notwithstanding he is a traitor to his state and the South. They say he is
going to resign from the army for the sake of his father. Won’t you go and
see him?”
“No,” brusquely answered Calhoun, yet he felt in his heart he was wronging
his cousin by his action.
Dinner was now announced by Aunt Chloe, and it did her honest old heart
good to see the way that Calhoun ate.
“I jes’ believe dat air chile hab had nuthin’ to eat fo’ a week,” she
declared.
“I reckon I shall have to go now,” said Calhoun, rising reluctantly from
the table. “I have already made too long a visit for a country boy with
eggs to sell. I declare, Aunt Chloe, I do believe I should kill myself
eating if I stayed any longer.”
“No danger of dat, chile,” replied Aunt Chloe, grinning.
The words of parting were few. “Do be careful, my son,” said Judge
Pennington, his voice trembling with emotion. “God only knows whether I
shall ever see you again or not.”
As Calhoun started to leave, a pair of sharp eyes was watching him. Those
eyes belonged to a pretty girl named Jennie Freeman. The Freemans were
Judge Pennington’s nearest neighbors, but Mr. Freeman was as strong a
Union man as the Judge was a Secessionist. Once the best of friends, a
coldness had sprung up between them since the opening of the war.
Jennie was two years older than Calhoun, but they had been playmates from
babyhood, and were great friends. Jennie called him her knight-errant.
More than once he had carried a pair of black eyes in fighting her battles
when some of the larger boys had teased her.
Jennie had seen the supposed country boy enter the kitchen of Judge
Pennington, and there was something in his walk and manner which attracted
her attention. “If that isn’t Cal Pennington I am a sinner!” she exclaimed
to herself.
She was on the watch for him, and when he remained so long she became more
than ever convinced that her suspicions were correct. At length the boy
came out with his basket on his arm.
“Hi, there, boy! come here,” she called. “What have you to sell?”
Calhoun paid no attention to her call, but hurried on the faster.
“I tell you, boy, you had better come here if you know when you are well
off!” she called, in a threatening voice, “Oh, I know you!”
Calhoun saw that he was discovered, and that his best way was to try to
make peace with her. “What do yer want?” he growled, as he walked toward
her. “I hev nuthin’ to sell; all sold out.”
“Well, I never!” said the girl as Calhoun came up. “Do you think I don’t
know you, Cal Pennington? A pretty figure you cut in those old clothes,
and with that basket. What in the world are you doing here?”
“Hush, Jennie, not so loud. If discovered, I might be hanged,” said
Calhoun, in a low voice.
“Yankees don’t hang traitors; they ought to,” replied the girl, with a
toss of her head.
“But don’t you see I am in disguise? I might be taken as a spy.”
“What are you but one? I ought to inform on you at once.”
“Jennie, you wouldn’t do that. I am only here to see father and mother. I
had to come in disguise, or I might be taken prisoner by the Yankees.”
“And you are not here to spy? You know there are many rumors afloat?”
asked the girl.
“Just here to visit father and mother. Can you blame me, Jennie?” As
Calhoun said this his heart smote him, for while it was true he was in
Danville for the purpose of visiting his parents, his mission to Kentucky
was for an entirely different object.
“Now, Jennie, you won’t tell on me, will you?” he continued, in a coaxing
tone.
“No, if you behave yourself; but don’t let me hear of any of your capers,”
answered the girl.
“You won’t, Jennie. Good-bye. I may be able to do you a good turn one of
these days.”
Jennie stood looking after him until he disappeared, then shaking her
head, she went into the house, saying: “I couldn’t inform on him, if he is
a Rebel.”
The next few days were busy ones for Calhoun. He visited Nicholasville,
Lexington, Harrodsburg; had interviews with a large number of prominent
Secessionists; found out, as near as possible, the number of Federal
troops garrisoning the different towns; in fact, gathered information of
the utmost value to Morgan if he should ever raid Kentucky.
But all these things could not be done without rumors reaching the Federal
authorities. It was known that the Southern element was extremely active;
that recruiting for the Confederate army was going on; and at last, the
name of Calhoun Pennington was mentioned. Some one who knew him well
declared that he had seen him, and it was common report he was back
recruiting for Morgan’s command. The Federal commander at Danville was
ordered to keep a close watch on the house of Judge Pennington to see if
it was not visited by his son.
It was on the evening of May 2d, and Calhoun was in Lexington when he was
startled by hearing the news-boys crying, “Pulaski, Tennessee, captured by
John Morgan!” “He is headed north, closely pursued by the Federal forces!”
Then Morgan had commenced his raid. There was no time to be lost. That
night, the next day, and the next night horsemen could be seen galloping
furiously along unfrequented roads, throughout central Kentucky. The word
was, “Meet at the rendezvous near Harrodsburg.” Three days afterwards, two
hundred of the best, the bravest, and the noblest youths of Kentucky were
ready to march to join Morgan. Each one of them had provided his own
outfit. They asked no pay to fight for their beloved South.
Before going, Calhoun determined to pay his father one more visit,
although he knew it was dangerous to do so. Concealing his horse in a
thicket outside the limits of the city, he waited until dark, then stole
across fields, and through alleys home.
No sooner did the Judge see him than he cried, “Calhoun! Calhoun! what
have you done! Do you know they are on the watch for you?”
“I had to see you once more before I went,” answered Calhoun. “I was
careful, and I do not think any one saw me come. I have some things of
importance to tell you.”
Father and son talked together for some five minutes in low, confidential
tones, when they were interrupted by Jennie Freeman bursting unannounced
into the room and crying, “Run, Cal, run! the soldiers are coming! They
are most here!” And before either could say a word, she was out again like
a flash.
“Who would have thought it, of that Abolitionist Freeman’s daughter,”
gasped the Judge. “Fly, my boy, fly! and may God protect you.”
Calhoun knew his danger. Grasping his trusty revolver, he cried,
“Good-bye, all,” and ran through the house to pass out by the back way.
Just as he reached the door, it was opened, and he fairly rushed into the
arms of a soldier who was entering. So surprised were both that they could
only stare at each other for a brief second; but Calhoun recovered himself
first, and dealt the soldier a terrific blow over the head with the butt
of his revolver. The soldier sank down with a moan, and Calhoun sprang out
over his prostrate body, only to meet and overturn another soldier who was
just ascending the steps. The force of the collision threw him headlong,
but he was up again in a twinkling, and disappeared in the darkness,
followed by a few ineffectual shots by the baffled Federals.
Judge Pennington heard the firing and groaned, “My son, oh, my son!”
The firing had alarmed the neighborhood, and there were many pale faces,
for the people knew not what it meant.
A short time afterwards a Federal officer arrested Judge Pennington, and
he was dragged off to jail. But he did not think of himself. “My son,” he
asked, “was he captured? was he hurt?”
“I think the devil protected his own,” roughly replied the officer, “but
we will attend to you for harboring Rebels.”
Judge Pennington lay in jail among criminals, not only that night, but for
nearly a week. There was talk of sending him to a Northern prison as a
dangerous man. But Fred Shackelford heard of his arrest and his probable
fate, and came in and had a stormy interview with the Federal commander.
He showed that Judge Pennington had committed no overt act; that his son,
who was a Confederate soldier, had simply come to visit him, and had
resisted capture, as any soldier had a right to do. As Fred threatened to
report the case to the commander of the Department, the Judge was
released.
Jennie Freeman had many qualms of conscience over what she had done. But
Judge Pennington kept her secret well, telling only Fred; and when he
congratulated Jennie over her act, she felt relieved; for young
Shackelford was not only known as a favorite of General Nelson, but as one
of the most daring and successful of Union scouts.
Calhoun met with no more adventures. He had no trouble in finding his way
to his horse, and he lost no time in joining his comrades.
“Boys, John Morgan told me to meet him at Glasgow,” he cried, and two
hundred voices answered with a loud “Hurrah! we will do it!”
Little did Calhoun or they think that at that very time John Morgan, his
forces defeated and scattered, was fleeing before the enemy. But like
them, he had set his face toward Glasgow.
CHAPTER IV.
MORGAN’S FIRST RAID.
All through the month of April General Halleck had been concentrating the
mighty armies of almost the entire West for the purpose of crushing
Beauregard at Corinth. For a month the two armies lay but a few miles
apart, almost daily skirmishes taking place between the outposts.
During the month General O. M. Mitchell had overrun Middle Tennessee, and
was holding the Memphis and Charleston railroad from Decatur to
Bridgeport, Alabama. Two railroads led south from Nashville, Tennessee,
both connecting with the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, one at Decatur,
and the other at Stevenson, Alabama. Both of these roads were of vital
importance to General Mitchell, for on them he depended for transportation
for the sustenance of his army.
These roads had been badly damaged by the Confederate army when it
retreated from Nashville, and General Mitchell was busily engaged in
repairing them. If repaired and held, it meant that Chattanooga must fall,
and the Confederate army be driven still farther south.
John H. Morgan, now promoted to a colonelcy, believed that with a small
force the rear of the Federal army could be raided, the railroads cut,
bridges burned, and their communications so destroyed that they would be
forced to fall back. General Beauregard was not so sanguine. While great
damage might be done, and the Federal army subjected to much
inconvenience, the contest, after all, would have to be decided by the
great armies. Then he needed every man, as Halleck was about to move.
At last he gave Morgan permission to make his raid, but with a force not
to exceed five hundred.
It was in the last days of April that Morgan started with his little
force, on what seemed to many certain destruction. But every man in the
command was full of enthusiasm. They had unlimited faith in their leader,
and where he went they would follow.
Following almost the exact route taken by Calhoun, Morgan’s first blow
fell on Pulaski, Tennessee. So swift and unexpected had been his movements
that the Federals were taken completely by surprise. The place was
surrendered without a struggle.
Moving rapidly north, the command attacked and, without any loss, captured
a wagon-train en route from Columbia to Athens. Thus at the very
commencement of his raid, Morgan captured Pulaski, with all its military
stores, a wagon-train, and some two hundred and seventy prisoners, and
this without the loss of a man. Among the prisoners captured were a son of
General O. M. Mitchell, and our old acquaintance, Lieutenant Haines.
The prisoners were all paroled, and were astonished at the kind treatment
they received. Both Captain Jumper, who was in charge of the wagon-train,
and the son of General Mitchell were loud in their praise of the way they
were used by Morgan.
After destroying all the Federal property captured, and damaging the
railroad as much as possible, the command continued on their raid, their
route taking them by the plantation of Mr. Osborne. The welcome they
received there was a royal one. Colonel Morgan stopped and took dinner
with the family.
Here he heard of the adventure of Calhoun, and he laughed long and
heartily over the way Calhoun had recovered his horse.
“Tell him,” said Miss Osborne, “that I forgive him his abrupt leaving, as
no harm came to father. By the way, Lieutenant Haines has become quite
friendly, coming out to see us two or three times.”
“No one can blame him, even if you give him but a moment of your company,”
replied Morgan, gallantly. “But Miss Osborne, I am sorry to say we took
your friend prisoner. He was paroled, and no doubt is now on his way
North.”
Miss Osborne blushed, and then said, “A good riddance; I trust I shall
never see him again. But he was kind to papa. He even returned the horse;
would not keep him.”
“That is lucky,” responded Morgan, “for if he hadn’t been returned, one of
my men would be riding him now, and your chance of getting him would be
small.”
From Pulaski Morgan pushed northeast, avoiding Shelbyville and
Murfreesboro, both of these places being too strongly garrisoned for him
to attack with his small force. He crossed the Nashville and Chattanooga
railroad ten miles north of Murfreesboro, burned the depot, and destroyed
as much of the track as his limited time would admit. From there he rode
straight for Lebanon, Tennessee, which place he reached just at nightfall.
The inhabitants received him with the wildest demonstration of joy. But
trouble was in store for him. His men, wearied with their long ride, and
elated over their continued success, became careless. They knew they were
among friends, and thought that no harm could come to them, so they slept
without fear.
The Federal authorities had become thoroughly alarmed over his progress.
Strong bodies of troops were in swift pursuit, from Shelbyville, from
Murfreesboro, and from Nashville.
Just before daylight the Federals charged into the little city with whoop
and hurrah. Taken entirely by surprise, Morgan’s men thought only of
flight. Two companies under the command of Colonel Robert C. Wood being
cut off from their horses, threw themselves into a college building in the
outskirts of the city, and for three hours defended themselves with
desperation. At last being out of ammunition they were forced to
surrender.
In this unfortunate affair Morgan lost nearly two hundred of his best
troops. The rest were more or less scattered. He himself was chased for
eighteen miles, and the pursuit ceased only when he, with the remnant of
his troops, had crossed the Cumberland.
The Federals thought they had thoroughly whipped Morgan, and he would give
them no more trouble. But they did not know the man. He had started for
Kentucky, and to Kentucky he would go. After crossing the Cumberland, he
halted, gathered his scattered command together, and then with less than
three hundred men, started for Glasgow.
“Lieutenant Pennington will meet us at Glasgow with reinforcements,” he
told his men.
But there were some of his officers who had misgivings. Chief among these
was Captain Conway. Speaking to another officer, a Captain Mathews, Conway
said: “It’s strange that the Colonel has such confidence in that young
upstart. As for me, I look for no reinforcements. The best thing we can do
is to get back as soon as possible.”
“Captain, what is the matter?” asked Mathews. “What has that young fellow
done that you have taken such a dislike to him?”
“Nothing; but the idea of sending a mere boy on such an important mission!
Why did he not send some one back with influence?”
“Pennington is well connected; you know his father is Judge Pennington of
Danville.”
“That makes little difference. His mission will be a failure; see if it
isn’t. We shall see no reinforcements at Glasgow.”
Just then Morgan came riding along, and seeing Conway said, “Captain, I
want to thank you for the gallant manner in which you held back the enemy
while the command crossed the Cumberland. You did nobly.”
This praise so pleased Conway that for a time he forgot his supposed
grievance.
Without further trouble from the Federals, the little command reached
Glasgow, where they were received with open arms by the inhabitants.
Houses were thrown open to them and food provided in abundance. But
nothing had been heard of any reinforcements.
“What did I tell you?” said Conway to Mathews.
“Wait,” was the answer.
The night was an anxious one. Morning came, but still nothing was heard of
any reinforcements.
“We will wait another day,” said Morgan.
About noon cheering was heard, and Morgan’s men nearly went wild with
enthusiasm, as nearly two hundred splendidly mounted men came galloping
into camp.
When the captain in command reported, Morgan thanked him in the warmest
terms, and then looking eagerly around, said: “Where is Lieutenant
Pennington? I do not see him.”
“Lieutenant Pennington,” answered the Captain, “asked leave to take twenty
men and scout toward Cave City. I gave him permission to do so. He has an
idea that the railroad might be reached and broken at that point.”
“Ah! I have thought so myself,” replied Morgan. “I shall wait for his
report with interest.”
The arrival of the two fresh companies had raised the command to as large,
or larger, than it was when it started from Corinth, and every man was
eager to go on. It was nearly night when Calhoun reported with his little
company. He was jubilant over what he had discovered.
“Colonel,” he said, “we can easily capture Cave City, and thus sever the
connection between Louisville and Nashville. The place is lightly
guarded.”
“Oh! If we could only take the place, and capture the train on which my
gallant men taken prisoners at Lebanon are being taken North, I should be
supremely happy,” said Morgan, with much feeling.
“Perhaps we can,” replied Calhoun, with enthusiasm.
“How about going farther north than Cave City?” asked Morgan.
Calhoun shook his head. “It will not do,” he replied; “all the towns are
too strongly held for your small force to cope with.”
“At least we can try Cave City,” answered Morgan, and orders were given
for the command to be ready to march at sundown. The vicinity of Cave City
was reached about two o’clock in the morning. The column was halted and
the men were ordered to rest until daylight.
As soon as it was light, Calhoun, with a soldier named Emory, was sent in
advance to the place. They were disguised as countrymen, and were to
linger around the depot, and when the charge came they were to prevent the
telegraph operator from sending warning of the raid.
Dressed in homespun clothes, and riding sorry steeds, Calhoun and Emory
played their part to perfection. Their entrance into the little place
caused no comment, and excited no suspicion. Sauntering into the depot,
they gazed curiously around.
[Illustration: SAUNTERING INTO THE DEPOT THEY GAZED CURIOUSLY AROUND.]
“What’s that?” asked Calhoun, pointing at the clicking telegraph
instrument.
“That, my boy,” said the operator, patronizingly, “is a telegraphic
instrument. Did you never see one before?”
“No. What makes it tick?”
“Lightning, my son, lightning; that’s a lightning-catcher.”
Calhoun opened his eyes in wonder. “Jes’ heah that,” he said to Emory.
“What is it fer?” he continued, turning his attention to the operator once
more.
“To send messages,” replied the operator, amused at the ignorance
displayed. “With this little instrument, I can talk with any one at
Louisville or Nashville.”
“What’s yo-uns givin’ we-uns,” drawled Calhoun. “Do yo’ take we-uns fo’ a
fule?”
A guard who stood idly by laughed long and loud. “A fine specimen of
Southern chivalry,” he chuckled.
Just then there came the sound of cheering, pistol shots, and the clatter
of horses’ hoofs, mingled with affrighted cries.
“By heavens! the town is being raided,” shouted the operator, as he sprang
to his instrument.
“Stop!” thundered Calhoun. “Touch that instrument and you are a dead man.”
The operator looked up amazed, only to find himself covered with a
revolver.
The guard at the same time was looking into the muzzle of a weapon held by
Emory.
“Drop that gun,” said Emory to the trembling man.
The gun went clanging to the floor.
“You two stand there in the corner with your hands above your heads,”
commanded Calhoun.
The operator and the guard obeyed with alacrity. “Keep them covered with
your revolver, Emory,” continued Calhoun, “while I see what I can find.
Think I will pocket these dispatches first; they may be of use.”
Just then he glanced out of the window and saw four or five soldiers
running toward the depot. There might be more following. Giving the
telegraphic instrument a kick which sent it flying, he started to leave in
a hurry. Then noticing the blanched faces of the soldiers, as they came
rushing into the depot, he called out, “No use running, Emory, we can take
the whole crowd prisoners, green as we look.”
And they did. There was no fight in the frightened men.
When the excitement was over Calhoun looked over the dispatches which he
had captured, and found that a passenger train was due from the south in
half an hour, and that it had orders to wait at Cave City for a freight
train to pass, coming from the north. This was good news, and Morgan’s men
waited, in glee, for the approaching trains.
At the appointed time the passenger train came rolling in. The reception
it received astonished every one on board. To Colonel Morgan’s great
disappointment his men captured at Lebanon were not on the train; but
there were a great many Federal soldiers, principally officers, aboard on
their way North. A few of these at first made some show of resistance; but
when they saw how hopeless their case was, they sullenly submitted to
their fate.
It was not long before the freight train came slowly puffing in. It was an
immense train of forty-five cars, heavily loaded with rations, clothing,
and munitions of war for Buell’s army. Morgan’s men freely helped
themselves from the rich stores to everything that they needed and could
carry, and then the work of destruction began.
The torch was applied, and soon the two trains were wrapped in flames. The
prisoners, who had gloomily watched the work of destruction, were now
lined up, and told that they would be released upon their giving their
parole. This they gladly consented to do.
It fell to Calhoun to take a list of their names, with rank and regiment.
“Don’t see why I should be asked to give another parole,” growled a
lieutenant. “I gave you fellows one at Pulaski, a short time since, and
was on my way home now, to stay until I am exchanged. How often do you
want to take a fellow prisoner, anyway?”
Calhoun glanced up much amused. The officer started, stared at him a
moment, and then abruptly asked, “Is your name Pennington?”
“It is, Lieutenant Pennington, if you please.”
“You and I have met before.”
“Ah! I know you now. I wish to thank you, for I am told you did not visit
your wrath on the Osbornes on account of my abrupt leave-taking.”
“No, the girl had concealed you in the house unbeknown to the old
gentleman, and as he had assured me there were no Confederates about, he
felt real cut up about it. He actually proffered me another horse in the
place of the one you took. Said I was his guest, and should not suffer.”
“Just like an old-fashioned Southern gentleman, the very personification
of honesty,” replied Calhoun. “It may interest you, Lieutenant, to know
that recovering my horse did me little good, for he went so lame I had to
leave him.”
“And took mine in his place,” spoke up a fine-looking Federal officer who
stood near, and whose name Calhoun had not yet taken.
“Captain Crawford, as I live,” exclaimed Calhoun, extending his hand.
“Captain, I want to give you my sincere thanks. That was a fine horse you
loaned me. Must have Kentucky blood in him. I am riding him yet. How about
your parole, Captain? You know you absolutely refused to give it to me.”
“I have changed my mind.”
“Ah! that is good. If you refused this time we might be obliged to take
you along with us, and that might not be agreeable to you.”
As the Captain gave his parole, he said, “This is the second time we have
met. There may be a third meeting, and it may be my time.”
“_Au revoir_,” gayly replied Calhoun.
Little did he think then of their next meeting, and what it would mean to
him.
The prisoners all being paroled, and the work of destruction complete,
Morgan’s command returned to Glasgow, loaded with booty.
The capture of the trains and the breaking of the railroad at Cave City
caused the greatest excitement throughout the Federal army. It showed the
Federal authorities how weak their line of communication was. Although so
much depended on Morgan’s capture, he was left for some days almost
unmolested. He made a demonstration toward Lebanon, captured a number of
prisoners, and then, when the combination against him grew too strong to
be resisted, he withdrew at his leisure and at length found rest for his
command at Chattanooga.
CHAPTER V.
MORGAN’S FIRST GREAT RAID.
The struggle for the possession of Corinth was ended. General Halleck,
with his immense army of one hundred and twenty-five thousand men, had
thought to reduce the place by regular siege, and force General Beauregard
to capitulate, surrendering himself with his whole army.
But Beauregard was too able a general to be caught in a trap. For a month
he held the Federal army at bay, and then, when Halleck was about to
spring his trap, Beauregard silently withdrew, leaving to him but a barren
victory.
The Confederate army was saved, and to the Federal forces the occupation
of Corinth proved as demoralizing as a defeat. The result showed that John
Morgan was right when he said that the hope of the South rested, not on
the occupancy of any single place, but on the safety of its armies.
The fall of Corinth at once changed the theatre of war. The Federal army
was divided, the Army of the Tennessee, under Grant, remaining in
Mississippi and Western Tennessee, and the Army of the Ohio, under Buell,
being ordered to march east and capture Chattanooga.
If Buell had acted promptly and swiftly, he might have been successful,
and the death-blow would have been given to the Confederacy long before it
was. But he moved slowly and haltingly, and the golden opportunity was
lost. It gave the Confederacy time to transfer to Chattanooga the larger
part of the army which had been at Corinth. The command of this army was
given to General Braxton Bragg, a brave man, and by many thought to be one
of the ablest generals of the South.
It at once became the dream of General Bragg to gather as large an army as
possible, then march northward clear to the Ohio River, sweeping
everything before him. This dream came near being realized. It was made
possible by the efforts and deeds of two men, General John H. Morgan and
General N. B. Forrest. These two great raiders and leaders of cavalry
nearly turned the scale in favor of the Confederacy. They raided the rear
of the Federal army, tore up railroads, destroyed millions of dollars’
worth of property, and captured thousands of prisoners. They ran General
Buell nearly distracted, and caused him not to know which way to turn.
They made it possible for General Bragg to reach Kentucky unopposed; and
if, after reaching Kentucky, General Bragg had proved as able a leader of
infantry as Morgan was of cavalry, Buell’s army would have been destroyed.
While Bragg was organizing his army at Chattanooga, another Confederate
army was being organized at Knoxville under General E. Kirby Smith; this
army was to invade Kentucky by way of East Tennessee, while General Bragg
was to invade by way of Middle Tennessee. Once in Kentucky, the two armies
were to unite.
This programme was successfully carried out, and yet the whole movement
was a failure, as far as the occupancy of Kentucky was concerned.
After the fall of Corinth, Colonel Morgan rendezvoused his little force at
Chattanooga. From Chattanooga he proceeded to Knoxville, where he at once
began the preparations for another raid. As Cumberland Gap was held by the
Federals, Colonel Morgan decided to cross over into Middle Tennessee
before invading Kentucky. His command consisted of about nine hundred men,
made up of two regiments and two independent companies. His own regiment
was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Basil Duke. All through Morgan’s
career Colonel Duke was his chief adviser, so much so that many claim that
Morgan’s success was mainly due to Colonel Duke.
“Why don’t some one shoot Basil Duke through the head, and blow out John
Morgan’s brains?” exclaimed a disgusted Federal officer, after a fruitless
effort to catch Morgan.
But the officer was mistaken; both had brains. Like Grant and Sherman they
worked hand in hand, and one needed the other. Together they were
invincible.
Before leaving Knoxville Morgan picked out twenty-five men, mounted on the
best and fleetest horses, and placed them in the command of Calhoun
Pennington. They were to be the scouts of the command, and well did they
do their duty. More than once did they save Morgan from heavy loss by
ascertaining the movements of the enemy.
Morgan left Knoxville July 4th. His route lay directly west over the
Cumberland Mountains to Sparta, a distance of one hundred and four miles.
This, in spite of the rough roads, he made in three days. Many of the
mountaineers of East Tennessee clung to the Union, and much of the way he
had to ride through almost as hostile a country as if raiding through the
North. The utmost vigilance had to be used, and Calhoun, with his scouts,
was kept well in front to see that the road was clear.
On the second day’s march there was the crack of a rifle from a
mountainside, and one of the scouts tumbled from his horse dead. A little
cloud of smoke up the mountain showed from where the shot was fired. With
a cry of rage the scouts sent a volley where the little cloud was seen,
then springing from their horses, clambered up the mountain to hunt down
the murderer; but their search was fruitless.
About a mile beyond where the shooting took place they came to a rough log
cabin, surrounded by a few acres of comparatively smooth ground. A small
patch of corn and potatoes was growing near the cabin, and an old man with
tangled gray hair and beard was hoeing in the field. An old woman sat in
the door calmly smoking a corn-cob pipe. Neither seemed to notice the
soldiers as they came riding up.
“You, man, come here!” sternly called Calhoun.
The mountaineer deliberately laid down his hoe, and slowly came to where
Calhoun was. He seemed to be in no hurry, nor did he appear to be
disturbed.
“What is your name?” demanded Calhoun.
“Nichols—Jim Nichols,” drawled the man.
“Are you well acquainted around here?” demanded Calhoun.
“Hev lived heah goin’ on twenty years,” was the answer.
“We have just had a man shot, by one of you skulking mountaineers. Do you
know of any one likely to do such a deed? Tell the truth, or it will be
the worse for you.”
The old man shook his head. “The men be all gone in one army or de other,”
he answered.
“Are you Union or Confederate?” asked Calhoun.
“The wah is nuthin’ to we-uns,” he drawled; “we-uns own no niggers.”
“That’s no answer,” fiercely replied Calhoun, “I have a mind to hang you
up like a dog. A little stretching of the neck might loosen your tongue.”
At the word “hang” a strange look came into the old man’s eyes, a look as
of mortal hatred, but it was gone in a moment, and the drawling answer
came, “We-uns knows nuthin’; thar may be strange men hidin’ in the
mountin. We-uns don’t know.”
“Have you a family?”
“A gal.”
“Where is she?”
“Done gone over the mountin to see the Jimson gals.”
“You have no son?”
At the word “son,” again that deadly glint came in the old man’s eye.
Again it was gone in a moment, and the answer came, “No.”
The cabin was searched—the mountaineer and his wife apparently perfectly
unconcerned as to what was going on—but nothing suspicious was found, and
Calhoun had to confess himself baffled. But after Morgan’s column had
passed, a tall, lank girl with unkempt hair might have been seen coming
down the mountainside, carrying a long rifle in her hand. Swiftly and
surely as a deer she leaped from rock to rock, and soon neared the cabin.
Carefully concealing her rifle beneath a huge rock, she came slowly up to
the door of the cabin, where the old man sat smoking. He looked up at her,
inquiringly, but did not say a word.
“We-uns got one, dad,” she said, as she passed in. Not another word was
spoken, but the old man sat and smoked and watched the sun as it slowly
sunk to rest behind the mountain.
If Calhoun had known that Nichol’s only son had been hanged the winter
before by the Confederate authorities for bridge-burning, and that his
sister had sworn revenge, he would not have been at a loss as to who had
fired the deadly shot, for every mountain girl can use a rifle.
From Sparta Morgan made a rapid march to Selina, where he forded the
Cumberland River. At Selina he learned that there was a Federal force at
Tompkinsville, which is just over the line in Kentucky. By a swift advance
he hoped to surprise and capture this force. As the command crossed the
line from Tennessee into Kentucky, the enthusiasm of the men knew no
bounds. They sang “My Old Kentucky Home,” and cheered again and again.
Tompkinsville was reached at five o’clock on the morning of the 9th of
July. The Federals, under the command of Major Thomas J. Jordan, of the
Ninth Pennsylvania Cavalry, though surprised, made a stand, and the battle
at once opened. But a few shots from Morgan’s mountain howitzers utterly
demoralized the Federals, and they fled in confusion.
Major Jordan, after retreating about a mile, succeeded in rallying about
seventy-five of his men, and made a stand to cover the retreat of his
force. Calhoun, with some fifteen of his scouts far in advance of the main
column, charged down on them without hesitating a moment. The Federals,
although they outnumbered the scouts five to one, were ridden down, and
throwing down their arms they cried for mercy.
In this fight the gallant Colonel Hunt was mortally wounded. He was one of
Morgan’s best officers, and his loss was deeply mourned.
From Tompkinsville Morgan moved to Glasgow, arriving there at one o’clock
in the morning.
The Federal garrison had heard of his approach, and had fled, leaving
everything behind them. A large quantity of military stores fell into
Morgan’s hands, and was destroyed.
Although it was in the middle of the night, the glad news spread through
the town, and the citizens were hailing each other with the glad shout,
“Morgan has come again! Morgan has come again!” Soon from every house
lights were flashing, and every woman was engaged in cooking. When morning
came, not only a steaming hot breakfast of the best that the place
afforded was set before the men, but three days’ cooked rations were given
each man.
At Glasgow Morgan gave out that he was again to raid the Louisville and
Nashville Railroad. In order to carry out the deception, when he left
Glasgow he followed the road which would lead him to strike the railroad
in between Woodsonville and Mumfordsville; but when he was within a few
miles of the road, he halted his command, and taking only Calhoun and his
scouts, he struck the road at a lonely place a short distance from Horse
Cove. Here he had his telegraph operator, a sharp young fellow named
Ellsworth, attach his private instrument to the telegraph wire, and for
two hours Ellsworth, in the midst of a driving storm and standing in water
up to his knees, took every message that passed over the wire. It was rare
fun to hear the Federal officers telling all their secrets, and revealing
the terror they were in over Morgan’s raid. After listening to their plans
of how they would try to capture him, Morgan had Ellsworth send the
following dispatch to the provost marshal at Louisville:
Nashville, Tenn., July 10, 1862.
General Forrest, commanding brigade, attacked Murfreesboro, routing our
forces, and is now moving on Nashville. Morgan is reported to be between
Scottsville and Gallatin, and will act in concert with Forrest, it is
believed. Inform general commanding.
STANLEY MATHEWS,
Provost Marshal.
Morgan sent this dispatch to lead the Federal authorities to believe that
he was returning from Kentucky. But the strange part of it is that Forrest
did on that very day attack and capture Murfreesboro, and of this fact
Morgan was entirely ignorant.
Leaving the telegraph and railroad intact, so as to have the Federals
remain in ignorance of what he had done and where he was, Morgan rejoined
his command and set out for Lebanon, a ride of over forty miles. The place
fell, almost without struggle. Dashing in at the head of his scouts,
Calhoun took possession of the telegraph office. This was at three o’clock
in the morning. Unsuspicious of danger the regular telegraph operator was
at home asleep, and Ellsworth was once more installed at the instrument.
It seemed that the day before Colonel Johnson, commanding the place, had
telegraphed for reinforcements, saying he feared an attack. The first
dispatch that Ellsworth received was:
“What news? Any more skirmishing?”
To which Ellsworth answered: “No, we drove what few cavalry there were
away.”
The next was: “Has the train arrived yet?”
“No. How many troops on train?” asked Ellsworth.
“About five hundred,” was the answer.
This was what Morgan wanted to know, and he at once dispatched a column to
intercept the train. But the train scented danger, and backed with all
speed toward Louisville.
At Lebanon immense stores fell into Morgan’s hands. Two large warehouses
filled to overflowing with clothing, rations, and the munitions of war
were given to the flames. Five thousand stand of arms were among the
trophies; Morgan picked out the best of these to arm his men.
The destruction of Federal property being complete, Morgan started north,
going through Springfield and Mackville to Harrodsburg. Here he met with a
most enthusiastic reception. Nothing was too good for Morgan’s men.
While at Harrodsburg Calhoun greatly wished that Morgan would make a
detour and visit Danville, but this Morgan refused to do, as it would take
him too far out of his route and give the Federals time to concentrate
against him. Thus Calhoun was prevented from entering his native town in
triumph.
Morgan had caused the report to be circulated far and near that he had a
force of five thousand and that his object was the capture of Frankfort.
From Harrodsburg he moved to Midway on the line of the Louisville and
Lexington Railroad. The place was about equidistant from Frankfort and
Lexington, and from it either place could be equally threatened.
Here he once more took possession of the telegraph office, and Ellsworth
was once more busy in sending telegrams. In the names of the different
Federal officers Morgan telegraphed right and left, ordering the Federal
troops here and there, everywhere but to the right place, and causing the
utmost confusion. The poor Federals were at their wits’ end; they knew not
what to do, or which way to turn. The whole state was in terror. The name
of Morgan was on every tongue; his force was magnified fivefold. General
Boyle, in command of the Department of Kentucky, was deluged with
telegrams imploring assistance. He in turn deluged General Halleck,
General Buell, and even President Lincoln. “Send me troops, or Kentucky is
lost. John Morgan will have it,” he said.
Lincoln telegraphed to Halleck at Corinth: “They are having a stampede in
Kentucky. Please look to it.”
Buell telegraphed: “I can do nothing. Have no men I can send.” Thus
Kentucky was left to her fears. Never did a thousand men create a greater
panic.
From Midway Colonel Morgan made a strong demonstration toward Frankfort,
strengthening the belief that he was to attack that place, but his real
object was the capture of Lexington.
Calhoun, with his men, scouted clear up to the outskirts of the place,
driving in the Federal outposts; but he learned that the city was
garrisoned by at least five times the number of Morgan’s men. This fact he
reported to his chief, who saw that it would be madness to attempt to
capture it. Morgan therefore resolved to swing clear around Lexington,
thoroughly breaking the railroad which led from that place to Cincinnati,
so he gave orders to start for Paris. But he was unexpectedly delayed for
a day at Midway by an unfortunate incident, the capture of Calhoun and one
of his men by the Home Guards.
CHAPTER VI.
CAPTURED BY HOME GUARDS.
All through Kentucky during the war there were companies of troops known
as Home Guards. They were in reality the militia of the state. They in
many instances rendered valuable services, and did much to keep Kentucky
in the Union. If it had not been for them, the Federal government would
have been obliged to keep twice as many troops in the state as it did. Not
being under as strict discipline as the United States troops, they were
more dreaded by the Southern element than the regular army.
These Home Guards were very bitter, and lost no opportunity of harassing
those who clung to the cause of the South. Now and then there were bands
of these Guards that were nothing but bands of guerrillas who lived by
plundering, and they were frequently guilty of the most cold-blooded
murders. It was by such a band that Calhoun was captured. He had been
scouting toward Frankfort to see if the Federals were moving any
considerable body of troops from that place to attack Morgan. He found
them so frightened that they were not thinking of attacking Morgan; they
were bending every nerve to defend the city from an expected attack by
him. He was on his way back with the news that there was no danger from
the direction of Frankfort, when he was told that a band of Home Guards,
that were in fact a set of robbers, had their haunts in the rough, hilly
country to the south of him, and he determined to try to effect their
capture. After riding several miles, and hearing nothing of them, he
ordered a return to Midway.
The day was very hot, and coming to a cross-road, where several trees cast
their grateful shade and a little brook ran babbling by, he ordered his
men to halt and rest. The shade and the water were very acceptable to both
man and beast; dismounting, the men lay sprawling around in the shade.
Seeing a house standing on an eminence up the cross-road, Calhoun decided
to take one of his soldiers named Nevels, and ride up to it to see if he
could learn anything.
“Better let us all go, there is no telling what one may run into in this
country,” said a sergeant named Graham, who in the absence of Calhoun
would be in command of the little company.
“No, Graham,” answered Calhoun, “both men and horses are tired, and need
the little rest they are getting. I do not think there is any danger. If I
see anything suspicious, I will signal to you.” With these words Calhoun
with his companion rode away.
“There he goes as careless as if there was not an enemy within forty
miles,” said Graham, looking after them, and shaking his head. “I tell you
the Lieutenant will get into trouble some of these days. He is altogether
too rash; never thinks of danger.”
“Don’t worry about the Lieutenant,” lazily replied one of the men; “he
never gets into a scrape without getting out of it. He is a good one, he
is.”
The Sergeant did not answer, but stood earnestly gazing after his chief,
who by this time was about a quarter of a mile away. Here Calhoun and
Nevels descended into a depression, which for a moment would hide them
from the watchful eyes of the Sergeant.
As Calhoun entered this depression, he noticed that a thick growth of
underbrush came up close to the side of the road, affording a splendid
place for concealment. For a moment a feeling as of unseen danger came
over him, but nothing suspicious could be seen or heard, and dismissing
the thought, he rode forward. Suddenly Calhoun’s horse stopped and pricked
up his ears.
“What’s the matter, Selim? What do you see?” exclaimed Calhoun, as he
gently touched him with the spur.
The horse sprang forward, but had gone but a few yards, when as suddenly
as if they had arisen out of the ground, a dozen men, with levelled guns,
arose by the side of the road, and demanded their surrender. Desperate as
the chance was, Calhoun wheeled his horse to flee, when before him stood a
dozen more men; his retreat was cut off.
“Surrender, or you are dead men,” cried the leader. Calhoun saw they were
surrounded by at least twenty-five men, and a most villainous-looking set
they were. There was no help for it. To refuse to surrender meant instant
death, and Calhoun and Nevels yielded as gracefully as possible.
The Sergeant stood still looking up the road waiting for them to appear,
when he caught sight of the head of a man, then of another, and another.
“Boys,” he shouted, excitedly, “something is wrong; the Lieutenant is in
trouble.”
The little squad sprang to their horses, and without thinking of danger,
or what force they would meet, rode to the rescue, the Sergeant in the
lead. But when they neared the place, they were met with a volley which
brought three of the horses down and seriously wounded two of the men.
“Forward!” shouted the Sergeant, staggering to his feet, and holding his
wounded arm, from which the blood was streaming.
But another volley brought down two more of the horses, and the Sergeant
seeing they were outnumbered more than two to one, ordered a halt, and
made preparations to resist a charge, which he thought would surely come.
No charge came, and all was silent in front. The Sergeant ordered an
advance, but no enemy was found. They had silently decamped and left no
trace behind, and had taken Calhoun and Nevels with them.
Crippled as they were, and the Sergeant suffering terribly from his wound,
it was decided it would be madness to pursue with their small force. So
one of the men on a swift horse was sent to carry the news to Morgan,
while the others followed more leisurely.
When the news reached camp, the greatest excitement prevailed, and every
man in the command clamored to be sent to the rescue. Colonel Morgan chose
Captain Huffman, who, with thirty of his famous Texan rangers, was soon
galloping to the scene of the encounter, under the guidance of the courier
who had brought the news. On the way they met Calhoun’s little squad
sorrowfully returning. Not a man but begged to be allowed to go with the
rescuing party, but this, on account of the tired condition of their
horses, and on account of the two wounded men, had to be refused.
It was well along in the afternoon when the theatre of the encounter was
reached. Captain Huffman had with him three or four men who for years had
been accustomed to Indian fighting in Texas; these men took up the trail
and followed it like bloodhounds. After going three or four miles, the
advance ran into two men, who sought safety by running into the woods; but
a shot in the leg brought one of them down, and he was captured. At first
he denied knowing anything of the affair, saying he had heard nothing of a
fight. But when Captain Huffman ordered a rope to be brought and it was
placed around his neck, he begged piteously, saying that if they would
spare his life he would tell them all he knew. And this is what he told
them:
He belonged to a band led by a man known as “Red Bill” from his florid
complexion. It was this band that had captured Calhoun and Nevels. It
seemed that the officer whom they had captured had known Red Bill in
Danville, and taunted him with being a chicken-thief. This so angered Red
Bill that he determined to hang the officer. This resulted in a quarrel
among the members of the band, many of whom had become tired of the
leadership of Red Bill, being fearful that his crimes would bring
retribution on their heads. At last it was agreed that the band would
disperse, Red Bill, on the promise that he might have the two horses
captured, agreeing to deliver the two prisoners to the Federal commander
at Frankfort.
“But,” added the prisoner, whose name was Evans, “I doubt if they ever
reach Frankfort. I reckon Red Bill will find some means of getting rid of
them before he gets there.”
Captain Huffman listened to this story with horror. “If this miscreant
makes way with Lieutenant Pennington and Nevels, I will hunt him to his
death, if it takes ten years,” he declared. Then turning to Evans, he
asked: “Did any of the gang side with Red Bill?”
“Yes, five of them did, and stayed with him,” was the answer.
“And you men, at least twenty of you, by your own story, coolly left our
men to be foully murdered?” furiously demanded Captain Huffman.
The prisoner hung his head, but did not answer.
“Answer!” thundered Huffman.
“Red Bill promised to take them to Frankfort,” he at length managed to
say.
“And you have just admitted that his promise was worth nothing. Where did
this thing occur? Where did you leave Red Bill and his prisoners?”
demanded Huffman.
“About three miles from here,” answered Evans.
“Lead us to the place at once.”
“I dare not,” he whimpered; “Red Bill will kill me if I give away the
place of rendezvous. We are under a terrible oath not to reveal it.”
“You need not fear Red Bill,” answered Captain Huffman, in ominous tones,
“for I am going to hang you. Boys, bring the rope.”
“Mercy! Mercy!” gasped the shivering wretch.
“Then lead us to the place where you left Red Bill, and that quickly.”
“My wound,” he whined, pointing to his leg.
“Bind up his leg,” said Huffman to one of his men.
The wound was rudely dressed, and then Evans was placed on a horse in
front of a sturdy trooper.
“Now take us to the place where you left Red Bill, by the shortest and
quickest route; you say it is three miles. If we don’t reach it in half an
hour, I will hang you like a dog. And,” continued Huffman, to the trooper
in front of whom Evans was riding, “blow out his brains at the first sign
of treachery.”
For answer the trooper touched his revolver significantly.
After riding swiftly for about two miles, Evans bade them turn into a path
which led into the woods. The way became rough and rocky, and their
progress was necessarily slower. Evans was in mortal terror lest the
half-hour would be up before they could reach the place.
“It is right down thar,” he at length said, pointing down a ravine which
led to a stream.
The place was admirably adapted for concealment. On a small level place
surrounded by high cliffs stood a tumble-down house. It was shut in from
view from every point except the single one on which they stood.
“Leave the horses here,” whispered Huffman, “I think I caught sight of
some one down there. We will creep up on them unawares.”
Leaving the horses in charge of ten men, Captain Huffman, with the rest of
his force, silently crept down the gorge.
[Illustration: THEY SILENTLY CREPT DOWN THE GORGE.]
We will now turn to Calhoun. After he was captured and heard his men
cheering as they made the charge, his heart stood still, for he expected
they would all be killed. He was, therefore, greatly surprised when the
firing ceased, and his captors came running back, and hurried him through
the woods at a break-neck speed. The rapid pace was kept up for about
three miles, when finding they were not pursued, they adopted a more
leisurely gait. Of this Calhoun was glad, for he was entirely out of
breath. The leader of the gang, and another, probably the second in
command, had appropriated the horses, and Calhoun and Nevels had been
forced to walk, or rather run.
Once Calhoun ventured to ask the result of the fight, and was told that
all of his men had been killed. This he knew to be a lie, as his captors
would not have retreated so hastily if they had achieved so sweeping a
victory. He asked another question, but was roughly told to shut up.
When the rendezvous was reached Red Bill for the first time noticed his
prisoners closely. He started when he saw Calhoun, and then turning to his
gang, said, “I reckon we had better string these fellows up, and get them
out of the way.”
“String us up,” boldly answered Calhoun, “and I would not give a cent for
your worthless lives; Morgan would never rest, as long as one of you
encumbered the earth.”
“Who is afraid of Morgan!” exclaimed Red Bill, with an oath. “He and the
rest of you are nuthin’ but hoss-thieves an’ yo’ will all hang one of
these days. I know yo’, my young rooster, you air the son of that ole
Rebil, Judge Pennington of Danville. I hev it in fur him.”
“And I know you now,” hotly replied Calhoun, forgetting the danger he was
in. “You used to live in Danville, and went by the name of Red Bill. Your
popularity consisted in the fact that you were known as an adept
chicken-thief. My father once sent you to jail for petit larceny.”
Bill’s face grew still redder. “Yo’ lie, yo’ dog!” he hissed. “Yo’ father
did send me to jail, but I war innocent, an’ he knowed it. But he thought
I war only po’ white trash, while he is an aristocrat. I swore to hev my
revenge, an’ I will hev it. Boys, what do we-uns do with hoss-thieves in
ole Kentuck?”
“Hang ’em,” exclaimed four or five voices.
“An’ we-uns will hang this crowin’ bantam. I will learn him to call me a
chicken-thief, classin’ me with niggers!” exclaimed Red Bill, with fury.
“What will we-uns do with the other feller?” asked one of the men.
“Hang him too. Dead men don’t talk.”
But some of the gang began to demur over this summary proceeding, saying
that the Federal authorities would deal severely with them if it became
known they murdered prisoners in cold blood. Not only this, but Morgan had
captured hundreds of Home Guards and paroled them. But if they should
execute one of his prominent officers, he would show no mercy.
The discussion became so hot, they came nearly fighting among themselves.
At last one of them said, “I am tired of the hull business. I am goin’
home.”
“An’ I!” “An’ I!” cried a dozen voices.
It was finally agreed that the gang should disband, only five agreeing to
remain with Red Bill. Being allowed to keep the plunder and horses they
had captured, these men, with Red Bill, promised to deliver Calhoun and
Nevels to the Federal authorities at Frankfort, unharmed.
Calhoun and Nevels had watched this quarrel among their captors with the
utmost anxiety, knowing that upon the result depended their lives. It was
with the deepest concern that they beheld the members of the party depart,
leaving them with Red Bill and his five boon companions.
No sooner were they alone than the six, with oaths and jeers, tied their
prisoners securely to trees, drawing the cords so closely that they cut
into the flesh. Although the pain was terrible, neither Calhoun nor Nevels
uttered a moan. After the prisoners were thus securely tied, Red Bill
produced a bottle of whisky, and the six commenced drinking, apparently
taking no notice of their captives. The whole six were soon fiendishly
drunk.
Staggering up to Calhoun, Red Bill growled: “Think we-uns goin’ to take
you to Frankfort, I reckin’.”
“That is what you promised,” replied Calhoun, calmly.
“Well, we-uns ain’t. We-uns goin’ to hang ye!”
Calhoun turned pale, then controlling himself by a powerful effort, he
replied: “Do the Home Guards of Kentucky violate every principle of
honorable warfare?”
“Damn honorable warfare! Yo-uns called me a chicken-thief; I call you a
hoss-thief. Hoss-thieves air hanged. Ha! ha! the son of Judge Pennington
strung up fo’ stealin’ hosses! Won’t that sound nice?” and he burst into a
devilish laugh, in which he was joined by the others.
Calhoun saw there was no hope. It was hard to die such an ignominious
death. “Oh!” he thought, “if I had only been permitted to die amid the
flame and smoke of battle. Such a death is glorious; but this——” A great
lump arose in his throat, and came near choking him.
Gulping it back, he whispered to Nevels: “Don’t show the white feather.
Let them see how Morgan’s men can die.”
The brave fellow nodded; he could not speak. He had a wife and child at
home.
They were unbound from the tree, but their arms and limbs were kept
tightly pinioned. Ropes were brought and tied around their necks, and the
free ends thrown over a limb of the tree.
“Can ye tie a true hangman’s knot, Jack?” asked Red of the villain who was
adjusting the rope around Calhoun’s neck.
“That I can, Red,” he answered, with a chuckling laugh. “It’s as neat a
job as eny sheriff can do.”
The sun had just sunk to rest; the gloom of night was settling over the
forest. Calhoun saw the shadows thicken among the trees. The darkness of
death would soon be upon him.
“String ’em up!” shouted Red.
Just then the solemn hoot of a distant owl was heard. One of the men
holding the rope dropped it, and shivered from head to foot.
“Boys,” he whispered, “let’s don’t do it. That’s a note of warning. I
never knew it to fail.”
“Cuss ye fo’ a white-livered coward!” yelled Red Bill. “String them up, I
tell ye!”
For answer there came the sharp crack of rifles, the rush of armed men,
and the infuriated Texans were on them. No mercy was shown; in a moment it
was all over.
Quickly the cords which bound Calhoun and Nevels were cut, and the
terrible nooses removed from their necks. “Thank God, we were in time!”
cried Captain Huffman, wringing Calhoun’s hand.
But Calhoun stood as one in a trance. So sudden had been his deliverance,
he could not realize it. He had nerved himself to die, and now that he was
safe, he felt sick and faint, and would have fallen if he had not been
supported. Both he and Nevels soon rallied, and poured out their thanks to
the brave men who had come to their rescue.
“We would never have found you,” said Huffman, “if we had not run on one
of the gang who under the threat of death piloted us here.”
“Where is he?” asked Calhoun.
“With the boys up with the horses.”
“Let him go,” pleaded Calhoun; “but for him I would now have been food for
the buzzards.”
“To which we will leave these carrion,” answered Huffman, pointing to the
dead Home Guards. “But we must be going; Morgan is impatient to be on the
road.”
Great was the rejoicing in Morgan’s command when Captain Huffman returned
bringing Calhoun and Nevels safe; and much satisfaction was expressed over
the fate of their captors. In half an hour after the return of Captain
Huffman’s command, Morgan’s men were en route for Paris.
CHAPTER VII.
CALHOUN TAKES FRED PRISONER.
After leaving Midway, Morgan did not march directly to Paris, but halted
at Georgetown, a little city twelve miles north of Lexington. The citizens
of Georgetown gave Morgan’s command the same joyous welcome which they had
received at almost every place visited; for Morgan came to them not as an
enemy, but as a liberator.
From Georgetown Morgan resolved to attack Cynthiana, which lies north of
Paris, having heard there was a considerable body of Federal troops
stationed there. Sending a small force toward Lexington to keep up the
fiction of an attack upon that place, Morgan moved with the main body of
his force upon Cynthiana.
Here was fought the fiercest battle that Morgan was engaged in during his
raid. Cynthiana was held by Colonel John J. Landram of the Eighteenth
Kentucky. He had under him about four hundred men, mostly Home Guards and
raw recruits. Landram put up a most gallant defence, and the battle raged
for an hour and a half with the greatest fury. It was at last decided by a
furious charge made by Major Evans at the head of his Texas rangers. The
entire force of Colonel Landram was killed, wounded, and taken prisoners.
Colonel Morgan lamented the loss of some forty of his bravest men. Calhoun
was not in this fight, having been sent with his scouts toward Lexington
to watch the movements of the enemy.
From Cynthiana, Morgan moved on Paris, and the place surrendered without a
shot being fired. Some twenty-five miles of the Cincinnati and Lexington
railroad was now in Morgan’s possession, and he proceeded to destroy it as
thoroughly as his limited time admitted. But he was being encompassed by
his enemies. A large force was moving on him from Frankfort; another from
Lexington. Calhoun with his faithful scouts kept him fully informed of
these movements.
Just in time to elude General Green Clay Smith’s forces from Lexington, he
marched for Winchester. His next move was to Richmond. This left all the
pursuing forces in the rear. The celerity of Morgan’s movements, the
marvellous endurance of his men, astonished and confounded his enemies.
At Richmond, Morgan decided to make a stand and give battle to his
pursuers; but Calhoun brought word that at least five thousand Federals
were closing in on him. To give battle to such a number would have been
madness, so he marched for Crab Orchard. On the march Calhoun made a
detour toward Danville so as to visit the plantation of his uncle, Colonel
Richard Shackelford. He was also in hopes of meeting his cousin Fred. He
had heard how Fred had interceded for his father, keeping him from being
sent to a Northern prison, and he wished to thank him. He was ashamed of
the hatred he had felt toward him, and resolved to make amends for it.
His arrival was a genuine surprise, but to his consternation Fred
presented himself in the uniform of a captain of the Federal army. His men
clamored to take Fred prisoner, but just as Calhoun had succeeded in
quieting them, to his dismay Captain Conway came galloping upon the scene
at the head of his company. He had obtained permission from Morgan to
scout toward Danville. His real object was to capture Fred, who he knew
was at home. Once in his hands, he hoped to convict him as a spy. His plan
was frustrated by the bold stand taken by Colonel Shackelford, who
delivered Fred as a prisoner to Calhoun with instructions to take him to
Morgan. This Calhoun did, and Morgan at once paroled him, although Conway
tried his best to have him held as a spy. Morgan not only paroled Fred,
but let him return with the horse he had ridden, although many of the men
looked on the splendid animal with envious eyes. But Morgan would not hear
of their taking a horse which belonged to his old friend, Colonel
Shackelford.
“Why didn’t you ride that horse of yours?” asked Captain Mathews of Fred,
alluding to Fred’s famous horse, Prince.
“Afraid you might keep him,” laughed Fred; “you are a good judge of a
horse, Captain.”
“Right you are,” responded Mathews; “I am sorry I didn’t think of that
horse when we were at Richmond. I would have visited you with my friend
Conway, and taken the horse. Think I will have to return for him yet.”
Fred thought little of what Mathews said, but that very night Mathews
dispatched two of his men back in disguise to steal Fred’s horse.
From Crab Orchard Morgan marched to Somerset, surprising the place, and
capturing a large wagon-train. It was also a depot for army supplies, all
of which Morgan gave to the torch. Here he again took possession of the
telegraph office, and enlightened the Federals as to his movements.
At Somerset Morgan’s raid was practically at an end. There were no Federal
troops in front of him; his pursuers were a day behind. After he had
completed the destruction of all the United States property in the place,
and was ready to leave, he caused the following dispatches to be sent:
Somerset, Ky., July 22, 1862.
GEORGE D. PRENTICE, Louisville, Ky.
Good morning, George D. I am quietly watching the complete destruction of
all of Uncle Sam’s property in this little burg. I regret exceedingly that
this is the last that comes under my supervision on this route. I expect
in a short time to pay you a visit, and wish to know if you will be at
home. All well in Dixie.
JOHN H. MORGAN,
Commanding Brigade.
Somerset, Ky., July 22, 1862.
GENERAL J. T. BOYLE, Louisville, Ky.
Good morning, Jerry! This telegraph is a great institution. You should
destroy it, as it keeps me too well posted. My friend Ellsworth has all of
your dispatches since July 10 on file. Do you wish copies?
JOHN H. MORGAN,
Commanding Brigade.
Somerset, Ky., July 22, 1862.
HON. GEORGE DUNLAP, Washington, D. C.
Just completed my tour through Kentucky. Captured sixteen cities,
destroyed millions of dollars of United States property. Passed through
your county, but regret not seeing you. We paroled fifteen hundred Federal
prisoners. Your old friend,
JOHN H. MORGAN,
Commanding Brigade.
The feelings of the above gentlemen as they received these telegrams can
better be imagined than described. The one to General Boyle must have cut
him to the quick as he read it. To know how completely Morgan had
outwitted him was like gall and wormwood to him.
From Somerset Morgan halted his command at Livingston, Tennessee, to take
a much-needed rest. Never did men need it more. They had accomplished one
of the most astonishing feats in the annals of American warfare. No wonder
the name of Morgan struck terror to the hearts of the Federals. Morgan in
his report of his raid sums it up as follows:
“I left Knoxville on the 4th day of this month with about nine hundred
men, and returned to Livingston on the 28th instant with nearly twelve
hundred, having been absent just twenty-four days, during which time I
travelled over one thousand miles, captured seventeen towns, destroyed all
the government property and arms in them, dispersed about fifteen hundred
Home Guards, and paroled nearly twelve hundred regular troops. I lost in
killed, wounded, and missing of the number I carried into Kentucky, about
ninety.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CAPTURE OF GALLATIN.
Morgan’s command had not been encamped at Livingston more than two or
three days when, to every one’s astonishment, a couple of soldiers
belonging to Captain Mathews’s company came riding into camp, one on Fred
Shackelford’s famous horse, Prince, and the other on a well-known horse of
Colonel Shackelford’s, called Blenheim.
Calhoun, hearing the cheering and laughter which greeted the soldiers as
they galloped in waving their hats and shouting, ran out of his quarters
to see what was occasioning the excitement. He could hardly believe his
eyes when he saw the well-known horse of Fred. Then his heart gave a great
jump, for the thought came to him that his cousin had been waylaid and
killed. But if so, how did the soldiers come to have Blenheim too? To his
relief he soon learned the truth of the story, how from Crab Orchard
Captain Mathews had sent back two of his company to capture Prince, and
they had returned not only with Prince, but with Blenheim. Mathews was in
high spirits as he appropriated Prince. Jumping on his back he galloped
him through camp, showing off his fine points, and declaring he could
outrun any horse in the brigade. A match was soon arranged, but Prince so
easily outstripped every competitor that soon no officer was found who had
the hardihood to enter his horse in the lists against him.
Blenheim was awarded to Conway, much to his satisfaction. He could not
forego the opportunity of crowing over Calhoun, thinking he would be vexed
over the capture of his cousin’s horse.
“Why do you come blowing around me?” asked Calhoun, nettled by his manner,
“I am neither the keeper of my cousin nor the keeper of his horse.”
“Oh, you were so careful of his precious person when I took him prisoner,
I did not know but your carefulness might extend to his horse,” replied
Conway, with a sneer.
Calhoun felt his blood boil, but controlling himself, he replied: “You did
not take Captain Shackelford, and I am surprised that you should make such
a statement. You forget that I was there before you.”
“You would have let the fellow go,” snapped Conway.
“Just as Colonel Morgan did, on his parole,” answered Calhoun.
“It was your fault that he slipped through my fingers,” exclaimed Conway,
angrily, “but my time will come. I have swore to see him hanged before
this war is over, and I shall.”
“Catch your rabbit before you skin him, Captain,” replied Calhoun, with
provoking coolness; and the laugh was on Conway, who turned away with a
muttered oath.
Conway had entertained a secret dislike to Calhoun ever since their first
meeting, partly because he had been chosen by Morgan, instead of Conway
himself, to go back to Kentucky, and partly on account of his being Fred’s
cousin. But after the affair at Colonel Shackelford’s house, he took
little pains to conceal his dislike. Many of the officers of the brigade
noticed this, and predicted that sooner or later there would be trouble
between the two.
But Calhoun was not through with being bantered over the capture of
Prince. Captain Mathews came riding up and with a flourish said: “Ah!
Lieutenant, I reckon you have seen this hoss before; what do you think of
him?” Now, Mathews was a rough, rollicking fellow, and quite a favorite in
the command. He and Calhoun were good friends, and so Calhoun answered
pleasantly: “He is the best horse in Kentucky. I know it, for I was once
beaten by him in a race. But,” continued Calhoun, with a laugh, “my advice
is to guard him very carefully, or Captain Shackelford will get him back,
sure. That horse has more tricks than you dream of.”
“I am not worrying,” replied Mathews. “One of your scouts has just had to
fork over five dollars to one of my men, on a bet they made at Crab
Orchard that I could not get the hoss. Perhaps you would like to bet I
can’t keep him?”
“Yes, I will go you twenty-five that Captain Shackelford will have his
horse back in less than two months,” answered Calhoun, dryly.
“Done!” exclaimed the Captain, gleefully, and the stakes were placed in
the hands of Captain Huffman. The bet afforded much amusement to the
officers, but all of them looked upon it as a very foolish bet on the part
of Calhoun.
“That twenty-five is gone,” said Huffman to Calhoun, as he pocketed the
stakes, “but I am sure of having fifty dollars for at least two months.”
“I reckon I shall lose,” said Calhoun, “but Mathews had better not let
Shackelford get sight of his horse.”
“Why?” asked a dozen voices in concert.
“Because that horse is up to more antics than a trick horse in a circus.
You will see, if we ever run across my cousin in our raids.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said one of the officers, “but your cousin
will have a fine time getting that horse away from Jim Mathews.”
“Wait and see,” was Calhoun’s answer.
It was not many days before they knew what Calhoun meant. A few days
sufficed to rest Morgan’s command, and it was not the nature of Morgan to
remain long idle. He had to be doing something. It was known that the
Confederate armies were about ready to make the long-talked-of forward
movement into Kentucky. In fact, General Kirby Smith had already set out
from Knoxville to invade Eastern Kentucky, and General Bragg was nearly
ready to take the initiative from Chattanooga.
The Federal army in Tennessee was scattered, and owing to the raids of
Morgan and Forrest, the men were on short rations. General Buell was at
his wits’ end. He knew that General Bragg was preparing to advance, but
thought he would not attempt the invasion of Kentucky before attacking
him. He therefore looked for a great battle somewhere in Middle Tennessee,
and concentrated his forces for that event.
Before Bragg moved, Morgan decided to strike another blow at the
Louisville and Nashville Railroad, and this time right under the noses of
the Federal army. Gallatin is only twenty-six miles from Nashville, and
Morgan decided to attempt its capture. In order to spy out the land,
Calhoun entered the place as a country lad. He found that it was
garrisoned by a Federal force of about four hundred, under the command of
Colonel Boone. The discipline was lax. In the daytime no pickets were out,
and Calhoun found no difficulty in entering the place. He made himself
known to a few of the citizens, and they gave him all the information
possible. To them the coming of Morgan meant deliverance from a hateful
foe.
It did not take Calhoun long to find out the station of every picket at
night. The camp of the Federals was on the fair-ground, half a mile from
the city. Colonel Boone was accustomed to sleep at a hotel in the city; in
fact, his wife was sick at the hotel. Colonel Boone knew that Morgan was
near, and was fearful of an attack. He telegraphed both to Nashville and
to General Buell at MacMinnville for reinforcements, but no attention was
paid to his demand. Instead, he was ordered to send nearly half of his
force away to intercept a drove of beef cattle which it was reported the
Confederates were driving down from Kentucky.
That the citizens might not know that his numbers were depleted, Colonel
Boone did not send this force away until midnight, thinking no one would
see them depart. But sharp eyes were watching. Nothing was going on in
Gallatin without Calhoun’s knowledge. He lost no time in reporting to
Morgan, and the attack came swiftly.
Knowing the location of every picket post, Calhoun was able to effect
their capture without the firing of a gun, and Morgan rode into Gallatin
without the knowledge of the Federal force, which was only half a mile
away. Colonel Boone was captured at the hotel. The first intimation he had
that Morgan was in the city was when he was commanded by Calhoun to
surrender. A demand was now made on the camp that it should surrender,
which it did. Thus without firing a gun Gallatin, with the entire Federal
garrison and all the military stores which it contained, was captured.
Losing no time, Morgan ordered the companies of Captain Mathews and
Captain Conway, together with Calhoun’s scouts, to take the stockade which
guarded the tunnel six miles north of town. The attack was successful, the
stockade surrendering after a slight resistance. The tunnel was now in the
possession of the Confederates.
A long train of cars which had been captured was piled with wood, rails,
and other combustibles, set on fire, and run into the tunnel. The sides
and roof of the tunnel were supported by heavy woodwork, and the whole
tunnel was soon a roaring mass of flame. The wood being burned away the
tunnel caved in, and it was months before a train ran through from
Louisville to Nashville. Morgan had effectually blocked the road. Highly
elated with their success, the command returned to Gallatin, Mathews and
Conway riding at the head of the column. To Calhoun was committed the care
of the prisoners, and he brought up the rear.
When about half-way to Gallatin, Calhoun heard the report of a single
pistol shot in front, then a rapid succession of rifle shots. The head of
the column seemed to be thrown into confusion, and the whole command came
to a halt.
Fearful that an attack had been made by a Federal force coming from
Nashville, Calhoun gave orders to shoot down the first prisoner who
attempted to escape, and prepared to resist any attack that might come.
But no more firing was heard, and the column began to move again. Soon an
officer came riding back and told Calhoun a story that interested him
greatly.
Mathews and Conway were riding at the head of the column, when, as it
reached a cross-road, a peculiar sharp whistle suddenly pierced the air.
Mathews’s horse gave a prodigious bound, unseated his rider, and dashed up
the cross-road. Conway’s horse bolted, and in spite of Conway’s efforts,
followed.
A boy sprang out of the bushes into the road, and Mathews’s horse stopped
by his side. He fired at Conway, hitting him in the shoulder. To save
himself from being shot again, Conway flung himself from his horse. The
boy sprang onto Mathews’s horse and rode away at full speed, followed by
the other horse. An ineffectual volley was fired at the boy. Captain
Mathews’s arm was broken by the fall.
[Illustration: HE FIRED AT CONWAY.]
“So Captain Mathews has lost his horse?” asked Calhoun, with a faint
smile.
“Yes, he will quit blowing now.”
“And I have won twenty-five dollars; but I am sorry Mathews had his arm
broken.”
When Calhoun reached Gallatin, Captain Conway had had his wound dressed,
and Mathews’s arm was in splints. Conway was in a towering passion. He
blamed Calhoun for his ill-luck, saying if it had not been for him, Fred
Shackelford would have been hanged as a spy. From this time he did not try
to conceal his hatred of Calhoun.
Captain Mathews took his misfortune more philosophically. “It was a blamed
sharp trick on the part of young Shackelford!” he exclaimed. Then turning
to Captain Huffman, he said: “Give that money to Lieutenant Pennington; he
has won it. But I give you all fair warning I shall get that hoss back. My
reputation depends upon it. Then to think that I, who prided myself on
being one of the best hossmen in Morgan’s troop, should be thrown. Bah! it
makes me sick,” and his face took on a look of disgust.
“I warned you,” said Calhoun, “that that horse was up to tricks. When Fred
gives that whistle he will unhorse any rider who is on his back. I have
seen Fred try it time and time again with his father’s nigger boys as
riders, and Prince never failed of unhorsing them. When Fred gave that
whistle his horse would have gone to him, or died in the attempt.”
“I am sorry you didn’t let Conway hang him,” replied Mathews, gently
rubbing his broken arm, “but I will get even with him, see if I don’t. I
want that hoss worse than ever.”
A few days after the capture of Gallatin, a Federal force moved up from
Nashville, reoccupied the city, committed many depredations, and began
arresting the citizens right and left, accusing them of complicity with
Morgan. When Morgan heard of this he at once moved to the relief of the
distressed city. Attacking the rear guard of the enemy as it was leaving
the place, he not only defeated them, but drove them to within seven miles
of Nashville, capturing the force at Pilot Knob, and burning the high
railroad trestle at that place. He also captured a train of cars and
liberated forty of the citizens of Gallatin who were being taken to
Nashville as prisoners. They had been used with the greatest cruelty by
their captors.
In this raid Morgan captured nearly two hundred prisoners. Notwithstanding
the provocation was great, considering the way the citizens of Gallatin
had been used, Morgan treated his prisoners kindly and paroled them.
The Federal authorities, now being thoroughly alarmed, resolved to crush
Morgan. To this end a brigade of cavalry was organized at MacMinnville,
placed under the command of General R. W. Johnson, and sent against him.
Johnson thought that Morgan was at Hartsville, and marched against that
place. But when he reached Hartsville and learned that Morgan was at
Gallatin, he at once marched to attack him there, confident of easy
victory.
Up to this time the Federals had boasted that Morgan would not fight
anything like an equal force; that he always attacked isolated posts with
overwhelming numbers. They were now to learn something different. Morgan
had been kept well posted by Calhoun and his scouts with regard to every
movement of Johnson. Although he knew that he was greatly outnumbered,
Morgan resolved to give battle and teach the boasting Yankees a lesson.
Early on the morning of August 21 Calhoun came galloping into Gallatin
with the information that Johnson was close at hand. To avoid fighting a
battle in the city Morgan moved out on the Hartsville pike, meeting the
enemy about two miles from Gallatin. The engagement opened at once with
fury. Up to that time it was the greatest engagement fought in the West in
which cavalry only was engaged.
For a time the Federals fought bravely, and for an hour the issue of the
battle was doubtful; then a charge stampeded a portion of the Federal
forces. Thoroughly panic-stricken they threw away guns, accoutrements,
everything that impeded their progress, thinking only of safety in flight.
Plunging into the Cumberland River, they forded it and did not stop
running until they reached Nashville.
The remaining Federal force under General Johnson retreated about two
miles, and then made a brave stand. But nothing could withstand the fury
of Colonel Basil Duke’s attack, whose command had the advance. General
Johnson and many of his men were taken prisoners, and the remainder were
scattered.
In this engagement the Federals lost two hundred men, killed, wounded, and
missing. Their general himself was a prisoner. Thus, to their cost, they
found that when the occasion demanded it Morgan would fight. Morgan’s loss
in the battle was only five killed and twenty wounded; but among the
latter was the brave Captain Huffman, who had an arm shattered.
Colonel Basil Duke, in this fight, won the highest praise from Morgan for
the masterly manner in which he handled his regiment. It was greatly owing
to the efforts of Colonel Duke that the victory was won.
In this battle Calhoun bore a conspicuous part. Single-handed he engaged a
Federal officer who was trying to rally his men, and forced him to
surrender. When he delivered up his sword Calhoun saw to his surprise that
it was his old acquaintance, Lieutenant Haines.
“Ah, Lieutenant,” said Calhoun, “I am glad to have met you again. When the
battle is over I will come and see you.”
“Pennington again, as I am alive!” gasped the astonished Lieutenant.
After all was over Calhoun sought him out, and found him sitting dejected
and crestfallen among the prisoners.
“Cheer up, Lieutenant,” said Calhoun, pleasantly; “we are going to parole
you. You will soon be at liberty.”
“How often do you want to parole a fellow? This will be the third time,”
growled Haines. “Curse the luck. I thought we would wipe you off the face
of the earth sure this time. We would, too, if it hadn’t been for that
cowardly regiment which broke.”
“An ‘if’ has stood in between many a man and success,” answered Calhoun.
“How long ago were you exchanged?”
“About two months,” replied Haines, “and here I am in for it again. I
expected to win a captaincy to-day. If this is the way it goes, I shall
die a lieutenant.”
“Oh, you may wear the star of a general yet, who knows? To change the
subject, have you met the charming Miss Osborne since your return to the
army?”
A change came over the face of Haines—one that transformed his rather
handsome features into those of a malignant spirit. Calhoun saw it and
wondered. The Lieutenant quickly recovered himself, and answered:
“Yes, but trouble has come upon the family. Mr. Osborne refused to take
the oath of allegiance, and as he was looked upon as a dangerous
character, he has been sent North as a prisoner.”
“To wear his life away in some Northern bastile!” exclaimed Calhoun, in a
fury. “Monstrous!”
“That is not all,” returned Haines. “By some means the house took fire and
burned with all its contents. I did all I could for them—tried to save Mr.
Osborne, but could not; but I will not relax my efforts to have him
released. I have some powerful friends in the North.”
Calhoun thanked him, and went his way. But that look which came over
Haines’s face, what did it mean? It was months before Calhoun knew.
CHAPTER IX.
THE DUEL.
IN August, 1862, Cumberland Gap, the gateway between Eastern Kentucky and
East Tennessee, was held by a Federal force of over ten thousand,
commanded by General George W. Morgan. It was this force which confronted
General Kirby Smith as he set out to invade Kentucky.
The place being too strong to carry by assault, General Smith left a force
in front of the Gap to menace it, made a flank movement with the rest of
his army, passed through Roger’s Gap unopposed, and without paying any
attention to the force at Cumberland Gap, pushed on with all speed for
Central Kentucky.
At the same time General Bragg made his long-expected advance from
Chattanooga, completely deceiving Buell, who first concentrated his army
at Altamont and then at MacMinnville. Bragg marched unopposed up the
Sequatchie Valley to Sparta. General George H. Thomas had advised Buell to
occupy Sparta, but the advice was rejected. Buell could not, or would not,
see that Kentucky was Bragg’s objective point. He now believed that
Nashville or Murfreesboro was the point of danger, and he concentrated his
army at the latter place.
From Sparta General Bragg had marched to Carthage, crossed the Cumberland
River, and was well on his way to Kentucky before Buell waked up. Bragg
was then three days ahead of him. If Bragg had marched straight for
Louisville, there would have been no troops to oppose him until he reached
that place, and Louisville would have fallen. But he stopped to take
Mumfordsville, and the delay was fatal. It gave Buell the opportunity to
overtake him.
When the forward movement began, Colonel John H. Morgan was ordered to
Eastern Kentucky to watch the force at Cumberland Gap and prevent it from
falling on the rear of the army of General Smith. Smith moved rapidly, and
on August 29 fought the battle of Richmond, where a Federal force of seven
thousand was almost annihilated, only about eight hundred escaping.
By the movements of Smith and Bragg the Federal force at Cumberland Gap
was cut off. For that army the situation was a grave one. In their front
was General Stevenson with a force too small to attack, but large enough
to keep them from advancing. In their rear were the Confederate armies.
They were short of food; starvation stared them in the face. It was either
surrender or a retreat through the mountains of Eastern Kentucky.
General George W. Morgan called a council of his officers, and it was
decided to evacuate the Gap and attempt the retreat. The Gap was evacuated
on the night of the 17th of September. All government property which could
not be carried away was given to the flames. The rough mountain road had
been mined, and the mines were exploded to prevent Stevenson from
following. But as Stevenson’s force was infantry, it would be of little
avail in following the retreating Federals.
A toilsome march of two hundred and twenty miles over rough mountainous
roads lay between the Federals and the Ohio River. To the credit of
General G. W. Morgan be it said, he conducted the retreat with consummate
skill. It was expected that a Confederate force in Eastern Kentucky under
General Humphrey Marshall would try to cut the Federals off; but Marshall
never appeared, and it was left to the brigade of John H. Morgan to do
what they could to oppose the retreat. One cavalry brigade could not stop
the progress of ten thousand well-disciplined troops. Day after day Morgan
hung on the Federal flanks and rear, taking advantage of every opening,
and making their way a weary one. After a toilsome march of sixteen days,
the Federal force, footsore and completely exhausted, reached the Ohio at
Greenupsburg on the Ohio River, and was safe.
During these sixteen days, Calhoun was almost continually in the saddle,
the foremost to strike, the last to retreat. When the pursuit was ended,
his little band of scouts had seventy-five prisoners to their credit.
When Morgan saw that it was useless to follow the retreating army any
longer, without taking any rest he turned the head of his column toward
Central Kentucky, for he knew he would be needed there.
Calhoun could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the change a few weeks
had effected. All Central Kentucky had been swept clear of the Federals.
Panic-stricken they had fled back to Louisville and Cincinnati, and were
cowering in their trenches. Indiana and Ohio were in an agony of fear. The
governors were frantically calling on the people to arise _en masse_ and
save their states from invasion.
When the command reached Danville, Calhoun was nearly beside himself with
joy. Over the courthouse floated the Stars and Bars of the South. It was
the first time Calhoun had ever seen there the flag he loved so well. With
a proud hurrah he dashed up to the door of his father’s residence; there
was no one to molest him or make him afraid. From the house of every
friend of the South hung a Confederate flag.
“Redeemed! Kentucky redeemed at last!” shouted Calhoun, as he dismounted.
But he was disappointed in not finding his father at home. The Judge was
in Frankfort, helping to form a provisional government for the state. Many
of the more sanguine of the Southern element of the state already
considered it safe in the Confederacy.
Although his father was not at home, Calhoun received a most joyful
welcome. “Bress de chile, if he isn’t bac’ again,” cried Aunt Chloe.
“Yes, Chloe,” said Calhoun, as he shook her honest black hand, “and now be
sure and get up one of your best dinners, I can eat it in peace this time.
And, Chloe, cook enough for a dozen; Colonel Morgan, with his staff, will
be here to dine.”
But what Morgan’s command learned was anything but satisfactory. Kirby
Smith had advanced to within six miles of Covington, there halted, and at
last fallen back. Bragg, instead of marching direct to Louisville, had
turned aside to Bardstown, allowing Buell’s army to enter the city of
Louisville unopposed. There Buell had been joined by twenty thousand fresh
troops. Clothing and refitting his men, he had turned, and was now
marching on Bardstown. A great battle might be fought any day. In fact, it
was reported that Bragg had already abandoned Bardstown and was marching
in the direction of Danville or Harrodsburg.
“I don’t like it at all,” said Morgan. “Our generals have already let the
golden opportunity pass. But there is still hope. With the armies of Bragg
and Smith united, they should be strong enough to give battle and crush
Buell.”
So good was the dinner and so animated the discussion, that it was late in
the afternoon when they arose from the table. As they came out Morgan
suddenly stopped and said, “Hark!”
Away in the northwest, in the direction of Perryville, the dull heavy
booming of cannon was heard. They listened and the dull roar, like distant
thunder, was continuous.
“A battle is being fought,” they said, in low tones; “May God favor the
right!”
At Perryville the forces of Buell and Bragg had met, and were engaged in
deadly strife. Until nightfall the heavy dull roar was heard, and then it
died away. Which army had been victorious? They could not tell.
After the battle of Perryville, Buell, fully expecting that Bragg would
fight a decisive battle for the possession of the state, remained inactive
for three days for the purpose of concentrating his army. It was fatal to
all his hopes, for Bragg had already decided to leave the state, and he
utilized the three days in getting away with his immense trains. He had
been grievously disappointed in the hope that his army would be largely
recruited, and that at least twenty thousand Kentuckians would flock to
his standard. But Kentucky had already been well drained of men,
furnishing troops by thousands for both sides.
From one point of view, the invasion of Kentucky by the Confederates had
been a magnificent success. A loss of at least twenty thousand had been
inflicted on the Federal armies, while the loss of the Confederate army
had not been over one-third of that number. In addition to that, the
immense stores gathered and taken South were of inestimable value to the
army. But in the chagrin and disappointment over Bragg’s retreat these
things were lost sight of and the Confederate general was most bitterly
denounced.
Calhoun went wild when he heard that the state was to be given up without
a decisive battle, that all that had been gained was to go for naught; and
his feelings were shared by all Morgan’s men.
“It won’t prevent us from visiting the state once in a while,” said
Morgan, with a grim smile.
As for Judge Pennington, he was so disgusted that although his whole heart
was with the South, he gave up all idea of forming a state government
loyal to the Confederacy, and remained quiet during the rest of the war.
“The armies will have to settle it,” he would say; “we can do nothing
here.”
One of the first things that Calhoun did after he reached Danville was to
see Jennie Freeman and thank her for her timely warning. “It was kind of
you, Jennie,” he said, “for I know that you hate the cause for which I am
fighting.”
“My conscience has hurt me awfully ever since,” replied Jennie, with a
toss of her head; “and then I believe you told me an awful fib.”
“Why, how is that, Jennie?” asked Calhoun.
“You worked on my sympathy, and said if you were caught you would be
hanged. The Union forces don’t hang prisoners. They would only have shut
you up, and that is what you deserve.”
“But, Jennie, I was in disguise; they would have hanged me as a spy.”
“Don’t believe it, but I sometimes think half of you Rebels ought to be
hanged.”
“Oh, Jennie, Jennie! what a bloodthirsty creature you have grown! But
where is your father?”
“Thank the Lord, where the old flag yet floats—in Louisville. He will stay
there until that rag comes down,” and she pointed to the Confederate flag
floating over the courthouse.
“Poor girl, never to see her father again,” exclaimed Calhoun, in tones of
compassion.
“What do you mean?” she asked, turning pale. A sudden fear had come over
her; had anything befallen her father?
Calhoun saw her mistake. Laughing, he said, “I only meant that flag would
never come down.”
“Is that all?” she replied, saucily; “you all will be scurrying south like
so many rabbits in less than a week.”
“Give us ten days.”
“No, not an hour more than a week. And mind, if you get caught, you
needn’t call on me for help.”
“Well, Jennie, don’t let’s quarrel. Perhaps I can return the favor you did
me, by helping you some day.”
The opportunity came sooner than he expected. The next day Jennie ventured
out to visit a sick friend. On her return she had to pass a couple of
Confederate officers, one of whom was intoxicated. The other appeared to
be reasoning with him, and trying to get him to go to his quarters.
As Jennie was hurrying past them, the one who was intoxicated staggered
toward her, and leering at her, exclaimed, “How—how do, pretty one? Give
me a—a kiss!”
Jennie turned to flee, but he caught her roughly by the arm. Just as he
did so, he was struck a terrific blow in the face, which sent him rolling
in the gutter.
“Take my arm, Jennie,” said Calhoun, for it was he who struck the blow, “I
will see you safe home.”
The trembling girl took his arm, saying: “Oh, Calhoun, how glad I am you
came! How can I thank you enough! Do you know that dreadful man?”
“Yes, I am sorry to say he is a captain in Morgan’s command. His name is
Conway. We left him back in Tennessee wounded. But he was able to follow
Bragg’s army, and he joined us only yesterday. By the way, it was Fred
Shackelford who shot him. He shot him when he got Prince back. Conway was
riding Blenheim.”
“Oh, Fred told me all about that. Wasn’t that just splendid in him,
getting his horse back!”
“Where is Fred now?” asked Calhoun.
“I don’t know. Did you know General Nelson was shot?”
“Shot? Nelson shot?” cried Calhoun. “Where? How?”
Jennie had to tell him what little she knew about it. All that she had
heard had come from Confederate sources.
“Well, Jennie, here you are at home. I feel ashamed. It is the first time
I ever knew one of Morgan’s men to insult a woman.”
“I hope that miserable Conway will give you no trouble,” said Jennie, as
they parted.
“No fears on that score,” lightly replied Calhoun, as he bade her
good-bye.
But Calhoun well knew there would be trouble. No Kentucky officer would
forgive a blow, no matter what the provocation was under which it was
given.
The blow which Conway received had the effect of sobering him, but he
presented a pitiable sight. His face was covered with blood, and one eye
was nearly closed. When he knew it was Calhoun that had struck him, his
rage was fearful. Nothing but blood would wipe out the insult. For a
Kentucky gentleman not to resent a blow meant disgrace and dishonor; he
would be looked upon as a contemptible coward. But Conway was no coward.
He knew he was in fault, but that would not wipe out the disgrace of the
blow. There was but one thing for him to do, and that was to challenge
Calhoun.
That night Calhoun was waited upon by Captain Mathews, who in the name of
Conway demanded an abject apology. This, of course, was refused, and a
formal challenge was delivered. Calhoun at once accepted it, and referred
Mathews to his friend Lieutenant Matson.
“Look here, Pennington,” said Mathews, “I do not want you to think I
uphold Conway in what he did. I am no saint, but I never insulted a woman.
Conway would not have done it if he had not been drunk. I was just going
to the lady’s rescue when you struck the blow. There was no need of
knocking Conway down. I understand the girl is a Lincolnite, but that
makes no difference, Conway is right in demanding satisfaction.”
“And I am willing to give it to him,” answered Calhoun. “The only thing I
ask is that the affair be arranged quickly. Let it be to-morrow morning at
sunrise. And, Captain, understand that I bear you no grudge. I consider
your action perfectly honorable.”
Mathews bowed and withdrew. He and Matson quickly arranged the
preliminaries. The meeting was to take place at sunrise, in a secluded
spot near Danville; the weapons were pistols, the distance fifteen paces.
Only one shot was to be allowed. The affair had to be managed with the
utmost secrecy; above all things, it had to be kept from the ears of
Morgan. But it was whispered from one to another until half the officers
knew of it. None blamed Calhoun, yet none could see how Conway could avoid
giving the challenge.
“Both are dead men,” said an officer, with a grave shake of the head.
“Morgan ought to be told; he would stop it.”
“Tell Morgan if you dare!” cried half a dozen voices.
“Oh, I am not going to tell; if they wish to kill each other it’s none of
my business,” replied the officer, turning away.
Calhoun was known as the best pistol shot in the brigade, and Conway was
no mean marksman. Everyone thought it would be a bloody affair. Many were
aware of the enmity which Conway held toward Calhoun, and knew he would
kill him if he could. Meanwhile Jennie slept unconscious of the danger
Calhoun was in for her sake.
It was a beautiful autumn morning when they met. The sun was just rising,
touching woods, and fields, and the spires of the distant town with its
golden light. The meeting was in a place which Calhoun well knew. How
often he had played there when a boy! It was an open glade in the midst of
a grove of mighty forest trees. The trees had taken on the beautiful hues
of autumn, and they flamed with red and gold and orange.
At least twenty had assembled to witness the duel. A surgeon stood near
with an open case of instruments at his feet. Many glanced at it, but
turned their eyes away quickly. It was too suggestive.
The principals were placed in position. A hush came over the little group
of spectators. Even the breeze seemed no longer to whisper lovingly among
the trees, but took upon itself the wail of a dirge, and a shower of
leaves, red as blood, fell around the contestants.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked Mathews.
“Ready!” answered Calhoun.
“Ready!” said Conway.
“One—two—three—fire!”
Conway’s pistol blazed, and Calhoun felt a slight twinge of pain. The ball
had grazed his left side, near the heart, and drawn a few drops of blood.
For a moment Calhoun stood, then coolly raised his pistol and fired in the
air.
The spectators raised a shout of applause; but Conway was white with rage.
“I demand another shot,” he shouted, “Pennington’s action has made a farce
of this meeting.”
“It was the condition that but one shot should be allowed,” remonstrated
Mathews.
“The condition has not been fulfilled,” angrily replied Conway; “I demand
another shot.”
In the mean time Matson had gone up to Calhoun, and seeing the hole
through his clothing, exclaimed. “My God! are you shot, Lieutenant?”
“A mere scratch; it’s nothing,” answered Calhoun.
An examination showed it to be so, but blood had been drawn. This should
have satisfied Conway, but it did not; he still insisted on a second shot.
This the seconds were about to refuse absolutely, when Calhoun asked to be
heard.
“Although Captain Conway richly deserved the blow I gave him,” he said,
“yet as a gentleman and an officer I felt he could do no less than
challenge me. I have given him the satisfaction he demanded. If he insists
on continuing the duel, I shall conclude it is his desire to kill me
through personal malice, not on account of his injured honor, which
according to the code has been satisfied. This time there will be no
firing in the air. Give him the second shot, if he desires it.”
“No! No!” cried a dozen voices.
Mathews went up to Conway, and speaking in a low tone, said: “You fool, do
you want to be killed? Pennington will kill you as sure as fate, if you
insist on the second shot. Now you are out of it honorably.”
Conway mumbled something, and Mathews turning around, said: “Gentlemen, my
principal acknowledges himself satisfied. It is with pleasure that I
compliment both of the principals in this affair. They have conducted
themselves like true Kentucky gentlemen, and I trust they will part as
such.”
“Shake hands, gentlemen, shake hands,” cried their friends, crowding
around them.
Calhoun gave his freely, but Conway extended his coldly. There was a look
in his eye which foreboded future trouble.
Such a meeting could not be kept secret, and it soon came to the ears of
Morgan. Both of the principals, as well as the seconds were summoned into
his presence. He listened to all the details in silence, and then said:
“It is well that this affair resulted as it did. If either one of the
principals had fallen, the other would have been summarily dealt with.
Both of you,” looking at Conway and Calhoun, “were to blame. Lieutenant
Pennington should not have struck the blow: no gentleman will tamely
submit to the indignity of a blow. As for you, Captain Conway, I am
surprised that you, one of my officers, should insult a lady. If this
offence is ever repeated, intoxication will be no plea in its extenuation.
Heretofore it has been our proud boast that where Morgan’s men are there
any lady, be she for North or South, is as safe as in her own home. Let us
see that it will always be so.”
The men who heard burst into a wild cheer. Each of them was a knight to
uphold the honor of woman.
As Captain Conway listened to the reprimand, his red face became redder.
His heart was full of anger, but he was diplomat enough to listen with
becoming humility. To his fellow-officers his plea was intoxication, and
in the stirring times which followed, his offence was forgotten.
Scouts came dashing into the city with the startling intelligence that a
large Federal force was advancing on the place. It was not long before a
battle was being waged through the streets. Before an overwhelming force
of infantry Morgan had to fall back.
Bragg was in full retreat, and to Morgan fell the lot of guarding the
rear. As they were falling back from Camp Dick Robinson, Calhoun met a
Major Hockoday, who to him was the bearer of sad news. The Major said that
that morning his men pursued a Federal scout who had ventured inside their
lines. In his effort to escape he had fallen over the cliff of Dick River,
and been killed. “And I am sorry to say,” added the Major, “that that
scout was your cousin, Captain Fred Shackelford.”
“Are you sure?” asked Calhoun, in a trembling voice.
“Perfectly sure. I knew him too well to be mistaken. For the sake of his
father, I sent word to the overseer of the General’s plantation so that
the body could be found, and given Christian burial.”
“Thank you,” replied Calhoun, as he turned away with swimming eyes. All
his old love for his cousin had returned. There was little heart in
Calhoun for battle that day. It was weeks before he learned that Fred was
not dead.
CHAPTER X.
HARTSVILLE.
WHEN Bragg evacuated Kentucky his weary army found rest at Murfreesboro.
This little city is thirty-two miles southeast of Nashville, situated on
the railroad leading from Nashville to Chattanooga. It had already become
famous by the capture of a Federal brigade there in August, by General N.
B. Forrest, and was destined to become the theatre of one of the greatest
battles of the war.
In the Federal army a great change had taken place. General Buell had been
relieved from command, and General W. Rosecrans, the hero of the battle of
Corinth, appointed in his place. This general assembled his army at
Nashville. Thus the two great armies were only thirty-two miles apart,
with their outposts almost touching.
Bragg, believing that it would be impossible for Rosecrans to advance
before spring, established his army in winter quarters, and the soldiers
looked forward to two or three months of comparative quiet.
Rosecrans’s first duty was to reopen the Louisville and Nashville
Railroad, which had been so thoroughly destroyed by Morgan. An army of men
did the work—a work which took them weeks to accomplish. But it was not in
the nature of Morgan to be quiet. Not only he, but his men, fretted in
camp life. Its daily routine with its drills did not suit them. Their home
was the saddle, and they wanted no other. Therefore Morgan began to look
around in search of a weak point in the Federal lines. For this purpose
Calhoun and his scouts were kept busy. They seemed to be omnipresent, now
here, now there. They would ride in between the Federal posts, learn of
the citizens where the enemy were posted, and whether their camps were
guarded with vigilance or not. Many a prisoner was picked up, and much
valuable information obtained. In this way Morgan soon knew, as well as
the Federal commander himself, how his troops were posted, and the number
at each post.
Taking everything into consideration, Calhoun reported that Hartsville
offered the best opening for an attack. “It is the extreme eastern outpost
of the Federals,” he said. “The nearest troops to them are at Castalian
Springs, nine miles away. The country from here to Hartsville is entirely
free of Federal troops, and we can approach the place unobserved. The
Cumberland River is low and can be forded. But if you wish, I will go and
make a thorough reconnaissance of the place.”
“Go, and be back as soon as possible,” replied Morgan, “but be careful; do
not take too many risks.”
With a dozen of his trusty scouts, Calhoun had no trouble in reaching the
bank of the Cumberland River opposite Hartsville. Here, concealed in the
woods, through his glass he noted the position of every regiment, and drew
a map of the camp. But he was not satisfied with this. Under the cover of
darkness he crossed the river, determined to learn more. Above all, he
wished to learn where the enemy’s pickets were posted at night, their
exact force, as nearly as possible, and the discipline which they were
under. He wanted to do all this without alarming them.
After crossing the river he concluded to call at a commodious farm-house,
situated some three miles from Hartsville. He was almost certain of a
hearty welcome; there were few disloyal to the South in that section. At
first he was taken for a Federal soldier in disguise, and admittance was
refused; but once the inmates were convinced that he was one of Morgan’s
men, the heartiness of his welcome made up for the coldness of his first
reception.
The planter was well posted. There was one brigade at Hartsville. Until a
few days before, the brigade had been commanded by a Colonel Scott, but he
had been relieved by a Colonel Moore. This Moore was the colonel of one of
the regiments at Hartsville, and had been in the service but a short time.
Most of the troops were raw and inexperienced. Calhoun was glad to hear
all this.
In the morning, dressed as a rough country boy, he made a circuit of the
entire place. This he did by going on foot, and keeping to the fields and
woods. The location of every picket post was carefully noted, and the best
way to approach each one. In two or three instances he did not hesitate to
approach soldiers who were foraging outside of the lines, and in a whining
tone, enter into conversation with them, informing them he was looking for
some of his father’s pigs.
“Mighty ’fraid sum ov yo-uns Yanks got ’em,” he said, with a sigh.
“No doubt, sonny, no doubt,” replied a soldier with a hearty laugh. “You
see, if a pig comes up and grunts at the flag, we have a right to kill him
for the insult offered. Probably your pigs were guilty of this heinous
crime, and were sacrificed for the good of the country.”
“Do yo-uns mean the Yanks hev ’em?” asked Calhoun.
“Undoubtedly, sonny. What are you going to do about it?”
“Goin’ to tell dad,” replied Calhoun, as he limped off, for he pretended
to be lame.
Calhoun found that the post was picketed much more strongly to the east
than the west, for Castalian Springs lay to the west, and the Federals had
no idea that an attack would come from that direction. If attacked, the
Confederates would try to force the ford, or they would come from the
east. For this reason Calhoun decided that Morgan should cross the river
in between Hartsville and Castalian Springs, and assault from the west.
There was a ferry two miles below Hartsville where the infantry could
cross the river, but the cavalry would have to go to a ford seven miles or
within two miles of Castalian Springs. To his surprise, but great
gratification, he found neither the ferry nor the ford guarded.
Calhoun recrossed the river in safety, and joining his scouts, whom he had
left on the southern side of the river, he lost no time in making his way
back to Murfreesboro. Morgan heard his report with evident satisfaction.
“Our only danger,” said Calhoun, as he finished his report, “is from the
force at Castalian Springs. From what I could learn there are at least
five thousand Federals there. To be successful we must surprise the camp
at Hartsville, capture the place, and re-cross the river before the force
from the Springs can reach us. A hard thing to do, but I believe it can be
done.”
“So do I,” said Morgan; “with General Bragg’s consent, I will start at
once.”
General Bragg not only gave his consent, but owing to the importance of
the expedition, added to Morgan’s cavalry brigade two regiments of
infantry and a battery.
The force marched to within five miles of Hartsville, and halted until
night. The night proved very dark, and the way was rough. There was but
one small ferry-boat in which to cross the infantry, and it was 5:30 in
the morning before the infantry were all across, and in position two miles
from Hartsville.
The cavalry had had even a rougher time than the infantry, and one large
regiment had not yet reported. But Morgan determined not to wait, for it
would soon be light, and they would be discovered. So with thirteen
hundred men Morgan moved to capture a Federal brigade of over two
thousand, and in a position of their own choosing.
To Calhoun and his scouts was assigned the difficult but important task of
capturing the outposts without alarming the camp. The success of the whole
movement might depend upon this.
So adroitly did Calhoun manage it, that the surprised pickets were
captured without firing a gun. Nor was the Confederate force discovered
until they were within four hundred yards of the Federal camp, and
advancing in line of battle. It was now getting light, and a negro
camp-follower discovered them and gave the alarm.
The Federals having been taken by surprise and most of the officers and
men being raw and inexperienced, consternation reigned in the camp. But
they formed their lines, and for a few moments put up a brave fight. Then
their lines broke. Colonel Moore did not seem to have his brigade well in
hand, and each regiment fought more or less independently. In a short time
only the One Hundred and Fourth Illinois regiment was left on the site of
the camp to continue the battle. Although this regiment had been only
three months in the service and had never been in an engagement before,
under the command of their brave Lieutenant Colonel, Douglass Hapeman,
they did not surrender until they were entirely surrounded and nearly two
hundred of their number had been shot down.
Morgan warmly complimented this regiment on its bravery, saying if all the
regiments had been like it, the result of the contest would have been
doubtful. In one hour and a quarter after the battle opened, all was over.
A whole brigade had laid down their arms to the prowess of Morgan.
But now a new danger arose. Calhoun had been sent toward Castalian Springs
to watch the enemy in that direction. One of his scouts came dashing in
with the intelligence that five thousand Federals were hurrying to the
relief of Hartsville. They must be stopped, and time given to get the
prisoners and munitions of war across the Cumberland.
Morgan hurried two regiments to where Calhoun and his little band of
scouts were resisting the advance of the enemy. The show of strength made
halted the Federals, and a precious hour and a half was gained. In this
time, by almost superhuman efforts, Morgan had succeeded in crossing the
prisoners and his men to the south side of the Cumberland. They were now
safe from pursuit.
It was during the fight with the approaching reinforcements that an
incident happened which caused Calhoun many hours of uneasiness. During
the hottest of the engagement a ball, evidently fired from the rear,
grazed his cheek. He thought little of it, supposing some one had fired in
his rear, not seeing him. But in a moment a ball passed through his hat.
Wheeling suddenly, to his surprise he saw Captain Conway with a smoking
revolver in his hand.
“You are shooting carelessly, Captain!” exclaimed Calhoun, angrily, riding
up to him.
For a moment the Captain cowered, then recovering himself, he said: “You
are mistaken, Lieutenant; it was some one in the rear. The same balls came
close to me.” Just then the order was given to fall back, and Conway rode
hastily away. There was no direct proof, but Calhoun was certain Conway
had tried to kill him. More than one man has been disposed of in time of
battle by a personal enemy. Many an obnoxious officer has bitten the dust
in this manner. Calhoun could only bide his time and watch. But he now
firmly believed his life was in more danger from Conway than it was in
battle with the Federals.
Hartsville, considering everything, was one of the greatest victories
Morgan ever won, as he captured a whole brigade with a vastly inferior
force. The Federals lost in killed, wounded, and captured two thousand one
hundred men. Of these nearly three hundred were killed and wounded.
Morgan’s actual force engaged was only thirteen hundred, and of these he
lost one hundred and forty, a small loss considering he was the assaulting
party.
The capture of Hartsville caused the utmost chagrin in the Federal army,
and not only in the army but throughout the North. Even President Lincoln
telegraphed asking for full particulars. General Halleck ordered the
dishonorable dismissal of Colonel Moore, but the order was never carried
into effect. Of his bravery there was no question.
This victory caused the name of Morgan to be more feared than ever.
“Morgan is coming!” was a cry which caused fear and trembling in many a
Yankee’s heart.
President Davis of the Confederate States, shortly after the capture of
Hartsville, visited Murfreesboro, and as a reward for his services,
presented Morgan with a commission as Brigadier-General in the Confederate
army. General Hardie asked that he be made a Major-General. Hardie knew
Morgan, and appreciated his worth, but for some reason President Davis
refused the request.
CHAPTER XI.
MORGAN’S SECOND GREAT RAID.
General Morgan was allowed but ten days’ rest after his return from his
great victory at Hartsville. General Rosecrans had finished repairing the
Louisville and Nashville Railroad, and trains were running again between
the two cities. Reports had been brought to General Bragg that the Federal
troops at Nashville were suffering greatly for want of food; that military
stores of all kinds were short; and he thought if the road were again
broken, Rosecrans would be forced to fall back on account of supplies. Who
so willing and able to break it as General Morgan?
But there was little use of trying to raid the road south of Bowling
Green, for it was guarded by thousands of men. To cripple the road
effectually meant another raid clear through the state of Kentucky. To
this General Morgan was not averse.
When his men heard that another raid was to be made into Kentucky, their
enthusiasm knew no bounds. What cared they for the dangers to be
encountered, for long rides, for sleepless nights, and the tremendous
fatigue they would be called upon to endure? They were to stir up the
Yankees once more; that was enough.
“Kentucky! Ho, for Kentucky!” was their cry, and they shouted and sang
until they could shout and sing no longer for want of breath.
Bragg was fully alive to the importance of the expedition, and was willing
to give Morgan all the troops he could possibly spare. Morgan was soon at
the head of the most formidable force he had ever commanded. It consisted
of over three thousand cavalry, with a full battery, besides his own light
battery.
The task which had been assigned him was indeed a perilous one. It was to
ride almost to the very gates of Louisville, and to destroy the immense
trestle works at Muldraugh Hill. This done, the Louisville and Nashville
Railroad would again be effectually crippled for weeks.
He set out from Alexandria, on December 22, and in two days he was in
Glasgow, Kentucky. The citizens of Glasgow had come to look upon Morgan as
a monthly visitor by this time; therefore they were not surprised at his
coming. Here he met with the first Federal force, which was quickly
scattered.
Remaining in Glasgow only long enough to rest his horses, he pushed on for
Mumfordsville, where the great bridge spans the Green River. But learning
that the place was held by so strong a force that it would be madness for
him to attack it, he passed a few miles to the right, and struck the
railroad at Bacon Creek. Here a stout block-house, defended by ninety
soldiers, guarded the bridge. They put up a stout defence in hopes of
being reinforced from Mumfordsville, but at last were compelled to
surrender, the block-house being knocked to pieces by Morgan’s artillery.
Burning the bridge and destroying four miles of road, the command moved on
to Nolan, where another block-house was captured and a bridge burned. This
was the third time that these bridges had been destroyed by Morgan.
Elizabethtown was the next goal to be reached. As they approached the
place, Calhoun, who was in advance with his scouts, was met by an officer
bearing a flag of truce, who handed him a dirty envelope, on which was
scrawled:
ELIZABETHTOWN, KY., December 27, 1862.
To the Commander of the Confederate Force.
Sir: I demand an unconditional surrender of all of your forces. I have you
surrounded, and will compel you to surrender.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
H. S. SMITH,
Commanding U. S. Force.
“Well,” exclaimed Calhoun, as he glanced at it, “I have often been told
that Yankees have cheek, but this is the greatest exhibition of it I have
met. Who is H. S. Smith, anyway?”
“One of the numerous Smith family, I reckon,” dryly responded one of his
men. “He should have signed it John Smith. This would have concealed his
identity, and prevented us from knowing what a fool he is.”
But the message was taken back to Morgan, and Calhoun never saw him laugh
more heartily than when he read it.
“Go back and tell Mr. Smith,” replied Morgan, trying to keep his face
straight, “that he has made a little mistake. It is he who is surrounded,
and must surrender.”
The message was taken back, but Mr. Smith answered pompously that it was
the business of United States officer to fight, not to surrender.
“Very good,” replied Calhoun, “get back and let us open the ball.”
It took only a few shells from Morgan’s battery to convince Mr. Smith he
had made a mistake, and that it was the business of at least one United
States officer to surrender, and not to fight. Six hundred and fifty-two
prisoners fell into Morgan’s hands, also a large quantity of military
stores. The stores were destroyed. At Elizabethtown Morgan was in striking
distance of the object of his expedition, the great trestles at Muldraugh
Hill. There were two trestles, known as the upper and lower, both defended
by stout stockades.
General Morgan divided his forces, Colonel Breckinridge with one brigade
attacking the lower stockade, while Morgan with Colonel Duke’s brigade
attacked the upper. A couple of hours of severe shelling convinced the
commanders of these stockades also that it was the duty of a United States
officer to surrender, and not to fight. Seven hundred more prisoners and
an immense store of military goods were added to Morgan’s captures. The
goods, as usual, were destroyed.
It was but a few minutes after the surrender of the block-houses when the
trestles were a mass of flames. They were immense structures, each nearly
fifteen hundred feet long, and from eighty to ninety feet high. Thus the
object of the expedition had been gained. Again the Louisville and
Nashville Railroad was rendered useless to Rosecrans’s army.
But Morgan’s danger had just commenced. Thus far he had had his own way.
The enraged Federals were moving heaven and earth to compass his capture.
A brigade was transported from Gallatin to Mumfordsville by rail, joined
to the force at that place, and ordered to move east and cut off his
retreat. The forces in Central Kentucky were ordered to concentrate at
Lebanon. Thus they hoped to cut off every line of retreat.
“Don’t let Morgan escape,” was the command flashed to every Federal
officer in Kentucky.
From Muldraugh Hill Morgan marched for Bardstown. This led him across the
Lebanon Railroad. Before all of his force had crossed the Rolling Fork of
Salt River, the pursuing force, under Colonel Harlan, came up and engaged
the rear. The rear guard under Colonel Duke gallantly resisted them until
all had crossed in safety, but during the action Colonel Duke was severely
wounded by a piece of shell. General Boyle, the Federal commander at
Louisville, gave out that he had died of his wounds and there was great
rejoicing. But the gallant Colonel lived, to the disappointment of his
enemies.
The Federals, in close pursuit, left Morgan little time to destroy the
railroad leading to Lebanon, but he captured a stockade, and burned the
bridge at Boston. Reaching Bardstown in safety, he pushed rapidly on to
Springfield. From that place he could threaten either Danville or Lebanon.
His rapid movements puzzled the Federals, and prevented them from
concentrating their forces, for they knew not which way he would go next.
From Springfield Morgan turned south, leaving Lebanon a few miles to his
left, so as to avoid the large force at that place; he reached New Market
a few hours in advance of his pursuers. To avoid the troops which had been
concentrating at Hodgensville, he now took the road to Campbellsville.
In going through the Muldraugh range of hills to the south of New Market,
his rear guard was struck by the advance of the Federals under Colonel
Hoskins, and was only beaten back after a lively fight. There was now more
or less skirmishing for some miles.
There now happened to Calhoun one of the most thrilling adventures he
experienced during the whole war. As the post of danger was now in the
rear, he was there with his scouts doing valiant service in holding back
the Federals. There had been no skirmishing for some time, and nothing had
been seen or heard of their pursuers. Not thinking of danger, he and a
Captain Tribble halted their horses by the side of a bubbling spring and
dismounted to get a drink, the rest of the guard passing on. They lingered
longer than they thought, and had just remounted their horses when they
were suddenly surprised by three horsemen, who came galloping up, yelling
to them to surrender. For Calhoun and Tribble to snatch their revolvers
and fire was the work of a moment. The Federals returned the fire. A
pistol duel now took place, and both sides emptied their revolvers, but
strange to say, no one was hurt.
Throwing down their now useless weapons, all drew their swords and
furiously spurred their horses on to the combat. It was almost like a
mediæval contest, where knight met knight with sword only. While one of
the Federals engaged Captain Tribble, two rode straight for Calhoun, the
foremost a fine-looking man in the uniform of a Federal colonel. Parrying
his blow, Calhoun, by a skilful turn of his horse, avoided the other. They
wheeled their horses, and came at Calhoun again. Again did Calhoun parry
the fierce blow aimed at him; at the same time he managed to prick the
horse of the other, so that for a moment it became unmanageable. This left
Calhoun free to engage the Colonel alone, who aimed at him a tremendous
blow. This blow Calhoun avoided, and as it met with no resistance, its
force threw the Colonel forward on his saddle. As quick as lightning, the
point of Calhoun’s sword reached his heart, and the combat was over.
[Illustration: THE FORCE OF THE BLOW THREW THE COLONEL FORWARD ON HIS
SADDLE.]
During this time Tribble had vanquished his antagonist. The remaining
Federal, seeing one of his comrades dead and the other a prisoner, threw
down his sword and surrendered. The dead officer proved to be Colonel D.
J. Halisy of the Sixth Kentucky cavalry.
This conflict was long remembered as one of the most remarkable ever
engaged in by any of Morgan’s men, and Calhoun was warmly congratulated by
the whole command on his prowess.
The death of Colonel Halisy seemed to dampen the enthusiasm of Morgan’s
pursuers. Although they followed him to Campbellsville, and from
Campbellsville to Columbia, the pursuit was a feeble one. In fact, so
timid was Colonel Hoskins that he ordered his advance not to engage Morgan
if they found him at Columbia, but to wait for the column from
Hodgensville to come up. From Columbia all pursuit ceased, and Morgan was
left to return to Tennessee at his leisure.
While at Columbia Morgan reports that his men heard distinctly the sound
of distant cannonading away to the southwest. To their accustomed ears it
told of a battle raging. It was the thunder of Rosecrans’s cannon at Stone
River. Little did Morgan’s men think at that time that that distant
thunder meant that hundreds of their brave brothers were being slaughtered
in that fatal charge of Breckinridge. Murfreesboro is, as the crow flies,
a hundred and eighteen miles from Columbia. In no other battle during the
war is it reported that cannonading was heard so far.
From Columbia Morgan proceeded by easy stages to Smithville, Tennessee,
which he reached January 5, just fourteen days after he had started on his
raid from Alexandria. During this time his command had travelled fully six
hundred miles. This raid was one of the most remarkable Morgan ever made,
when we consider what he accomplished, and the number of troops that tried
in vain to capture him. Riding within a few miles of thousands of men, he
easily eluded all his pursuers and escaped almost scot free.
General Morgan, in summing up the results of this raid, says: “It meant
the destruction of the Louisville and Nashville Railroad from
Mumfordsville to Shephardsville within eighteen miles of Louisville,
rendering it impassable for at least two months; the capture of eighteen
hundred and seventy-seven prisoners, including sixty-two commissioned
officers; the destruction of over two million dollars’ worth of United
States property, and a large loss to the enemy in killed and wounded. The
loss of my entire command was: killed, 2; wounded, 24; missing, 64.”
It seems impossible that so much could be accomplished with so slight a
loss. The number of his killed and wounded shows that the Federals touched
him very gingerly; that they did not force the fighting. In the capture of
the stockades in which he took so many prisoners, Morgan suffered hardly
any loss, as he forced the surrender with his artillery. But the joy which
Morgan and his men felt over the success of the raid was clouded when they
reached Tennessee by the news of the result of the battle of Stone River.
Murfreesboro no longer belonged to the South. Bragg had retreated to his
new line along Duck River.
CHAPTER XII.
A SPY! A SPY!
For nearly six months after the battle of Stone River, the Federal army
made no general advance. General Rosecrans made his headquarters at
Murfreesboro, while Bragg’s was at Tullahoma. But these months were not
months of idleness. Almost daily skirmishes took place between the lines,
and there were a number of contests whic
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