UNDER ARREST.
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 Nashville. This he had kept dry when he swam the river by
wrapping it in his outside clothing, which he had made into a bundle, and
carried over on his head. Taking the revolver in his hand, ready for
instant use, he cautiously crept up on the sergeant.
[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 back to
camp with the story that I let one Johnny gobble me? No, sir, not by a
jugful!”
“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 his horse around, and yelled over, “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, but not in time to escape
having two balls sing uncomfortably close to his head.
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 a
whole brigade of Federal cavalry. The engagement was a spirited one, but
owing to the superior numbers of the Federals, the Confederates were
forced to fall back. During the retreat Calhoun with his scouts was
holding back the advance of the enemy. They were furiously charged by two
companies of the Federals, and a hand-to-hand conflict took place. During
this combat Calhoun became engaged with a Federal captain, and to his
surprise he saw that his antagonist was Captain Haines. The recognition
was mutual, and it must have unnerved the hand of the Captain, for
although but a few feet from Calhoun, he fired and missed him. Before he
could fire again, Calhoun dashed his empty revolver into his face. The
force of the blow caused him to reel in his saddle, and before he could
recover, Calhoun had cut him down.
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 happened which he thought would not only cause
Calhoun to die a most disgraceful death, but redound greatly to his own
credit.
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 longer than they thought,
but were about to part, mutually agreeing to withdraw their men, when they
were startled by the sound of rapid firing. Looking up they saw that
Fred’s men were being charged by a large force of Confederates. They were
in full retreat, firing as they galloped back. Fred was alone in the midst
of his enemies.
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
important I thought it best to send the prisoner direct to him. As soon as
I see General Morgan I will file formal charges.”
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 sputtered. “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 might as well accuse me of
holding treasonable communications with the enemy as Lieutenant
Pennington. He is the officer, as you may remember, that entered Nashville
a short time since, and sent you such a valuable report. Moreover, he is
the very officer I have chosen to look into that matter which we have
discussed so much. I expect to send him North next week.”
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 sick and tired of the war,
and were more than willing to give the South her independence. They were
ready to force Lincoln to do this. A secret society, known as the Knights
of the Golden Circle, existed throughout the North, and was most numerous
in the states of Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. The purpose of this society
was to resist the draft, encourage desertions from the army, embarrass the
government in every way possible, and if necessary resort to arms. Already
numerous small encounters had taken place between the Knights and the
militia of these states.
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.