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Dunn, Byron Archibald: Raiding with Morgan. - Chicago : A. C. McClurg & Co., 1903
Raiding with Morgan
[Illustration: AS HE SAT ON HIS HORSE AND LOOKED OUT UPON THE RIVER.]
Copyright
By A. C. McCLURG & CO
Published Sept. 30, 1903
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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.General Nelson’s Scout.
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
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
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
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 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.
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
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.
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
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
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
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,
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
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.
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,
with
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.
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,
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
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
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
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
enthusi
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
unanRun, 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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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.
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
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.
gayly replied Calhoun.
Au revoir,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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.
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
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
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,
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
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
pite
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
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
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
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
Bill’s face grew still redder. Yo’ lie, yo’
dog!
he hissed.
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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,
Right you are,
responded Mathews; I am
sorry I didn’t think of that horse when we were at
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:
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.
George D. Prentice, Louisville, Ky.John H. Morgan,
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?
General J. T. Boyle, Louisville, Ky.John H. Morgan,
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,
Hon. George Dunlap, Washington, D. C.John H. Morgan,
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.
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.
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;
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
answered Calhoun. if
has stood in between many a man and
success,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,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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.
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
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. 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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
dis
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.
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,
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
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:
Sir: I demand an unconditional surrender of all of your
forces. I have you surrounded, and will compel you to surrender.
Elizabethtown, Ky.H. S. Smith,
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
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
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
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
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 which arose to the dignity of battles.
Morgan’s cavalry protected the right of Bragg’s army. His headquarters were nominally at MacMinnville, but it could truly be said they were in the saddle. Morgan did not stay long in any one place. A number of expeditions were made against him, sometimes with a whole division, but he managed to elude them with slight loss.
Only twice during all this time did severe reverse overtake him—once at Milton, when he failed in his efforts to capture a brigade of infantry, and again at Snow Hill, when he was charged by a whole division of cavalry under the leadership of General David Stanley.
His captures of scouting and forage parties were
numerous during these months, and he added a long
list of prisoners to those he had already captured.
But so strongly was every place held, and so
numer
These months were busy ones for Calhoun; he
and his scouts were always on the go. At the
battle of Milton he greatly distinguished himself,
and was the subject of a complimentary order.
But during the battle he received a slight flesh
wound in the arm and the ball came from the rear.
Again was Conway behind him. The thought that
he might be slain in this treacherous manner was
distracting, but what could he do? He durst not
complain; such a monstrous charge against a
brother officer would have to be substantiated by the
best of proof. He could only avoid Conway as
much as possible during battle, and hope for the
best. After the battle at Milton, by reason of
losses in the regiment, Conway was promoted,
being appointed major. It was fortunate for Calhoun
that he was chief of scouts, and on Morgan’s
staff, or Conway would have made his life a burden,
One day Calhoun, being sent on special duty over to the left of Bragg’s army, found himself in Columbia. He now remembered what Captain Haines had told him of the misfortunes which had befallen the Osbornes, and he determined to visit them. As he approached the place a sigh escaped him, for the plantation no longer was blooming like a rose, and the splendid mansion house was a charred mass of ruins.
He found the family living in a small house which once had been occupied by the overseer. Their story was soon told. After Lieutenant Haines had been exchanged, he came back and was stationed at Columbia. He visited them frequently, was very attentive to Miss Osborne, and at last asked her to become his wife. He was very politely but firmly refused. He now began a series of petty persecutions, and was forbidden the house as a guest. Then he began to threaten. He reported to the commander that Osborne’s house was the headquarters of a gang of guerrillas which gave the Federal authorities in Columbia and Pulaski a great deal of trouble.
About this time the murder of General Robert
McCook by guerrillas greatly angered the Federals.
A few days after he was killed a couple of foragers
from Columbia were found dead. Lieutenant
Haines lost no time in reporting that the gang of
guerrillas sheltered by Osborne had murdered the
Calhoun listened to the recital with flashing
eyes. The villain!
he exclaimed; if I had
only known this he would not have escaped so
easily when we captured him at Gallatin.
That is not all,
continued Mrs. Osborne, in a
broken voice. After all this had happened, the
scoundrel had the effrontery to renew his suit, and
say if Emma would marry him he would see that
Mr. Osborne was released; that he had powerful
political friends who could accomplish this. We
spurned his proposition as it deserved. I knew
my husband would rather rot in prison than consent
to such a monstrous thing.
Oh! had I known! had I known!
exclaimed
Calhoun, pacing up and down the room in his excitement;
but we may meet again.
Little did Calhoun think that before many days
they would meet again, and that that meeting
would nearly mean for him the ignominious death
of a spy. A few days after his return from Columbia,
he asked the permission of Morgan to visit
Nashville. I would like to see,
said he, what
our friends, the enemy, are doing in that city.
Morgan shook his head. I don’t want to see
you hanged,
he replied.
But Calhoun argued so zealously, that at last
Morgan’s scruples were overcome, and he gave his
If you should be captured
and executed, I would never forgive myself.
Calhoun looked upon it as a mere holiday affair; he had passed through too many dangers to be terrified. Taking half a dozen of his trusty scouts with him, he had no trouble in reaching the Cumberland River a few miles above Nashville. The few scouting parties of the enemy they met were easily avoided. He ordered his scouts to remain secreted in a thick wood near by a friendly house, from which they could obtain food for themselves and provender for their horses.
If I am not back in three days,
said he,
return to Morgan, and tell him I have been captured.
His men pleaded with him to let at least one of them accompany him, but this he refused, saying it would but add to his danger.
From the gentleman who resided in the nearby house he secured a skiff which had been kept secreted from the lynx-eyed Federals. In this Calhoun proposed to float down to Nashville.
Night came dark and cloudy. It was just such a night as Calhoun wished. Clad in a suit of citizen’s clothes, and with muffled oars, he bade his comrades a cheerful good night, and pushed out into the river, and in a moment the darkness had swallowed him up. He floated down as noiselessly as a drifting stick.
In an hour’s time the lights of Nashville came
in view; the dangers of his trip had just commenced.
But Calhoun was prepared for just such an emergency. He was a capital swimmer, and had no fears of the water. He had weighted his skiff with stones, bored a hole in the bottom, and filled it with a plug which could easily be removed. When he had drifted as far as he dared, he removed the plug. The skiff gradually filled and at last sank. If any person had looked after it disappeared, all he would have seen would have been the small branch of a tree, covered with leaves, floating down with the current.
When Calhoun was well down abreast of the city, and coming to a place where shadows covered the river, he turned toward the bank. Fortunately he landed near a dark alley which led down to the water. Listening intently, he heard nothing, and making his way up the alley, he soon came to a street. A violent storm came on, which was of advantage to him, for if he met any one, it would account for his dripping clothes. It also had the effect of driving the patrol guards into shelter.
Calhoun was no stranger in the city. He had
visited it frequently when a boy, for he had an
uncle residing there, now a colonel in the Confederate
army. But his family still resided in the old
Making his way to the rear of the house, he found refuge in a small shed. The night had turned cool and he shivered with the cold. But he durst not arouse the household, for the alarm might be heard outside. The hours passed wearily by, but at last morning came. He looked eagerly for some of the family to appear, but only the colored servants passed in and out. To escape being seen he had hidden behind a large box in the shed.
He heard the call for breakfast, and concluded he had never been so hungry before in his life. After a while his patience was rewarded. A young lady came out of the house, and entering the shed, began looking around, as if searching for something. It was his cousin Kate.
Kate!
he whispered.
The girl started and looked wildly around.
Kate!
She uttered a little scream and turned as if to flee.
Kate, don’t be afraid. It is I, your cousin
Calhoun Pennington.
Where? Where?
she half-whispered, looking
eagerly around and poised as if still for flight.
Here behind the box. Come close. There,
don’t ask a question. Get the servants out of
the way and smuggle me into the house unseen. I
am wet, cold, and hungry.
Kate flew to do his bidding. In a few moments she came out and beckoned to him, and right gladly he followed her into the house. One risen from the dead would hardly have created more surprise than did his appearance. His aunt and Kate persisted in embracing him, wet and dirty as he was.
To their eager questions, he said: Dry clothes
first, Auntie, and breakfast. I am famished. I
will then talk with you to your heart’s
Mrs. Shackelford had had a son about the size of Calhoun killed in the army, and our hero was soon arrayed in a nice dry suit, and seated before a substantial breakfast, upon which he made a furious assault. When his hunger was fully appeased, he informed his aunt and Kate he was ready to talk. And how they did talk! They had a thousand questions to ask, and he had full as many.
To his surprise and joy he learned that his cousin, Fred Shackelford, had not been killed by his fall over the cliff, as Major Hockoday reported. Instead he was alive and well, was with the army at Murfreesboro, and frequently visited them.
He has been a good friend to us,
said Mrs.
Shackelford, but at one time he was nearly the
death of Kate.
Why, how was that?
asked Calhoun.
Then for the first time he heard of Forrest’s
plot to capture Nashville, and of Kate’s part in it,
of her condemnation, and imprisonment as a spy,
and how Fred had secured her pardon.On General Thomas’s Staff.
Calhoun listened to the story in wonder. When
it was finished, he exclaimed: Why, Kate, you
are a heroine! I am proud of you.
I am not proud of myself,
answered Kate.
I blush every time I think of how—how I lied and
deceived.
Oh! that is a part of war,
laughed Calhoun.
If Morgan didn’t lie about the number of men he
had, the Yanks would gobble him up in no time.
We don’t call such things lying; it’s a righteous
deceiving of the enemy.
But I am ready to sink into the earth with
shame every time I think of Ainsworth,
sighed
Kate.
That’s rich,
laughed Calhoun; crying because
you broke the heart of a Yankee! Kate, I
have a mind to send you into the enemy’s lines.
If Cupid’s darts were only fatal, your bright eyes
would create more havoc than a battle.
No use sending her away,
broke in Mrs.
Shackelford; there are more Federal officers buzzing
around her now than I wish there were.
Mighty useful to worm secrets from,
exclaimed
Kate; but I make no promises to any of
them.
That’s right, Kate, get all the secrets from
them you can,
said Calhoun; that is what I am
in Nashville for. Can any one get around the city
without much danger?
Oh, yes, in the daytime; but there is always
more or less danger to strangers. Business is going
on as usual. The city is lively, livelier than before
the war; but it is soldiers—soldiers everywhere.
And you have to have no passes?
asked
Calhoun.
It is best to have one. Most of us have
standing permits to come and go in the city as we
please.
Can you get me a permit?
asked Calhoun,
eagerly.
There is Jim Grantham,
replied Kate,
thoughtfully; his description will suit Calhoun
close enough. I can get Jim to loan you his.
Calhoun was now told that the Southern people in Nashville were thoroughly organized into a secret society. They had their signs and pass-words, so that they could know each other. So far no one had proved a traitor. The Federal authorities suspected that such an organization existed, but their shrewdest detectives never succeeded in finding out anything about it.
Kate, who had gone for the permit of James Grantham, soon returned with it. The description fitted Calhoun almost as well as if made out for himself. He could now walk the streets of Nashville with little fear of arrest.
He was given a list of those who could most probably give him the information he desired. He marvelled to see how quickly a little sign which he gave was answered, and was amazed at the work this secret organization was doing. Not a regiment entered or left Nashville but they knew its exact strength, and to what point it was ordered.
In two days Calhoun had gathered information which would be of vast value to the Confederate cause, and it was now time for him to see by what means he could leave the city. He was on his way to see three gentlemen who said they could get him outside of the city without trouble or danger, when an incident happened which came near sending him to the gallows. He was walking unconcernedly along the street, when he suddenly came face to face with Haines, now a captain. Although Calhoun was dressed in citizen’s clothes, the captain knew him at a glance.
A spy! A spy!
he yelled at the top of his
voice, and made a grab at Calhoun. Calhoun
struck him a tremendous blow which sent him rolling
in the gutter, and fled at the top of his speed.
But a score of voices took up the cry, and a
howling mob, mostly of soldiers, were at his heels.
He hoped to reach the river, where among the
immense piles of stores heaped along the levee, or
among the shipping, he might secrete himself, but a
patrol guard suddenly appeared a block away, and
his retreat was cut off. He gave himself up for
lost, and reached for a small pistol which he carried,
for,
thought he, they shall never
have the pleasure of hanging me before a gaping
crowd.
Just then he saw two young ladies standing in the open door of a house. What told him safety lay there he never knew, but hope sprang up within his breast. Dashing up the steps, he thrust the ladies back into the house, slammed the door to, and locked it. So rude was his entrance, one of the ladies fell to the floor.
Save me! Save me!
he cried, I am a Confederate
spy,
and he gave the sign of the secret
order.
The young lady who had not fallen was terribly frightened, but she grasped the situation in a moment.
Upstairs,
she gasped, pointing the way;
tell mother, the secret place.
Calhoun lost no time in obeying her. The girl flew to the back door and opened it, then back just as her sister was rising, her face covered with blood, for she had hit her nose in falling.
Quick, Annette, in the parlor,
said her sister;
assent to everything I say.
Annette staggered into the parlor hardly knowing what she did, for she was dazed and terribly frightened. The sister, whose name was Inez, was now at the door, which was giving way before the blows of Calhoun’s pursuers. All this happened in less than a minute.
Stop!
she cried, I will unlock the door,
and she did so, and when the soldiers rushed in,
crying, Where is he? Where is the spy?
she
stood wringing her hands and sobbing, My sister!
Oh, my sister! he has murdered her.
The words brought the soldiers to a halt. Who
murdered your sister?
asked a sergeant who
seemed to be the leader.
The man! the man who ran in here!
Where is he? He is the fellow we want.
He rushed out of the back door. Oh! my
sister, my sister!
After him, boys; don’t let him get away!
yelled the sergeant, and they rushed through the
house in hot pursuit.
The house was rapidly filling, when a captain
appeared, and learning of the sobbing Inez what
the trouble was, said: Murdered your sister!
Horrible! where is she?
Here,
said Inez, leading the way into the
parlor. Annette was reclining on a sofa, her face
bloody; she was apparently in a fainting condition.
The captain acted quickly. He ordered the house to be cleared, sent a subordinate for a surgeon, and another to have the whole block surrounded. In the mean time the mother of the girls had appeared, and was adding her sobs to those of her eldest daughter. When the surgeon came and had washed the blood from Annette’s face, her only injury was found to be a bruised nose.
Both the captain and the surgeon looked
inHow is this?
they asked, you said
your sister was
I—I thought she was,
stammered Inez. I
saw the blood and thought the man had stabbed
her.
Tell us just what happened,
said the captain.
Annette, who had by this time so far recovered from her fright as to comprehend what was going on, saw Inez give her the signal of danger. It put her on her guard.
Why, it was this way,
said Inez, in answer to
the captain, sister and I were going out, but just
as we opened the door, there was a tumult on the
street. We stopped to see what the trouble was,
when a man dashed up the steps. We tried to
oppose him, but he struck sister a cruel blow,
knocking her down, flung me backward, and slamming
the door to, locked it; then running through
the house, disappeared through the back door.
Seeing sister’s face covered with blood, I picked
her up and carried her into the parlor. By this
time the soldiers were breaking down the door, and
I went and unlocked
Annette only knew that she tried to oppose the
entrance of a strange man, who knocked her down.
She must have been rendered unconscious, for she
remembered nothing more, until she found herself
lying on the sofa in the parlor. The mother, Mrs.
Lovell, was upstairs, and knew nothing of what
had happened until alarmed by the screams of her
daughters and the noisy entrance of the soldiers.
Orders were given to search every house in the
block. This was done, but the search was fruitless.
When this fact was reported, the captain bit his
lip in vexation. Then turning to Inez, he said:
Pardon me, Miss Lovell, while I do not doubt
your story in the least, are you sure the fellow ran
out of the house? Was not his opening the back
door just a ruse? He opened the door and then
dodged into some room, thinking this house the
safest place for him. Every house in the block
has been searched except this one, and we can find
no trace of him. While I regret it, I shall be
compelled to have this house searched.
I am sure he ran out,
answered Inez, but I
confess I was very badly frightened. If you think
he is in the house, search it. I ask as a favor that
you search it, for if he is concealed in the house as
you think, he may murder us all.
A thorough search was made, but there was found no trace of Calhoun. The officers and soldiers retired greatly puzzled. A strong guard was maintained around the block for three days; then all hopes of catching Calhoun were given up, and the guard was withdrawn.
The Federal authorities had become aware who
the fugitive was through Captain Haines. I
can
he said; I have met him too
many times. He is one of the most daring of all
of Morgan’s cutthroats
; and then he gave an
account of his first meeting with Calhoun.
But where was Calhoun all this time? When he rushed upstairs at the command of Inez, he was met at the top by Mrs. Lovell, who started in affright at the sight of him.
Your daughter said,
he
exclaimed, as he gave her the sign of danger. The secret place!
My
pursuers are already at the door.
The lady quickly recovered herself. Come!
she said, and led Calhoun into a room. Here she
began working in a corner. Her hands trembled as
she did so, for the soldiers were thundering at the
door downstairs, and she could hear it giving way.
To Calhoun’s intense surprise, a section of the
apparently solid wall gave way, leaving an opening
large enough for a person to enter by crawling on
his hands and knees.
Quick, go in!
said the lady.
Calhoun needed no second bidding, but crawled in, and the wall slowly came back to place. Calhoun found himself in a narrow place, between the wall of the room and the side of the house. The house had been built with a mansard roof on the sides, thus leaving a space. This space was about three feet wide at the bottom, coming to a point at the top. Close under the eaves, where it would not be noticed, an aperture had been left for the admission of air, and through it a ray of light came.
Narrow and contracted as his quarters were, to Calhoun they were more welcome than a palace. It was plain that the place had been occupied before, for on the floor there were soft blankets, and in feeling around Calhoun discovered a jug of water and some provisions. It was evident that no one who was put in there hurriedly was to be allowed to suffer from thirst or hunger.
Calhoun could hear every word which was said when the soldiers searched the room. His heart stood still when he heard them sounding the walls, but they gave forth no uncertain sound, and the soldiers departed, much to his relief.
It was not until the next day that Calhoun was allowed to leave his hiding-place, and then he was told he must not leave the room. He had to be ready to seek his refuge at a moment’s notice, if found necessary. For three days he was virtually a prisoner, then the guards around the block were withdrawn.
Word was taken to his aunt and Kate where he was. They had been in an agony of fear over his non-return. But they durst not visit him.
To Mrs. Lovell and her daughters Calhoun felt he could never repay what they had done for him. He felt like a brute, when Annette was introduced to him, her pretty features disfigured by a swollen nose, and when he was making his most abject apologies, she interrupted him with a gay laugh.
I am proud of that nose!
she exclaimed; as
We are of the opinion that during his enforced imprisonment, Calhoun would have lost his heart to Annette if he had not learned she was engaged to a gallant officer in Bragg’s army.
What troubled Calhoun the most was the thought that his scouts would return to Morgan with the news that he was captured, but there was no help for it.
After the guards had been withdrawn, he at once began to make plans for his escape from the city. The original plan had to be given up, for the vigilance of the Federals had been redoubled, and it was impossible for any one to leave the city without his identity being fully established.
At last Inez clapped her hands. I have it,
she cried. Get him out to Dr. Caldwell. The
doctor lives clear on the outskirts of the city, and
on the bank of the river. Lieutenant Pennington
can take to the river going as he did coming.
But he can’t float up stream,
said Annette,
and as for a boat, that will be impossible.
He can swim,
said Inez, swim across the
river. He will be above the pickets around Edgefield.
But how can he get to Dr. Caldwell? It is not
safe for him to appear on the street. Not a guard
but has a description of him,
said the careful
Annette.
Dr. Caldwell is attending Mrs. Robinson (the
Robinsons lived next door); it will be easy for the
doctor to take him in his buggy; no guard will
think of disturbing the doctor, he is too well known.
Calhoun eagerly caught at the idea. When Dr.
Caldwell visited Mrs. Robinson during the day, he
was seen, and consented to the scheme. Muffle
him up,
he said, he will be taken for one of
my patients.
Before Calhoun left he wrote
a letter, and directed it to Captain Haines — Regt.
This Inez promised to mail when Calhoun was well
out of the city.
Dr. Caldwell had no trouble in taking Calhoun to his home. Here he stayed until dark, then bidding the hospitable physician good-bye, he plunged into the river and was soon across, and began to make his way slowly up the northern bank. But the night was dark, and after many falls and bruises, he concluded to wait for daylight. Having made himself a bed of leaves beside a log, he was soon sleeping as peacefully as if no dangers were lurking near.
As for Captain Haines, he was bitterly disappointed when Calhoun was not caught. But his leave of absence was out, and he had to return to his regiment near Murfreesboro. A day or two after his return the following letter came with his mail:
My Dear Captain: When you receive this I shall be well out
of Nashville. We have already met three times, and I trust we
Nashville, Tenn.Calhoun Pennington,
Captain Haines was no coward, but his hand trembled like a leaf when he laid the letter down.
Calhoun did not wake until the light of the morning sun was sifting through the branches of the trees. He arose stiff and somewhat chill, but the day promised to be a warm one, and a little exercise put a delightful heat through his body. All he lacked was a good breakfast, and he must not look for that until he had crossed the river; he was yet too close to Nashville to try to cross it. Then he must secure a horse, and where would he be so likely to secure one as at the home of Mr. Edmunds, the gentleman of whom he had obtained the skiff, and who had given him all possible aid? He had no hopes of finding his men, for at the end of three days they would return to Morgan, taking his horse with them.
He slowly made his way up the river, dodging two or three scouting parties, until he thought he must be nearly opposite to where Mr. Edmunds lived. The place seemed favorable, as there were woods on both sides of the river, so he determined to cross. But if he had known it, he had selected a very dangerous place. A road which led down to the river was but a few yards in front of him, and it was one of the places to which the Federal cavalry came as they patrolled the bank of the river.
Just as he was about to remove some of his clothing, which he would carry over on his head as he swam the stream, he was startled by the sound of horses’ hoofs, and he hastily concealed himself in a thicket. Soon a Federal sergeant, accompanied by two soldiers, came down the road, and riding near the edge of the river, dismounted.
Here is the place,
said the sergeant.
What are we to do here?
asked one of the
men.
Keep watch to see if any Johnny attempts to
cross the river,
answered the sergeant; but I
doubt if we see anything larger than buzzards, and
we can’t stop them.
The men made themselves comfortable, and lay
in the shade smoking their pipes. Calhoun was
considering the proposition whether he could not
quietly withdraw, and flank them without being
seen, when one of the men said: Sergeant, let me
go to that house we passed and see if I cannot get
a canteen of milk. It will go good with our hardtack.
You can both go,
replied the sergeant; I
guess I can stop any one who attempts to cross the
river while you are away. But don’t be gone
long.
The men quickly availed themselves of the
opportunity, and mounting their horses rode away.
The sergeant stretched himself on the ground, and
lazily watched the river. Now was Calhoun’s time.
He had secured a good revolver when he left
Nash
[Illustration: HE CAUTIOUSLY CREPT UP ON THE SERGEANT.]
That individual leaped to his feet as if he had
springs when he heard the stern command, Surrender!
He reached for his weapon, but suddenly stopped when he saw he was looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
Hands up! Be quick about it!
The hands of the sergeant slowly went above his head.
Pardon me, but I will relieve you of this,
said
Calhoun, as he took a revolver from the belt of his
prisoner, and tossed it into the river.
Up to this time the sergeant had not said a
word, but now he exclaimed, with the utmost disgust,
How thundering careless of me! Sergeant
Latham, you are no good; you ought to be reduced
to the ranks.
Oh! don’t feel too bad about it; better men
than you have been caught napping,
replied
Calhoun, consolingly.
But no bigger fool. To be gobbled in like this,
and by a blamed skulking citizen, too. Now, if—
Rest your mind there, if it will make you feel
any better,
broke in Calhoun, I am no civilian,
I am Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s
command.
You don’t say,
replied the sergeant, apparently
much relieved. Lieutenant, allow me to
introduce myself. I am Sergeant Silas Latham.
We have had the pleasure of meeting before.
Where?
asked Calhoun, in surprise.
Down in Tennessee, when you got away with
Lieutenant Haines’s horse so slick.
Calhoun’s face darkened. Did you have anything
to do with the persecution of the Osbornes?
he asked, threateningly.
Not I. That was the blamedest, meanest trick
I ever knew Haines to do. But he was dead gone
on the girl. I half believe he would have turned
Reb if he could have got her.
I saw Haines the other day,
remarked Calhoun.
Where?
asked the Sergeant.
In Nashville. I had the pleasure of knocking
him down.
The Sergeant chuckled. Served him right.
He threatened to have me reduced to the ranks
because I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself,
the way he persecuted that girl.
Are you in his company now?
No; he is the captain of another company.
Glad of it.
Sergeant Latham, I would like to continue this
conversation, but time presses. Give me your
parole, and I will be going.
By gum, I won’t do it!
exclaimed Latham,
with energy. If you want to take me prisoner,
take me. But do you think I am going sneaking
Latham, you are a character. Can you swim?
Never learned when a boy.
Will your horse carry double?
asked Calhoun.
No, he is a poor swimmer, he would drown us
both.
Latham, I am afraid I shall have to shoot you.
I don’t see any other way to get rid of you.
Latham thought a moment, and said: Let me
ride the horse across and you swim.
A brilliant idea, declined with thanks.
Latham scratched his head as if for an idea.
Perhaps I can hang on by the horse’s tail,
he
remarked, hesitatingly.
That’s better. It’s either a parole, the tail, or
death. Which shall it be?
I will take the tail.
All right; but you must give me your word of
honor that you will hang on.
Like grim death,
answered Latham.
Come, then, I have fooled away too much time
already.
Marching his prisoner up to where his horse was tethered, Calhoun took Latham’s sword and carbine which hung to the saddle and pitched them into the river after the revolver.
Mounting the horse, Calhoun said, Now, no
fooling. The slightest attempt on your part to
escape, and I shall shoot you without compunction
of conscience.
I am not fool enough to run when there is a
revolver at my head,
growled Latham.
Nevertheless you will bear watching. I am
of the opinion you are a slippery customer. You
just walk by my side here until we reach deep
water.
They entered the river. Latham wading quietly by the side of the horse, until the water became so deep the horse began to plunge.
Now, grab his tail,
commanded Calhoun, and
he watched Latham until he had taken a firm hold
of the horse’s tail and was in water beyond his
depth.
For the Lord’s sake, keep his head above
water,
shouted Latham from behind, as the horse
made a fearful plunge.
For the next few minutes Calhoun had enough to do without looking to see what had become of Latham. The horse, as the Sergeant had said, proved a poor swimmer. Twice he came near drowning; but at last managed to struggle through. When he got to where the water was shallow enough for the horse to wade, Calhoun looked around to see how Latham had fared.
To his surprise he saw that worthy leaning against a tree on the bank from which they had started, and apparently he had been watching the struggles of the horse in the water with a great deal of satisfaction.
Calhoun hardly knew whether to laugh or get
angry. Riding to the edge of the water, he turned
You are a
pretty fellow, you are! Like most Yankees, your
word of honor is worthless.
Did just what I said I would!
yelled back
Latham.
You did not. You told me you would hold
on that horse’s tail like grim death.
And so I did. I am holding on to it yet,
and to Calhoun’s surprise Latham shook a large
piece of the horse’s tail at him. He had neatly
severed it.
Calhoun shook with suppressed laughter, but
assuming a severe tone, he said: You lied to me
like a Turk, anyway, you miserable Yankee; you
told me you could not swim.
I told you no such thing, you skulking Rebel,
yelled back Latham, wrathfully. Come back here
and fight me like a man, and I will wallop you until
you can’t stand, for calling me a liar. I would have
you know I am a member of the church in good
standing.
Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?
No; I told you I had never learned to swim
when a boy.
When did you learn to swim?
After I became a man.
Calhoun exploded. Say, Latham,
he cried,
I forgive you. You are the slickest Yankee I
ever met. I must be going, for I see your men are
coming. Ta! ta!
Calhoun turned and urged his horse up the bank,
Sergeant Latham had little trouble in recovering his arms from the river, as the water was not deep where Calhoun had thrown them.
The Sergeant made the following report of the affair to his superior officer:
Sir: I have the honor to report that a Rebel scout crossed
the Cumberland to-day near the post where I was stationed. I
followed him into the river, but my horse being a poor swimmer,
I was forced to abandon him in mid-stream to save myself.
Silas Latham, Sergeant.
The capture of Latham’s horse and the ludicrous affair with him put Calhoun in the best of humor. He reached the house of Mr. Edmunds without further adventure, and met with a hearty welcome from that gentleman, who informed him that his men had lingered a day longer than he had ordered, in the hope that he would return.
After satisfying his hunger, Calhoun bade his kind host good-bye, and without trouble reached Morgan’s camp that night. Here he was received as one snatched from the jaws of death, for they had given him up as lost. The valuable information which he had collected was forwarded to General Bragg, and in due time an acknowledgment was received from that general, warmly congratulating him, and saying he had recommended him for a captaincy.
It was but a few days after his return that Calhoun
was with a regiment reconnoitring near
Braddyville, when they were suddenly attacked by
The bloody repulse of these two companies cooled the ardor of the Federals, and the Confederates withdrew without further molestation.
Major Conway noted Calhoun’s growing popularity
with the command, and his hatred, if possible,
grew more bitter. The sting of the blow he had
received still rankled in his heart, and he swore
sooner or later to have his revenge. His attempts
to assassinate Calhoun in time of battle, so far had
failed, and Calhoun’s extreme wariness now usually
kept them apart during an engagement. The
crafty Major was busily thinking of some other
scheme by which he could kill Calhoun without
bringing suspicion on himself, when an incident
Calhoun was out with his scouts when he fell in with a small party of the enemy. As he outnumbered them, he thought their capture was easy. But he was met with such a rapid and accurate fire that his men were forced to fall back.
Them Yankees have repeating rifles,
growled
one of his men, and they know how to shoot.
This was true, and Calhoun was thinking of withdrawing from the fight entirely, when he caught sight of the leader of the Federals. The horse which he rode he would know among ten thousand. It was Prince, the famous horse of his cousin, and the rider must be Fred. Ordering his men to cease firing, Calhoun tied a white handkerchief to the point of his sword, and rode forward.
Fred, for it was he, rode out to meet him. As
soon as he came within hearing distance, he asked,
Do you surrender?
Surrender nothing!
answered Calhoun, a little
disgusted. If you only knew how many men I
had back there you would think of surrendering
yourself. I simply came out to have a little talk
with you.
Cal, as sure as I live!
exclaimed Fred, and in
a moment the two cousins had each other by the
hand, forgetting they were enemies, remembering
only their love for each other.
They had much to say to each other, and talked
The Confederates proved to be a full squadron in command of Major Conway. He was accompanied by Captain Mathews. No sooner did they see Fred than they shouted in their delight.
The hoss is mine again!
cried Mathews.
And this spy and sneak is in my power at
last,
exclaimed Conway, pointing at Fred; and
what is better I have you, my fine fellow,
said
Conway, turning to Calhoun. I have long known
that you were holding treasonable conferences with
the enemy, and have only been waiting for indubitable
proof. I have it now.
Lieutenant,
turning to one of his officers,
arrest Lieutenant Pennington, and on your life
see that he does not escape.
The enormity of the charge dumbfounded Calhoun. He could scarcely believe his ears. He began to protest, but was cut short by Conway, who ordered the Lieutenant to take an escort of ten men and to conduct Calhoun straightway to General Bragg at Tullahoma.
Tell the General,
he said, that I have positive
proof of Lieutenant Pennington’s treasonable
intercourse with the enemy. The case is so
impor
The Lieutenant seemed surprised at his orders to take Calhoun direct to Bragg, but he said nothing, and choosing his escort, was soon on the way to Tullahoma with his prisoner.
Major Conway’s real object in sending Calhoun to Tullahoma was to bring the case directly to the notice of General Bragg, and thus compel Morgan to take action. He knew that his charge would not be believed in Morgan’s command, but he would see that there was plenty of evidence at the right time.
Disarmed, under arrest, charged with the most heinous offence of which an officer could be guilty, it is no wonder that Calhoun’s heart sank within him on that dismal journey to Tullahoma.
Better to have been hanged as a spy by the
Federals than to be shot as a traitor by my own
men,
he muttered to himself. The thought of
dying such a disgraceful death was maddening.
When he arrived at Tullahoma, his reception by General Bragg was not exactly such as he had expected. Bragg was noted as a martinet and a great stickler for military forms. When the lieutenant who had Calhoun in charge reported to him, and told him the verbal message which Major Conway had sent, he flew into a furious rage.
What does Major Conway mean by sending a
prisoner to me with such a message as that?
he
What is General Morgan about that
he has not attended to this, and presented his
charges in due form.
Officer, take the prisoner to General Morgan,
and tell Major Conway to read up on army discipline.
If it had endangered his whole army, Bragg would have contended for rigid adherence to military law. When Bragg’s order was reported to Calhoun, hope began to revive. Surely Morgan would give him a fair hearing. Every act he had done in the army would disprove the monstrous charges of Major Conway.
It was with a much lighter heart that he set out for MacMinnville. But when he reached that place he was surprised by the astonishing news that Conway had been shot—killed while in the act of murdering his cousin in cold blood.
One of the men who was with Conway at the time was mortally wounded, and confessed the whole thing. Conway was to prepare a paper which they were to swear was found on Fred’s person, criminating Calhoun. With such evidence his conviction would have been certain. He thanked God for the death of Conway. It meant a thousand times more to him than life, for it kept his name unsullied.
Morgan made a full report of the whole matter
to General Bragg. The plot was damnable,
he
wrote, yet it might have been successful if Major
Conway had not met his just deserts. But one
Thus was Calhoun fully exonerated, and not only that, but he was to be chosen for a most important mission. He also had the satisfaction of seeing Morgan make Captain Mathews return Fred his horse, much to the Captain’s disgust. But what was the important duty upon which Calhoun was to be sent North? He had heard nothing of it before.
Some time before the Hon. C. L. Vallandigham, a noted Democratic politician of Ohio, and an ex-member of Congress, had been arrested at his home in Dayton for treason. He was tried by military court-martial, found guilty, and banished South. The excitement was intense. Thousands of his friends rallied to his defence, and at one time it looked as if the streets of Dayton would run red with blood. His friends were in open revolt against the government, and opposed the prosecution of the war.
Before this numerous reports had reached the
South of the dissatisfaction of a large number of
the Democratic party with Lincoln, especially with
his proclamation freeing the slaves. They were
It was the boast of the Knights that they had a quarter of a million men armed and drilled, ready to take the field. If a Confederate force would only invade the North, their ranks would be augmented by these thousands. It was to investigate these reports and find out the truth that Calhoun was to be sent North.
No one was more surprised than Calhoun when told that he had been selected to go North on a secret and most important mission.
General Breckinridge and I have selected you,
said Morgan, because we have confidence in your
sagacity, bravery, and discretion. We know no
one better fitted to intrust this delicate, and perhaps
dangerous, mission to than yourself.
But I am so young,
said Calhoun; while I
gladly accept the honor which I feel you have
bestowed upon me, would not one older and more
experienced than I do better?
Your youth is one of the main reasons why we
have chosen you,
replied Morgan. A youth like
you will not excite suspicion half as quickly as a
man.
Then I am more than willing to go,
answered
Calhoun, and trust that the confidence you repose
in me will not prove to have been misplaced.
I have no fears on that score,
answered Morgan;
I know that you will succeed, if any one
can.
The General then fully explained what was required of him. Calhoun listened in silence.
I think I fully understand what you want of
That has already been provided for,
answered
Morgan. We are now ready to initiate you into
a camp of the Golden Circle.
Does the order exist down South, too?
asked
Calhoun, in surprise.
Certainly, to some extent,
was the answer.
If not, how could we know the secrets of the
order? You are willing, I suppose, to take the oaths
required?
If there is not anything in them to hinder me
from being a true son of the South,
replied Calhoun.
I assure you there is not, for I have taken
them,
said Morgan; but you must bear in mind
this is a Northern order, its chief purpose to overthrow
the Lincoln government; its chief cornerstone
is States’ Rights. The Hon. C. L. Vallandigham,
who was lately sent into our lines for
disloyalty, but who has now found a refuge in
Canada, is the Supreme Commander of the order.
No truer friend of the South exists than Vallandigham.
He believes in the doctrine of secession.
The North is sick and tired of the war,
and wants to put a stop to it and let the South
go in peace. This is the purpose of the order.
All right,
said Calhoun; I am ready to
join any order that has that for its purpose.
Calhoun was conducted to a tent where, to his
surprise, he met quite a number of the officers of
After having fully learned the signs, grips, and passwords of the order, Calhoun was ready for his journey. He now received his final instructions from Morgan and Breckinridge.
It did not take Calhoun long to see that while these gentlemen were willing to use the order, they had the utmost contempt for it. All nations use traitors and despise them at the same time. The Knights of the Golden Circle were traitors to their section. Calhoun felt this, and loathed the men with whom he was to mingle; but if they could help the South to secure her independence, it was all he asked. He, like the noble Major André of Revolutionary fame, was willing to risk his life for the cause he loved. André failed, and suffered an ignominious death; but his fame grows brighter with the centuries, while the traitor Arnold is still abhorred.
Here is a belt containing ten thousand dollars
in United States money,
said Morgan, handing
him a belt. You will need it; our money don’t
go in the North.
Whew! you must have had your hand in Lincoln’s
strong-box,
said Calhoun, as he took the
money.
Morgan smiled as he answered: A Yankee paymaster
don’t come amiss once in a while.
Calhoun was next given an official envelope, which he was to hand to General Forrest, who was then operating in Northern Mississippi and Western Tennessee.
You will receive full instructions from Forrest,
continued Morgan, what to do, and how to get
through the Yankee lines. We have concluded to
send you by the way of Western Tennessee, as you
will not be so apt to meet with any Federal officer
who might know you. Now go, and may success
attend you.
Calhoun took his chief’s hand. His heart was
too full to say a word. A strong grasp, and he was
gone. He had no trouble in finding General Forrest,
who carefully read the papers that Calhoun
handed him. He then scanned Calhoun closely
from head to feet. I reckon you understand the
purport of these papers,
he said, in rather a harsh
voice.
I suppose they relate to sending me through
the lines,
answered Calhoun.
Well, I can send you through, young man,
but you are going on a fool’s errand. I have had
a good deal to do with those Knights of the Golden
Circle, as they call themselves. They are all right
in giving away everything they know; but when it
Then you haven’t much faith in the fighting
qualities of the Knights?
said Calhoun, with a
smile.
Faith? Not I. They are Yankees, mere
money-grabbers. Ask one of them for ten dollars
and he will shut up as tight as a clam. But they
worry the Lincoln government, and keep up a fire
in the rear; therefore they should be encouraged.
You will find them a scurvy lot to deal with,
though.
How soon can I start North?
asked Calhoun.
To-night,
answered Forrest. I am the
president of an underground railroad, took my cue
from the Abolitionists when they were engaged in
running our niggers through to Canada. I have a
regular mail North. I will send you through with
one of the carriers. I reckon I had better send your
credentials by a second carrier. It might be awkward
if you were captured with them. You must
leave here dressed as a citizen, and bear in mind
that your name is W. B. Harrison.
Where shall I find my credentials?
asked
Calhoun.
At Mount Vernon, Illinois, which is the terminus
of my railroad at present. Inquire for Judge
Worley. Once in his hands, you will be all right.
If all the Knights were like him there would be
something doing; but he is a Kentuckian, no
whining Yankee.
Calhoun had heard much of General Forrest, and during his interview with him studied him carefully. He put him down as a man of indomitable energy, of great courage, and possessing military genius of a high order. On the other hand, he was illiterate, rough in his language, and lacked the polish of a cultured gentleman, which Morgan possessed. But there was a magnetism about him which drew men to him.
If I were not riding with Morgan, I should
surely want to be with Forrest,
thought Calhoun.
Night came, and Calhoun was introduced to the mail-carrier who was to be his guide. He was a thin, wiry man, named Givens. In age, Calhoun put him down at about forty. The few days during which Calhoun was with Givens gave him a very high opinion of the guide’s bravery and sagacity. Givens related many of his hairbreadth escapes during their journey, and seemed to treat them as great jokes. During the entire journey through Tennessee and Kentucky, Givens kept to unfrequented roads, and in the darkest night rode as one entirely familiar with the way.
At every place they stopped, they seemed to be expected. A man would take their horses, and in the evening when they started, they would find fresh horses provided. Givens informed Calhoun that these stations were a night ride apart, and that at each a relay of horses was kept concealed in the woods.
I now understand,
said Calhoun, what an
Givens chuckled as he answered: They did, I
know all about it; was in the business myself.
You?
asked Calhoun, in surprise, and he instinctively
recoiled from the man.
A man has to do something for a living,
growled Givens; I got so much for each nigger I
ran off.
He then refused to discuss the subject
further.
One night as they were travelling at a rapid gait, a low, tremulous whistle came from the side of the road. Givens reined in his horse so quickly that he fell back on his haunches. He answered the whistle in the same low, tremulous note. A man stepped from the bushes into the road, and spoke a few words to Givens in a low tone.
Givens turned to Calhoun and said: Yanks
ahead. We will have to go round them.
Under the guidance of the man they turned into a path through the woods. The way was rough, and Givens swore roundly because they were losing time. A good-sized stream was reached, which they had to swim. They emerged from it wet and out of humor, Givens cursing the Yankees to his heart’s content. He explained that it eased his mind. When the road was reached their guide bade them good-bye, and disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.
Givens and Calhoun now urged their horses to
One more night and we shall reach the Ohio,
said Givens, when they dismounted after a long,
wearisome night ride. But it was destined that
they should not reach the Ohio the next night, for
they had not ridden more than five miles after they
had started before they were brought up with the
sharp command: Halt! Who comes there?
Citizens without the countersign,
answered
Givens without a moment’s hesitation, and then to
Calhoun, Wheel and run for your life.
They both turned and clapped spurs to their horses, but not before the sentinel had fired. Calhoun heard a sharp exclamation of pain, and turning his head saw Givens tumble from his horse. He had carried his last mail. There was no time to halt, for Calhoun heard the rapid hoof-beats of horses in pursuit. Coming to a cross-road, he sprang from his horse and struck him a vicious blow which sent him galloping wildly down the road. In a moment a squad of Federal cavalry passed in swift pursuit. Calhoun breathed freer after the trampling of their horses died away in the distance. But he was alone, without a horse, and in a strange country. He was now thankful that Forrest had not sent his credentials with Givens.
Calhoun made his way slowly on foot, turning
Heah, git
off of my place, or I will set the dogs on you. I
want no tramps around heah.
Calhoun glanced at himself, and did not wonder he had been mistaken for a disreputable character. His night’s walk had made sad havoc with the looks of his clothes. The road was muddy, and he had fallen down several times. Rather in desperation than thinking it would do any good, he made the sign of recognition of the Knights of the Golden Circle. To his surprise it was answered.
Who are you? and why do you come in such a
plight?
asked the gentleman.
Calhoun’s story was soon told. And you are
one of Morgan’s men,
said the gentleman, whose
name was Cressey. I have a son with Morgan,
and he gave his name.
One of my scouts,
replied Calhoun, delighted.
Calhoun had indeed found a friend, and a place of
refuge. The next night, with a good horse and
guide, Calhoun was taken to a house but a short
distance from the river. The farmer who owned
the house was to take a load of produce into Mount
Shortly after dinner he inquired for the office of Judge Worley, and was shown the most pretentious law office in the little city. Entering, he inquired for the Judge, and was told that he was in his private office.
Tell him that a gentleman wishes to see him
on very important business,
said Calhoun.
A clerk bade him be seated, and disappeared. He returned in a moment and said the Judge would see him at once.
When Calhoun entered the private office he saw seated at a desk a dignified-looking gentleman about sixty years of age, who eyed him sharply, and Calhoun was sure a look of disappointment came over his face. This, then, was the gentleman who wished to see him on very important business—hardly more than a boy.
He did not even ask Calhoun to be seated, but
said, in a cold voice: Well, what do you want?
Be in a hurry, for I am very busy.
This was not the kind of reception Calhoun was
looking for. Gulping down his indignation, he
said: I am just from the South, I was directed to
come to you, who would prove a friend.
Ah! some one must have taken an unwarranted
liberty with my name.
While he was saying this, Calhoun was aware a
Is that all?
at length continued the Judge.
I have no time to give you; as I told you, I am
very busy,
and he dismissed his visitor with a
wave of the hand.
As a last resort Calhoun gave the sign of recognition
of the Knights of the Golden Circle. There
was no recognition; instead a testy, Why don’t
you go?
Calhoun’s face flamed with anger, but controlling
himself, he replied: When you receive some
mail from the South, you may find some dispatches
from General Forrest which will cause you to treat
me differently. If such dispatches come, be here in
your office at nine o’clock to-night.
When Calhoun mentioned mail from the
South,
and General Forrest,
the Judge turned
pale, and Calhoun fancied he made a motion as if
to stop him; but the young man paid no attention
to the signal, and strode indignantly from the office.
No sooner was he gone than the Judge turned eagerly to a pile of mail which he had just received, and which the coming of Calhoun had interrupted him in reading. Hurriedly running over the letters, he picked out one, and opened it with nervous fingers. It was written in cipher. Opening a secret drawer in his desk, he took out the key to the cipher, and began the translation of the dispatch. As he did so, he gave vent to his surprise in various exclamations.
Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s
staff ... will go by name of W. B. Harrison ... comes
North to fully investigate conditions.... If
favorable will invade North.... Pennington
is member of K. G. C.
The Judge laid down the letter and seemed to be gazing into vacancy. He was thinking—thinking hard. At last he picked up the letter and read it through to the end. Then he made preparations to go out.
I shall not be back again this afternoon,
he
said to his clerk, as he passed out. You can lock
up the office when you leave. I shall not need you
this evening.
When Calhoun called that evening, he was met at the door by the Judge, and given a reception much different from that he received in the afternoon.
I am glad to see you, Lieutenant,
said the
Judge, and he raised his hand as if in military
salute, but was careful not to touch his forehead.
And I am rejoiced to make the acquaintance
of Judge Worley,
replied Calhoun, raising his
hand as if to shade his eyes from the light.
They then advanced and grasped each other by the hand, the fore-finger of each resting on the pulse of the other.
Nu,
said Calhoun.
Oh,
responded the Judge.
Lac,
answered Calhoun.
Nu-oh-lac,
they then both said together.
Thus were they introduced to each other as members of the Knights of the Golden Circle.
The Judge was now profuse in his apologies for his treatment of Calhoun at their first meeting.
The fact is,
said the Judge, we are surrounded
by Lincoln spies on every hand. Some of
them have gained admittance into the order. One
cannot be too careful. Then your youth misled
me. I am now surprised that one so young should
be selected for so important a
No apology is needed,
said Calhoun. I
confess I was indignant at first, but I now see you
were right in receiving me as you did. Have you
received General Forrest’s letter yet?
Yes, and it makes all plain. By the way, I see
that your name is Calhoun. Have you ever noticed
our password particularly?
No; you must bear in mind I am a new member.
Read your name backwards,
said the Judge,
with a smile.
Calhoun did so, and exclaimed, in surprise:
Nuohlac! Why, it’s my name spelled backwards.
Aye! and it is the name of the greatest American
who ever lived,
exclaimed the Judge, with
enthusiasm.
Lincoln seems to have more nerve than I wish
he had,
answered Calhoun.
Lincoln is an ignoramus, a filthy story-teller,
a monster. Seward is the brains of the administration.
Without Seward, Lincoln would be nothing.
Calhoun thought it wise not to dispute with the Judge, so he changed the subject by asking the number of Knights of the Golden Circle in the state.
That, under my oath, I cannot give,
answered
the Judge. I see by General Forrest’s letter that
you have taken only the first degree of the order.
That entitles you to very little information. It is
the duty of those who take only this degree to
obey, not to question. General Forrest advises
that the other degrees be given you as soon as possible.
I have already made arrangements to have
you initiated into the second and third degrees this
evening. That is as high as we can go here.
The Judge here looked at his watch, and said it was time to go.
Calhoun accompanied him to a room over a saloon, the Judge explaining that they had selected the place so as not to excite suspicion by so many men passing in and out. Calhoun found at least fifty men assembled, and when he was introduced as one of Morgan’s men, he received a perfect ovation.
Hurrah for John Morgan!
shouted one enthusiastic
member, and the cheers were given with a
will.
Three cheers were then given for Jeff Davis, followed by three groans for Abe Lincoln.
Calhoun could scarcely believe his ears. Was this the North? He could well believe he was in the heart of the South.
The object of the meeting was stated, and Calhoun was duly initiated into the second and third degrees. There was no mistaking the nature of the society; its object was the overthrow of the Lincoln government. But resistance to the draft was the main thing discussed. Their hatred of even the name of Lincoln was shown in every word.
Calhoun, now armed with the proper credentials, was told that to obtain the information which he sought, he would have to visit the Grand Commander of the state, who was a Dr. Warrenton, of Springfield. Calhoun marvelled that the head officer of such an order should reside under the very shadow of the state capitol.
The next day found Calhoun in Springfield. It was full of Federal soldiers, and from almost every house a United States flag was flying. It did not look like a very promising place for opposition to the Federal government, but Calhoun afterwards learned that the place was honeycombed with members of the Knights of the Golden Circle.
Calhoun was received by Dr. Warrenton with the greatest caution, and it was only after he was fully satisfied that his visitor was what he represented himself to be that the Doctor consented to talk.
Be frank with me,
said Calhoun; John Morgan
is contemplating a raid in the North, and he
wishes to know whether in that case he can expect
any aid from this order, and if so to what number.
The Doctor seemed to be fired with the idea of
Morgan making a raid, but said: If you are to be
given the full information you ask for, you must be
initiated into the fourth degree of the order. That
is a degree which but very few take, and can be given
only with the consent of the Supreme Commander.
The Grand Commanders of the different states meet
the Supreme Commander in Canada next Tuesday.
This is Friday. You had better attend that meeting,
as your mission is very important.
Why meet in Canada?
asked Calhoun.
Because it is safer, and—and we want to meet
the Supreme Commander of the order.
Ah! I understand,
said Calhoun. Mr. —
Stop; on your life mention no names! Our
oaths forbid it.
I stand corrected,
answered Calhoun, humbly.
It was arranged that Calhoun was to accompany Dr. Warrenton to Canada; but the Doctor warned him that on the cars they must be to each other as strangers.
When we reach Detroit,
said the Doctor,
go to the Russell House, and register as from
Chicago. Write Chicago
Chic.
I think I will go through to Chicago this evening,
said Calhoun; I should like to make some
So it was arranged, the Doctor giving him the
names of half a dozen men in that city whom it
might be well for him to see. But mind,
said
Warrenton, do not tell any one of Morgan’s contemplated
raid. That must be a secret.
Calhoun spent two days in Chicago, and what
he saw and learned there surprised him more than
ever. Opposition to the Lincoln government was
everywhere. The leading newspaper boldly demanded
that the war be stopped, boastingly proclaimed
that there would soon be a fire in the
rear
that would bring Lincoln to his senses.
Resistance to the draft was openly talked on the
streets. It was even hinted that there was a secret
move on foot to liberate the prisoners at Camp
Douglas and burn the city.
This is proving interesting,
thought Calhoun;
the whole North seems to be a seething volcano,
ready to burst forth into flames, yet something
seems to smother the flames.
Calhoun had an inkling of what smothered the flames when, representing himself as a young Englishman, he asked a Federal officer why the government permitted such open talk of treason.
The officer smiled as he answered: It is better
for them to talk than act. The government has its
eye on them. As long as they only talk it lets
them alone. The first overt act will be crushed
with a heavy hand.
Then Calhoun remembered what both Worley and Warrenton had told him; that government spies were in the order, and that they knew not whom to trust. Would the spies of the government find out who he was, and his mission? It was not a very comforting thought.
Monday Calhoun left for Detroit. Dr. Warrenton
was on the train, but they met as
strangers. When he reached the city and went to
register at the Russell House, a gentleman was
carelessly leaning against the desk talking with the
clerk. He did not appear to notice Calhoun, but
he had caught the word Chic.
after his name.
After a few moments the gentleman approached
Calhoun and said: Pardon me, but is not this Mr.
Harrison of Kentucky?
My name is Harrison,
answered Calhoun,
but if you would examine the register you would
see I am from Chicago.
Ah, yes, I understand,
and he gave the secret
sign of the order. Come,
he continued, and
let me introduce you to some friends.
He led the way to a room where there were several gentlemen seated smoking and talking, among them Dr. Warrenton, who gave him a warm greeting.
I have been telling them about you,
said
Warrenton, and they are all anxious to meet
you.
The Doctor then introduced Calhoun to each
member of the party. There was Wrightman of
You don’t tell me you are the son of my old
friend, Judge Pennington, of Danville,
asked
Mr. Bullock, as he shook Calhoun warmly by the
hand.
The very same,
answered Calhoun.
Gentlemen, we need have no fears of Lieutenant
Pennington,
exclaimed Mr. Bullock, addressing
those present. I will vouch for him with my
life. Let’s see, your name is now—
Harrison for the present,
answered Calhoun,
with a smile.
The party had no trouble in getting across the river, and that night there was a meeting in Windsor which boded ill for the Federal government.
The Supreme Commander of the order was a gentleman in the full vigor of manhood. He was polished in his manner, rather reserved, but every action showed that he was accustomed to command. Behind it all Calhoun thought that he detected the signs of an inordinate ambition—an ambition which would stop for nothing.
Isn’t he grand,
whispered Dr. Warrenton to
Calhoun. A fit representative to wear the mantle
of your great namesake.
Better say the mantle of Aaron Burr,
thought
Calhoun, but he wisely did not give expression to
his thought. The object of Calhoun’s coming was
fully explained, and it was decided by a unanimous
vote, that he should receive the fourth degree,
The degree was duly conferred on him. Calhoun was now certain he was among a band of conspirators who would stop at nothing to achieve their ends.
Is this the highest of the degrees?
asked
Calhoun, when he was through.
The party exchanged meaning glances, and then
the Supreme Commander said: There is one more
degree, but it is given only to the highest officers
in the order, and would not be of the least advantage
to you.
Calhoun was certain there was something which those present did not wish him to know—some object which they wished to keep secret.
The number of members in the order was now given to Calhoun. The figures astounded him. In Iowa there were twenty thousand members, in Missouri fifty thousand, in Illinois one hundred and twenty thousand, in Indiana one hundred thousand, in Ohio eighty thousand. Throughout the East the order was not so numerous. This seemed strange to Calhoun, for he thought that New York especially would be fertile ground for it.
How many of these men are armed?
asked
Calhoun.
The answer was: In Missouri nearly all, in
Illinois fifty thousand, in Indiana forty thousand,
in Ohio the same, in Kentucky nearly all.
Gentlemen,
exclaimed Calhoun, with
considif these figures are correct, why
have you not arisen before this, and hurled the
Lincoln government from power? Pardon me, but
it looks like timidity. The North is denuded of
men, those loyal to Lincoln are in the army.
That is what I have insisted on,
cried Mr.
Bowman, of Indiana, jumping to his feet in his
excitement. I say strike, strike now! We of
Indiana are ready. Liberate the Confederate prisoners
in Northern prison pens! We have arms for
them. If necessary, give every Northern city over
to the flames.
Brother Bowman forgets,
answered the Supreme
Commander, that our forces are scattered;
that if we attempt to concentrate, the government
will take alarm and crush us. At present we have
to work in secret.
But what if Indiana and Ohio should be invaded?
asked Calhoun.
That would be different,
was the answer.
What if you should be successful in your
plans?
asked Calhoun.
Let the South go free. We firmly believe
in the doctrine of States’ Rights,
was the
answer.
Would your states cast their lot with the
South?
asked Calhoun, eagerly.
Again there were meaning glances among the
leaders. It is yet too early to answer that question,
slowly replied the Supreme Commander,
or even to discuss it. The overthrow of the
pres
But had the leaders a further object? Calhoun resolved to find out, and he did.
The conference at Windsor was over. It was resolved that the order should everywhere be strengthened, and that it should strike at the first favorable opportunity. That opportunity would come at once, should the North be invaded.
From Detroit Calhoun went to Columbus, Ohio, from there to Dayton, the home of Vallandigham. He found that that gentleman was the idol of that section. They wanted him to come home. They swore they would defend him with their lives. The whole country reeked with disloyalty to the Federal government.
Calhoun availed himself of the opportunity of talking with all classes of citizens. He especially tried to get at the feelings of the humbler members of the Knights of the Golden Circle, why they joined the order, and what they proposed doing. All the information he gleaned he treasured up.
From Dayton Calhoun proceeded to Indianapolis, where he was to meet Mr. Bowman. He found Indiana much better organized than any of the other states. Bowman was enthusiastic, and he seemed to hate the Lincoln government with his whole soul. He would stop at nothing to achieve his ends. But the especial object of his hatred was Governor Morton.
I want to live long enough,
he said, to see
Calhoun found that the Knights stood in great dread of Morton. They declared he had a way of finding out every secret of the order. If he had not been thoroughly guarded, his life would not have been worth a farthing.
Calhoun was taken into the country, where he witnessed the drilling of two or three companies of Knights. These meetings always took place at night, in some secret place, and sentinels were posted to guard against surprise. Calhoun talked with many of the members to get their ideas and to find out what they wished to accomplish.
What do you think?
asked Bowman of Calhoun,
after they had returned to Indianapolis.
I have forty thousand of those fellows.
Will they fight?
asked Calhoun.
Fight? Of course they will fight,
was the
answer. Let Morgan get into the state, and you
will see.
At Indianapolis Calhoun met with a wealthy farmer named Jones, who lived near Corydon. He had no words too severe to say of Lincoln, and boasted of the number of Knights in his part of the state.
We are going to sweep the Black Abolitionists
from the earth,
he exclaimed, boastingly, and
hang Old Abe, and Morton too.
What would you do if Morgan came?
asked
Calhoun.
Do? I would throw my hat in the air and yell
until I was hoarse,
was the answer.
What if Morgan should want some of your
horses?
asked Calhoun.
Mr. Jones’s countenance fell. At length he
mumbled, Of course he would pay me for them?
Of course,
replied Calhoun, in a tone which
the old gentleman did not quite understand.
Just before Calhoun was ready to leave Indianapolis Bowman told him Morton was to hold a reception, and asked him if he would not like to attend and see the great War Governor.
Nothing would suit Calhoun better. He had a
desire to see the man of whom he had heard so
much—a man who had the majority of his legislature
against him, yet held the state as in the hollow
of his hand—a man who borrowed hundreds of
thousands of dollars in his own name, that the soldiers
of his state might be thoroughly equipped.
He had overcome every difficulty, and held his
state firmly for the Union. Now, with thousands
of the citizens of the state secretly plotting against
him, he moved serenely along the path he had
marked out. Urged to adopt the most severe
measures, he knew when, and when not, to make an
arrest. He avoided angering his enemies except
when the public safety demanded it. His very
name caused every member of the Knights of the
Golden Circle to tremble. Little did Calhoun think
that when he promised to attend the governor’s
reception that Morton’s detectives were already
A large crowd attended the reception, and in such a gathering Calhoun felt in no danger. He saw in Morton a thickset, heavy man with a massive head and brain. He looked every inch the intellectual giant that he was.
The grandest figure,
thought Calhoun, that
I have seen in the North. He is a man to beware
of. No wonder the Knights stand in fear of him.
When Calhoun, passing along in the throng,
took the Governor’s hand, Morton bent his piercing
look upon him, and the question came as if shot
out of his mouth, Where from, young man?
The suddenness of the question threw Calhoun
off his guard, and almost involuntarily he answered,
From Kentucky.
From Kentucky, eh! And how goes it down
there?
Calhoun was himself again. Of course,
he
answered, we are greatly divided in that state, but
all the powers of Jeff Davis cannot tear it from the
Union.
Good, pass on,
and the Governor turned to
the next in line.
But a feeling as of impending danger took possession
of Calhoun. Why that question to him?
He had heard it asked of no other. Could it be he
It was well that he did so, for hardly had the
Governor let go Calhoun’s hand, when he motioned
to General Carrington, and whispered to
him: Arrest that young man. Do it as quietly
as possible, but see he does not get away. He is
the Southern officer we have been looking for, I
am sure. I have a full description of him.
General Carrington in turn whispered to a couple of quiet-looking men, dressed in citizen’s clothes who stood near the Governor. They nodded, and started after Calhoun, who was now nearly lost to view in the crowd.
Once out of the building Calhoun found that
hundreds of spectators had gathered out of curiosity.
They were hurrahing for Lincoln and Morton,
and shouting for the Union, and some were
singing, We’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour-apple
tree.
Rapidly pushing his way through this mob, he
reached the outer edge of the circle. Here groups
of men were standing, but they were not hurrahing.
Instead, their looks were dark and surly, and it
was plain they were not enjoying the proceedings.
Just as Calhoun reached these groups, a heavy
hand was laid on his shoulder, and a stern low voice
said: You are our prisoner; better come quietly
and make no disturbance.
And in a trice Calhoun
felt each of his arms grasped by strong hands. He
Oho ne! Oho ne! Oho ne!
The despairing cry cleft the night air like a knife. It fell on the astonished ears of hundreds who did not understand it. But to those groups of silent, sullen-browed men it came as the call of a trumpet, summoning them to duty.
Oho ne! Oho ne!
they answered, and before
the surprised officers could draw a weapon, could
raise a hand to defend themselves, they were beaten
down, and their prisoner snatched from them.
The alarm was raised, and a company of soldiers came on the run, with fixed bayonets, scattering the crowd right and left. But when they reached the spot they found only a couple of half-dazed and bleeding officers. They could only say they had been set upon, knocked down, and their prisoner taken from them. By whom they did not know, for it was dark, and the crowd had dispersed.
When the onset came, Calhoun felt himself
grasped by the arm, and a voice whispered, Follow
me, quick!
Into the darkness Calhoun dashed, following his guide. In the shadow of buildings, through dark alleys, they ran. At last they came to a part of the city where only a lamp gleamed here and there. They stopped running, both exhausted, their breath coming in quick gasps.
[Illustration: INTO THE DARKNESS CALHOUN DASHED, FOLLOWING HIS GUIDE.]
We are safe now,
said the guide, but it was
To hang me,
answered Calhoun, with a
shudder. I am a Confederate officer.
I thought you must be some big gun, or old
Morton wouldn’t have tried to arrest you in that
crowd; but don’t worry, you are all right now.
His guide, whose name proved to be Randall,
soon came to a house which he said was his home,
and,
he exclaimed, none of Abe Lincoln’s minions
will ever find you here. I have sheltered more
than one escaped Confederate prisoner from that
infernal pen out there called Camp Morton. It
should be called Camp Hades.
Calhoun was ushered into the house, and shown
a room. Sleep soundly, and without fear,
said
Mr. Randall.
Calhoun took his advice, but before he went to sleep he did not forget to return thanks for his escape, and he also had a great deal more respect for the Knights of the Golden Circle than he had had before. The next morning the papers came out with a full description of Calhoun, telling of his escape, and saying he was a famous spy. The article ended with the announcement that so important did the government consider his person that a reward of one thousand dollars would be paid for his recapture. Calhoun now knew that his work was done in the North. The only thing that remained for him was to get out of it as secretly as possible.
Two days afterwards he was conveyed out of the city concealed in a farmer’s wagon. He was passed on from the hands of one true Knight to another, and at the end of three days he found himself on the banks of the Ohio, a few miles above Madison. In the darkness of the night he was rowed over, and his feet once more pressed the soil of his native state. In his ecstasy he felt like kissing the ground, for was it not the soil of Kentucky?
At the house of a true Southerner he found refuge. His measure was taken into Carrolton, where a tailor made him a fine uniform. Purchasing a horse of the gentleman with whom he stayed, he bade him good-bye, and sprang into the saddle. The sun had just set, and the whole west glowed with the beauty which we ascribe to the Golden City. In the midst of the gold hung the new moon like a silver bow.
See! see!
cried Calhoun, the new moon, I
saw it over my right shoulder. It means good
luck.
And while the happy omen still gleamed in the west, he galloped away.
By keeping off the main roads and avoiding the
towns, Calhoun had no trouble in making his
way back into Tennessee. He had been gone
nearly a month, and was glad to see his old command,
who gave him a royal welcome. He was
showered with questions as to where he had been,
but to each and every one he would laugh and say,
Be glad to tell you, boys, but can’t.
Thought you had deserted us,
said his scouts.
Not till death,
replied Calhoun. I was on
a secret mission. The General knows where I was.
It’s all right then, but mark my word, there
will be some deviltry going on shortly,
one of
them remarked, sagely.
As General Breckinridge was greatly interested, Calhoun did not make his report until that General could meet with Morgan. Then Calhoun gave a detailed account of all he had seen and heard. He was listened to with breathless attention.
His report agrees perfectly with all I have
heard,
remarked Breckinridge, much pleased. I
have had a dozen different agents in the North, and
they all agree.
But you have not given us your own conclusions,
Lieutenant,
said Morgan.
It might seem presumptuous in me,
answered
Calhoun.
By no means; let us hear it,
replied both
generals.
Calhoun, thus entreated, gave the conclusions he had formed, not from what had been told him by the leaders of the Knights of the Golden Circle, but from his own observations. He was listened to with evident interest.
Your conclusions seem to be at utter variance
with all that was told you, and every fact given,
said Breckinridge. You admit that dissatisfaction
in the Democratic party is almost universal over the
way the war is being conducted; you say that we
have not been deceived regarding the numbers of
the Knights of the Golden Circle, that there are
eighty thousand of the order in Indiana alone, of
whom forty thousand are armed; as you know,
every member of that order has taken an oath not
to take up arms against the South; that they
believe in states’ rights; that they will resist by
force the tyranny of the Federal government; and
yet you say it is your belief that if General Morgan
should invade the state, not a hand would be raised
to help him. I cannot understand it.
I will try to make myself plain,
said Calhoun.
The Democratic party is sick and tired of
the war, and want it stopped. They believe we
can never be whipped, and in that they are right.
But they love the Union, revere the old flag. They
indulge the vain hope that if the war were stopped,
As to the Knights of the Golden Circle, the
great mass who join it are told it is only a secret
political society. They scarcely comprehend its
oaths; they are kept in ignorance of the real
motives of the order. These Knights hate the
party in power with a bitter hatred. They are
friendly to the South, believe we are right; but
mark my word, they will not fight for us. They
are armed, but their idea is to resist the draft. Go
among them to-day, and not one in a thousand
would enlist to fight in the Southern army. Fighting
is the last thing they want to do for either side.
For these reasons I conclude that if General Morgan
invaded Indiana he would receive no direct aid
from the Knights of the Golden Circle. I confess
these conclusions are entirely different from what
the leaders told me.
As for the leaders, they are heart and soul with
us. They want us to succeed. If they dared they
would rise in revolt to-morrow. They are doing
all they can, without open resort to arms, to
have us succeed. But they are a band of conspirators.
They want us to succeed, because they want
utterly to destroy the Federal Union. They want
to break loose and form a Northwest Confederacy.
When Calhoun had stated his opinion, both Breckinridge and Morgan asked him many questions. He was then dismissed. Unknown to Calhoun there were three or four other Southern officers present, who had also been in the North. They were called in, and questioned on the points raised by Calhoun. Every one differed with him. They believed that if an opportunity were presented the Knights would rise almost to a man at the call of their leaders.
Breckinridge and Morgan held an earnest consultation. Morgan was greatly disappointed over Calhoun’s report, for he had set his heart on making a raid into Indiana and Ohio. He believed it would be the greatest triumph of his life, and with the Northwest in open revolt, the independence of the South would be assured.
Lieutenant Pennington must be mistaken,
said Breckinridge. My acquaintance in the North
is extensive, and I believe my friends there will do
just as they say they will.
Before Morgan and Breckinridge parted, it was fully agreed that Morgan should make the raid. But when the subject was broached to Bragg, that general absolutely refused to sanction it. He gave Morgan permission to make a raid into Kentucky and capture Louisville if possible. That was as far as he would go, and even with that object in view, he limited Morgan’s force to two thousand.
Morgan apparently acquiesced in this decision of his commander; but in his heart he resolved to disobey if, when he neared Louisville, he found conditions at all favorable for the invasion of Indiana.
Some time had passed since Morgan had made
a raid, and the news that they were again to ride
north, probably clear to Louisville, was welcomed
by the rough riders. To them a raid was but a holiday.
It did not take Morgan long to prepare. His
men were always ready to move. To Louisville,
was the cry, we want to call on George D.,
meaning George D. Prentice, the editor of the
Louisville Journal.
In all probability few men in the Confederate army knew that Morgan was on another raid, until he was well on his way. This time he entered Kentucky farther east than was his custom, and the first intimation the Federals had that he was in the state, he was crossing the Cumberland River at Burkesville. This was on the second day of July. The alarm was given. The frenzied Federals telegraphed right and left for troops to head off Morgan. It was thought that he intended to strike the Louisville and Nashville Railroad again at his favorite place—Bacon Creek. General Judah hurried from Tompkinsville with a brigade to head him off, but his advance under General Hobson was struck at Marrowbone, and hurled back. This left Morgan an open road to Columbia, and that place fell an easy prey on the 3d.
Leaving General Hobson to pursue Morgan, General Judah hurried back to Glasgow to bring up another brigade. But General Judah never overtook Morgan until days afterwards, and then he caught him at Buffington Island.
As for Hobson, he stuck to Morgan’s trail as an Indian sticks to the trail of his enemy. He followed him all through Kentucky, all through Indiana, all through Ohio, never but a few hours behind, yet never in striking distance until Buffington Island was reached.
After leaving the forces of Judah and Hobson in the rear, Morgan had nearly an open road to Louisville. The 4th found him at the crossing of Green River on the road between Columbia and Campbellsville. Here a portion of the Twenty-fifth Michigan, under Colonel Moore, was strongly fortified, and a charge made by Morgan was bloodily repulsed. As both Judah and Hobson were close in his rear, it would take too much time to bring these determined men to terms, and so Morgan, much to his regret, was forced to leave them, and pass on. The 5th of July found him at Lebanon. The garrison under Colonel Hanson fought desperately, but was forced to capitulate, and Lebanon with all its stores and three hundred and fifty prisoners was again in Morgan’s hands.
The next day found him at Bardstown, where
twenty-five men of the Fourth Regular Cavalry,
under the command of Lieutenant Thomas Sullivan,
threw themselves into a livery stable, strongly
The damned Yankees
ought to be complimented on their pluck.
Never, in any of his raids, had Morgan met with so fierce resistance as on this one. Cut to the quick by the numerous criticisms which had been published in Northern papers, that cowardice prompted nearly every one of the surrenders to Morgan, these troops fought long after prudence should have caused them to surrender.
From Bardstown Morgan moved to Shepherdsville.
He was now within striking distance of
Louisville. Here it was that he fully decided, if he
had not done so before, upon the invasion of
Indiana, instead of attempting the capture of Louisville.
At Shepherdsville he was on the Louisville
and Nashville Railroad, where a long bridge spans
the Salt River. But he did not stop to capture the
garrison which guarded the bridge, nor did he
attempt to burn it; time was too precious. Instead,
he rode straight west, and on the 9th was in Brandenburg.
Before him rolled the Ohio River, beyond
lay the green hills of Indiana. It was the first time
he had led his men clear to the Ohio River. The
Calhoun had had the advance into Brandenburg with instructions to sweep through the place, stopping for nothing, and to capture any steamboats which might be at the landing. This he did. Far in advance of the main body, he galloped into the town, to the astonishment and dismay of its citizens.
Two small steamboats were lying at the landing, and before the terrorized crews could cut the hawsers and drift out into the stream, Calhoun and his men were on board and the boats were theirs.
The means of crossing the river were now in Morgan’s hands. But a fresh danger arose. A gunboat came steaming down the river from Louisville and opened fire. Morgan brought every piece of his artillery into action, and for two hours the battle raged. Then the gunboat, discomfited, withdrew and went back to Louisville, leaving the way open. There was now nothing to prevent Morgan from crossing the river.
Who can tell the thoughts of John H. Morgan, as he sat on his horse that July day, and with fixed gaze looked out upon the river. Beyond lay the fair fields of Indiana, the Canaan of his hopes. Should he go in and possess? The waters needed not to be rolled back. He had the means of crossing. Before him all was calm, peaceful. No foe stood on the opposite bank to oppose him; no cannon frowned from the hilltops. Behind him were thousands of angry Federals in swift pursuit. Would it be safer to go ahead than to turn back?
As Cæsar stood on the bank of the Rubicon
debating what to do, so did Morgan stand on the
bank of the Ohio. Like Cæsar, if he once took
the step, he must abide the consequences. But if
there was any hesitation in the mind of Morgan, he
did not hesitate long. Cross over,
was the order
which he gave. We shall soon know,
he said
to Calhoun, whether they are friends or foes over
there; whether the forty thousand Knights who
were so anxious for me to come will appear or
not.
Now, to look upon the invasion of Indiana and
Ohio by Morgan seems like sheer madness. He
The order to cross the river was hailed with
enthusiasm by every man in Morgan’s command.
Where they were going they knew not, cared not;
they would go where their gallant leader led. He
had never failed them, he would not fail them now.
They knew only that they were to invade the land
of their enemies; that was enough. The war was to
be brought home to the North as it had been to the
South. Calhoun caught the fever which caused the
blood of every man to flow more swiftly through his
veins. He had been full of doubts; he trembled for
the results if that river were once passed. He had
been through the North and noted her resources,
how terribly in earnest her people were that the
Union should be saved. What if there were
thouBoys, over there is Yankee land! we will
cross over and possess it.
The order to cross once given, was obeyed with alacrity. In an incredibly short time the three thousand men and horses were ferried across the river.
Burn the boats,
was Morgan’s order.
The torch was applied, and as the flames wrapped them in their fiery embrace, lo! on the other side came the eager troopers of Hobson. Like beasts baffled of their prey, they could only stand and gnash their teeth in their rage. Between them and Morgan rolled the river, and they had no means of crossing.
Why don’t you come across, Yanks?
Morgan’s
men shouted in derision.
Got any word you want to send to your
mammy? We are going to see her,
they mockingly
cried.
And thus with taunt and laugh and hurrah, Morgan’s men rode away, leaving their enemies standing helpless on the farther bank.
Twenty miles to Corydon,
said Calhoun, as
he galloped with his scouts to the front to take the
advance. I wonder if I shall meet my friend
Jones, and whether, when he sees us, he will throw
his hat on high, and give us a royal welcome? If
he spoke the truth, the bells of Corydon will ring a
joyful peal when the people see us coming, and we
shall be greeted with waving flags, and find hundreds
of sturdy Knights ready to join us.
But in that twenty miles not a single waving flag did Calhoun see, not a single shout of welcome did he hear. Instead, the inhabitants seemed to be in an agony of fear. They met only decrepit old men and white-faced women and children. Not a single cup of cold water was freely offered them in that twenty miles. If Calhoun could only have seen the welcome given Hobson’s men the day after as they came over the same road, the flags that were waved, the shouts of welcome that greeted them, how women and children stood by the roadside with cooling water and dainty food to give them, and sent their prayers after them—if Calhoun could have seen all these things, his heart would have sunk, and he would have known that there was no welcome for Morgan’s men in Indiana.
But he was soon to have a ruder awakening. As he neared Corydon, he and his scouts were greeted with a volley, and sixteen of his men went down. The raid for them was over.
Charge!
shouted Calhoun, and like a whirlwind
he and his men were on the little band of
In a few brief minutes the fight was over, and on the sod lay several motionless figures. In spite of himself, Calhoun could not help thinking of Lexington and the farmer minute men who met Pitcairn and his red-coats on that April morning in 1775. Were not these men of Corydon as brave? Did they not deserve a monument as much? He tried to dismiss the thought as unworthy, but it stayed with him for a long time.
A short distance beyond Corydon stood a fine house, which, with all its surroundings, showed it to be the dwelling of a rich and prosperous farmer. When Calhoun came up, the owner, bareheaded and greatly excited, was engaged in controversy with one of Calhoun’s scouts who had just appropriated a fine ham from the farmer’s smoke-house and was busily engaged in tying it to his saddle-bow.
You have no business to take my property
without paying for it!
the farmer was saying,
angrily. I am a friend of the South; I have
opposed the war from the beginning.
Seeing Calhoun, and noticing he was an officer,
the farmer rushed up to him, crying, Stop them!
Stop them! they are stealing my property!
Well, I declare, if it isn’t my old friend Jones!
exclaimed Calhoun. How do you do, Mr. Jones?
Where are those five hundred armed Knights
who you said would meet us here? Where is
Jones had stopped and was staring at Calhoun
with open mouth and bulging eyes. Bless my
soul,
he at length managed to stammer, if it
isn’t Mr. Harrison!
Lieutenant Pennington, at your service. But,
Jones, where are those Knights of the Golden Circle
you promised would join us here?
Jones hung his head. We—we didn’t expect
you to come so soon,
he managed to answer; we
didn’t have time to rally.
Mr. Jones, you told me this whole country
would welcome us as liberators. They did welcome
us back there in Corydon, but it was with lead.
Sixteen of our men were killed and wounded. Mr.
Jones, there will be several funerals for you to
attend in Corydon.
It must be some of those Union Leaguers,
exclaimed Mr. Jones. Glad they were killed;
they threatened to hang me the other day.
They were heroes, compared to you!
hotly
exclaimed Calhoun. You and your cowardly
Knights can plot in secret, stab in the dark, curse
your government, but when it comes to fighting
like men you are a pack of cowardly curs.
But Mr. Jones hardly heard this fierce Phillipic; his eyes were fixed on his smoke-house, which was being entered by some more of the soldiers.
Won’t you stop them,
he cried, wringing his
they will take it all! Why, you are a
pack of thieves!
Boys, don’t enter or disturb anything in the
house,
cried Calhoun, turning to his men, but
take anything out of doors you can lay your hands
on; horses, everything.
The men dispersed with a shout to carry out the
order. Calhoun left Mr. Jones in the road jumping
up and down, tearing his hair and shouting at the
top of his voice, I am going to vote for Abe Lincoln.
I am—I am, if I am damned for it!
In all probability Morgan’s raid in Indiana and Ohio made more than one vote for old Abe. Of all the thousands of Knights of the Golden Circle in Indiana and Ohio, not one took his rifle to join Morgan, not one raised his hand to help him.
In speaking of this to General Shackelford, who
captured him, Morgan said, bitterly: Since I
have crossed the Ohio I have not seen a single
friendly face. Every man, woman, and child I
have met has been my enemy; every hill-top a
telegraph station to herald my coming; every bush
an ambush to conceal a foe.
The people who lived along the route pursued
by Morgan will never forget his raid. What happened
has been told and retold a thousand times
around the fireside, and the story will be handed
down not only to their children, but to their children’s
children. Morgan was everywhere proclaimed
as a thief and a robber. They forgot that
he had to subsist at the expense of the country,
Those who proclaim Morgan a thief and a robber
sing with gusto Marching through Georgia,
and tell how the sweet potatoes started from the
ground.
They forget how Sheridan, the greatest
cavalry leader of the Federal army, boasted he had
made the lovely Shenandoah Valley such a waste
that a crow would starve to death flying over it.
The Southern people look upon Sherman and
Sheridan as the people of Ohio and Indiana look
upon Morgan. These generals were not inhuman;
they simply practised war. It is safe to say that
less private property was destroyed in Morgan’s raid
in Indiana and Ohio than in any other raid of equal
magnitude made by either side during the war.
One can now see by reading the dispatches the
panic and terror caused by Morgan in this raid.
From Cairo, Illinois, to Wheeling, West Virginia,
the Federals were in a panic, for they knew not
which way Morgan would turn, or where he would
strike. From the entire length of the Ohio, the
people were wildly calling on the government to
send troops to protect them from Morgan. There
were fears and trembling as far north as Indianapolis.
Governor Tod, of Ohio, declared martial
law through the southern part of his state, and
From Corydon Morgan rode north to Salem. The Federals now thought for sure that Indianapolis was his objective point, but from Salem he turned northeast and swept through the state, touching or passing through in his route the counties of Jackson, Scott, Jennings, Jefferson, Ripley, and Dearborn, passing into Ohio, in the northwest corner of Hamilton County, almost within sight of the great city of Cincinnati. Turning north, he entered Butler County. Here, as in Indiana, he met only the scowling faces of enemies.
And here is where they worship Vallandigham!
exclaimed Calhoun, passionately. Here is
where they told me almost every man belonged to
the Knights of the Golden Circle, and that the
whole county would welcome us. Here is where
even the Democratic party meet in open convention,
pass resolutions in favor of the South, denounce
Lincoln as a monster and tyrant, and demand that
the war cease at once and the South go free, saying
they will support no man for office who in the
least way favors the war. And now not a word of
welcome, not a single hand reached out in aid.
Oh! the cowards! the cowards!
Morgan made no bitter reply, but said. You
warned us, Lieutenant, how it would be. I have
And for Buffington Island Morgan headed, threatening each place along the way, to keep the Federals guessing where he would attempt to cross. Like a whirlwind he swept through the counties of Warren, Clermont, Brown, Adams, Pike, Jackson, Gallia, Meigs, brushing aside like so many flies the militia which tried to impede his progress.
The goal was nearly reached. Hobson was half a day behind, still trailing, still following like a bloodhound. The Confederates knew of no force in front except militia. Safety was before them. The river once passed, Morgan would have performed the greatest exploit of the war. His men were already singing songs of triumph, for the river was in sight. Night came on, but they marched through the darkness, to take position. In the gray of the morning they would sweep aside the militia and cross over.
In the morning a heavy fog hung over river and
land, as if the sun were afraid to look down upon
the scene to be enacted. In the gloom, Colonel
Duke and the dashing Huffman formed their
com
In vain the gallant Duke and Huffman struggled against that force. They were driven back. Flight was to be resumed up the river, when couriers came dashing in with the news that Hobson was up. They were hemmed in. There was one place yet, a path through the woods, by which a few could escape, if the Federal force could be held back for a time.
Go!
cried Duke to Morgan, and I will hold
them until you are gone.
Go!
cried Huffman, faint and bleeding from
a wound, and I will stay and help Colonel Duke.
Go!
cried Calhoun, if you are saved I care
not for myself.
Then there arose a storm of protests. Who could so well guard and protect the chief as Calhoun and his scouts? And so, against Morgan’s will, Calhoun went with him.
Come, then, we will clear the way,
Calhoun
Hemmed in on every side, the Confederates fought as only desperate men can fight; but as soon as it was known that Morgan was well away, Duke and Huffman, and with them many other gallant officers, saw it would be madness to fight longer, and with breaking hearts they surrendered to their exultant foes. Then it was that some two or three hundred, in spite of shot and shell, in spite of the leaden hail which fell around them, plunged down the bank into the river. The bodies of many floated down, their life blood reddening the water. The current swept many a steed and rider down, and they were seen no more. A few there were who struggled through to safety, and these were all that escaped of the thousands that crossed the Ohio at Brandenburg.
What Morgan’s thoughts were, what his hopes were, as he rode away from that fatal field at Buffington Island, no one knows. With him rode six hundred, all that were left of three thousand. He could have had no thoughts of attempting to cross the Ohio anywhere near Buffington Island, for he rode almost due north. It may have been he thought that he might cross near Wheeling or higher up, and escape into the mountains of Western Pennsylvania; or as a last resort, he might reach Lake Erie, seize a steamboat, and escape to Canada. Whatever he thought, north he rode, through the most populous counties of Ohio. And what a ride was that for six hundred men! Foes everywhere; Home Guards springing up at every corner; no rest day or night.
Close in his rear thundered the legions of General Shackelford, a Kentuckian as brave, as fearless, as tireless as Morgan himself. But in spite of all opposition, in spite of foes gathering on right and left and in front, Morgan rode on, sweeping through the counties of Meigs, Vinton, Hocking, Athens, Washington, Morgan, Muskingum, Guernsey, Belmont, Harrison, Jefferson, until he reached Columbiana County, where the end came.
At almost every hour during this ride the six hundred grew less. Men fell from their horses in exhaustion. They slept as they rode, keeping to their saddles as by instinct. The terrible strain told on every one. The men grew haggard, emaciated. When no danger threatened, they rode as dead men, but once let a rifle crack in front, and their sluggish blood would flow like fire through their veins, their eyes would kindle with the excitement of battle, and they would be Morgan’s fierce raiders once more.
As for Calhoun, it seemed as if he never slept,
never tired. It was as if his frame were made of
iron. Where danger threatened there he was.
He was foremost in every charge. It looked as if
he bore a charmed life. The day before the end
came he was scouting on a road, parallel to the
one on which the main body was travelling. Hearing
shots, he took a cross-road, and galloped at full
speed to see what was the trouble. A small
party of Home Guards were retreating at full
speed; one far in advance of the others was making
frantic efforts to urge his horse to greater speed.
Calhoun saw that he could cut him off, and he
did so, reaching the road just as he came abreast
of it. So intent was the fellow on getting away he
did not notice Calhoun until brought to a stand by
the stern command, Surrender.
In his surprise and terror, the man rolled from
his horse, the picture of the most abject cowardice
Calhoun ever saw. He fairly grovelled in the dust.
Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!
he cried, raising
his hands in supplication. I didn’t want to
come; they forced me. I never did anything
against you.
Dismounting Calhoun gave him a kick which
sent him rolling. Get up, you blubbering calf,
he exclaimed, and tell us what you know.
The fellow staggered to his feet, his teeth chattering, and trembling like a leaf.
Now, answer my questions, and see that you
tell the truth,
said Calhoun. Are there any
forces in front of us?
N—not—not as I know,
he managed to say.
Do you know the shortest road to Salineville?
Yes; yes.
Will you guide us there if I spare your life?
Anything, I will do anything, if you won’t kill
me,
he whined.
Very well, but I will exchange horses with
you, as I see you are riding a fine one, and he
looks fresh,
remarked Calhoun.
The exchange was made, and then Calhoun said,
Now lead on, and at the first sign of treachery,
I will blow out your brains. Do you understand?
Yes, yes, I will take you the shortest road.
What’s your name,
asked Calhoun, as they
rode along.
Andrew Harmon.
Well, Andrew, I wish all Yankees were like
you. If they were, we should have no trouble
Harmon, still white and trembling, did not answer; he was too thoroughly cowed.
Ride as hard as Morgan’s men could, when they neared Salineville Shackelford was pressing on their rear. They had either to fight or surrender.
My brave boys, you have done all that mortals
can do. I cannot bear to see you slaughtered. I
will surrender.
As Morgan said this his voice trembled. It was a word his men had never heard him use before.
General, it is not all over for you,
cried Calhoun,
his voice quivering with emotion. Think
of the joy of the Yankees if you should be captured.
Let me take half the men. You take the other
half and escape. I can hold the enemy in check
until you get well away.
Morgan demurred. The sacrifice will be too
great,
he said.
You must, you shall consent. We will force
you,
the cry went up from the whole command as
from one man.
Morgan bowed his head, he could not speak.
In silence he took Calhoun’s hand, tears gathered
in his eyes, the first tears Calhoun ever saw there.
There was a strong clasp, a clasp which seemed to
say It may be the last,
then, wheeling his horse,
Morgan galloped swiftly away, followed by less
than half of his six hundred.
There was not a moment to lose, for the
FederCharge!
he shouted, and the little band
were soon in the midst of their enemies. The
Federals closed in around them. There was no
way to retreat. Calhoun’s men, seeing how hopeless
the fight was, began to throw down their
arms.
Surrender,
cried a fine-looking officer to Calhoun,
who, well in front, was fighting like a demon.
Even in that hell of battle Calhoun knew the
officer. It was Mark Crawford, the captain whose
horse he had captured in Tennessee, and whom he
afterwards took prisoner at Cave City. But the
captain was wearing the shoulder-straps of a
major now.
Never!
shouted Calhoun, in answer to the
summons to surrender, and with sword in hand, he
spurred forward to engage Crawford in single combat.
But that officer had a revolver in his hand,
and he raised it and fired.
Calhoun felt as if he had been struck on the head
with a red-hot iron. He reeled in his saddle, and
then fell forward on his horse’s neck. His sword
dropped from his nerveless hand. His horse, wild
with fear and not feeling the restraining hand of a
Still clinging to the neck of his horse and the horn of his saddle, he kept his seat. He straightened himself up, but the blood streaming over his face blinded him, and he saw not where he was going. Neither did he realize what had happened, for the shock of his wound had rendered him half-unconscious. His mind began to wander. He was a soldier no longer, but a boy back in Kentucky running a race with his cousin Fred.
On! on!
he weakly shouted; we
must win, it is for the Sunny South we are racing.
The horse still ran at full speed, his glossy coat
dripping with perspiration, his nostrils widely distended
and showing red with blood. But his pace
began to slacken. Darkness gathered before the
eyes of Calhoun. Why, it’s getting night,
he
murmured; Fred, where are you?
Lower still
lower he sank, until he was once more grasping
the neck of his horse. A deadly faintness seized
him, total darkness was around him, and he knew
no more.
With Calhoun gone, all resistance to the Federals ceased. Of the six hundred, who had ridden so far and so well, fully one-half were prisoners.
The Federals were greatly chagrined and disappointed
when they found that Morgan was not
among the prisoners. The man they desired above
all others was still at liberty. Forward,
was the
command, and the pursuit was again taken up.
With the remnant of his command, Morgan was
nearing New Lisbon. If there were no foes before
him there was still hope. From a road to the west
of the one he was on, a cloud of dust was rising.
His guide told him that this road intersected the
one he was on but a short distance ahead. His
advance came dashing back, saying there was a
large body of Federal troops in his front. From
the rear came the direful tidings that Shackelford
was near. Morgan saw, and his lip quivered. It
is no use,
he said, it is all over.
The ride of the six hundred had ended—a ride that will ever live in song and story.
Morgan has surrendered! Morgan is a prisoner!
was the news borne on lightning wings all
over the entire North.
What rejoicing there was among the Federals! The great raider, the man they feared more than an army with banners, was in their power.
In front of one of the most beautiful and stately farm-houses in Columbiana County stood a young girl. With clasped hands and straining eyes she was gazing intently down a road which led to the west. The sound of battle came faintly to her ears. As she listened, a shudder swept through her slight frame.
My brother! My brother!
she moaned, he
may be in it. O God of battles, protect him!
She would have made a picture for an artist as she stood there. The weather being warm, she wore a soft, thin garment, which clung in graceful folds around her. Her beautifully rounded arm and shapely shoulders were bare. Her luxuriant hair, the color of sun-beams, fell in a wavy mass to her waist. Her eyes, blue as the sky, were now troubled, and a teardrop trembled and then fell from the long lashes.
As she looked, the sound of battle became
fainter, and then ceased altogether. But down the
road, a mile away, a little cloud of dust arose. It
grew larger and larger, and at last she saw it was
caused by a single horseman who was coming at a
furious pace. Was the rider a bearer of ill tidings?
No, there was no rider on the horse. He who
It must be her brother, wounded unto death, coming home to die, and she gave a great convulsive sob. Then like a bird she flew to the middle of the road. She saw that the horse’s mane and shoulders were dripping with blood, that the rider’s hair was clotted with it.
As the horse came to her it stopped, and the rider rolled heavily from the saddle. With a cry she sprang forward and received the falling man; but the weight of Calhoun, for it was he, bore her to the earth. She arose, screaming for help. There was no one in the house except a colored servant, who came rushing out, and nearly fainted when she saw her mistress. No wonder, for the girl’s dress and arms were dripping with blood.
Oh! Missy Joyce! Missy Joyce!
wailed the
colored woman, what’s de mattah? Be yo’
killed?
No, no, this soldier—he is dead or dying. Oh,
Mary, what can we do?
But help was near. A couple of neighbors had also heard the sound of battle, and were riding nearer that they might learn the result.
Great heavens! what is this?
exclaimed one,
as they rode up. As I live, that is Andrew
Har
By this time they had dismounted. Going to
Calhoun they looked at him, and one exclaimed,
This is not Harmon; it’s one of Morgan’s men.
Got it good and heavy. Served him right.
Is he dead?
asked the girl, in a trembling
voice.
The man put his hand on Calhoun’s heart.
No, marm,
he answered, but I think he might
as well be.
Carry him into the house, and send for Doctor
Hopkins, quick,
she said.
What! that dirty, bloody thing! Better let us
carry him to the barn. It’s a blame sight better
place than our boys get down South.
The house, I say,
answered the girl, sharply.
Why, Miss Joyce,
said the other man, as he
looked at her, you are covered with blood.
Yes, I caught him as he fell from his horse,
she answered. I am not hurt.
The men were about to pick Calhoun up and
carry him in according to the directions of the girl,
when she exclaimed, There comes Doctor Hopkins
now.
Sure enough, the Doctor had heard of the fight,
and was coming at a remarkable speed, for him, to
see if his professional services were needed. He
reined in his horse, and jumping from his gig,
ejaculated, Why! why! what is this? And Miss
Joyce all bloody!
I am not hurt. The man, Doctor,
she said.
The Doctor turned his attention to Calhoun.
As I live, one of Morgan’s men,
he exclaimed,
and hard hit, too. How did he come here?
His horse brought him,
answered one of the
men. He clung to his horse as far as here, when
he fell off. Miss Joyce caught him as he fell.
That is what makes her so bloody.
Well! well! well!
was all that the old Doctor
could say.
The queer part is,
continued the man, that
the horse belongs to Andrew Harmon. I heard
that Andrew had gone out with the Home Guards,
but I could hardly believe it. I guess this fellow
must have killed him and appropriated the
horse.
What! Andrew Harmon killed in battle?
cried the Doctor, straightening up from his examination
of Calhoun. Don’t believe it. He will turn
up safe enough.
Then speaking to the girl, the Doctor said,
Miss Joyce, this man has nearly bled to death. I
cannot tell yet whether the ball has entered his
head or not. If not, there may be slight hopes for
him, but he must have immediate attention. It is
fortunate I came along as I did.
Miss Joyce wanted us to take him into the
house,
said one of the men,
The barn first,
said the Doctor; if I remember
rightly, there is a large work-bench there. It
Joyce Crawford, for that was the girl’s name, flew to do the Doctor’s bidding, while the men, to their credit be it said, picked Calhoun up tenderly and carried him to the barn, where the work-bench, as the Doctor had suggested, made an operating-table. Joyce soon appeared with the water, towels, and bandages. The Doctor had already taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, ready for work. Although he was a country practitioner, he was a skilful surgeon. Carefully he washed away the blood, then clipped away the matted hair from around the wound. It seemed to Joyce a long time that he worked, but at last the wound was dressed and bandaged.
The ball did not penetrate the brain,
he said,
as he finished, nor do I think the skull is injured,
although the ball plowed along it for some distance.
Fortunately it was a small bullet, one from a
revolver, probably, which hit him. It cut a number
of small arteries in its course, and that is the reason
he has bled so much. An hour more and he would
have been beyond my skill.
Will he live now?
asked Joyce.
The chances are against him. If saved at all,
it will only be by the best of nursing.
He can be taken into the house now, can’t
he?
she asked.
Yes, but you had better first let a tub of
water be brought, and clean underclothes, and
Joyce had the men get the water, while she procured some underclothes which belonged to her brother. Calhoun’s clothes were now removed, clothes which had not been off him for a month.
Here is a belt,
said one of the men; it looks
as if it might contain money,
and he was proceeding
to examine it when the Doctor forbade him.
Give it to Miss Joyce,
he said; the fellow is
her prisoner.
The belt was handed over rather reluctantly. Calhoun having been bathed, Joyce was called, and told that her prisoner was ready for her.
Bring him in, the chamber is all prepared,
was her answer.
Calhoun was brought in and placed in a large, cool upper chamber.
This is mighty nice for a Rebel,
said one of
the men, looking around. My Jake didn’t
get this good care when he was shot at Stone
River.
Too blame nice for a Morgan thief,
mumbled
the other.
Shut up,
said the Doctor; remember what
Miss Joyce has done for our boys. Worked her
fingers off for them. This man, or rather boy, for
he can’t be over twenty, was brought to her door.
Would you have him left to die?
The men hung their heads sheepishly, and went
Now I must go,
said the old Doctor kindly,
taking Joyce’s hand. You have done to this
young man as I would have one do to my son in a
like extremity.
The old Doctor’s voice broke, for he had lost a
son in the army. Recovering himself, he continued,
I must go now, for I may be needed by some
of our own gallant boys. I will drop in this evening,
if possible, and see how your patient is getting
along. God bless you, Joyce, you have a kind
heart.
Joyce looked after the old Doctor with swimming
eyes. One of God’s noblemen,
she murmured.
She took the belt which had been taken from Calhoun, and which had been handed her by the Doctor, and put it carefully away. She then began her vigil beside the bedside of the wounded man. The Doctor had given her minute directions, and she followed them faithfully. It was some hours before Calhoun began to show signs of consciousness, and when he did come to, he was delirious, and in a raging fever.
The Doctor returned as he had promised. He shook his head as he felt Calhoun’s pulse, and listened to his incoherent mutterings.
This is bad,
he said. It is fortunate he lost
so much blood, or this fever would consume him.
That he shall have,
said Joyce. I have
sent for Margaret Goodsen. You know she is an
army nurse, and knows all about wounded men.
Yes, Margaret is good, none better,
replied
the Doctor.
All through that night Joyce sat by the bedside of Calhoun cooling his fevered brow, giving him refreshing drinks. He talked almost continually to himself. Now he would be leading his men in battle, cheering them on. Then he was a boy, engaged in boyish sports. The name of Fred was uttered again and again.
I wonder who Fred can be?
thought Joyce; a
brother, probably.
Joyce Crawford was the only daughter of the Hon. Lorenzo Crawford, one of the most prominent citizens of Columbiana County. Mr. Crawford had served two terms in Congress, and was at the time of the war a member of the state senate. He had one child besides Joyce, his son Mark, who we have seen was a major in the Federal army.
Mr. Crawford lost his wife when Joyce was
three years old; since that time his house had
been presided over by a maiden sister. This lady
was absent in Steubenville when Morgan appeared
so suddenly in the county; thus at the time
of Calhoun’s appearance only Joyce and the
servants were at home, Mr. Crawford being
Mr. Crawford was what is known as an original Abolitionist. Before the war his house was one of the stations of the underground railroad, and many a runaway slave he had helped on the way to Canada. Twice he had been arrested by the United States officials for violation of the fugitive slave law, and both times fined heavily. He believed there could be no virtue in a slave-owner; such a man was accursed of God, and should be accursed of men. His daughter had to a degree imbibed his sentiments, and the idea of slavery was abhorrent to her; but her heart was so gentle, she could hate no one. Calhoun’s helplessness appealed to her sympathies, and she forgot he was one of Morgan’s raiders. Although young, only eighteen, she had admirers by the score, but her father so far had forbidden her receiving company, considering her as yet only a child.
Joyce’s beau ideal of a man was her brother Mark, and he was worthy of her adoration. Several years her senior, he had watched over and guided her in her childhood, and never was a brother more devoted.
The next morning the news came that Morgan
was captured, and the scare in Columbiana County
was over. The morning also brought Miss Crawford,
who had come hurrying home on receipt of the
news that Morgan was in the county. She nearly
went into hysterics when she learned that one of
How could
you do it, child?
she cried to Joyce; and Doctor,
why did you let her?
she added to Doctor
Hopkins, who had just come in to see his patient.
Madam, it was a case of life or death,
replied
the Doctor. Joyce did right. We are not
heathens in Columbiana County.
But you will take him right away?
pleaded
the lady.
It would be death to move him.
But he might murder us all,
said Miss Crawford.
The Doctor smiled. If he lives, it will be
weeks before he will have the strength to kill a fly,
he answered.
Miss Crawford sighed, and gave up the battle. She was not a hard-hearted woman, but the idea of having one of Morgan’s dreadful raiders in the house was trying on her nerves.
The afternoon brought Major Crawford. The
story of Joyce’s capture of a raider had travelled
far and wide, and the Major had already heard of it.
So you captured a prisoner, did you, Puss?
he exclaimed, kissing her, as she threw herself in
his arms. Is he a regular brigand, and bearded
like a pard?
No, no, he is young, almost a boy,
she answered.
Margaret Goodsen is taking care of him
now. Come and see him, but he is out of his
head, and raves dreadfully.
She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun
Great God!
he exclaimed.
What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be cared for by his sister?
What is it, Mark? What is it?
she cried,
seeing his agitation.
Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best.
Joyce, you will not wonder at my surprise, when
I tell you it was I who shot him.
You, brother, you!
she cried, and instinctively
she shrank from him.
Mark saw it, and exclaimed, Great God! Joyce,
you don’t blame me, do you? I had to do it to
save my life. He was about to cut me down with
his sword when I fired.
No, no,
she cried, I don’t blame you, but
it was so sudden; it is so dreadful. I never before
realized that war was so terrible.
Well, Joyce, save the poor fellow’s life if you
can; I don’t want his death on my hands if I can
help it. Do you know who your prisoner is?
No, you see the condition he is in.
His name is Pennington, Calhoun Pennington.
He is one of Morgan’s bravest and most daring
officers. I ought to know him, he took me prisoner
twice.
You, Mark, you?
Yes, you remember I told you how I lost my
horse in Tennessee. He is the fellow who took it.
He afterwards captured me at Cave City.
Mark, what will become of him if he gets
well?
she asked.
The United States officials will take him,
he answered. His being here must be reported.
And—and he will be sent to prison?
Yes, until he is exchanged.
But you were not sent to prison when you were
captured,
she protested.
No, I was paroled; but I hardly believe the
government will parole any of Morgan’s men.
Why?
she asked.
They have given us too much trouble, Puss.
Now we have them, I think we will keep them.
Mark, Aunt Matilda don’t like my taking this
Pennington in. She says father will not like it
at all.
I will see Aunt Matilda, and tell her it is all
right. I will also write to father. No, Joyce, I
don’t want Pennington to die. It is best, even in
war, to know you have not killed a man. So take
good care of him, or rather see he has good care.
Get a man to nurse him nights.
I will look out for that,
said Joyce.
Well, Puss, good-bye, keep me posted. I had
leave of absence only a few hours, so I must be
going.
Oh, Mark, must you go so soon?
And she
clung to him as if she would not let him go.
Gently disengaging her arms, he pressed kiss after
kiss on her brow and was gone. She sank into a
chair weeping, and for a time forgot her prisoner.
The next day Joyce had another visitor, in the person of Andrew Harmon. He had heard that his horse was at Crawford’s, and that the officer who took him was there desperately wounded. He made his visit with pleasure, for of all the girls in Columbiana County, she was the one he had selected to become Mrs. Harmon. He had no idea he would be refused, for was he not considered the greatest catch in the county?
Harmon had two things to recommend him—good looks and money. He was accounted a handsome man, and was as far as physical beauty was concerned. He had the body and muscle of an athlete, but there was nothing ennobling or inspiring in the expression of his countenance. By nature he was crafty, mean, cruel, and miserly, and was one of the biggest cowards that ever walked.
Like many others, he was a great patriot as far
as talk was concerned. He had been so unfortunate
as to be drafted at the first call, and had promptly
furnished a substitute. He was fond of boasting
he was doing double duty for his country, not only
was he represented in the army, but he was doing
a great work at home. This work consisted in
contracting for the government, and cheating it at
every turn. Many a soldier who received shoddy
clothing, paper-soled shoes, and rotten meat had
Mr. Harmon to thank for it. But he was piling up
money, and was already known as one of the richest
men in the county. When he went out with the
Home Guards, he had no idea of getting near
He had been beset by at least six of Morgan’s men. A desperate conflict followed, and he had killed, or at least desperately wounded, three of his assailants, and it was only after he had not a single shot left in his revolver and was surrounded that he had surrendered.
So enraged were they at my desperate defence,
said he, that the officer in charge pulled me from
my horse, brutally kicked and struck me, threatened
to kill me, and then appropriated my horse. He
is a desperate fellow, Miss Joyce; I would not keep
him in the house a single moment.
Joyce, who had listened to his account much
amused, for she had heard another version of it,
said, I do not think, Mr. Harmon, he could have
beaten you very hard, for I see no marks on you,
and you seem to be pretty lively. As for sending
Lieutenant Pennington away, the Doctor says it
would be death to move him.
Mr. Harmon shifted uneasily in his chair as
Joyce was saying this, and then asked to see Calhoun,
as he wished to be sure whether he was the
one who had captured him. This Joyce consented
to, provided he would be careful not to disturb
him. Harmon promised, and he was taken into
the room. Calhoun was tossing on his bed, as he
entered, and no sooner did his wild eyes rest on
Oh! the
coward! the coward!
he shouted, take him
away.
Harmon fled from the room white with rage.
Miss Joyce, that fellow is shamming,
he fumed.
I demand he be delivered to the United States
officials at once.
The Doctor thinks differently; he says it will
kill him to be moved,
she answered.
Let him die, then. It isn’t your business to
nurse wounded Rebels, especially one of Morgan’s
cutthroats.
I do not have to come to you to learn what
my business is,
answered Joyce, haughtily, and
turned to leave the room.
Mr. Harmon saw that he had made a mistake.
Joyce! Joyce! don’t go, hear me,
he exclaimed.
You will find your horse in the stable,
was
all she said, as she passed out.
He left the house vowing vengeance, and lost no time in informing the Federal authorities that the wounded officer at Crawford’s was shamming, and would give them the slip if not taken away. Two deputy marshals came to investigate, and went away satisfied when Doctor Hopkins promised to report as soon as his patient was well enough to be removed.
In due time Joyce received a letter from her
father. He had not heard that Morgan had come
as far north as Columbiana County, until after he
was captured. As all danger was now over, he
Contrary to her aunt’s protest, Joyce insisted on taking most of the care of Calhoun during the day. Margaret Goodsen was all the help she needed. She had engaged a competent man to care for him nights. Had not Mark told her to save the life of the man he had shot, if possible?
For two weeks Calhoun hovered between life
and death; but at last his rugged constitution
conquered. During this time Joyce was unremitting
in her attention. I must save him for the
sake of Mark,
she would say, I cannot bear to
have his blood on Mark’s hands.
In speaking to Joyce’s aunt, Matilda Goodsen
said: The poor child will hardly let me do anything;
she wants to do it all.
Miss Crawford fretted and fumed, but it did no good. In this Joyce would have her way.
Calhoun’s fever had been growing less day by day, and the time came when it left him, and he lay in a quiet and restful slumber. But his breathing was so faint, Joyce was almost afraid it was the sleep which precedes death.
It was near the close of an August day. The
weather had been warm and sultry, but a thunder
shower had cooled and cleared the atmosphere, and
the earth was rejoicing in the baptism it had received.
The trees seemed to ripple with laughter,
as the breeze shook the raindrops from their leaves.
The grass was greener, the flowers brighter on
account of that same baptism. The birds sang a
It was at such a time that Calhoun awoke to life and consciousness. A delicious lethargy was over him. He felt no pain, and his bed was so soft, he seemed to be resting on a fleecy cloud. He tried to raise his hand, and found to his surprise he could not move a finger. Even his eyes for a time refused to open. Slowly his memory came back to him; how in the fierce conflict he tried to break through the line and sought to cut down an officer who opposed him. Then there came a flash, a shock—and he remembered nothing more. Where was he now? Had he passed through that great change called death? By a great effort he opened his eyes, and was bewildered. He was in a strange room. By an open window sat a young girl. She had been reading, but the book was now lying idly in her lap, and she was looking apparently into vacancy. The rays of the setting sun streamed in through the windows, and touched hair and face and clothes with its golden beams. Calhoun thought he had never seen a being so lovely; her beauty was such as he fancied could be found only in the realms above, yet she was mortal. He could not take his eyes from her. She turned her head, and saw him gazing at her. Uttering a little exclamation of surprise, she arose and came swiftly but noiselessly to his side.
Who are you? Where am I?
Calhoun whispered,
faintly.
Hush! hush!
she said, in low, sweet tones,
you must not talk. You have been sick—very
sick. You are better now.
She gave him a cordial. He took it, and with a gentle sigh, closed his eyes, and sank to sleep again. Before he was quite gone, it seemed to him that soft, tremulous lips touched his forehead, and a tear-drop fell upon his cheek. Its memory remained with him as a beautiful dream, and it was long years before he knew it was not a dream.
Doctor Hopkins was delighted when he called in
the evening and learned that his patient had awaked
with his fever gone, and in his right mind. All
that he needs now,
he said, is careful nursing,
and he will get well. But mind, do not let
him talk, and tell him nothing of what has happened,
until he gains a little strength.
From that time Calhoun gained slowly, but surely. When he became strong enough to bear it, Joyce told him all that had happened. He could scarcely realize that over a month had passed since he had been wounded.
Then that stand of mine did not save Morgan,
said Calhoun, sorrowfully.
No, he was taken a few hours afterwards,
answered Joyce. He and his officers are now in
the penitentiary at Columbus.
Calhoun could hardly believe what he heard.
Then we are to be treated as felons, are we?
he
asked, bitterly.
They are afraid he might escape from a military
replied Joyce. But the people are very
bitter against him. Some are clamoring that he be
tried and executed.
They will not dare do that,
exclaimed Calhoun,
excitedly.
No, I do not think there is any danger that
way,
replied Joyce; but they want to keep him
safe.
Well they may, but Morgan will yet make
them trouble. No prison will hold him long.
There, there, don’t let us talk about it any
more,
said Joyce; it will worry you back into a
fever.
You have saved my life,
said Calhoun, fervently.
How can I ever repay you for what you
have done?
Joyce did not reply.
Calhoun lay silent for some time, and then suddenly
said: I am one of Morgan’s hated officers,
and yet you are caring for me as for a brother.
What makes you do it?
Why shouldn’t I?
said Joyce; I have a dear
brother in the army. I am only doing by you as
I would have him done by, if he should fall
wounded. And then—
Joyce stopped; she
could not tell him it was her brother who had shot
him.
A great light came to Calhoun. Joyce!
Joyce!
he cried, I now understand. It was your
brother who shot me.
Oh! forgive him! forgive him!
cried Joyce.
He told me it was to save his own life that he
did it.
Why, Joyce, there is nothing to forgive. Your
brother is a brave, a gallant officer. Then he has
been here?
Yes, and knew you. He bade me nurse you
as I would nurse him in like condition.
Just like a brave soldier; but are there none
who find fault with my being here treated like a
prince?
Yes, one. His name is Andrew Harmon. It
was his horse you were riding when you came here.
He seems to hate you, and is doing all he can to
have you taken to Columbus. He says you treated
him most brutally when he was captured.
I did kick him,
answered Calhoun, laughing;
he was on the ground bellowing like a baby. I
never saw a more abject coward. I kicked him
and told him to get up.
He has a different story,
said Joyce, smiling;
and then she told the wonderful story of Harmon’s
capture as related by himself.
His capacity for lying is equalled only by his
cowardice,
said Calhoun, indignantly.
Yet he is a man to be feared,
said Joyce,
for he is rich and has influence, although every
one knows him to be a coward.
The days that passed were the happiest Calhoun
had ever spent. He told Joyce of his Kentucky
home, of his cousin Fred, how noble and true
he was, and of his own adventures in raiding with
The day came when Calhoun was able to be placed in an easy-chair and drawn to an open window. It was a proud day to him, yet it was the beginning of sorrow. The Doctor came and congratulated him on his improvement.
Doctor Hopkins, how can I thank you for
your kindness?
he said; you have done so much
for me.
You need not thank me, thank that young lady
there,
replied the Doctor, pointing to Joyce.
She it was who saved your life.
I know, no reward I could give would ever
repay her,
answered Calhoun. I can only offer
to be her slave for life.
Your offer is not accepted; you are well aware
I do not believe in slavery,
replied Joyce, with a
merry laugh.
When the Doctor was ready to go, he asked for
a private interview with Joyce. It was hard work
for him to say what he had to say. He choked and
stammered, but at last Joyce understood what he
meant. He had promised the government officials
to inform them when Calhoun could be moved
without endangering his life. That time had come.
But,
said he, as he noticed the white face of
I shall recommend that he be allowed to
remain two weeks longer, as there is no danger of
his running away in his weak condition.
But Joyce hardly heard him. And—and—this
means?
she whispered.
The penitentiary at Columbus.
Joyce shuddered. And—and there is no way
to prevent this?
None. God knows I would if I could.
Thank you, Doctor; I might have known this
would have to come, but it is so sudden.
The Doctor went out shaking his head. I am
afraid harm has been done,
he said to himself.
Just as he was getting into his gig to drive away
Andrew Harmon came riding by. He glanced up
and saw Calhoun sitting by the window. So,
your patient is able to sit up,
he exclaimed, with
a sneer. About time he were in the penitentiary,
where he belongs, isn’t it?
I don’t know how that concerns you,
replied
the Doctor, coldly, as he drove away.
Oh ho! my fine fellow. I will show you
whether it concerns me or not?
muttered Harmon,
looking after him.
That night Harmon wrote to the authorities at
Columbus, stating it as his opinion that there was a
scheme on foot to detain Lieutenant Pennington
until he was well enough to slip away. He was
not aware that Doctor Hopkins had reported on the
condition of his patient every week, and had
already sent a letter saying he could be moved with
You
know,
he wrote, that girls of the age of Joyce
are inclined to be romantic.
As for Joyce, when the Doctor left her she sank into a chair weak and faint. She saw Andrew Harmon gazing up at the window where Calhoun was, and a terror seized her. She now knew that she loved Calhoun, but with that knowledge also came the thought that her love was hopeless, that even if Calhoun returned her love, her father would never consent to their union. He would rather see her dead than married to a Rebel, especially a hated Morgan raider. Long did she struggle with her own heart, her sense of duty, her ideas of patriotism; and duty conquered. She would give him up, but she would save him.
It was evening before she could muster strength to have the desired interview with Calhoun. When she did enter the room it was with a step so languid, a face so pinched and drawn, that Calhoun stared in amazement.
Joyce, what is it?
he cried. Are you sick?
Not sick, only a little weary,
she answered,
as she sank into a chair and motioned for the nurse
to leave them. No sooner was she gone than
Joyce told Calhoun what had happened. Her voice
was so passionless that Calhoun wondered if she
Joyce, do you care if I go to prison?
he
asked.
Care?
she cried. The thought is terrible.
You shall not go, I will save you.
Joyce! Joyce! tell me that you love me, and
it will make my cell in prison a heaven. Don’t you
see that I love you, that you saved my poor life
only that I might give it to you? Joyce, say that
you love me!
For answer she sank on her knees by his bedside and laid her head on his breast. He put his weak arms around her, and held her close. For a while she remained still, then gently disengaging his arms, she arose. There was a look on her face that Calhoun did not understand.
The first embrace, and the last,
she sighed.
Oh, Calhoun, why did we ever meet?
What do you mean?
he asked, his lips growing
white.
I mean that our love is hopeless. Father
will never consent to our marriage. I feel it, know
it. Without his consent I shall never marry. But
save you from prison I will.
Joyce, you do not love me!
said Calhoun
bitterly.
As my life,
she cried.
Yet you say you can never marry me!
Without my father’s consent I cannot.
Joyce, let us not borrow trouble. Even with
Oh, Calhoun, if I could only hope! I will
hope. Come to me after the war is over. Father’s
consent may be won. But now the prison, the
prison. I must save you. I have thought it all
out.
How can you save me, a poor, weak mortal,
who cannot take a step without help?
asked
Calhoun.
Put you in a carriage to-morrow night and take
you where they cannot find you.
So soon? The Doctor said he would ask for
two weeks. Two more weeks with you, Joyce—I
could afford to go to prison for that.
Don’t talk foolishly. I feel if I don’t get you
away to-morrow night, I cannot at all.
But you—will it endanger you, Joyce?
Not at all!
But how will you explain my disappearance?
Suppose you have been shamming, better than
we thought you were, and so you gave us the slip.
A right mean trick,
said Calhoun.
No, a Yankee trick, a real good one. Now
listen, Calhoun, and I will tell you all about how I
Will he know I am one of Morgan’s men?
asked Calhoun.
No, he will think you are a Federal soldier.
Calhoun, as much as you may hate it, you must
don the Union Blue.
That would make a spy of me. No, it wouldn’t
either, if I kept clear of any military post.
That’s good. I have a Federal uniform in the
house, which will about fit you. A friendless soldier
died here a short time ago. We took him in
and cared for him during his last sickness. He had
been discharged for wounds received at Fair Oaks.
Here is the discharge. I think it fits you close
enough, so it may be of use to you.
She handed him the discharge; he took it
and read: James Brown, age nineteen; height
five feet nine inches; weight one hundred and sixty
pounds; complexion dark; hair and eyes black.
Why, Joyce, with that in my pocket, and wearing
a Federal uniform, I could travel anywhere in
the North.
So I thought. We will cheat that old prison
yet. But it is time you were asleep.
God bless you, Joyce,
replied Calhoun.
Give me a kiss before you go.
She smiled and threw him one as she went out and he had to be content with that. She had not stopped to consider what the result might be if she helped Calhoun to escape. Her only thought was to save him from going to prison. To do this she would dare anything.
The colored man of whom she spoke was to be at the farm in the morning to do some work. A fear had seized her that she might be too late. The fear was well grounded. The authorities at Columbus had resolved to move Calhoun at once. The request of Doctor Hopkins, that he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, although he said he could be removed without danger, aroused their suspicion. Not only that, but the letter of Andrew Harmon to Mr. Crawford had alarmed that gentleman, and he was already on his way home.
Abram Prather, the colored man, was seen by Joyce as soon as he made his appearance.
Missy Joyce, I jes’ do enything fo’ yo.’ Me
an’ de ol’ woman will keep him all right.
So everything was arranged. Joyce breathed freer, yet she waited impatiently for the night.
The day was a long and weary one to Calhoun. Between the joy of knowing he was to be free and his misery over the thought that he must part with Joyce, his soul was alternately swept with conflicting emotions. Then he had seen so little of her during the day; she seemed more distant than she did before she declared her love. How he longed to take her in his arms, to have her head rest on his breast once more! But she had said that although it was the first it was to be the last time. What did she mean? Ah! it must be that he could never embrace her again, never touch her lips again, until her father had consented to their marriage. When the war was over he would wring that consent from him.
The thought brought contentment. Yes, it was better that they should part. Then the news of the terrible battle of Chickamauga had just come, and it had fired his very soul. The South had won a great victory. Surely this was the beginning of the end. Independence was near, the war would soon be at an end, and he longed to be in at the finish. The excitement of war was once more running riot through his veins.
He little thought of the sacrifice Joyce was
mak
All through the day she was making preparations
for Calhoun’s departure. Fortunately the
young man who had been engaged to nurse Calhoun
during the night had been taken sick a couple
of days before, and as Calhoun rested well, another
had not been engaged. Thus one of the greatest
obstacles to the carrying out of Joyce’s plans was
out of the way. She could easily manage Miss
Goodsen. Joyce’s only confidant was the faithful
Abe, who obeyed her without question. In his
eyes Missy Joyce could do nothing wrong. He
had been drilled by Joyce until he knew just what
to do. He was to go home, but as soon as it was
dark, he was to return, being careful not to be seen.
After he was sure the household was asleep he
was to harness a span of horses, being careful to
make no noise, and have a carriage waiting in a
grove a short distance back of the house. Here he
was to wait for further orders from Joyce. Being
well acquainted with the place, and Joyce promising
to see that the barn and the carriage-house were
Night came, and Joyce was in a fever of excitement. Would anything happen to prevent her carrying out her plans? If she had known that Andrew Harmon had hired a spy to watch the house she would have been in despair. But the spy was to watch the window of Calhoun’s room, and was concealed in a corn-field opposite the house. If he had watched the back instead of the front of the house, he would have seen some strange doings.
Margaret Goodsen was told that as Calhoun was
so well, she could lie down in an adjoining room.
If he needed anything, he could ring a little bell
which stood on a table by his side. The nurse
gladly availed herself of the opportunity to sleep.
When the nurse retired Joyce came into the
room, and speaking so that she could hear her,
said, Good night, Lieutenant Pennington; I hope
you will rest well.
Then she whispered, Here
is the Federal uniform. Have you strength to put
it on?
Yes, but oh, Joyce—
She made a swift gesture and pointed to the door of the nurse’s room.
Here is some money,
she continued, in the
same low whisper. Now, don’t refuse it; you
will need it.
I had plenty of money in a belt around me
when I was wounded,
whispered Calhoun.
The belt, oh, I forgot! The Doctor gave it to
Noiselessly she moved to
the bureau, opened a drawer, and returned with the
belt.
Joyce, I shall not need your money now, but
I thank you for the offer.
It was nothing. Be sure and be ready,
and
she glided from the room.
The minutes were like hours to Calhoun. At one time he had made up his mind not to accept his proffered liberty, as it might bring serious trouble on Joyce; but he concluded that he must accept.
As for Joyce, she went to her room and threw
herself down on a lounge. Her heart was beating
tumultuously; every little noise startled her like
the report of a gun. She waited in fear and apprehension.
At length the clock struck eleven. They
must be all asleep by this time,
she thought.
She arose and softly went downstairs, carrying
blankets and pillows. She stopped and listened as
she stepped out of doors. There was no moon, it
was slightly cloudy, and darkness was over everything.
Without hesitating she made her way
through the back yard and the barn lot to the
grove, where she had told Abe to be in waiting.
She found that the faithful fellow had everything
in readiness.
Abe, I want you to come with me now and
get the sick soldier. Drive through the lane until
you reach the road; then drive straight to your
house. The road is not much frequented, and you
will not be apt to meet any one at this time of night.
The obedient fellow did as he was bid, and followed Joyce into the house and to Calhoun’s room.
Take him to the carriage,
whispered Joyce.
The stalwart Abe took Calhoun in his arms as if he had been a child, and carried him to the carriage.
Now, Abe, remember and do just as I told
you,
said Joyce.
Yes, Missy, I ’member ebberyting.
She went to the side of the carriage, arranged
the pillows and comforts around Calhoun, and then
gave him her hand. Good-bye,
she whispered;
may God keep you safe.
The hand was cold as death, and Calhoun felt that she was trembling violently.
Joyce! Joyce! is this to be our leave-taking?
Yes,
she whispered.
Are you not coming to see me where I am
going?
No, I dare not; we must not see each other
again until—until the war is over.
Without a kiss, Joyce. Joyce, I—
Hush! you have no right to ask for one, I
—Her voice broke, and she turned
and fled into the darkness.
How Joyce got back into the house she never knew. She fell on her bed half-unconscious. The strain upon her had been terrible, and the effect might have been serious if tears had not come to her relief. After a violent paroxysm of sobbing, she grew calmer, and tired nature asserted itself, and she fell asleep.
It was yet early morning when she was aroused
by a cry from Miss Goodsen, and that lady came
rushing into her room, wringing her hands and crying,
He is gone! He is gone!
Who is gone?
asked Joyce, springing up as if
in amazement.
Miss Goodsen, in her excitement did not notice
that Joyce was fully dressed. The wounded
Rebel, Lieutenant Pennington,
she fairly shrieked.
Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?
and she
wrung her hands in her distress.
Joyce ran to Calhoun’s room; sure enough it
was empty. Stop your noise,
she said, sharply,
to Miss Goodsen. If any one is to blame, I am.
They will do nothing with you. It may be he
became delirious during the night and has wandered
off. We must have the house and premises
searched.
The noise had aroused the whole household.
The utmost excitement prevailed. Miss Crawford
was frantic. She was sure they would all be sent
Joyce took to her room with a raging headache. The afternoon brought a couple of deputy marshals from Columbus. They had come to convey Calhoun to prison, and were astonished when told that the prisoner had escaped. Miss Goodsen was closely questioned. She had looked in once during the night. The Lieutenant was awake, but said he was comfortable and wanted nothing. She then went to sleep and did not awake until morning. She found Joyce in her room, who was overcome when told that her patient was gone. She had not heard the slightest sound during the night.
Doctor Hopkins was summoned. The old Doctor was thunderstruck when he heard the news. He could scarcely believe it. To add to the mystery, Calhoun’s Confederate uniform was found. Apparently he had gone away with only his night clothes on. Doctor Hopkins at once gave it as his opinion that Calhoun had been seized with a sudden delirium and had stolen out of the house and wandered away; no doubt the body would be found somewhere. His professional services were needed in the care of Joyce, for she seemed to be completely prostrated, and had a high fever.
Poor girl,
said the Doctor, the excitement
If he suspected anything
he kept his secret well.
The spy employed by Andrew Harmon reported that he had not seen or heard anything suspicious during the night, so that gentleman concluded to say nothing, as he did not wish it to be known that he had had the house secretly watched.
Mr. Crawford returned the day after the escape. He was greatly exercised over what had happened, and blamed every one that Calhoun had been kept so long as he had. Poor Joyce came in for her share, but she wisely held her peace. The country was scoured for miles around, but nothing was seen or heard of the escaped prisoner, and at last the excitement died out.
Joyce did not lack news from Calhoun. The
faithful Abe kept her fully informed. Joyce told
him that both of them would go to prison if it was
known what they had done, and he kept the secret
well. He reported that Calhoun was gaining
rapidly, and would soon be able to go his way.
He want to see yo’ awful bad befo’ he goes,
said Abe.
But Joyce resolutely refused. It would not do either of them any good. One day the negro brought her a letter. It was from Calhoun, telling her that when she received it he would be gone. He thought it cruel that she had not come to see him just once. He closed as follows:
Joyce, I feel that my life is yours, for you
saved it. Not only that, but to you I now owe my
That letter was very precious to Joyce. Before the war was over it was nearly worn out by being read and reread.
Shortly after Mr. Crawford’s return he was asked by Andrew Harmon for permission to pay his addresses to his daughter. Harmon hoped that if he had her father’s permission to pay his addresses to her, Joyce’s coldness might disappear.
Mr. Crawford did not like the man, but he was
rich and had a certain amount of political influence.
Mr. Crawford was thinking of being a candidate for
Congress at the approaching election, and he did
not wish to offend Harmon, but he secretly hoped
that Joyce would refuse him; in this he was not
disappointed. She was indignant that her father
had listened to Harmon, even to the extent that
he had. Why, father, I have heard you call him
cowardly and dishonest,
she exclaimed, and to
think that you told him you would leave it entirely
to me.
I did not wish to offend him,
meekly replied
Mr. Crawford, and I had confidence in your judgment.
I was almost certain you would refuse
him.
Will you always have such confidence in my
judgment?
asked Joyce, quickly.
What do you mean?
asked her father.
Suppose I should wish to marry one of whom
you did not approve?
That is another proposition,
said Mr. Crawford.
You might have been so foolish as to fall in
love with that Morgan Rebel and horse-thief you
took care of so long. If so, I had rather see you
dead than married to him.
Poor Joyce! Did her father suspect anything?
She caught her breath, and came near falling.
Quickly recovering herself, she answered. At
least he was a brave man. But everybody says he
is dead, and mortals do not wed ghosts.
It is to be sincerely hoped he is dead,
replied
Mr. Crawford, for he had noticed his daughter’s
confusion, and an uneasiness took possession of him.
But much to Joyce’s relief he did not question her
further.
Andrew Harmon was beside himself with rage when told by Mr. Crawford that, while his daughter was sensible of the great honor he would bestow upon her, she was still very young, and had no idea of marrying any one at present.
Harmon determined to have revenge on Joyce, and began slyly to circulate reports that Joyce Crawford, if she chose, could tell a great deal about the escape of the Rebel officer. In fact, half of his sickness was shammed.
These rumors came to the ears of Mark Crawford.
He had been promoted to a colonelcy for
gallantry at Chickamauga. During the winter,
When Calhoun parted from Joyce he sank back in the carriage and gave himself up to the most gloomy thoughts. The sorrow of parting from her took from him the joy of his escape. During the journey his dusky driver did not speak a word. The drive seemed a long one to Calhoun, and he was thoroughly wearied when the carriage drew up by a log house, surrounded by a small clearing.
Heah we be, Massa,
said Abe, as he alighted
from his seat. Hope Massa had a good ride.
The door of the house was opened by a motherly
looking colored woman, and Abe, taking Calhoun
once more in his arms, carried him into the house.
Aunt Liza, as the wife of Abe was called, seeing
Calhoun looking so pale and thin, put her fat, black
hand on his forehead, and said, Po’ chile, po’
chile, don’t yo’ worry. Aunt Liza take good care
ob yo’.
Calhoun felt that he was among friends—friends
that would prove faithful and true. He was carried
up a ladder to a chamber. The upper part of the
house was all in one room, rather low, but the
rough walls were whitewashed, and everything was
neat and clean. He was placed on a snow-white
bed, and soon sank into a peaceful slumber. When
The invalid remained with his kind friends two weeks, treated like an honored guest, and protected from every inquiring eye. He gained strength rapidly, and at the end of a week was able to walk out evenings, when there was no danger of being seen. Once men who were searching for him entered the house, and Calhoun could hear every word that was said. His heart beat painfully, for it entered his mind that Abe and his wife might betray him for the sake of the reward offered. But the thought did injustice to these simple-minded people. As for the searchers, the loft of the house of a poor negro who had run away from slavery was the last place they thought of looking for an escaped Confederate.
Through Abe Calhoun often heard from Joyce.
She cheered him with words of love and comfort,
but absolutely refused to come and see him, saying
it would be dangerous. In this she was right, for
Andrew Harmon was alert. He believed that
Joyce had had something to do with the disappearance
of Calhoun, and had her closely watched.
Fortunately his suspicions did not extend to Abe,
so that communication between Joyce and Calhoun
was not interrupted. At the end of two weeks he
felt able to leave his place of concealment. But
where should he go? He longed to be South, in the
De Lawd keep yo’!
said Aunt Liza, wiping
her eyes.
Calhoun had determined to start early in the evening, travel all night, lie concealed during the day, and travel the next night. By that time he thought he would be so far away from the place of his escape that he could venture to take the cars without danger. Aunt Liza had supplied him with ample provisions for the two days. He carried out his programme, and on the morning of the second day found himself near a small town where he concluded to take the cars, but deemed it safer to wait for the night train. The conductor eyed him sharply when he paid his fare instead of showing a pass, for soldiers generally travelled on Federal transportation. But the conductor took the money and passed on without remark.
Opposite Calhoun in the car sat a gentlemanly looking man, and much to Calhoun’s surprise, when the conductor passed, he saw the gentleman make the sign of recognition of the Knights of the Golden Circle, and it was answered by the conductor. When the conductor next passed Calhoun gave the sign. The man stared, but did not answer. But he seemed to be troubled, and passed through the cars frequently, and Calhoun saw that he was watching him closely. At length, in passing, the conductor bent down and whispered to the gentleman opposite. Calhoun now knew another pair of eyes were observing him.
Watching his opportunity, Calhoun gave this gentleman the sign of recognition. The gentleman shifted uneasily in his seat, but did not answer.
I will give you something stronger,
thought
Calhoun, and the next time he caught the gentleman’s
eye, he gave the sign of distress. This was
a sign no true knight could afford to ignore. Leaning
over, the gentleman said, My boy, you look
pale. Have you been sick?
Very, and I now need friends,
answered
Calhoun.
Come over here and tell me about it,
said the
gentleman.
Calhoun took a seat by his side, and the man
whispered, Are you a deserter, and are they after
you?
Yes,
said Calhoun.
Where are you going?
To Columbus.
That is a poor place to go to keep out of the
hands of Lincoln’s minions,
answered the man.
I am not afraid,
said Calhoun. What I
want to know is where I can find friends in Columbus
whom I can trust—true, firm friends of the
South.
My name is Pettis,
replied the man. I
reside in Columbus. Once let me be satisfied as to
who you are and what you are wearing that uniform
for and I may be able to help you.
That is easily answered,
said Calhoun; but
first I must be fully satisfied as to you. Let me
prove you, my brother.
Calhoun found that Mr. Pettis was high up in the order, and was violent in his hatred of the Lincoln government. He could be trusted.
I am not a Federal soldier,
said Calhoun after
he had fully tested him. I am wearing this uniform
as a disguise. I am a Confederate officer.
What! escaped from Johnson’s Island?
asked
Mr. Pettis, in astonishment.
No, I am one of Morgan’s officers.
Mr. Pettis nearly jumped off the seat in surprise.
Morgan’s officers are all in the penitentiary,
he gasped.
One is not and never was,
answered Calhoun.
Mr. Pettis regarded him closely, and then said:
It can’t be, but it must be. Is your name Pennington?
It is,
replied Calhoun.
Why, the papers have been full of your escape.
But the general opinion seemed to be that you
wandered away in a delirium and died.
Which you see is not so,
said Calhoun, with
a smile.
How in the world did you get away?
That is a secret which I cannot tell even you.
Very well; but, Mr. Pennington, you must come
home with me. You will find friends in Columbus,
many of them, who will be delighted to meet you.
When Columbus was reached, Calhoun, on advice
of Mr. Pettis, bought a suit of citizen’s clothes, for,
said he, We Knights hate the sight of that uniform;
it’s the badge of tyranny.
Calhoun saw that he had found a friend indeed in Mr. Pettis. No Southerner could be more bitter toward the Lincoln government than he. He fairly worshipped Vallandigham, and said if he would only return to Ohio, he would be defended by a hundred thousand men. He was especially indignant over the way Morgan and his officers were treated.
We have schemed and schemed how to help
him,
said he, but see no way except we storm
that cursed penitentiary as the Bastille was stormed.
And,
he added, with emphasis, the day is fast
approaching when we will do it.
For three days Calhoun remained at Mr. Pettis’s,
wearying his brain as to how he might help his
general, but every plan proposed was rejected as
impracticable. On the third morning he happened
You do not look very strong,
said the warden,
kindly; do you think you could fill the bill?
I am sure I can,
said Calhoun. Only try
me and see.
Well,
replied the warden, I had rather hire
a boy who has served his country, as you have, and
I will give you a trial.
Thus to his great joy Calhoun found himself hired to wait upon his old comrades in arms. With what feelings he commenced his duties can be imagined. Would they recognize him, and in their surprise give him away? No, he thought not. They knew too well how to control themselves for that. It was with a beating heart that Calhoun waited for the time of the first meal. It came, and the Confederate prisoners came marching in. How Calhoun’s heart thrilled at the sight of his old comrades! But if they recognized him they did not show it by look or sign.
When the meal was finished and the prisoners
I am here
to help you if I can. Be of good cheer.
But how could Calhoun help them? Even at meal-time guards stood everywhere watching every move. His duties did not take him out of the dining-room. Calhoun began by making a careful survey of the building in which the prisoners were confined. Fortune favored him. One day he made a remark to one of the employees of the prison that the floor of the building seemed to be remarkably dry and free from damp.
It should be,
was the reply; there is an air
chamber under the floor.
Like a flash there came to Calhoun a plan for
escape. If this air chamber could be reached a
tunnel might be run out. He took careful note of
all the surroundings, and drew a plan of the buildings
and surrounding grounds. These he managed
to pass to Morgan unobserved. At the next meal-time
as Morgan passed him, he said, as if to himself,
No tools.
This was a difficult matter. Nothing of any size could be passed to them without discovery. But in the hospital Calhoun found some large and finely tempered table-knives. He managed to conceal several of these around his person, and one by one they were given to Morgan.
Calhoun now waited in feverish excitement for
the success of the plan. He had done all he could.
The rest depended on the prisoners themselves.
General Morgan occupied a cell in the second tier, and could do nothing. Only those who occupied cells on the ground floor had any hopes of escaping. Captain Hines, with infinite labor made an opening through the floor of his cell into the air chamber. Once in the air chamber they could work without being discovered. With only the table-knives to work with, these men went through two solid walls, one five feet, and the other six feet in thickness. Not only that, but they went through eleven feet of grouting. Then, working from under, they went through the floors of six cells, leaving only a thin scale of cement, which could be broken through by a pressure from the foot. The work was commenced November 4, and finished November 24. Thus in twenty days seven men, working one at a time, had accomplished what seemed almost impossible.
During these days Calhoun could only wait and
hope. As the prisoners passed him in the dining-room,
all they could say was Progressing,
Not
discovered yet,
All is well so far.
At last, on
the 24th, Calhoun heard the welcome words,
Finished. First stormy night.
Calhoun now examined the time-tables and
found that a train left Columbus for Cincinnati at
1:15 A. M.; arriving in Cincinnati before the prisoners
were aroused in the morning. So he wrote on
Escape as soon after midnight as
possible.
He believed that train could be taken
with safety. The afternoon of November 27,
the weather became dark and stormy. At supper-time
Calhoun heard the glad word, To-night.
As soon as his duties were done he hurried
to the home of Mr. Pettis, exchanged his uniform
for citizen’s clothes, telling Mr. Pettis his work at
the penitentiary was done, and he had decided to
leave. Ask no questions; it is better that you
know nothing,
said Calhoun.
Mr. Pettis took his advice, but he was not surprised in the morning when he heard that Morgan had escaped. For General Morgan to escape, it was necessary for him to occupy a lower cell. His brother, Captain Dick Morgan, occupied the cell next to Captain Hines. The Captain, giving up his chance of escaping, effected an exchange of cells with his brother. This was easily accomplished, as they were about of a size, and it was quite dark in the cells when they were locked in.
The General had been allowed to keep his watch.
When a few minutes after twelve came, he arose,
fixed a dummy in his bed to resemble a man sleeping,
and breaking through the thin crust over the
opening with his foot, slipped into the air chamber.
He gave the signal, and was quickly joined by his
companions. Captain Morgan had made a ladder
out of strips of bed-clothing, and by the aid of this
ladder they hoped to scale two walls, one twenty
A little before midnight Calhoun made his way as close as he durst to the place where he knew the wall must be scaled. Not three hundred feet away several guards were gathered around a fire. The night was cold, and the guards kept close to the fire. Slowly the minutes passed. The city clocks struck half-past twelve. Would they never come? Had their flight been detected?
Suddenly a dark spot appeared on top of the wall. Then another, and another, until Calhoun counted seven. They were all there. Silently they slid down the rope ladder, the talk and laughter of the guards ringing in their ears. But noiselessly they glided away, and the darkness hid them.
This way,
whispered Calhoun. When out of
hearing of the guards, they stopped for consultation.
It would not do to keep together. They
decided to go two and two. Calhoun handed each
a sum of money. There was a strong clasping of
the hands, a whispered farewell, and they who had
dared so much separated.
The next morning there was consternation in the penitentiary at Columbus. The news of Morgan’s escape was flashed over the country. The Federal authorities were astonished, dumbfounded. A reward of five thousand dollars was offered for his recapture. Every house in Columbus was searched, but to no purpose. John Morgan had flown.
[Illustration: ESCAPE OF MORGAN FROM PRISON]
The 1:15 train from Columbus to Cincinnati
was about to start. All aboard,
shouted
the conductor.
Two gentlemen sauntered into one of the cars, to all appearances the most unconcerned of individuals. They took different seats, the younger just behind the older. General Morgan and Calhoun had reached the train in safety; had purchased tickets, and taken their seats without exciting suspicion. A moment more and they would be on their way South.
A Federal major came hurrying in and seated
himself beside Morgan, and the two entered into
conversation. On the way out of the city the train
had to pass close to the penitentiary. The major,
pointing to the grim, dark pile, and thinking he
might be imparting some information, said: There
is where they keep the notorious John Morgan.
May he always be kept as safe as he is now,
quickly replied the General.
Oh! they will keep him safe enough,
said the
major, complacently stroking his chin. The major
better understood the Delphic answer of the General
the next morning.
All went well until Dayton was reached, where
Morgan being well acquainted with the city, they quickly made their way to a ferry, and by the time the escape had been discovered at the penitentiary, Morgan’s feet were pressing the soil of Kentucky. Calhoun’s heart thrilled as he once more breathed the air of his native state. He felt like a new being, yet he knew that it was hundreds of miles to safety. They must steal through the states of Kentucky and Tennessee like hunted beasts, for the enemy was everywhere. But friends there were, too—friends as true as steel. And hardly had they set foot in Kentucky before they found such a friend, one who took them in, fed them, and protected them. He gave them horses, and sent them on their way. Slowly they made their way through the state, travelling all night, sent from the house of one friend to that of another. At last they reached the Cumberland River near Burkesville, where they had crossed it at the beginning of their raid. To Calhoun it seemed that years had passed since then, so much had happened.
On entering Tennessee, their dangers thickened.
All went well until the Tennessee River was reached, a few miles below Kingston. The river was high and there was no means of crossing. A rude raft was constructed, and with the horses swimming, they commenced crossing. When about half were across a company of Federal cavalry appeared and attacked those who were still on the northern bank. On the frail raft, Morgan started to push across to their aid.
Are you crazy, General,
cried Calhoun; you
can do no good, and will only be killed or captured.
See, the men have scattered already, and are taking
to the woods and mountains.
It was true, and Morgan reluctantly rode away. He had the satisfaction afterwards of learning that most of the men escaped.
The next day was the last day that Calhoun
This way, Major. Hurry up, they have
gone this way,
pointing the way he had come.
The major took Calhoun for a guide, and giving
the command, Forward,
rode rapidly after Calhoun,
and Morgan was saved. For half a mile
they rode, when a stream was reached, and it was
seen no horseman had crossed it. The major drew
rein and turned to Calhoun in fury.
You have deceived me, you dog!
he cried.
Yes, I am one of Morgan’s men,
calmly
replied Calhoun.
The anger of the major was terrible. He grew
purple in the face. Yes, and you have led me
away from Morgan,
he hissed. You will pay
for this.
Calhoun still remained calm. That was not
Morgan,
he said; I ought to know Morgan, I
have ridden with him for two years.
I know better,
roared the Major, thoroughly
beside himself; you are a lying scoundrel; I will
fix you.
What are you going to do?
asked Calhoun,
with apparent calmness, but a great fear coming
over him.
Hang you, you lying devil, as sure as there is
a God in heaven! I would not have had Morgan
slip through my fingers for ten thousand dollars. It
would mean a brigadier generalship for me if I had
caught him. String him up, men.
One of the soldiers coolly took the halter off his horse, fastened it around Calhoun’s neck, threw the other end over the projecting limb of a tree, and stood awaiting orders.
Once more an ignominious death stared Calhoun in the face, and there was no Captain Huffman near to rescue him. It looked as if nothing could save him, but his self-possession did not forsake him.
Major, before you commit this great outrage—an
outrage against all rules of civilized warfare—let
me say one word.
Calhoun’s voice did not even
tremble as he asked this favor.
Be quick about it, then, but don’t think you
can say anything that will save your cursed neck!
Major, if that was General Morgan, as you say,
and I have been one of Morgan’s men, as I have
confessed, ought I not to be hanged if I had
betrayed him into your hands?
The fire of anger died out of the major’s eyes.
He hesitated, and then said: You are right. If
that was General Morgan, and you are one of his
men, you should be hanged for betraying him, not
for saving him.
Then to his men he said: Boys,
Calhoun drew a long breath. He had appealed to the major’s sense of honor, and the appeal had not been made in vain.
The major kept Calhoun for three days, and during that time treated him more like a brother than a prisoner. Calhoun never forgot his kindness. At the end of the three days Calhoun was placed under a strong guard with orders to be taken to Knoxville. He resolved to escape before Knoxville was reached, or die in the attempt. Never would he live to be taken North in irons, as he would be when it became known that he was one of Morgan’s officers.
At the end of the first day’s journey the prisoners,
of whom there were several, were placed in the
tower room of a deserted house. Three guards
with loaded muskets stood in the room, another
was just outside the door. Calhoun watched his
chance, and when the guards inside the room were
not looking, he dashed through the door, closing it
after him. The guard outside raised his musket
and fired. So close was he that the fire from the
muzzle of the gun burned Calhoun’s face, yet he was
not touched. Another guard but a few feet away
saw him running, and fired. The ball tore its way
through the side of his coat. But he was not yet
out of danger. He had to pass close to two picket
posts, and as he neared them he was saluted with a
shower of balls. But he ran on unharmed. One
But darkness came on and he had to feel his way up the mountain on his hands and knees. His progress was so slow that when morning came he had only reached the top of the mountain. He could hear the shouts of the soldiers searching for him. Near him was a growth of high grass. Going into this he lay down; and here he remained all day. At one time the soldiers in search of him came within twenty feet of where he lay.
It was the longest and dreariest day that Calhoun ever spent. Hunger gnawed him, and he was consumed with a fierce thirst. It was midwinter, and the cold crept into his very bones. The warmth of his body thawed the frozen ground until he sank into it. When night came it froze again, and when he tried to rise he found he was frozen fast. It was with difficulty that he released himself without sacrificing his clothing. For the next seven days he hardly remembers how he existed. Travelling by night and hiding by day, begging a morsel of food here and there, he at last reached the Confederate lines near Dalton.
Is this General Shackelford?
asked Calhoun of
a distinguished-looking Confederate officer.
It is; what can I do for you, my boy? You
look as if you had been seeing hard times.
I have,
answered Calhoun; I have just
escaped from the North. I am one of Morgan’s
men.
Are you one of the officers who escaped with
Morgan?
asked the General, with much interest.
Yes and no. I was not in prison with Morgan,
but I escaped South with him.
I had a nephew with Morgan,
continued the
General. We have not heard from him since
Morgan was captured. The report is that he was
killed in the last fight that Morgan had before
he was captured. Poor Cal!
and the General
sighed.
Uncle Dick, do you not know me?
asked
Calhoun, in a broken voice.
General Shackelford stared at Calhoun in astonishment.
It cannot be, yes, it is Cal!
he exclaimed,
and the next moment he had Calhoun by
the hand, and was nearly shaking it off.
And you have been in a Northern prison, have
you?
asked the General.
No, but I was wounded near unto death.
Fortunately I fell into kind hands.
But your looks, Cal; you are nothing but skin
and bones.
No wonder. I have not had enough to eat in
the last seven days to keep a bird alive. Then I
was none too strong when I started on my journey
south.
Tell me about it some other time,
said the
General. What you want now is rest and something
to eat.
And rest and food Calhoun got.
When he came to tell his story it was listened to with wonder. He was taken to General Joseph E. Johnston, then in command of the Confederate forces around Dalton, and the story was repeated.
You know, I presume,
said Johnston, that
Morgan escaped, and is now in Richmond.
Yes, I long to be with him,
answered Calhoun.
I feel as strong as ever now.
Do not be in a hurry to report,
said Johnston.
Wait until you hear from me.
In a few days Calhoun received a message from General Johnston saying he would like to see him. Calhoun lost no time in obeying the summons. He was received most cordially.
In the first place, Captain,
said the General,
allow me to present you this,
and he handed him
his commission as captain in the Confederate army.
Calhoun choked, he could only stammer his
thanks. But what came next astonished him still
I now offer you the position of Chief of
the Secret Service of my army,
said the General.
Calhoun knew not what to say; it was a place
of the greatest honor, but he hated to leave Morgan.
Will you let me consult my uncle before I
give an answer?
asked Calhoun.
Most certainly,
replied the General.
Accept it, by all means, Cal,
said General
Shackelford when Calhoun appealed to him. In
the first place, it is your duty to serve your country
in the place where you can do the most good.
There is no question but that at the head of the
Secret Service you can render the country vastly
better service than you can riding with Morgan.
In the next place, I fancy it will not be exactly
with Morgan as it was before his unfortunate raid.
His famous raiders are prisoners, or scattered. It
will be impossible for him to gather another such
force. They understood him, he understood them.
This will not be the case with a new command.
Then, this is for your ear alone, Calhoun, the
authorities at Richmond are not satisfied with
Morgan. In invading the North he disobeyed
orders; and this, those high in authority cannot
overlook.
So, with many regrets, Calhoun decided to
accept the offer of General Johnston; but for many
days his heart was with his old chieftain. The
In June, 1864, Morgan made his last raid into Kentucky. At first he was successful, sweeping everything before him. He had the pleasure of taking prisoner General Hobson, the man who had tracked him all through his Northern raid. But at Cynthiana he met with overwhelming defeat, his prisoners being recaptured, and he escaping with only a small remnant of his command.
On the morning of the 4th of September, 1864, the end came. General Morgan was slain in battle at Greenville, East Tennessee. Calhoun mourned him as a father, when he heard of his death. It was long months afterwards before he heard the full particulars, and then they were told him by an officer who was with the General on that fatal morning.
We marched into Greenville,
said the officer,
and took possession of the place on the afternoon
of the 3d. There was a small company of Yankees
within four miles of us, but there was no considerable
body of Yankees nearer than Bull’s Gap, sixteen
miles away. The General established his
headquarters at the house of a Mrs. Williams, the
finest house in the little city.
In the evening a furious storm arose and
con
But there were traitors in Greenville, and they
carried the news to the little company of Yankees
four miles away that Morgan was in the city, and
told at what house he lodged. Two daring young
cavalrymen volunteered to carry the news to General
Gillem at Bull’s Gap. Talk about the ride of
Paul Revere, compared to the ride of those two
Yankees! Buffeted by wind and rain, one moment
in a glaring light and the next in pitch darkness,
with the thunder crashing overhead, in spite
of wind and rain, those two cavalrymen rode the
sixteen miles by midnight.
The command was aroused. What if the rain
did pour and the elements warred with each other?
Morgan was the prize, and by daylight Gillem’s
soldiers had reached Greenville. So complete was
the surprise that the house in which the General
slept was surrounded before the alarm was given.
Then thinking only of joining his men, the General
leaped out of bed, and without waiting to dress,
seized his sword and dashed out of the house, seeking
to escape by the way of the garden. But he
was seen by a soldier and shot dead. The news
that Morgan was killed seemed to go through the
air. It was known in an incredibly short time by
both sides.
Now,
said the officer, occurred one of the
most singular circumstances I know of during the
war. There was no flag of truce, no orders to cease
firing, yet the firing ceased. The Confederates
gathered together, and marched out of the city;
the Federals marched in; the two were close
together, within easy musket range, but not a shot
was fired. It seemed as if both sides were conscious
that a great man had fallen, a gallant soul
fled, and that even grim war should stay his hand.
It is not within the scope of this book to follow Calhoun through the last year of the war. Suffice it to say, that in the enlarged sphere of his new position, his genius found full scope. He was all through the Atlantic campaign, where for four months the thunder of cannon never ceased, and where seventy-five thousand men were offered as a sacrifice to the god of war. He followed Hood in his raid to the rear of Sherman’s army, and then into Tennessee. He was in that hell of fire at Franklin, where fell so many of the bravest sons of the South. At Nashville he was among those who tried to stem the tide of defeat, and was among the last to leave that fatal field. When the remnants of Hood’s army were gathered and marched across the states of Alabama and Georgia into North Carolina, hoping to stay the victorious progress of Sherman, Calhoun was with them.
Not until the surrender of Lee and Johnston did
Calhoun give up every hope of the independence of
the South. But the end came, and in bitter anguish
Even the victors stood in silence over the grief of those whom they had met so many times in battle. They were brothers now, and they took them by the hand and bade them be of good cheer, and divided their rations with them. The soldiers who had fought each other on so many bloody fields were the first to fraternize, the first to forget.
When Calhoun gave his parole, he met his cousin
Fred, who was on General Sherman’s staff. The
meeting was a happy one for Calhoun, for it served
to dispel the gloom which depressed his spirits. It
seemed to be like old times to be with Fred again.
Nothing would satisfy Fred, but that Calhoun
should return home by the way of Washington.
He consented, and was in Washington at the time
of the Grand Review. All day long he watched
the mighty armies of Grant and Sherman, as with
steady tread they marched through the streets,
showered with flowers, greeted with proud huzzahs.
And then he thought of the home-coming of the
ragged Confederates, and the tears ran down his
cheeks. But as he looked upon the thousands and
thousands as they marched along, and remembered
It was near the close of a beautiful day in early June that Joyce Crawford was once more standing by the gate, looking down the road. It is nearly two years since we saw her last. She has grown taller, more womanly, even more beautiful, if that were possible. The sound of war had ceased in the land. No longer was the fierce raider abroad; yet Joyce Crawford stood looking down that road as intently as she did that eventful evening when Calhoun Pennington came riding to the door.
She had not heard a word from him since his escape; nor had she expected to hear. All that she could do was to scan the papers for his name among the killed or captured Confederates. But the Northern papers published few names of Confederates known to have been killed, except the highest and most distinguished officers.
During these two years Joyce’s heart had been
true to her raider lover. He had said that he
would come when the war was over, that the
thunder of the last cannon would hardly have
ceased to reverberate through the land before he
would be by her side. It was two months since
Lee had surrendered yet he had not come. That
This June evening, as she stood looking down the road, her thoughts were in the past. Once more, in imagination, Morgan’s raiders came riding by; she beheld the country terror-stricken; men, women, and children fleeing from—they hardly knew what. Once more she heard the sound of distant battle, then down the road that little cloud of dust which grew larger and larger, until the horse with its stricken rider came to view. How vividly she remembered it all, how real it seemed to her! She actually held her breath and listened to catch the sound of battle; she strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of that little cloud of dust.
[Illustration: SHE HELD HER BREATH AND LISTENED TO CATCH THE SOUND OF BATTLE]
No sound of battle came to her ears, but away down the road, as far as she could see, arose a little cloud of dust. Her heart gave a great throb; why she could not tell, for she had seen a thousand clouds of dust arise from that road, as she watched and waited. The little cloud grew larger. Now she could see it was caused by a single horseman, one who rode swiftly, and sat his horse with rare grace. She stood with hands pressed to her bosom, her eyes dilating, her breath coming in quick, short gasps.
Before she realized it, the rider had thrown himself
from his horse, and with the cry of Joyce!
had her in his arms, kissing her hair, her
brow, her lips. For a minute she lay at rest in his
arms; then, with burning brow and cheek and neck,
she disengaged herself from his embrace, and stood
looking at him with lovelit eyes. Could this be he
whom, two years before, she had taken in wounded
nigh unto death? How manly he had grown!
How well his citizen suit became him!
Were you watching for me, Joyce?
asked
Calhoun.
I have watched for you every night since Lee
surrendered. I began to think you had forgotten—no,
not that, I feared you had been slain,
she
exclaimed, in a trembling voice.
Death only could have kept me from you,
Joyce. In camp and battle your image was in my
heart. The thought of seeing you has sweetened
the bitterness of defeat. The war did not
end as I thought it would, but it has brought me
to you—to you. Now that the war is over, there
is nothing to separate us, is there, Joyce?
She grew as pale as death. She had not thought
of her father before—he believed that the South
had been treated too leniently, that treason should
be punished. All that the South had suffered he
believed to be a just punishment for her manifold
sins. If the Rebels’ lives were spared, they should
be thankful, and ask nothing more. Joyce knew
how her father felt. Not a word had ever passed
between them relative to Calhoun since his escape;
but the father knew much more than Joyce
Calhoun saw the change in Joyce, how she drew
from him, how pale she had grown, and he asked,
What is it, Joyce? Why, you shrink from me, and
tremble like a leaf. Tell me, Joyce, what is it?
My father!
she whispered, Oh, I fear—I
fear!
Fear what, darling?
That he will drive you from me; that he will
forbid me seeing you!
For what?
Because you fought against your country;
because you were one of Morgan’s men.
What would he do? Hang me, if he could?
asked Calhoun, bitterly.
No, no, but—oh, Calhoun, let us hope for the
best. Perhaps when he sees you it will be different.
You must see him. He and aunt have gone
to New Lisbon; but they will be at home presently.
With many misgivings Calhoun allowed his horse to be put up, and he and Joyce enjoyed an hour’s sweet converse before her father and aunt returned.
When her father entered the room Joyce, with
a palpitating heart, said: Father, let me introduce
you to Mr. Calhoun Pennington, of Danville, Kentucky.
He is the young officer whom we cared for
when wounded. He has come to thank us for the
kindness shown him.
Mr. Crawford bowed coldly, and said, without
extending his hand, Mr. Pennington need not
have taken the trouble; the incident has long since
been forgotten. But supper is ready; I trust Mr.
Pennington will honor us by remaining and partaking
of the repast with us.
Calhoun could do nothing but accept, yet he
felt he was an unwelcome guest. As for Joyce,
she knew not what to think; she could only hope
for the best. The meal passed almost in silence.
Mr. Crawford was scrupulously polite, but his manner
was cold and constrained. Poor Joyce tried to
talk and appear merry, but had to give it up as a
failure. Every one was glad when the meal was
through. As they arose from the table, Mr. Crawford
said: Joyce, remain with your aunt, I wish to
have a private conversation with Mr. Pennington.
Calhoun followed him into the parlor. He knew
that what was coming would try his soul more than
charging up to the mouth of a flaming cannon.
The first question asked nearly took Calhoun’s
breath away, it was so sudden and unexpected.
It was, Young man, why am I honored with this
visit?
As your daughter said, to thank you for the
kindness I received while an enforced guest in your
house,
answered Calhoun, and then he mentally
cursed himself for his cowardice.
Guests who leave as unceremoniously as you
did do not generally return to express their
thanks,
answered Mr. Crawford, dryly. It was
What do you mean?
asked Calhoun, in surprise.
I mean that leaving as you did subjected my
daughter to much unjust criticism. An honorable
man would have gone to prison rather than subjected
the young lady to whom he owed his life to
idle remarks.
Calhoun felt every nerve in him tingle. His hot
blood rushed through his veins like fire, he clenched
his hands until his nails buried themselves in the
palms. How he longed to throttle him and force
the insult down his throat! But he was an old
man; he was Joyce’s father. Then, as Joyce had
never told him it was she who had planned the
escape, it was not for him to speak. Controlling
himself by a mighty effort, he calmly said: Mr.
Crawford, I am sorry you think so poorly of me,
for I came here to ask of you the greatest boon you
have to give on earth, that is your consent that I
may pay my addresses to your daughter, and in due
time make her my wife. I love her with my whole
soul, and have reason to know that my love is
returned.
And I had rather see my daughter dead than
married to a Rebel and traitor, especially to one of
Morgan’s men. You have my answer,
said Mr.
Crawford, angrily.
Why call me Rebel and traitor?
asked Calhoun.
Whatever I may have been, I am not that
And the government will find out its mistake.
Your punishment has not been what your sins
deserve. Your lands should be taken from you and
given to the poor beings you have enslaved these
centuries. But we need not quarrel. You have
had my answer concerning my daughter. Now go,
and never let me see you again.
Mr. Crawford,
said Calhoun, rising, you
have been very outspoken with me, and I will be
equally so with you. As to the terms you say
should have been given the South, I will say that
had such been even hinted at, every man, woman,
and child in the South would have died on their
hearthstones before yielding. But this is idle talk,
as I trust there are but few in the North so
remorseless as you. Now, as to your daughter; if
she is willing, I shall marry her in spite of you.
There is one raider of Morgan still in the saddle,
and he will not cease his raid until he has carried
away the fairest flower in Ohio.
Go,
cried Mr. Crawford, losing his temper,
go before I am forced to use harsher means.
Before Calhoun could reply, before he could take
a step, there was a swish of woman’s garments, and
before the father’s astonished eyes there stood his
daughter by the side of her lover. Her form was
drawn to its full height, her bosom was heaving,
her eyes were flashing. Taking her lover’s hand,
Father, what have you done? I love
this man, love him with all my heart and soul, and
he is worthy of my love. If I can never call him
husband, no other man shall ever call me wife.
The father staggered and grew deadly pale.
O God,
he moaned. I have no daughter
now. Child, child, much as I love you, would
that you were lying beside your mother.
Leaving the side of Calhoun, Joyce went to her
father, and taking his hands in hers said, Father,
grant me but a few moments’ private interview with
Captain Pennington, and I promise I will never
marry him without your free and full consent.
Nay, more, without your consent I will never see
him again or correspond with him.
Joyce, Joyce!
cried Calhoun, what are you
doing? What are you promising?
and he started
toward her, but she motioned him back.
Father! Father!
she wailed, don’t you
hear?
Mr. Crawford looked up.
Joyce, what did you say? What do you
mean?
he whispered.
Joyce repeated what she had said.
And you mean it, Joyce? you are to stay with
me?
he asked, eagerly.
Yes, but I must have a private interview with
Captain Pennington before he goes. Then it is for
you to say whether I shall ever meet him again or
not.
Calhoun stood by while this conversation was
The father arose and left the room. No sooner was he gone than she turned, and with a low cry sank into her lover’s arms.
Joyce, Joyce, what have you done?
cried
Calhoun. Fly with me now! Let me take you
to my Kentucky home. Father will welcome you.
You will not lack the love of a father.
Joyce raised her head, her eyes swimming in
tears, but full of love and tenderness. Hear me,
Calhoun,
she said, and then you will not blame
me. We cannot marry now, we are both too young.
You told me that you and your cousin were to go to
Harvard. That means four long years. Before that
time my father may give his consent to our union.
But you told him you would not see me, would
not even write. That means banishment.
Not from my heart,
she whispered. Calhoun,
for you to attempt to see me now, or to
write to me, would be but to increase my father’s
opposition. I trust to time, and by filial obedience
to win him. It is a fearful thing, Calhoun, to
be disowned by one’s own father, and by a father
who loves one as I know my father loves me. It
would kill him if I left him, and the knowledge
would make me unhappy, even with you. Calhoun,
do you love me?
As my life,
he answered, clasping her once
more to his breast. And to be banished entirely
Calhoun, did you love me when I aided you to
escape?
You know I did, why do you ask?
Yet you left me for two long years, left me to
fight for principles which you held dear. What if, for
love of me, I had asked you to resign from the army,
to forsake the cause for which you were fighting?
I couldn’t have done it, Joyce. I couldn’t
have done it, even for your love. But you would
not ask me to do such a craven act.
And yet you ask me to forsake my father, to
be false to what I know is right.
Joyce, how can I answer you? I am dumb
before your logic. But how can I pass the weary
years which are to come?
You have passed two since we parted, and
your college years need not be weary. They will
not be weary. Have faith. When father learns
how good, how noble, how true you are, he will
give his consent. And Mark, my brother Mark,
he will plead for me, I know.
Joyce, I am like a criminal awaiting pardon—a
pardon which may never come.
Don’t say that. Now, Calhoun, we must part.
Remember you are not to try to see me or write to
me. But the moment father relents I will say,
Come. It will not be long. Now go.
Calhoun clasped her once more in his arms, pressed the farewell kiss on her lips, and left her.
COME.
Calhoun found his life in the university
delightful. He was a good student, and a
popular one. The black-haired young Kentuckian
who had ridden with Morgan was a favorite in society.
Many were the languishing glances cast upon
him by the beauties of Cambridge and Boston, but
he was true to Joyce. In the still hours of the
night his thoughts were of her, and he wondered
when he would hear that word Come.
But
months and years passed, and no word came.
He heard that her father was still obdurate. He
would wait until his college course was finished,
and then, come what would, he would see Joyce
and try to shake her resolution. He would carry
her off vi et armis if necessary.
The day of his graduation came. It was a proud as well as a sad day to him. Sad because friendships of four years must be broken, in most cases never to be renewed; and sadder yet because no word had come from Joyce. She must know that he was now free, that of all things he would long to come to her. Why should she longer be held by that promise to her father? For the first time he felt bitterness in his heart.
Twilight, darkness came, still he sat in his
apartWhy, Cal,
he exclaimed,
why sit here in the darkness, especially
on this day of all days? We are through, Cal, we
are going back to Old Kentucky. Don’t the
thought stir your blood?
Go away and leave me, Fred. I am desperate
to-night. I want to be alone,
replied Calhoun,
half despondently, half angrily.
Fred whistled. Look here, old fellow,
he
said, kindly, this won’t do. It’s time we met the
folks down at the hotel. By the way, here is a
telegram for you. A messenger boy handed it to
me, as I was coming up to the room.
Calhoun took the yellow envelope languidly, while Fred lighted the gas; but no sooner had he glanced at his telegram, than he gave a whoop that would have done credit to a Comanche Indian.
Fred, Fred!
he shouted, dancing around as
if crazy, when does the first train leave for the
west? Tell the folks I can’t meet them.
Well, I never—
began Fred, but Calhoun
stopped him by shaking his telegram in his face.
It read:
Come.
Joyce.
That was all, but it was enough to tell Calhoun that
the long years of waiting were over, that the little
How had it fared with Joyce during these years? If Calhoun had known all that she suffered, all her heartaches, he would not have been so happy at Harvard as he was. The fear of losing his daughter being gone, Mr. Crawford, like Pharaoh, hardened his heart. He believed that in time Joyce would forget, a pitiable mistake made by many fathers. A woman like Joyce, who truly loves, never forgets. It is said that men do, but this I doubt.
The troublesome days of Reconstruction came on, and Mr. Crawford felt more aggrieved than ever toward the South. He believed that the facts bore out his views, that the North had been too lenient. As for Joyce, she gave little thought to politics. She believed that her father would surely relent before Calhoun had finished his college course; but as the time for his graduation approached, and her father was still obdurate, her courage failed. Her step grew languid, her cheeks lost their roses, the music of her voice in song was no longer heard.
Strange that her father did not notice it, but
there was one who did. That was her brother
Mark. He was now a major in the Regular Army,
had been wounded in a fight with the Apaches, and
was home on leave of absence. To him Joyce
confided all her sorrows, and found a ready
sym
He went to his father and talked to him
as he had never talked before. Your opposition
is all nonsense,
said Mark. Young Pennington
is in every way worthy of her. I have taken
pains to investigate.
The old gentleman fairly writhed under his son’s
censures, and tried to excuse himself by saying,
Mark, I have said I had rather see her dead than
married to a Rebel, one of Morgan’s men.
Well, you will see her dead, and that very
soon,
retorted Mark, thoroughly aroused. Have
you no eyes? Have you not noticed her pale
cheeks, her languid steps? Is she the happy girl
she was? Your foolish, cruel treatment is killing
her.
Mr. Crawford groaned. Mark, Mark,
he
cried, I can’t bear to hear you talk like that,
you my only son. I have only done what I
thought was right. You must be mistaken about
Joyce.
I am not; look at her yourself. Never was
there a more dutiful daughter than Joyce. She
would rather die than break her promise to you.
Free her from it. Make her happy by telling her
she can see Pennington.
Mark, don’t ask too much. Joyce is all I have
to comfort me. When I am gone you will be
the head of the family. You can then advise her
as you please.
Better be kind to her and give her your blessing
while you live,
said his son, turning away,
believing that his words would bear fruit.
What Mark had said deeply troubled Mr. Crawford.
He now noticed Joyce closely, and was surprised
that he had not perceived the change in her.
He meant to speak to her, but kept putting it off
day by day, until sickness seized him. The doctor
came, and told him he had but a short time to live.
Mr. Crawford heard the verdict with composure.
The Puritan blood in his veins led him to meet
death as he would meet any enemy in life. But he
would do justice to his daughter before he died.
Calling Joyce to him, he took her hand in his,
and said: Joyce, you have been all that a daughter
should be to me, but to you I have been a hard,
cruel father.
No, no, you have been the kindest of fathers,
she cried, her tears falling fast. Father, don’t
talk so, or you will break my heart.
Listen, Joyce. I now know how much suffering
I have caused you. I drove from you the man
you loved. Do you still love him, Joyce?
Father, I love him, I shall always love him, but
I have been true to my promise. I—
There, child,
broke in Mr. Crawford, say
no more. I know how true you have been, how
sacred you have kept your word, while I—oh, forgive
me, Joyce!
Don’t, father, don’t, you only did what you
thought was right.
But Pennington, Joyce—has he been true all
these years?
I charged him not to see or write to me until I
bade him, and that was to be when I had your free
and full consent. Father, have I that consent now?
Yes, yes, tell him to come.
With her feet winged with love Joyce flew to send the glad message. But that night Mr. Crawford became much worse. It was doubtful if he would live until Calhoun could arrive.
Once more the sun is sinking in the west; again
is Calhoun galloping up the road which leads to the
Crawford residence. But Joyce is not standing at
the gate watching for him. The little cloud of dust
grows larger and larger, but it is not noticed. In
the house a life is ebbing away—going out with the
sun. Calhoun is met by Abe, who takes his horse,
and points to the house. Massa Crawford dyin’,
is all he said.
He is met at the door by Joyce. Come, father
wants to see you,
she says, and leads him into the
chamber where the dying man lies.
Father, here is Calhoun,
she sobbed.
Mr. Crawford opened his eyes, stretched forth a trembling hand, and it was grasped by Calhoun. In that hour all animosity, all bitterness, was forgotten.
Joyce came and stood by the side of her lover.
Her father took her hand and placed it in that of
Calhoun. God bless you both, my children,
he
whispered. Forgive!
There is nothing to forgive,
replied Calhoun,
in a choking voice.
A look of great contentment came over the
dying man’s face. Sit by me, Joyce,
he whispered.
Let me hold your hand in mine.
Joyce did so, her tears falling like rain. For
some time she held her father’s hand, and then his
mind began to wander. It was no longer Joyce’s
hand he held, but the hand of her mother, who had
lain in the grave for so many years. Once he
opened his eyes, and seeing the face of Joyce bending
over him, murmured, Kiss me, Mary.
Brushing aside her tears, Joyce kissed him, not once, but again and again.
He smiled, closed his eyes—and then fell asleep.
A year has passed since the death of Mr. Crawford. Calhoun has come to claim his beautiful bride. He is making his last raid; but this time no enemy glowers upon him. Instead, flowers are scattered in his path; glad bells are ringing a joyful welcome. He is fully aware that the war has left many bitter memories; yet when the words are spoken which link his life to Joyce’s forever and forever (for true love ends not in the grave), he clasps her to his heart, and thanks God that Morgan made his raid into Ohio.
THE END.
AND SONS COMPANY, AT THE
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.
The author’s footnotes have been moved to the end of the volume.
The following typographical errors were corrected:
wagon trainchanged to
wagon-train
orcedchanged to
forced
kulkingchanged to
skulking
waychanged to
way.
Atchanged to
As
In addition, several missing, superfluous or misplaced quote marks have been corrected.
Variations in spelling (pass-word
and password
, tear-drop
and teardrop
,
bastile
and Bastille
) were not changed. The single occurrence of
Matthews
was not changed to Mathews
as it is not clear
if the same character is meant. Similarly, it can not be decided if a horse is called
Salim
or Selim
.