Kitabı oku: «Raiding with Morgan», sayfa 3

CHAPTER III.
RECRUITING IN KENTUCKY

It did not take Calhoun long after he had plunged into the wood to ascertain that he was not pursued; so he slackened his headlong pace, then stopped that he might catch his breath.

“Whew!” he panted, “here is a go. Horse gone – arms, except this small revolver, gone – baggage gone – letters gone. Thank God the dispatches are safe,” and he tapped his breast, where they lay hidden. “That is about as tight a place as I care to be in,” he continued, as he began to work his way through the woods. “I call this blamed tough luck. Here I am nearly three hundred miles from my destination. A horse I must and will have, and that quickly. Surely the planters in this section are too loyal to the South not to let me have a horse when they know the predicament I am in. I will try my luck at the very first opportunity. If worse come to worst, I will steal one; that is, I will confiscate one.”

With this resolve he pushed rapidly on, and after going a half mile or more, he came out of the woods, and beyond lay a fine plantation. “I wonder if those pesky Yankees will trouble me if I try to make that house,” he thought. “I will risk it anyway, for if I can reach it, it means a horse.”

Making his way cautiously he soon reached the road in safety. He listened intently, but could hear nothing of the enemy; but from the opposite direction there came the measured beat of a horse’s hoofs. Looking up he saw, not a Yankee, but a lady approaching, at a swift gallop. Calhoun’s heart gave a great bound, for he knew that no Southern woman would betray him, and he stepped out from his place of concealment and stood in plain view by the side of the road.

When the rider saw him she gave a start of surprise, and then reined in her horse with such ease and grace as to charm him. He saw at a glance she was young and exceedingly beautiful.

“Pardon me,” he exclaimed, reaching for his hat, and then he remembered he had none, having lost it when his horse fell. “Excuse my appearance,” he laughed. “I find I have no hat to take off. Probably some Yankee has it as a trophy by this time. I am a Confederate officer in distress, and as a daughter of the South, I know I can appeal to you, and not in vain.”

“You can,” she replied, quickly. “I thought I heard firing and I rode down to see what it meant, as I knew of no party of Confederates in the vicinity.”

“A company of Federal cavalry were firing at me,” answered Calhoun. “My horse fell, and I had to run, or be captured.”

“Were you all alone?” she queried.

“Yes, all alone.”

“Then I forgive you for running,” she answered, with a ringing laugh, “otherwise I should not. But how came you here, and all alone?”

In a few words Calhoun told her who he was and his business.

“Come with me,” she cried, quickly. “Let us gain the house before the Yankees come, as no doubt they will. Father will let you have a horse. If no other be forthcoming, I will give you my Firefly here, although it would almost break my heart to part with him,” and she lovingly patted the neck of her gallant steed.

“I sincerely hope such a sacrifice will never be called for,” replied Calhoun.

“No sacrifice is too great to aid our beloved cause,” she answered; “but come, we are losing time, the Yankees may be here any moment.”

If Lieutenant Haines had not stopped to read the captured letters, Calhoun and his fair guide would not have reached the house undiscovered. As it was, they had hardly entered it when the Federals hove in sight.

“There is that Yankee officer riding my horse!” exclaimed Calhoun. “How I should like to meet him alone.”

“They are going to stop,” gasped the girl. “They may search the house, but they will not if I can outwit them. Mother,” she said, to an elderly lady who had just entered and was gazing at Calhoun in surprise, “take this officer upstairs and conceal him. There is now no time for explanations. The Yankees are in the yard.”

The mother, without a word, motioned Calhoun to follow her, and led him upstairs. Hardly had they disappeared when her father entered.

“There is that Lieutenant Haines and his company visiting us again,” he said, with some anxiety. “I wonder what they want.”

“Father,” said the girl, “go and meet Lieutenant Haines, use him nicely. Invite him to dinner.”

Mr. Osborne looked at his daughter in surprise. “I never expected to see the time you would want me to invite a Yankee officer to dinner,” he said.

“Never mind now, I will explain afterwards. Go quick, for I see he is throwing a guard around the house,” was her answer.

Mr. Osborne went, wondering what had come over his daughter, and was entirely successful in carrying out her scheme, although it was unknown to him. Before his return, Mrs. Osborne came downstairs, her face denoting her anxiety.

“Mother,” said the girl, “do not let father know we have any one concealed. It will enable him to say truly he knows of no Confederate around. And, mother, I have told him to invite the Federal commander – it’s that odious Lieutenant Haines – to dinner. Be nice to him. Use him like a welcome, honored guest. We must disarm all suspicion, and keep them from searching the house, if possible.”

We have seen how well her plan worked, and how completely Lieutenant Haines was thrown off his guard. Little did he think that while he was enjoying his dinner downstairs, the Confederate officer who had escaped him was feasting like a king upstairs.

It soon became evident to Calhoun that there was no danger of the house being searched, and from a window he observed all that was passing without. When he saw the troop ride away, and his own horse led up to the house for the Federal commander, that spirit of recklessness for which he was noted came over him, and without thinking of what the effect might be on those who had, at great risk, so kindly befriended him, he resolved to try to capture his own. With satisfaction he saw the last Yankee depart, leaving the commander behind.

“Now is my time!” he exclaimed, exultingly, and looking to see that his revolver was in perfect condition, he crept softly downstairs, and as has been noted, was perfectly successful. So sudden was his appearance, so swift were his movements, that the little company could only gaze after him in astonishment until he had disappeared.

For a few minutes Calhoun was hilarious over the success of his bold dash; then came to him the thought that he had cruelly wronged the Osbornes in what he had done. He suddenly checked his horse, and then turned as if he would ride back, hesitated, then turned once more, and rode on his way, but more slowly.

“It is too late now,” he sighed, to himself, “to undo the wrong I may have done. To think I may have brought trouble on the head of that glorious girl, who even would give me her own horse! It’s the meanest trick you ever did, Calhoun Pennington, and it would serve you right if the Yankees captured you.”

It was in no enviable frame of mind that Calhoun continued his journey. It was not long before he noticed that his horse was lame. The fall that he had had, had evidently strained his shoulder. Calhoun more bitterly than ever regretted that he had not restrained himself. If he had, he might now have been riding a good fresh horse, given him by Mr. Osborne.

“Serves me right,” he groaned. “Oh, what a fool, and not only a fool, but a brute, I have been. That girl! I can’t help thinking that I may have got her into serious trouble.”

A few miles more and his horse became so lame that Calhoun had to come down to a walk. He dismounted with a ruthful face.

“It’s no use,” he said; “I shall have to leave him. Where can I get another horse?”

The opportunity came sooner than he expected. He had dismounted in a wood, a thick growth of cedars screening him from the observation of any one passing along the road. Hearing the sound of an approaching horseman, he crept to the side of the road, and to his surprise saw a Federal officer approaching unattended. He was riding leisurely along unsuspicious of danger, and whistling merrily. With Calhoun to think was to act.

“Halt! Surrender!” were the words which saluted the startled officer, as Calhoun sprang into the road by his side, and levelled a revolver at his breast.

The officer was a brave man, and he reached for his revolver.

“Touch that weapon, and you are a dead man,” said Calhoun, in a low, firm voice. “Fool, don’t you see I have the drop on you?”

The set features of the Federal relaxed, he even smiled as he replied: “I guess you are right. No use kicking. What is your pleasure?”

“Dismount. No, on this side.”

The officer did as he was bidden. Calhoun took hold of the horse’s bridle, still keeping the man covered with his revolver.

“Now,” continued Calhoun, “your name, rank, and regiment.”

“Mark Crawford, Captain Company B, – th Ohio Cavalry,” was the answer.

“Captain Crawford, I am very happy to have met you. As it may be a little inconvenient for you and me to travel together, I ask you to give me your parole of honor that you will not bear arms against the Southern Confederacy until regularly exchanged.”

“May I be permitted to ask,” replied the Captain, with a peculiar smile, “who it is that makes this demand?”

“Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry.”

“Well, Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry, you may go to the devil, before I will give you my parole.”

Calhoun was astounded at the reply. “I am afraid I shall have to shoot you,” he said.

“Shoot an unarmed prisoner if you will,” was the fearless reply; “it would be an act worthy of a Rebel and traitor. Lieutenant Pennington, I am well aware you are alone, that you cannot take me with you. It would be an act of cowardice in me to give you my parole.”

As Captain Crawford said this, he folded his arms across his breast and looked Calhoun in the face without the quiver of a muscle.

Calhoun was filled with admiration at the bravery of the man. “Captain, you are too brave a man to die a dog’s death, neither would I think of shooting a defenceless man. I shall let you go, but shall be under the necessity of borrowing your horse. You will find mine in the bushes there badly crippled. Good-bye. May we meet again.” Thus saying, Calhoun sprang on the Captain’s horse, and dashed away.

Captain Crawford stood looking after him until he was out of sight. “May you have your wish, my fine fellow!” he exclaimed; “I would ask nothing better than that we should meet again.”

Both had their wish; they met again, not once, but several times.

“A brave fellow, that,” said Calhoun to himself, as he galloped away. “I would as soon have thought of shooting my brother. He didn’t bluff worth a cent.”

The horse which Calhoun had captured was a good one, and he rode him for many a day. We will not follow Calhoun in all his adventures in his journey toward his destination in Kentucky. Suffice it to say, he met with numerous perils and made some narrow escapes, but at last found himself near Danville. There resided a few miles from Danville a rich planter named Ormsby. Calhoun knew him as an ardent friend of the South, one well versed in all secret attempts to take Kentucky out of the Union, and one who kept well posted in everything which pertained to the welfare of the Confederacy; and at Ormsby’s he resolved to stop and lay his plans for the future.

He was received with open arms. “So you are from John Morgan,” said Mr. Ormsby, “and wish to recruit for his command. You have come at an opportune time. To-morrow there is a secret meeting of prominent Confederates near Harrodsburg. I am to attend. You will meet a number there for whom you have letters. Of course you will go with me?”

Tired as he was, Calhoun rode that night with Mr. Ormsby to be present at the meeting. If he was to meet Morgan at Glasgow during the first days of May, his time was short, very short, and what he should do had to be done quickly.

When he was introduced to those present as from Morgan, and just from Corinth, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. He had to tell the story of Shiloh, of the tragic death of Governor Johnson, of the retreat, but how the spirit of the Southern army was unbroken, and that the South would not, and could not, be conquered.

To his delight, Calhoun found that two companies of cavalry were nearly ready to take the field, and it was unanimously agreed that they should cast their fortune with Morgan.

“I believe that Morgan with a thousand men can ride clear to the Ohio River,” declared Calhoun. “It only remains for Kentuckians to rally to his standard, and give him the support that he desires.”

It was agreed that the companies should be filled as soon as possible, and should go whenever Calhoun said the word.

Calhoun returned with Mr. Ormsby, as he wished to enter Danville to visit his parents. Disguised as a country boy with produce to sell, he had no trouble in passing the pickets into town. With a basket of eggs on his arm, he knocked at the back door of his father’s residence. It was opened by Chloe, the cook.

“Want eny good fresh eggs?” asked Calhoun.

“No; go way wid ye, yo’ po’ white trash,” snapped the old negro woman, as she attempted to shut the door in his face.

“Chloe!”

The dish which she held in her hand went clattering to the floor. “Fo’ de land’s sake!” she cried, “if it isn’t Massa Calhoun. De Lawd bress yo’, chile! De Lawd bress you!” And she seized him and fairly dragged him into the house.

“Hush, Chloe, not so loud. Don’t tell father I am here yet. And, Chloe, don’t whisper I am here to a soul. If the Yankees found out I was here, they might hang me.”

“Oh, Lawd! Oh, Lawd! hang youn’ Massa?” she cried. “Ole Chloe tell no one.”

“That’s right, Aunt Chloe. Now bake those biscuits I see you are making, in a hurry. And make my favorite pie. I want to eat one more meal of your cooking. No one can cook like Aunt Chloe.”

“Yo’ shell hev a meal fit fo’ de king!” cried the old negress, her face all aglow.

“You must hurry, Chloe, for I can’t stay long. Now I will go and surprise father.” And surprise him he did. The old Judge could hardly believe the seeming country boy was his son.

“Where in the world did you come from?” he asked.

“From Corinth,” answered Calhoun. “I am now back to recruit for Morgan.”

“So you have joined Morgan, have you?”

“Yes. Now that Governor Johnson is killed, I know of no service I would like as well as to ride with Morgan.”

“You could have come home, my son.”

“Father! what do you mean? Come home while the South is bleeding at every pore? Come home like a craven while the contest is yet undecided?”

“I am wrong, my son; but it is so hard for you, my only child, to be in the army. Oh! that dreadful battle of Shiloh! The agony, the sleepless nights it has caused me! Thank God you are yet safe.”

“Yes, father, and I trust that the hand of a kind Providence will still protect me. But here is a letter from Morgan.”

The Judge adjusted his spectacles, and read the letter with much interest. “My son,” he said, after he had finished it, “it is well you were not captured with such letters on your person. It might have cost you your life. Even now I tremble for your safety. Does any one know you are in Danville?”

“Only Aunt Chloe, and she is as true as steel.”

“Yet there is danger. I know the house is under the closest surveillance. The Federal authorities know I am an ardent friend of the South, and they watch me continually. Morgan says in his letter that he hopes it will not be long before he will be in Kentucky.”

“And mark my word,” cried Calhoun, “it will not be! Before many weeks the name of Morgan will be on every tongue. He will be the scourge of the Yankee army. But, father, what of Uncle Dick and Fred?”

“Colonel Shackelford is at home minus a leg. The Federal authorities have paroled him. Fred is at home nursing him. Your uncle won imperishable honors on the field of Shiloh. What a pity he has such a son as Fred!”

Calhoun’s face clouded. The remembrance of his last meeting with Fred still rankled in his breast. “I never want to see him again,” he said.

The Judge sighed, “Oh, this war! this war!” he exclaimed; “how it disrupts families! You and Fred used to be the same as brothers. I thought nothing could come in between you and him. Calhoun, he is a noble boy, notwithstanding he is a traitor to his state and the South. They say he is going to resign from the army for the sake of his father. Won’t you go and see him?”

“No,” brusquely answered Calhoun, yet he felt in his heart he was wronging his cousin by his action.

Dinner was now announced by Aunt Chloe, and it did her honest old heart good to see the way that Calhoun ate.

“I jes’ believe dat air chile hab had nuthin’ to eat fo’ a week,” she declared.

“I reckon I shall have to go now,” said Calhoun, rising reluctantly from the table. “I have already made too long a visit for a country boy with eggs to sell. I declare, Aunt Chloe, I do believe I should kill myself eating if I stayed any longer.”

“No danger of dat, chile,” replied Aunt Chloe, grinning.

The words of parting were few. “Do be careful, my son,” said Judge Pennington, his voice trembling with emotion. “God only knows whether I shall ever see you again or not.”

As Calhoun started to leave, a pair of sharp eyes was watching him. Those eyes belonged to a pretty girl named Jennie Freeman. The Freemans were Judge Pennington’s nearest neighbors, but Mr. Freeman was as strong a Union man as the Judge was a Secessionist. Once the best of friends, a coldness had sprung up between them since the opening of the war.

Jennie was two years older than Calhoun, but they had been playmates from babyhood, and were great friends. Jennie called him her knight-errant. More than once he had carried a pair of black eyes in fighting her battles when some of the larger boys had teased her.

Jennie had seen the supposed country boy enter the kitchen of Judge Pennington, and there was something in his walk and manner which attracted her attention. “If that isn’t Cal Pennington I am a sinner!” she exclaimed to herself.

She was on the watch for him, and when he remained so long she became more than ever convinced that her suspicions were correct. At length the boy came out with his basket on his arm.

“Hi, there, boy! come here,” she called. “What have you to sell?”

Calhoun paid no attention to her call, but hurried on the faster.

“I tell you, boy, you had better come here if you know when you are well off!” she called, in a threatening voice, “Oh, I know you!”

Calhoun saw that he was discovered, and that his best way was to try to make peace with her. “What do yer want?” he growled, as he walked toward her. “I hev nuthin’ to sell; all sold out.”

“Well, I never!” said the girl as Calhoun came up. “Do you think I don’t know you, Cal Pennington? A pretty figure you cut in those old clothes, and with that basket. What in the world are you doing here?”

“Hush, Jennie, not so loud. If discovered, I might be hanged,” said Calhoun, in a low voice.

“Yankees don’t hang traitors; they ought to,” replied the girl, with a toss of her head.

“But don’t you see I am in disguise? I might be taken as a spy.”

“What are you but one? I ought to inform on you at once.”

“Jennie, you wouldn’t do that. I am only here to see father and mother. I had to come in disguise, or I might be taken prisoner by the Yankees.”

“And you are not here to spy? You know there are many rumors afloat?” asked the girl.

“Just here to visit father and mother. Can you blame me, Jennie?” As Calhoun said this his heart smote him, for while it was true he was in Danville for the purpose of visiting his parents, his mission to Kentucky was for an entirely different object.

“Now, Jennie, you won’t tell on me, will you?” he continued, in a coaxing tone.

“No, if you behave yourself; but don’t let me hear of any of your capers,” answered the girl.

“You won’t, Jennie. Good-bye. I may be able to do you a good turn one of these days.”

Jennie stood looking after him until he disappeared, then shaking her head, she went into the house, saying: “I couldn’t inform on him, if he is a Rebel.”

The next few days were busy ones for Calhoun. He visited Nicholasville, Lexington, Harrodsburg; had interviews with a large number of prominent Secessionists; found out, as near as possible, the number of Federal troops garrisoning the different towns; in fact, gathered information of the utmost value to Morgan if he should ever raid Kentucky.

But all these things could not be done without rumors reaching the Federal authorities. It was known that the Southern element was extremely active; that recruiting for the Confederate army was going on; and at last, the name of Calhoun Pennington was mentioned. Some one who knew him well declared that he had seen him, and it was common report he was back recruiting for Morgan’s command. The Federal commander at Danville was ordered to keep a close watch on the house of Judge Pennington to see if it was not visited by his son.

It was on the evening of May 2d, and Calhoun was in Lexington when he was startled by hearing the news-boys crying, “Pulaski, Tennessee, captured by John Morgan!” “He is headed north, closely pursued by the Federal forces!”

Then Morgan had commenced his raid. There was no time to be lost. That night, the next day, and the next night horsemen could be seen galloping furiously along unfrequented roads, throughout central Kentucky. The word was, “Meet at the rendezvous near Harrodsburg.” Three days afterwards, two hundred of the best, the bravest, and the noblest youths of Kentucky were ready to march to join Morgan. Each one of them had provided his own outfit. They asked no pay to fight for their beloved South.

Before going, Calhoun determined to pay his father one more visit, although he knew it was dangerous to do so. Concealing his horse in a thicket outside the limits of the city, he waited until dark, then stole across fields, and through alleys home.

No sooner did the Judge see him than he cried, “Calhoun! Calhoun! what have you done! Do you know they are on the watch for you?”

“I had to see you once more before I went,” answered Calhoun. “I was careful, and I do not think any one saw me come. I have some things of importance to tell you.”

Father and son talked together for some five minutes in low, confidential tones, when they were interrupted by Jennie Freeman bursting unannounced into the room and crying, “Run, Cal, run! the soldiers are coming! They are most here!” And before either could say a word, she was out again like a flash.

“Who would have thought it, of that Abolitionist Freeman’s daughter,” gasped the Judge. “Fly, my boy, fly! and may God protect you.”

Calhoun knew his danger. Grasping his trusty revolver, he cried, “Good-bye, all,” and ran through the house to pass out by the back way. Just as he reached the door, it was opened, and he fairly rushed into the arms of a soldier who was entering. So surprised were both that they could only stare at each other for a brief second; but Calhoun recovered himself first, and dealt the soldier a terrific blow over the head with the butt of his revolver. The soldier sank down with a moan, and Calhoun sprang out over his prostrate body, only to meet and overturn another soldier who was just ascending the steps. The force of the collision threw him headlong, but he was up again in a twinkling, and disappeared in the darkness, followed by a few ineffectual shots by the baffled Federals.

Judge Pennington heard the firing and groaned, “My son, oh, my son!”

The firing had alarmed the neighborhood, and there were many pale faces, for the people knew not what it meant.

A short time afterwards a Federal officer arrested Judge Pennington, and he was dragged off to jail. But he did not think of himself. “My son,” he asked, “was he captured? was he hurt?”

“I think the devil protected his own,” roughly replied the officer, “but we will attend to you for harboring Rebels.”

Judge Pennington lay in jail among criminals, not only that night, but for nearly a week. There was talk of sending him to a Northern prison as a dangerous man. But Fred Shackelford heard of his arrest and his probable fate, and came in and had a stormy interview with the Federal commander. He showed that Judge Pennington had committed no overt act; that his son, who was a Confederate soldier, had simply come to visit him, and had resisted capture, as any soldier had a right to do. As Fred threatened to report the case to the commander of the Department, the Judge was released.

Jennie Freeman had many qualms of conscience over what she had done. But Judge Pennington kept her secret well, telling only Fred; and when he congratulated Jennie over her act, she felt relieved; for young Shackelford was not only known as a favorite of General Nelson, but as one of the most daring and successful of Union scouts.

Calhoun met with no more adventures. He had no trouble in finding his way to his horse, and he lost no time in joining his comrades.

“Boys, John Morgan told me to meet him at Glasgow,” he cried, and two hundred voices answered with a loud “Hurrah! we will do it!”

Little did Calhoun or they think that at that very time John Morgan, his forces defeated and scattered, was fleeing before the enemy. But like them, he had set his face toward Glasgow.