THROUGH THE LINES.
At the time Calhoun started for Kentucky, General Halleck was
concentrating his immense army at Pittsburg Landing, preparatory to an
attack on Corinth. Federal gunboats patrolled the Tennessee River as far
up as Eastport. General Mitchell held the Memphis and Charleston Railroad
between Decatur and Stevenson, but between Corinth and Decatur there was
no large body of Federals, and the country was open to excursions of
Confederate cavalry. In Middle Tennessee every important place was held by
detachments of Federal troops. To attempt to ride through the lines was an
exceedingly dangerous undertaking, but that is what Calhoun had to do to
reach Kentucky. He expected to meet with little danger until he attempted
to cross the lines of General Mitchell, which extended along the railroads
that ran from Nashville southward. The country through which he had to
pass was intensely Southern, and the Yankee cavalry did not venture far
from the railroads.
When Calhoun left Corinth, he rode straight eastward, until he reached
Tuscumbia, Alabama. Here he found little trouble in finding means to cross
the Tennessee River. Once across the river he took a northeast course,
which would take him through Rogersville. Now and then he met small squads
of Confederate cavalry. They were scouting through the country, and did
not seem to be under very strict military discipline, doing much as they
pleased.
Now and then he came across a party of recruits making their way to the
Confederate army at Corinth. They were mostly country boys, rough,
uncouth, and with little or no education. They knew or cared little of the
causes which had led up to the war; but they knew that the Southland had
been invaded, that their homes were in danger, and they made soldiers
whose bravery and devotion excited the admiration of the world.
In order to find out what General Mitchell was doing, and as nearly as he
could, to ascertain the number of his forces, Calhoun resolved to ride as
near the line of the Nashville and Decatur railroad as was prudent. As he
approached Rogersville, he learned that the place had just been raided by
a regiment of Yankee cavalry, and the country was in a panic.
Approaching the place cautiously, he was pleased to ascertain that the
cavalry, after committing numerous depredations, had retreated to Athens.
He now learned for the first time of the atrocities which had been
committed on the defenceless inhabitants of Athens, and his blood boiled
as he listened to the recital. No wonder the citizens of Rogersville were
in a panic, fearing that their fate might be the same.
“The whelps and robbers!” he exclaimed; “how I should like to get at them!
But their time will come. Never will the South lay down her arms until
every Northern soldier is driven in or across the Ohio.”
In Rogersville Calhoun met with a Doctor Jenkins, who was especially well
informed as to the strength and positions of the Federal army, and as to
the feelings of the citizens.
“At first,” said he, “the result of the battle of Shiloh greatly
discouraged us, and the slaughter was horrifying. But we are getting over
that now, and every true son of the South is more determined than ever to
fight the war to the bitter end, even if we see our homes in flames and
the country laid waste. How is it that Kentucky does not join hands with
her sister states?”
“She will, she must,” cried Calhoun. “Already thousands of her sons are
flocking to the Southern standard. It needs but a victory—a Confederate
army to enter her territory, and the people will rise _en masse_. There
are not enough traitors or Yankees in the state to keep them down.”
“Do you think Beauregard can hold Corinth?” asked the Doctor.
“He can if any one can. He is a great general,” answered Calhoun. “But
Morgan thinks the loss of Corinth would not be fatal if the army were
saved. ‘Under no consideration,’ says Morgan, ‘should Beauregard allow
himself to be cooped up in Corinth.’ ”
“I reckon he is right,” sighed the Doctor; “but may the time never come
when he will have to give it up.”
“Amen to that!” answered Calhoun.
From Rogersville Calhoun made his way north. He ascertained that the
railroad which Mitchell was engaged in repairing was not strongly guarded,
and he believed that with five hundred men Morgan could break it almost
anywhere between Athens and Columbia.
Near Mount Pleasant he met a Confederate officer with a party of recruits
which he was taking south. He sent back by him a statement to Morgan of
all he had learned, and added: “Taking everything into consideration, I
believe that Pulaski will be the best place for you to strike. I have no
fears but that you can capture it, even with your small force.”
Calhoun met with his first serious adventure shortly after he had crossed
the railroad, which he did a few miles south of Columbia. Thinking to make
better time, he took the main road leading to Shelbyville. He was
discovered by a squad of Federal cavalry, which immediately gave chase.
But he was mounted on a splendid horse, one that he had brought with him
from Kentucky. He easily distanced all his pursuers with the exception of
three or four, and he was gradually drawing away from all of them, except
a lieutenant in command of the squad, who seemed to be as well mounted as
himself.
[Illustration: HE EASILY DISTANCED ALL HIS PURSUERS.]
“Only one,” muttered Calhoun, looking back, as a pistol-ball whistled by
his head; “I can settle him,” and he reached for a revolver in his
holster. As he did so, his horse stepped into a hole and plunged heavily
forward, throwing Calhoun over his head. For a moment he lay bruised and
stunned, and then staggered to his feet, only to find the Federal officer
upon him.
“Surrender, you Rebel!” cried the officer, but quick as a flash, Calhoun
snatched a small revolver which he carried in his belt, and fired.
Instead of hitting the officer, the ball struck the horse fairly in the
head, and the animal fell dead. Leaving the officer struggling to
extricate himself from his fallen horse, Calhoun scrambled over a fence,
and scurried across a small field, beyond which was a wood. A scattering
volley was fired by the foremost of the pursuers, but it did no harm, and
Calhoun was soon across the field. Mounting the fence on the other side,
he stood on the top rail, and turning around, he uttered a shout of
defiance, then jumping down, disappeared in the wood.
The foremost of the Federals, a tall, lanky sergeant named Latham,
galloped to the side of his commander, who was still struggling to
extricate himself from his fallen horse. Springing from his saddle, he
helped him to his feet, and anxiously inquired, “Are you hurt,
Lieutenant?”
“The Rebel, the Rebel, where is he? Did you get him?” asked the
Lieutenant.
“Get him!” drawled the Sergeant, “I think not. He got across that field as
if Old Nick was after him. But once across he had the cheek to stand on
the fence and crow like a young rooster. I took a crack at him, but
missed.”
“Why didn’t you pursue him?” demanded the officer, fiercely.
“What! in those woods? Might as well look for a needle in a haymow. But
are you hurt, Lieutenant?”
“My leg is sprained,” he groaned; “but the worst of it is, Jupiter is
dead. Curse that Rebel! how I wish I had him! I would make him pay dearly
for that horse.”
“Here is the Rebel’s horse. I caught him!” exclaimed one of the men,
leading up Calhoun’s horse, which he had captured. “He looks like a mighty
fine horse, only he seems a little lame from his fall.”
“That is a fine horse,” said Latham, looking him over, “but he has been
rode mighty hard. Wonder who that feller can be. I see no signs of any
other Reb. He must have been alone. Say, he was a Jim-dandy whoever he
was. I thought you had him sure, Lieutenant.”
“So did I,” answered the Lieutenant, with an oath. “When his horse threw
him I had no idea he would try to get away, and ordered him to surrender.
But quick as a flash he jerked a revolver from his belt, and fired.”
“Better be thankful he hit the horse instead of you,” said the Sergeant.
For answer the Lieutenant limped to a stone, and sitting down, said:
“Examine that roll behind the saddle of the horse. Perhaps we can find out
who the fellow was.”
Sergeant Latham took the roll, which was securely strapped behind
Calhoun’s saddle, and began to unroll it as carefully as if he suspected
it might be loaded.
“A fine rubber and a good woollen blanket,” remarked the Sergeant. “Looks
mighty like those goods once belonged to our good Uncle Samuel. Bet your
life, they are a part of the plunder from Shiloh. Ah! here is a bundle of
letters.”
“Give them to me,” said the Lieutenant.
The Sergeant handed them over, and the officer hastily glanced over them,
reading the superscriptions.
“Why,” he exclaimed, in surprise, “these letters are all addressed to
persons in Kentucky. What could that fellow be doing with letters going to
Kentucky? We will see.” He tore open one of the letters.
He had read but a few lines when he exclaimed, with a strong expletive,
“Boys, I would give a month’s pay if we had captured that fellow!”
“Who was he? Who was he?” cried several soldiers in unison.
“He was—let me see—” and the Lieutenant tore open several more of the
letters, and rapidly scanned them—“yes, these letters make it plain. He
was a Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington, and he was from the Rebel army at
Corinth. I take it he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for the
command of a Captain John H. Morgan. Morgan—Morgan, I have heard of that
fellow before. He played the deuce with us in Kentucky last winter: burned
the railroad bridge over Bacon Creek, captured trains, tore up the
railroad, and played smash generally. These letters all seem to be private
ones written by the soldiers in Morgan’s command to their relatives and
friends back in Kentucky. But he may have carried important dispatches on
his person. We let a rare prize slip through our fingers.”
“Can’t be helped now,” dryly remarked Sergeant Latham. “If you had
captured him it might have put one bar, if not two, on your
shoulder-strap.”
The Lieutenant scowled, but did not reply. All the letters were read and
passed around. Three or four of them occasioned much merriment, for they
were written by love-lorn swains whom the cruel hand of war had torn from
their sweethearts.
“Golly! it’s a wonder them letters hadn’t melted from the sweetness they
contained,” remarked Sergeant Latham.
“Or took fire from their warmth,” put in a boyish looking soldier.
“Not half as warm as the letter I caught you writing to Polly Jones the
other day,” laughed a comrade. “Boys, I looked over his shoulder and read
some of it. I tell you it was hot stuff. ‘My dearest Polly!’ it commenced,
‘I——’ ”
But he never finished the sentence, for the young soldier sprang and
struck him a blow which rolled him in the dust.
“A fight! a fight!” shouted the men, and crowded around to see the fun.
“Stop that!” roared the Lieutenant, “or I will have you both bucked and
gagged when we get to camp. Sergeant Latham, see that both of those men
are put on extra duty to-night.”
When things had quieted down, others of the letters were read; but some of
them occasioned no merriment. Instead, one could see a rough blouse sleeve
drawn across the eyes, and a gulping down as if something choked the
wearer. These were letters written to the wives and mothers who were
watching and waiting for their loved ones to return. These letters
reminded them of their own wives and mothers in the Northland, waiting and
praying for them.
Suddenly the Lieutenant spoke up: “Boys, we have been wasting time over
those letters. That fellow was making his way back to Kentucky. He has no
horse. What more natural than that he would try and obtain one at the
first opportunity? That old Rebel Osborne lives not more than a mile
ahead. You remember we visited him last week, and threatened to arrest him
if the railroad was tampered with any more. It was thought he sheltered
these wandering bands of Confederates who make it dangerous to step
outside the camp. If we push on, we may catch our bird at Osborne’s.”
“If not, it will at least give you a chance to see the pretty daughter,”
remarked the Sergeant.
“Shut up, or I will have you reduced to the ranks,” growled the
Lieutenant.
The subject was rather a painful one to the Lieutenant, for during his
visit to the Osbornes the week before, when he tried to make himself
agreeable to the daughter, the lady told him in very plain words what she
thought of Yankees.
“It’s nearly noon, too,” continued the Lieutenant, after the interruption,
“and that spring near the house is a splendid place to rest our horses and
eat our dinners; so fall in.” The Lieutenant slowly mounted Calhoun’s
horse, for his fall had made him sore, and in none the best of humor, he
gave the command, “Forward!”
The plantation of Mr. Osborne was soon reached. It was a beautiful place.
The country had not yet been devastated by the cruel hand of war, and the
landscape, rich with the growing crops, lay glowing under the bright April
sky. The mansion house stood back from the road in a grove of noble native
trees, and the whole surroundings betokened a home of wealth and
refinement.
From underneath a rock near the house gushed forth a spring, whose waters,
clear as crystal, ran away in a rippling stream. It was near this spring
that Lieutenant Haines, for that was the officer’s name, halted his
troops.
“Better throw a guard around the house,” he said to Sergeant Latham, “for
if that Rebel has found his way here, he may make a sneak out the back
way. After you get the guard posted, we will search the house.”
As the Sergeant was executing his orders, Mr. Osborne came out of the
house, and approaching the troop, to Lieutenant Haines’s surprise, gave
him a cordial greeting.
“I cannot say I am rejoiced to see you again,” he exclaimed, with a smile,
“except you come in peace. I trust that the telegraph wire has not been
cut, or the railroad torn up again.”
“Nothing of the kind has happened,” answered the Lieutenant.
“Then I reckon I am in no danger of arrest, and I trust you will take
dinner with us. It is nearly ready.”
The invitation nearly took away the Lieutenant’s breath, but he accepted
it gladly. As they were going toward the house, Mr. Osborne remarked,
carelessly, “I see you have thrown a guard around the house. Are you
afraid of an attack? I know of no body of Confederates in the vicinity.”
“The truth is,” replied Haines, “we ran into a lone Confederate about a
mile from here. We captured his horse, but he succeeded in escaping to the
woods, after killing my horse. I did not know but he might have found
refuge here; and, excuse me, Mr. Osborne, but I may be under the necessity
of searching your house.”
“Do as you please,” replied Mr. Osborne, coldly; “I have seen no such
Confederate; but if I had, I should have concealed him if I could. But do
not let this circumstance spoil our good nature, or our dinner.”
Just then they met Sergeant Latham returning from posting the guard.
“Sergeant, you may withdraw the guard,” said the Lieutenant; “Mr. Osborne
informs me he has not seen our runaway Confederate.”
The Sergeant turned back to carry out the order, muttering, “Confederate!
Confederate! The Lieutenant is getting mighty nice; he generally says
‘Rebel.’ ”
If Lieutenant Haines was surprised at the cordial greeting he had received
from Mr. Osborne, he was more than surprised at the reception he met from
Mrs. Osborne, and especially the daughter, Miss Clara.
Miss Osborne was a most beautiful girl, about twenty years of age. No
wonder Lieutenant Haines felt his heart beat faster when he looked upon
her. When he met her the week before, she treated him with the utmost
disdain; now she greeted him with a smile, and said, “I trust you have not
come to carry papa away in captivity. If not, you are welcome.”
“Nothing of the sort this time, I am happy to say,” exclaimed the
Lieutenant, with a bow, “and I hope I shall never be called upon to
perform that disagreeable duty.”
“Thank you,” she answered, with a smile. “Now, you must stay and take
dinner with us while your men rest.”
“The Lieutenant tells me he met with quite a little adventure, about a
mile below here,” said Mr. Osborne.
Miss Osborne looked up inquiringly. Before more could be said Mrs. Osborne
announced that dinner was ready, and the Lieutenant sat down to a most
sumptuous repast.
“What was Lieutenant Haines’s adventure you spoke of?” at length asked
Miss Osborne of her father.
“Better let the Lieutenant tell the story, for I know nothing of it,”
answered Mr. Osborne; “but he spoke of searching the house for a supposed
concealed Confederate.”
As Mr. Osborne said this, Miss Osborne gave a little gasp and turned pale,
but quickly recovering herself, she turned a pair of inquiring eyes on the
Lieutenant—eyes that emitted flames of angry light and seemed to look him
through and through.
Lieutenant Haines turned very red. “Forgive me if I thought of such a
thing,” he replied, humbly. “Your father has assured me he has neither
seen nor concealed any Confederate officer, and his word is good with me.
Make yourself easy. I shall not insult you by searching the house.”
A look as of relief came over the face of Miss Osborne as she answered: “I
thank you very much. I shall never say again there are no gentlemen among
the Yankees. But tell us of your adventure. I thought I heard firing about
an hour ago. Was there any one hurt?”
“Only my poor horse; he was killed,” answered Haines.
“Ah! in the days of knighthood to be unhorsed was to be defeated,”
exclaimed Miss Osborne, gayly. “You must admit yourself vanquished!”
Haines laughingly replied: “I am sorry to disappoint you; but as I
captured my enemy’s horse and he fled on foot, I cannot admit defeat.”
“Then your enemy was a solitary knight?” queried Miss Osborne.
“Yes, but to all appearances a most gallant one.”
“Strange,” she mused, “who he could be, and what he could be doing in this
section. The place for true knights, at this time, is at Corinth.”
“From letters captured with his horse, I take it he was from Corinth,”
said Haines. “From those letters we learned that his name was Calhoun
Pennington, that he was a lieutenant in the command of Captain John H.
Morgan, a gentleman who has given us considerable trouble, and may give us
more, and that he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for Morgan’s
command.”
“You say you captured letters?” queried the girl.
“Yes, a whole package of them. They were from members of Morgan’s command
to their friends back in Kentucky. The boys are having rare fun reading
them.”
“I suppose it is according to military usages to read all communications
captured from the enemy,” remarked Miss Osborne with a slight tinge of
sarcasm in her tone, “but it seems sacrilege that these private letters
should fall into profane hands.”
“Some of them were rich,” laughed Haines; “they were written by loving
swains to their girls. There were others written to wives and mothers,
which almost brought tears to our eyes, they were so full of yearnings for
home.”
“Lieutenant, there was nothing in those letters of value to you from a
military standpoint, was there?” suddenly asked Miss Osborne.
“Nothing.”
“Then I have a great boon to ask. Will you not give them to me?”
“Why, Miss Osborne, what can you do with them?” asked Haines, in surprise.
“I can at least keep them sacred. Perhaps I can find means of getting them
to those for whom they are intended. Think of those wives and mothers
watching, waiting for letters which will never come. Oh! give them to me,
Lieutenant Haines, and you will sleep the sweeter to-night.”
“Your request is a strange one,” said the Lieutenant; “yet I can see no
harm in granting it. You can have the letters, but the boys may have
destroyed some of them by this time.”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you! You will never regret your kindness. I shall
remember it.”
“I only ask you to think better of Yankees, Miss Osborne; we are not all
monsters.”
Dinner was now over, and Sergeant Latham came to report that the hour for
the halt was up, and to ask what were the Lieutenant’s orders.
“Have the troop ready, and we will return to camp. I see nothing more we
can accomplish here,” answered the Lieutenant.
The Sergeant saluted and turned to go, when the officer stopped him with,
“Say, Sergeant, you can gather up all those letters we captured and send
them up here with my horse.”
“Very well,” said the Sergeant, but he muttered to himself, as he
returned, “Now, I would like to know what the Lieutenant wants of those
letters. I bet he has let that girl pull the wool over his eyes.”
In a few moments a soldier appeared leading the Lieutenant’s horse.
The family had accompanied Lieutenant Haines to the porch. Stepping down
to where his horse was, he said to the soldier, “You may return and tell
Sergeant Latham to move the troop. I will catch up with you in a few
moments. Did you bring the letters?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the soldier, saluting, and handing the package to his
commander.
“Very well, you may go now.”
Lieutenant Haines stood and watched the soldiers while his order was being
obeyed, for he did not wish to have any of his men see him give the
package to Miss Osborne.
After his troop had moved off, Haines placed the bridle of his horse in
the hands of a waiting colored boy, and returning to the porch where Mr.
Osborne and the ladies still stood, said: “That is the horse I captured
from my foe. He is a beauty, isn’t he? Jupiter was a splendid horse, but I
do not think I lost anything by the exchange. Here are the letters, Miss
Osborne; you see I have kept my promise,” and he reached out the package
to her.
But before she could take them they were snatched from Haines’s hand, and
a stern voice said, “I will take the letters, please.”
Had a bombshell exploded at Lieutenant Haines’s feet he would not have
been more surprised, and his surprise changed to consternation when he
found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Lieutenant Haines was
no coward, but he was unarmed save his sword, and there was no mistaking
the look in Calhoun’s eye. It meant death if he attempted to draw his
sword.
As for Mr. Osborne, he seemed as much surprised as Lieutenant Haines. Miss
Osborne gave a little shriek, and then cried. “Oh, how could you betray
us!” and stood with clasped hands, and with face as pale as death.
Mr. Osborne was the first to recover from his surprise. “I know not who
you are,” he said, “but Lieutenant Haines is my guest, and I will have no
violence. Lower that weapon!”
Without doing so, Calhoun answered, “If I have done anything contrary to
the wishes of those who have so kindly befriended me, I am sorry; but I
could not withstand the temptation to claim my own. As it is, I will bid
you good day.”
Thus saying, he dashed past them, and snatching the bridle of his horse
from the negro boy, he vaulted into the saddle and was away at full speed.
For a moment not a word was spoken, and then Lieutenant Haines turned on
Mr. Osborne and said, bitterly, “I congratulate you on the success of your
plot. I will not be fool enough again to take the word of a Southern
gentleman.”
Mr. Osborne flushed deeply, but before he could reply, his daughter sprang
in front of him, and faced Lieutenant Haines with flashing eye.
“I will not have my father accused of deception and falsehood,” she cried.
“He knew nothing of that Confederate being concealed in the house. I alone
am to blame, and I told you nothing. I strove to entertain you and keep
you from searching the house, and I accomplished my purpose.”
“And you got those letters from me to give to him?”
“Yes.”
Lieutenant Haines groaned. “It may be some satisfaction to you,” he said,
“to know that this may mean my undoing, disgrace, a dishonorable dismissal
from the service.”
“I shall take no pleasure in your dishonor,” she exclaimed, the color
slowly mounting to her cheeks. “I did not intend that Lieutenant
Pennington should show himself. It was his rashness that has brought all
this trouble.”
“How can I return to camp without arms, without a horse? It would have
been a kindness to me if your friend Lieutenant Pennington had put a
bullet through my brain.”
Mr. Osborne now spoke. “Lieutenant Haines,” he said, “my daughter speaks
the truth when she says I knew nothing of the Confederate officer being in
my house. Had I known it, I should have tried to conceal him, to protect
him; but I should not have invited you to be my guest. As my guest, you
are entitled to my protection, and I shall make what reparation is in my
power.” Then turning to the colored boy who had stood by with mouth and
eyes wide open, he said, “Tom, go and saddle and bridle Starlight, and
bring him around for this gentleman.”
“Surely you do not intend to give me a horse, Mr. Osborne,” said Haines.
“As my guest, I can do no less,” replied Mr. Osborne. “If Lieutenant
Pennington had not taken his, I should have let him have one to continue
on his way to Kentucky. So you see, after all, I am out nothing.”
Just then they were aroused by the sound of horses’ feet, and looking up
they saw Sergeant Latham accompanied by two soldiers coming on a gallop.
Riding up, the Sergeant saluted, and casting his sharp eyes around, said,
“Lieutenant, excuse me, but you were so long in joining us that I feared
something—an accident—had befallen you, so I came back to see. Where in
the world is your horse, Lieutenant?”
“Coming,” answered his superior, briskly, for he had no notion of
explaining just then what had happened.
When the colored boy came leading an entirely strange horse with citizen
saddle and bridle on, the Sergeant exchanged meaning glances with his
companions, but said nothing.
Mounting, Lieutenant Haines bade the family good day, and rode moodily
away. No sooner were they out of hearing than the Sergeant, forgetting
military discipline, exclaimed, “What in blazes is up, Lieutenant? I
suspected something was wrong all the time.”
“That is what made you come back, is it?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Yes; I did not march the command far before I halted and waited for you.
Pretty soon we heard the sound of a galloping horse, and thought you were
coming. But when you didn’t appear, I became alarmed and concluded to ride
back and see what was the matter.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, for your watchfulness. I shall remember it.”
Then as they rode along, the Lieutenant told Latham his story.
“And that pesky Reb was concealed in the house all the time, was he?”
asked Latham.
“Yes; the girl worked it fine.”
The Sergeant laughed long and loud. “And she coaxed the letters from you
too. Oh, my! Oh, my!” And he nearly bent double.
“Shut up, you fool you!” growled Haines. “Say, you must help me out of
this scrape.”
“Trust me, Lieutenant; I will tell how brave you were, and how you run the
Rebel down, and how you would have captured him if he hadn’t shot your
horse. But look out after this how you let Southern girls fool you.”
The Lieutenant sighed. “She is the most beautiful creature I ever saw,” he
murmured. “Gods! I shall never forget how she looked when she sprang in
between me and that Pennington when he had his revolver levelled at my
head.”
“Forget her,” was the sage advice of the Sergeant; but the Lieutenant did
not take it.