THE LONE SCOUT
Single-handed exploits, where a man must depend upon his own strength
and daring and coolness, rank high among brave deeds. Occasionally a
man has confidence enough in himself to penetrate alone into the
enemy's country and to protect his life and do his endeavor by his own
craft and courage. Of such was Hereward, the Last of the English, who,
like Robin Hood, many centuries later, led his little band of free men
through fen and forest and refused to yield even to the vast resources
of William the Conqueror. Once disguised as a swineherd he entered the
very court of the king and sat with the other strangers and wanderers
at the foot of the table in the great banquet-hall and saw in the
distance the man who was first to conquer and then to make
unconquerable all England. To this day we love to read of his
adventures on that scouting trip. How the servants who sat at meat with
him played rough jokes on him until, forgetful of his enormous
strength, he dealt one of them a buffet which laid him lifeless across
the table with a broken neck. How he was taken up to the head of the
table and stood before William on an instant trial for his life. His
loose jerkin had been torn during the struggle and showed his vast
chest and arms covered with scars of old wounds which no swineherd
would ever have received. The old chronicle goes on to tell how they
imprisoned him for the night and when his jailer came to fetter his
legs with heavy irons, he stunned him with a kick, unlocked the doors
and gates, broke open the stable door, selected the best horse in the
king's stable and, armed with an old scythe blade which he had picked
up in the barn, cut his way through the guard and rode all night by the
stars back to his band.
In 1862 Corporal Pike of the Fourth Ohio Regiment led an expedition for
a hundred miles through the enemy's country, which was worthy of
Hereward himself. The expedition consisted of Corporal James Pike, who
held all positions from general to private and who also had charge of
the commissary department and was head of the board of strategy. The
corporal was a descendant of Captain Zebulon Pike the great Indian
fighter and inherited his ancestor's coolness and daring. Old Zebulon
used to say that he never really knew what happiness was until he was
in danger of his life and that when he started into a fight, it was as
if all the music in the world was playing in his ears and that a battle
to him was like a good dinner, a game of ball and a picnic all rolled
into one. The corporal was very much this way. He had taken such
particular pleasure in foolhardy exploits that his officers decided to
try him on scout duty. There he did so well that General Mitchel's
attention was attracted to him.
In April, 1862, it was of great importance for the general's plans to
obtain information in regard to the strength of the Confederates in
Alabama, and to have a certain railroad bridge destroyed so as to cut
off the line of communications with the forces farther south. Out of
the whole regiment the general picked Corporal Pike. The corporal's
plan of procedure was characteristic of the man. He wore his regular
full blue uniform and throughout the first part of his trip made no
attempt at disguise or concealment. This was not as reckless as it
sounds. The country was filled with Confederate spies and messengers
who almost invariably adopted the Union uniform and it had this
advantage--if captured, he could claim that he was in his regular
uniform and was entitled to be treated as a soldier captured on the
field of battle and not hung as a spy. The corporal, however, did not
attach any very great weight to the protection of this uniform, as he
figured out that if he were caught burning bridges and obtaining
reports of Confederate forces, they would hang him whatever the color
of his uniform. He had no adventures until he drew near Fayetteville in
Tennessee. He spent the night in the woods and bright and early the
next morning rode into the village and up to the hotel and ordered
breakfast for himself and a similar attention for his horse. The sight
of a Union soldier assembled all the unoccupied part of the population
and in a few minutes there were three hundred men on the sidewalk in
front of the hotel. As the corporal came back from looking after his
horse, for he would never eat until he had seen that old Bill was
properly cared for, a man stepped up and inquired his name.
[Illustration: Corporal Pike]
"My name, sir," said the corporal, "is James Pike of the Fourth Ohio
Cavalry, which is located at Shelbyville. What can I do for you?"
There was a few moments' silence and then a great laugh went up as the
crowd decided that this was some Confederate scout, probably one of
Morgan's rangers in disguise.
"What are you doing down here?" asked another.
"I am down here," said Pike coolly, "to demand the surrender of this
town just as soon as I can get my breakfast and find the mayor."
The crowd laughed loudly again and the corporal went in to breakfast,
where he sat at a table with a number of Confederate officers with whom
he talked so mysteriously that they were fully convinced that he must
be one of Morgan's right-hand men. After breakfast he ordered his horse
and started out, first saying good-bye to the crowd who were still
waiting for him.
"If you're from the North," said one, "why don't you show us a Yankee
trick before you go?" for the Southerners were thoroughly convinced
that all Yankees were sly foxes full of sudden schemes and stratagems.
"Well, I will before long," said Pike, as he waved good-bye and
galloped off.
Five miles out of the village he came to a fork in the road where one
road led to Decatur, which was where the main Confederate forces were
located, and the other to Huntsville. Just as he was turning into the
Decatur road, he saw a wagon-train coming in from Huntsville and
decided that here was a chance for his promised Yankee trick. He rode
up to the first wagon.
"Drive that wagon up close to the fence and halt," he said.
"How long since you've been wagon-master?" said the driver, cracking
his whip.
"Ever since you left your musket lying in the bottom of the wagon,"
said Pike, leveling his revolver at the man's head. He drove his wagon
up and halted it without a word and stood with his arms over his head
as ordered by Pike.
One by one the other wagons came up and the drivers assumed the same
attitude. Last of all there was a rattle of hoofs and the wagon-master,
who had been lingering in the rear, galloped up.
"What the devil are you fellows stopping for?" he shouted, but as he
came around the last wagon, he almost ran his head into Pike's revolver
and immediately assumed the same graceful attitude as the others. Pike
rode up to each wagon, collected all the muskets, not forgetting to
remove a couple of revolvers from the belt of the wagon-master and then
inquired from the latter what the wagons had in them.
"Provender," said the wagon-master, surlily.
"What else?" said the corporal, squinting along the barrel of his
revolver.
"Bacon," yelled the wagon-master much alarmed; "four thousand pounds in
each wagon."
"Well," said the corporal, "I've always been told that raw bacon is an
unhealthy thing to eat and so you just unhitch your mules and set fire
to these wagons and be mighty blamed quick about it too, because I have
a number of engagements down the road." The men grumbled, but there was
no help for them and in a few minutes every wagon was burning and
crackling and giving out dense black smoke. Waiting until it was
impossible to put them out, the corporal lined the men up across the
road.
"Now you fellows get on your marks and when I count three you start
back to Fayetteville and if you are in reach by the time I have counted
one hundred, there's going to be some nice round holes in the backs of
your uniforms. When you get back to the village tell them that this is
the Yankee trick that I promised them."
Before Pike had counted twenty-five there was not a man in sight. He at
once turned back and raced down the road toward Decatur. He had gone
about ten miles when he came to a small country church and as it was
Sunday, it was open and nearly filled. Fearing that there might be a
number of armed Confederate soldiers in the church who would start out
in pursuit as soon as the word came back from Fayetteville, the
corporal decided to investigate. Not wishing to dismount he rode Bill
up the steps and through the open door and down the main aisle, just as
the minister was announcing a hymn.
"Excuse this interruption," said Pike, as the minister's voice quavered
off into silence, "but I notice a number of soldierly-looking men here
and I will take it as a great favor if they will hold their hands as
high above their heads as possible and come down here and have a talk
with me."
As this simple request was accompanied by a revolver aimed at the
audience, one by one six soldiers who had been attending the service
came sheepishly down the aisle. They looked so funny straining their
arms over their heads that some of the girls in the audience unkindly
burst out laughing. Pike removed a revolver from each one and dumped
his captured arms into one of his saddle-bags.
"Now, parson," he said, "I want to hear a good, fervent prayer from you
for the President of the United States." The minister hesitated. "Quick
and loud," said Pike, "because I'm going in a minute."
There was no help for it and the minister prayed for President Lincoln
by name, while Pike reverently removed his cap. Then backing his horse
out of the door, he started on toward Decatur. Not a half mile from the
church he met two Confederate soldiers who were leisurely riding to the
church. There was no reason at all why the corporal should meddle with
these men. They were two to one and he had no way of disposing of them
even if he made them captives. However, the sight of the Confederate
parson praying for Abe Lincoln had tickled Pike and he made up his mind
to have some fun with these soldiers. As he came abreast of them he
whipped out his revolver, ordered them to halt and to give their names,
regiments and companies. They did so with great alacrity.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "you are my prisoners and I am very sorry
for I am so far outside of my lines that I am afraid there is only one
way to safely dispose of you."
"Great heavens, man," said one, "you don't mean to shoot us down."
"I'm sorry," said Pike, "but you can see for yourself that that's the
only thing to do. You are Rebel soldiers and to leave you alive would
mean that you will keep on doing harm to the Union forces."
"Don't shoot, captain," both of them chorused; "we'll take the oath of
allegiance."
Pike seemed to hesitate.
"Well," he said finally, "I hate to kill men on Sunday. I suppose I
ought not to do this, but if you'll solemnly swear allegiance to the
United States of America and that you'll never hereafter serve against
the Union or be late to church again, I'll let you go."
With much solemnity, the Confederates took the oath in the form
dictated, delivered up their revolvers and rode away.
The next man that Pike encountered was an old gentleman on his way to
Fayetteville, who admitted that he was a judge and the next day was
intending to serve in a number of political cases involving the
property of certain Union sympathizers. Pike made him also take the
oath of allegiance, and promise not to enter judgment contrary to the
interests of the Union. He then left the road and rode along a shallow
creek through the woods. About sunset he suddenly came upon an old man
under the trees. He questioned him and found that he was a Union
sympathizer and was told by him that there were twelve Tennessee
cavalrymen and fifteen mounted citizens on the lookout for him.
"That is," said the old man, "if you're the chap that has been going
around capturing wagon-trains and churches and soldiers and judges."
"That's me," said Pike.
The old man took him home and fed him and with him he left his horse
and started out on foot, feeling that the hue and cry would now be out
all over the country against a mounted man in Union uniform. Leaving
his friend, he followed the path through the woods toward Decatur until
it was dark and then wrapped himself up in a blanket and slept all
night in the pouring rain. In the morning he made his way toward the
railway and followed it until about ten o'clock when he stopped at a
house and bought a breakfast. He had not been there long before he was
joined by several Confederate cavalrymen.
"What's your business," said one, "and what are you doing in that
uniform?"
"Well," said Pike, "I was told to wear it and not to tell any one my
business until it was done and if you fellows don't like it, you had
better take it up with the general."
Once again the Confederates concluded that he was on some secret
mission. They insisted, however, on taking him to camp with them and
there he stayed two days and nights, incidentally obtaining all the
information possible as to the forces and the guard about the bridge.
Just before dawn on the second morning, he managed to give them the
slip and started across country, wading and swimming and toiling
through one swamp after another until he finally reached the river
bank, traveling only by night and sleeping by day. Along this bank he
went for miles until finally he found concealed in a little creek a
small rowboat which was tied to a tree and in which were two oars. He
spent the better part of the day in loading this up with pine knots and
bits of dry driftwood which he planned to use in firing the bridge.
Just at evening he pushed off into the middle of the river and started
again down for the bridge. He had found by his inquiries that the
Confederate camp was located on a bank some distance from the bridge,
as no one expected any attack there so far within the Confederate
lines. All night long he tugged at the oars and aided by the current
reached the bridge about three o'clock in the morning. The bridge was
an old-fashioned one erected on three piers. Pike made a careful survey
of the whole length of the bridge from the river and found it
absolutely unguarded although he could hear the sentry call on the hill
a quarter of a mile away where the troops were encamped by the town.
Concealing his skiff under an overhanging tree, he toiled up to the
bridge with armful after armful of fire-wood. At each end and in the
middle he made a little heap of fat-wood and pine knots with a strip of
birch-bark, which burns like oiled paper, underneath each. Starting
from the far end, he lit the first two piles and by the time he had
crossed and was working on the last, he could hear the flames roaring
behind him as they caught the dry weather-beaten planking of the
bridge. And now he made a mistake which was to prove well-nigh fatal to
him. As soon as the fire had obtained a headway, he should have
instantly stolen back up the river in his skiff. In his anxiety to make
a thorough job of it he stayed too long, forgetting that in the bright
light of the fire every motion he made would be plainly visible from
the hilltop. Suddenly he heard the alarm given from the camp and almost
instantly it was followed by the wail of a minie ball as the sentry
above fired down upon him. By this time the river was as bright as day
for a quarter of a mile on both sides of the bridge. Near the
Confederate camp were a number of boats and Pike was already nearly
exhausted by his long row and his work in firing the bridge. He heard
the shouts of men as they dashed down for their boats. If he attempted
to escape by water he was certain to be overtaken. Another bullet close
to his head decided him and he dashed down from the bridge into the
road, and plunged into the thick woods on the farther side. All the
rest of that night and through the first part of the next day he
traveled, following one path after another and keeping his general
direction by a pocket compass. By noon he was so tired that if it had
been to save his life he could not have gone any farther. The little
stock of provisions which he had carried with him had been exhausted
the night before and he threw himself on a bed of dry pine-needles
under a long-leafed pine which stood on the top of a little knoll and
lay there for nearly an hour until part of his strength came back. The
first thing to do was to find something to eat. Pike did not dare shoot
anything with his revolver, even if there had been anything to shoot,
for fear of attracting the attention of Confederate pursuers or
bushwhackers. It was now that the corporal's wood-craft proved to be as
valuable as his scout-craft. If he were to go further, he must have
food and he commenced to wander back and forth through the woods, his
quick eye taking in everything on the ground or among the trees. On the
other side of the knoll where he had been lying, he noticed a rotten
log where the dry, punky wood had been scattered as if a hen had been
scratching there. Pike commenced to look carefully all along the ground
and finally just on the edge of the slope where the thick underbrush
began, he nearly stepped on a large brown speckled bird so much the
color of the leaves that if he had not been looking for it, he never
would have discovered the nest. The bird slipped into the underbrush
like a shadow, leaving behind fifteen brown, mottled partridge eggs.
The corporal sat down over the nest and gulped down, one after the
other, those eggs, warm from the breast of the brooding bird. As he
said afterward, never had he tasted anything half so good. This was a
step in the right direction, but even fifteen partridge eggs are not
enough for a man who hadn't eaten for nearly thirty hours. Once again
he began to prowl restlessly through the woods and this time his
attention was attracted by something growing on the side of a dead
maple stub. It was dark red and looked like a great tongue sticking out
from the bark. To his great joy, Pike recognized it at once as the
beefsteak mushroom. It was a magnificent specimen which must have
weighed nearly two pounds and as he pulled it off from the tree, red
drops oozed out and it looked and smelled like a big, fresh beefsteak.
The corporal went down the hollow into the thickest part of the swamp
and there picked an armful of perfectly dry cedar and scrub-oak twigs
which burn with a clear, smokeless flame. Out of these he built a
little Indian cooking fire by arranging the twigs into the form of a
little tepee so that a jet of clear flame came up with hardly a sign of
any smoke. It was the work of only a moment to whittle and set up a
forked stick and to fasten a slab of that meaty-looking fungus on a
spit fixed in the fork. Fortunately he had left in his haversack a
little salt and pepper with which he seasoned the broiling, hissing
steak. In about ten minutes it was done to a turn. Cutting a long strip
of bark from off one of the red river-birches which grew near, Pike
squatted down on the ground and in fifteen minutes more there was
nothing left of that savory, two-pound, broiled vegetable steak. With
fifteen eggs and two pounds of beefsteak mushroom under his belt, the
corporal felt like another man. He coiled himself up on the dry
pine-needles in a little hollow which he found under the low-hanging
boughs of a long-leaf pine and resolved to take a sleep to make up for
what he had lost during the last two nights. It was early afternoon and
everything was still and hot and the drowsy scent of the pine mingled
with puffs of spicy fragrance from the great white blossoms of the
magnolia with which the woods were starred. As he fell asleep the last
thing the corporal heard was the drowsy call of flocks of golden-winged
warblers on their way north. How long he slept he could not tell. He
only knew that he awoke with a sudden consciousness of danger, that
strange sixth sense which most Indians and a few white hunters
sometimes develop. Perhaps he inherited it from old Zebulon Pike who,
like Daniel Boone and Kit Carson, had the power of hearing and sensing
the approach of an enemy even in their soundest sleep. The corporal was
alert the second he opened his eyes, but made not a movement or a
rustle. The sun was well down in the sky and there was nothing in
sight, but the birds had stopped singing. Finally way down through the
little tunnel which a near-by flowing stream had made through the
hillocks came a sound which brought him to his feet in an instant. It
was a ringing note that chimed like a distant bell. Three times it
sounded and there was silence, then again three times, but a little
nearer and louder, then again silence. A third time it came and this
time it seemed around the bend of the bayou not half a mile away. Pike
knew in a minute what it was. It was the bay of the dreaded
bloodhounds, those man-hunters who had learned to trail their prey
through forest and fen, no matter how much he doubled nor how fast he
ran. There was but one thing to do if there was time. Springing up, the
corporal ran down to the little stream and leaped in. It was hardly up
to his knees, but he splashed along for a hundred yards, now and then
plunging in up to his waist. It ran a hundred yards or so through the
swamp and then emptied into a larger bayou. Along this Pike swam for
his life as silently as a muskrat, for now he could hear the baying of
the dogs close at hand and suddenly there was a chorus of deep raging
barks followed by shouts and he knew that his pursuers had found his
lair under the pine trees. Soon the stream ran into another one and
then another until Pike had swam and waded and plunged through half a
score of brooks which made a regular network through the middle of the
swamp. By this time the sound of the dogs had died far away in the
distance and he had every reason to believe that he had thrown them off
the track. Down the last stream there was a deep, sluggish creek nearly
fifty feet wide. He swam until he could go no farther. It opened out
into a series of swampy meadows and to his joy he saw in the very midst
of the swamp through which it ran a pile of newly-split rails. Swimming
over to this he found that they had been piled on a little island about
five feet above the level of the swamp and surrounded on all sides by
masses of underbrush and deep sluggish water. By this time it was
nearly sunset and he resolved to crawl up here and find a dry place and
spend the night on this island, which could not be approached except by
boat. As he climbed up to the top of the mass of rails, he heard a low,
thick hiss close to his face and outstretched hand. He had never heard
the sound before, but no man born needs to be taught the voice of the
serpent. He started back just in time. Coiled on one of the rails was a
great cotton-mouth moccasin whose bloated swollen body must have been
nearly five feet in length and as big around as his arm. The great
creature slowly opened its mouth, showing the pure white lining which
has given it the name and hissed again menacingly. The corporal was in
a predicament. Behind him was the cold, dark river in which he no
longer had the strength to swim. In the approaching darkness, he might
not be able to find any other island of refuge on which to pass the
night. There was nothing for him but to fight the grim snake for the
possession of the rails. He dropped back and twisted off the thick
branch of a near-by willow-tree and began again to climb up toward the
snake cautiously, but as rapidly as possible, for the light was
beginning to die out in the sky and Pike preferred not to do his
fighting in the dark in this case if possible. As he reached the top of
the pile, the king of the island was ready for him and struck viciously
at him as he approached. The movable poison fangs protruded like
poisoned spear-heads from the wide-open mouth and from them could be
seen oozing the yellow drops of the fatal venom which makes the
cotton-mouth more dreaded even than the rattler or the copperhead. The
fatal head flashed out not six inches from Corporal Pike's face, but it
had miscalculated the distance and before it could again coil, he had
struck with all his might at the monstrous body just where it joined
the heart-shaped head. Fortunately for him, his aim was good and the
crippled snake writhed and hissed and struck in vain in a horrible mass
at Pike's feet. Two more blows made it harmless and inserting the stick
under the heavy body, the corporal heaved it far over into the water
and it floated away. Pike then made a careful examination of the rails
and the island on which he stood so as to make sure that the moccasin
had not left any of his family behind. He found no others, however, and
before it was dark the corporal moved the rails and piled them around
him in a kind of barricade which shut him off from view from the water
and shore and which he sincerely hoped would discourage the visits of
any more moccasins. Inside of this he laid three rails lengthwise and
wrung out his sodden coat and coiled up for the night on his hard bed.
He woke up surrounded by the gleaming mist of the early morning and
shaking with the cold after sleeping all night in his soaked clothing.
As he was too cold to sleep and it was light enough now to see, he
decided to start off for dry land again. For over two hours he swam and
waded along big and little bayous until, just as the sun was getting
up, he came out through the morass and found himself at the rear of a
lonely plantation. Just in front of him an old negro was at work hoeing
in a field. The corporal crept up near him through the bushes and
looked all around cautiously to see whether there were any white men in
sight. Seeing none, he decided to take a chance on the negro being
friendly.
"Hi, there, uncle!" he called cautiously from behind a little bush.
The old man jumped a foot in the air.
"That settles it," he observed emphatically to himself, "I'se gwine
home. This old nigger ain't gwine to work in any swamp whar he hears
hants callin' him 'uncle.'"
At this point the corporal came out of his hiding place and finally
managed to convince the old man that he was nothing worse than very
hungry flesh and blood. The old darkey turned out to be a friend indeed
and going to his cabin in less than fifteen minutes he was back with a
big pan full of bacon and corn bread which the corporal emptied in
record-breaking time. Moreover, he brought his son with him who
promised to guide Pike by safe paths to the road which led to
Huntsville where General Mitchel had located his headquarters. Hour
after hour the two wound in and out of swamps which would have been
impassable to any one who did not know the hidden trails which crossed
them. Twice they heard Confederate soldiers, evidently still hunting
for the Union soldier who had been making them so much trouble. Toward
noon they came to a broad bayou which went in and out through the
swamp. At one point where it approached the bend it became very narrow
and Pike's guide showed him a fallen tree half hidden in the brush.
"Cross that, boss," he said, "and at the other end you'll find a little
hard path. Follow that and you'll come out clear down on the Huntsville
road, only a few miles from the Union soldiers."
Pike said good-bye to his faithful guide and gave him one of the
numerous Confederate revolvers which he had captured on his trip as the
only payment he could make for his kindness.
The corporal found the path all right and was soon wearily trudging
along the Huntsville road. He had not gone far before he was overtaken
by another negro dressed in a style which would have made the lilies of
the field take to the woods. With his panama hat, red tie and checked
suit, he made a brave show. What impressed the corporal, however, more
than his clothes was the fact that he was driving a magnificent horse
attached to a brand-new buggy.
"Stop a minute," said Pike, stepping out into the road.
"No," said the negro, pompously, "I'se in a great hurry."
The corporal whipped out a revolver and cocked it.
"Come to think of it, Massa," said the darkey in quite a different
tone, "I'se got plenty of time after all."
"Whose horse is this?" said the corporal, climbing into the buggy.
"This is Mistah Pomeroy's property," said the negro with much dignity.
"Well," said the corporal, "you turn right around and drive me to
General Mitchel's camp just as fast as the law will let you."
"But, boss," objected the other, "Massa will whip me if I do."
"And I'll shoot you if you don't," returned the corporal.
This last argument was a convincing one and half an hour later General
Mitchel and his forces were enormously impressed by seeing Corporal
Pike, who had been reported shot, drive up back of a magnificent horse
in a new buggy and beside a wonderfully-dressed coachman. The general
was even more impressed when the corporal reported that the bridge was
gone and gave him an accurate statement as to the Confederate forces.
Corporal Pike found Mr. Pomeroy's horse a very good substitute for his
faithful Bill and, to his surprise, the coachman went with the horse,
since he was afraid to go back, and became a cook in General Mitchel's
mess.