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.