THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE.
No one was more surprised than Calhoun when told that he had been selected
to go North on a secret and most important mission.
“General Breckinridge and I have selected you,” said Morgan, “because we
have confidence in your sagacity, bravery, and discretion. We know no one
better fitted to intrust this delicate, and perhaps dangerous, mission to
than yourself.”
“But I am so young,” said Calhoun; “while I gladly accept the honor which
I feel you have bestowed upon me, would not one older and more experienced
than I do better?”
“Your youth is one of the main reasons why we have chosen you,” replied
Morgan. “A youth like you will not excite suspicion half as quickly as a
man.”
“Then I am more than willing to go,” answered Calhoun, “and trust that the
confidence you repose in me will not prove to have been misplaced.”
“I have no fears on that score,” answered Morgan; “I know that you will
succeed, if any one can.”
The General then fully explained what was required of him. Calhoun
listened in silence.
“I think I fully understand what you want of me, General, but how am I to
approach these Knights of the Golden Circle? How am I to find out who are
Knights?”
“That has already been provided for,” answered Morgan. “We are now ready
to initiate you into a camp of the Golden Circle.”
“Does the order exist down South, too?” asked Calhoun, in surprise.
“Certainly, to some extent,” was the answer. “If not, how could we know
the secrets of the order? You are willing, I suppose, to take the oaths
required?”
“If there is not anything in them to hinder me from being a true son of
the South,” replied Calhoun.
“I assure you there is not, for I have taken them,” said Morgan; “but you
must bear in mind this is a Northern order, its chief purpose to overthrow
the Lincoln government; its chief cornerstone is States’ Rights. The Hon.
C. L. Vallandigham, who was lately sent into our lines for disloyalty, but
who has now found a refuge in Canada, is the Supreme Commander of the
order. No truer friend of the South exists than Vallandigham. He believes
in the doctrine of secession. The North is sick and tired of the war, and
wants to put a stop to it and let the South go in peace. This is the
purpose of the order.”
“All right,” said Calhoun; “I am ready to join any order that has that for
its purpose.”
Calhoun was conducted to a tent where, to his surprise, he met quite a
number of the officers of the command. There was one stranger present, a
gentleman in civilian dress. Calhoun was told that he was from the North,
was a high officer in the order, and that he would conduct the initiatory
ceremonies. When Calhoun issued from that tent he was a full-fledged
member of the Knights of the Golden Circle. But he had taken only the
first degree. The other degrees were to be given to him after he had
arrived in the North.
After having fully learned the signs, grips, and passwords of the order,
Calhoun was ready for his journey. He now received his final instructions
from Morgan and Breckinridge.
It did not take Calhoun long to see that while these gentlemen were
willing to use the order, they had the utmost contempt for it. All nations
use traitors and despise them at the same time. The Knights of the Golden
Circle were traitors to their section. Calhoun felt this, and loathed the
men with whom he was to mingle; but if they could help the South to secure
her independence, it was all he asked. He, like the noble Major André of
Revolutionary fame, was willing to risk his life for the cause he loved.
André failed, and suffered an ignominious death; but his fame grows
brighter with the centuries, while the traitor Arnold is still abhorred.
“Here is a belt containing ten thousand dollars in United States money,”
said Morgan, handing him a belt. “You will need it; our money don’t go in
the North.”
“Whew! you must have had your hand in Lincoln’s strong-box,” said Calhoun,
as he took the money.
Morgan smiled as he answered: “A Yankee paymaster don’t come amiss once in
a while.”
Calhoun was next given an official envelope, which he was to hand to
General Forrest, who was then operating in Northern Mississippi and
Western Tennessee.
“You will receive full instructions from Forrest,” continued Morgan, “what
to do, and how to get through the Yankee lines. We have concluded to send
you by the way of Western Tennessee, as you will not be so apt to meet
with any Federal officer who might know you. Now go, and may success
attend you.”
Calhoun took his chief’s hand. His heart was too full to say a word. A
strong grasp, and he was gone. He had no trouble in finding General
Forrest, who carefully read the papers that Calhoun handed him. He then
scanned Calhoun closely from head to feet. “I reckon you understand the
purport of these papers,” he said, in rather a harsh voice.
“I suppose they relate to sending me through the lines,” answered Calhoun.
“Well, I can send you through, young man, but you are going on a fool’s
errand. I have had a good deal to do with those Knights of the Golden
Circle, as they call themselves. They are all right in giving away
everything they know; but when it comes to fighting, bah! one of my
companies would lick ten thousand.”
“Then you haven’t much faith in the fighting qualities of the Knights?”
said Calhoun, with a smile.
“Faith? Not I. They are Yankees, mere money-grabbers. Ask one of them for
ten dollars and he will shut up as tight as a clam. But they worry the
Lincoln government, and keep up a fire in the rear; therefore they should
be encouraged. You will find them a scurvy lot to deal with, though.”
“How soon can I start North?” asked Calhoun.
“To-night,” answered Forrest. “I am the president of an underground
railroad, took my cue from the Abolitionists when they were engaged in
running our niggers through to Canada. I have a regular mail North. I will
send you through with one of the carriers. I reckon I had better send your
credentials by a second carrier. It might be awkward if you were captured
with them. You must leave here dressed as a citizen, and bear in mind that
your name is W. B. Harrison.”
“Where shall I find my credentials?” asked Calhoun.
“At Mount Vernon, Illinois, which is the terminus of my railroad at
present. Inquire for Judge Worley. Once in his hands, you will be all
right. If all the Knights were like him there would be something doing;
but he is a Kentuckian, no whining Yankee.”
Calhoun had heard much of General Forrest, and during his interview with
him studied him carefully. He put him down as a man of indomitable energy,
of great courage, and possessing military genius of a high order. On the
other hand, he was illiterate, rough in his language, and lacked the
polish of a cultured gentleman, which Morgan possessed. But there was a
magnetism about him which drew men to him.
“If I were not riding with Morgan, I should surely want to be with
Forrest,” thought Calhoun.
Night came, and Calhoun was introduced to the mail-carrier who was to be
his guide. He was a thin, wiry man, named Givens. In age, Calhoun put him
down at about forty. The few days during which Calhoun was with Givens
gave him a very high opinion of the guide’s bravery and sagacity. Givens
related many of his hairbreadth escapes during their journey, and seemed
to treat them as great jokes. During the entire journey through Tennessee
and Kentucky, Givens kept to unfrequented roads, and in the darkest night
rode as one entirely familiar with the way.
At every place they stopped, they seemed to be expected. A man would take
their horses, and in the evening when they started, they would find fresh
horses provided. Givens informed Calhoun that these stations were a night
ride apart, and that at each a relay of horses was kept concealed in the
woods.
“I now understand,” said Calhoun, “what an underground railroad means. If
the Abolitionists had as complete a one as you, no wonder they were so
successful in getting away with our slaves.”
Givens chuckled as he answered: “They did, I know all about it; was in the
business myself.”
“You?” asked Calhoun, in surprise, and he instinctively recoiled from the
man.
“A man has to do something for a living,” growled Givens; “I got so much
for each nigger I ran off.” He then refused to discuss the subject
further.
One night as they were travelling at a rapid gait, a low, tremulous
whistle came from the side of the road. Givens reined in his horse so
quickly that he fell back on his haunches. He answered the whistle in the
same low, tremulous note. A man stepped from the bushes into the road, and
spoke a few words to Givens in a low tone.
Givens turned to Calhoun and said: “Yanks ahead. We will have to go round
them.”
Under the guidance of the man they turned into a path through the woods.
The way was rough, and Givens swore roundly because they were losing time.
A good-sized stream was reached, which they had to swim. They emerged from
it wet and out of humor, Givens cursing the Yankees to his heart’s
content. He explained that it eased his mind. When the road was reached
their guide bade them good-bye, and disappeared as suddenly as he had
appeared.
Givens and Calhoun now urged their horses to their utmost speed, in order
to reach their next stopping-place by daylight. But do the best they
could, the sun was an hour high before they reached their haven of rest.
Luckily they met with no one, and they felt safe.
“One more night and we shall reach the Ohio,” said Givens, when they
dismounted after a long, wearisome night ride. But it was destined that
they should not reach the Ohio the next night, for they had not ridden
more than five miles after they had started before they were brought up
with the sharp command: “Halt! Who comes there?”
“Citizens without the countersign,” answered Givens without a moment’s
hesitation, and then to Calhoun, “Wheel and run for your life.”
They both turned and clapped spurs to their horses, but not before the
sentinel had fired. Calhoun heard a sharp exclamation of pain, and turning
his head saw Givens tumble from his horse. He had carried his last mail.
There was no time to halt, for Calhoun heard the rapid hoof-beats of
horses in pursuit. Coming to a cross-road, he sprang from his horse and
struck him a vicious blow which sent him galloping wildly down the road.
In a moment a squad of Federal cavalry passed in swift pursuit. Calhoun
breathed freer after the trampling of their horses died away in the
distance. But he was alone, without a horse, and in a strange country. He
was now thankful that Forrest had not sent his credentials with Givens.
Calhoun made his way slowly on foot, turning into a road which led in the
direction which he wished to go. All through the night he plodded, and
when morning came he found he was close to a large plantation. He
determined to make himself known. Placing his revolver in his bosom, where
he could get it in a moment, he boldly went up to the house. Fortunately
he met the owner of the plantation, who saluted him with, “Heah, git off
of my place, or I will set the dogs on you. I want no tramps around heah.”
Calhoun glanced at himself, and did not wonder he had been mistaken for a
disreputable character. His night’s walk had made sad havoc with the looks
of his clothes. The road was muddy, and he had fallen down several times.
Rather in desperation than thinking it would do any good, he made the sign
of recognition of the Knights of the Golden Circle. To his surprise it was
answered.
“Who are you? and why do you come in such a plight?” asked the gentleman.
Calhoun’s story was soon told. “And you are one of Morgan’s men,” said the
gentleman, whose name was Cressey. “I have a son with Morgan,” and he gave
his name.
“One of my scouts,” replied Calhoun, delighted. Calhoun had indeed found a
friend, and a place of refuge. The next night, with a good horse and
guide, Calhoun was taken to a house but a short distance from the river.
The farmer who owned the house was to take a load of produce into Mount
Vernon that day. Calhoun could easily go with him without exciting
suspicion. This was done, and before noon Calhoun, free and unsuspected,
was walking the streets of Mount Vernon.
Shortly after dinner he inquired for the office of Judge Worley, and was
shown the most pretentious law office in the little city. Entering, he
inquired for the Judge, and was told that he was in his private office.
“Tell him that a gentleman wishes to see him on very important business,”
said Calhoun.
A clerk bade him be seated, and disappeared. He returned in a moment and
said the Judge would see him at once.
When Calhoun entered the private office he saw seated at a desk a
dignified-looking gentleman about sixty years of age, who eyed him
sharply, and Calhoun was sure a look of disappointment came over his face.
This, then, was the gentleman who wished to see him on very important
business—hardly more than a boy.
He did not even ask Calhoun to be seated, but said, in a cold voice:
“Well, what do you want? Be in a hurry, for I am very busy.”
This was not the kind of reception Calhoun was looking for. Gulping down
his indignation, he said: “I am just from the South, I was directed to
come to you, who would prove a friend.”
“Ah! some one must have taken an unwarranted liberty with my name.”
While he was saying this, Calhoun was aware a pair of steel-gray eyes were
trying to read his very soul.
“Is that all?” at length continued the Judge. “I have no time to give you;
as I told you, I am very busy,” and he dismissed his visitor with a wave
of the hand.
As a last resort Calhoun gave the sign of recognition of the Knights of
the Golden Circle. There was no recognition; instead a testy, “Why don’t
you go?”
Calhoun’s face flamed with anger, but controlling himself, he replied:
“When you receive some mail from the South, you may find some dispatches
from General Forrest which will cause you to treat me differently. If such
dispatches come, be here in your office at nine o’clock to-night.”
When Calhoun mentioned “mail from the South,” and “General Forrest,” the
Judge turned pale, and Calhoun fancied he made a motion as if to stop him;
but the young man paid no attention to the signal, and strode indignantly
from the office.
No sooner was he gone than the Judge turned eagerly to a pile of mail
which he had just received, and which the coming of Calhoun had
interrupted him in reading. Hurriedly running over the letters, he picked
out one, and opened it with nervous fingers. It was written in cipher.
Opening a secret drawer in his desk, he took out the key to the cipher,
and began the translation of the dispatch. As he did so, he gave vent to
his surprise in various exclamations.
“Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s staff ... will go by name of W.
B. Harrison ... comes North to fully investigate conditions.... If
favorable will invade North.... Pennington is member of K. G. C.”
The Judge laid down the letter and seemed to be gazing into vacancy. He
was thinking—thinking hard. At last he picked up the letter and read it
through to the end. Then he made preparations to go out.
“I shall not be back again this afternoon,” he said to his clerk, as he
passed out. “You can lock up the office when you leave. I shall not need
you this evening.”
When Calhoun called that evening, he was met at the door by the Judge, and
given a reception much different from that he received in the afternoon.
“I am glad to see you, Lieutenant,” said the Judge, and he raised his hand
as if in military salute, but was careful not to touch his forehead.
“And I am rejoiced to make the acquaintance of Judge Worley,” replied
Calhoun, raising his hand as if to shade his eyes from the light.
They then advanced and grasped each other by the hand, the fore-finger of
each resting on the pulse of the other.
“Nu,” said Calhoun.
“Oh,” responded the Judge.
“Lac,” answered Calhoun.
“Nu-oh-lac,” they then both said together.
Thus were they introduced to each other as members of the Knights of the
Golden Circle.
The Judge was now profuse in his apologies for his treatment of Calhoun at
their first meeting.
“The fact is,” said the Judge, “we are surrounded by Lincoln spies on
every hand. Some of them have gained admittance into the order. One cannot
be too careful. Then your youth misled me. I am now surprised that one so
young should be selected for so important a commission.”
“No apology is needed,” said Calhoun. “I confess I was indignant at first,
but I now see you were right in receiving me as you did. Have you received
General Forrest’s letter yet?”
“Yes, and it makes all plain. By the way, I see that your name is Calhoun.
Have you ever noticed our password particularly?”
“No; you must bear in mind I am a new member.”
“Read your name backwards,” said the Judge, with a smile.
Calhoun did so, and exclaimed, in surprise: “Nuohlac! Why, it’s my name
spelled backwards.”
“Aye! and it is the name of the greatest American who ever lived,”
exclaimed the Judge, with enthusiasm. “I trust that you honor the name.
Would that John C. Calhoun were alive now. What a glorious day it would be
for him. But his spirit lives—lives, and thank God there is no Andrew
Jackson in the presidential chair!”
“Lincoln seems to have more nerve than I wish he had,” answered Calhoun.
“Lincoln is an ignoramus, a filthy story-teller, a monster. Seward is the
brains of the administration. Without Seward, Lincoln would be nothing.”
Calhoun thought it wise not to dispute with the Judge, so he changed the
subject by asking the number of Knights of the Golden Circle in the state.
“That, under my oath, I cannot give,” answered the Judge. “I see by
General Forrest’s letter that you have taken only the first degree of the
order. That entitles you to very little information. It is the duty of
those who take only this degree to obey, not to question. General Forrest
advises that the other degrees be given you as soon as possible. I have
already made arrangements to have you initiated into the second and third
degrees this evening. That is as high as we can go here.”
The Judge here looked at his watch, and said it was time to go.
Calhoun accompanied him to a room over a saloon, the Judge explaining that
they had selected the place so as not to excite suspicion by so many men
passing in and out. Calhoun found at least fifty men assembled, and when
he was introduced as one of Morgan’s men, he received a perfect ovation.
“Hurrah for John Morgan!” shouted one enthusiastic member, and the cheers
were given with a will.
Three cheers were then given for Jeff Davis, followed by three groans for
Abe Lincoln.
Calhoun could scarcely believe his ears. Was this the North? He could well
believe he was in the heart of the South.
The object of the meeting was stated, and Calhoun was duly initiated into
the second and third degrees. There was no mistaking the nature of the
society; its object was the overthrow of the Lincoln government. But
resistance to the draft was the main thing discussed. Their hatred of even
the name of Lincoln was shown in every word.
Calhoun, now armed with the proper credentials, was told that to obtain
the information which he sought, he would have to visit the Grand
Commander of the state, who was a Dr. Warrenton, of Springfield. Calhoun
marvelled that the head officer of such an order should reside under the
very shadow of the state capitol.
The next day found Calhoun in Springfield. It was full of Federal
soldiers, and from almost every house a United States flag was flying. It
did not look like a very promising place for opposition to the Federal
government, but Calhoun afterwards learned that the place was honeycombed
with members of the Knights of the Golden Circle.
Calhoun was received by Dr. Warrenton with the greatest caution, and it
was only after he was fully satisfied that his visitor was what he
represented himself to be that the Doctor consented to talk.
“Be frank with me,” said Calhoun; “John Morgan is contemplating a raid in
the North, and he wishes to know whether in that case he can expect any
aid from this order, and if so to what number.”
The Doctor seemed to be fired with the idea of Morgan making a raid, but
said: “If you are to be given the full information you ask for, you must
be initiated into the fourth degree of the order. That is a degree which
but very few take, and can be given only with the consent of the Supreme
Commander. The Grand Commanders of the different states meet the Supreme
Commander in Canada next Tuesday. This is Friday. You had better attend
that meeting, as your mission is very important.”
“Why meet in Canada?” asked Calhoun.
“Because it is safer, and—and we want to meet the Supreme Commander of the
order.”
“Ah! I understand,” said Calhoun. “Mr. —”
“Stop; on your life mention no names! Our oaths forbid it.”
“I stand corrected,” answered Calhoun, humbly.
It was arranged that Calhoun was to accompany Dr. Warrenton to Canada; but
the Doctor warned him that on the cars they must be to each other as
strangers.
“When we reach Detroit,” said the Doctor, “go to the Russell House, and
register as from Chicago. Write Chicago ‘Chic.’ ”
“I think I will go through to Chicago this evening,” said Calhoun; “I
should like to make some investigations there; you can meet me there
Monday.”
So it was arranged, the Doctor giving him the names of half a dozen men in
that city whom it might be well for him to see. “But mind,” said
Warrenton, “do not tell any one of Morgan’s contemplated raid. That must
be a secret.”
Calhoun spent two days in Chicago, and what he saw and learned there
surprised him more than ever. Opposition to the Lincoln government was
everywhere. The leading newspaper boldly demanded that the war be stopped,
boastingly proclaimed that there would soon be “a fire in the rear” that
would bring Lincoln to his senses. Resistance to the draft was openly
talked on the streets. It was even hinted that there was a secret move on
foot to liberate the prisoners at Camp Douglas and burn the city.
“This is proving interesting,” thought Calhoun; “the whole North seems to
be a seething volcano, ready to burst forth into flames, yet something
seems to smother the flames.”
Calhoun had an inkling of what smothered the flames when, representing
himself as a young Englishman, he asked a Federal officer why the
government permitted such open talk of treason.
The officer smiled as he answered: “It is better for them to talk than
act. The government has its eye on them. As long as they only talk it lets
them alone. The first overt act will be crushed with a heavy hand.”
Then Calhoun remembered what both Worley and Warrenton had told him; that
government spies were in the order, and that they knew not whom to trust.
Would the spies of the government find out who he was, and his mission? It
was not a very comforting thought.