The value of the Oath--Attempt to take "Bunker's" life--Sent
to Grand Junction--The hazardous ride--Shoots the
picket--The chase--Unfortunate occurrence--The chase
abandoned--Meets with guerrillas--They invite him to
drink--Renewed vigilance--The battle of Middleburg.
The troops stationed at Bolivar, Tennessee, at the time of the
evacuation of Grand Junction, were under the command of
Brigadier-General L. F. Ross, and my next labors in the secret service
of the United States was under his orders and instructions. I made
frequent expeditions from Bolivar, but many of them were so similar in
the incidents experienced that I shall not undertake to give a narrative
of all of them. These expeditions elicited the fact, however, that
nearly all of the citizens of that part of Tennessee, in the face of the
military occupation of the country, professed loyalty to the Federal
Government, and to give their pretensions the color of reality, and
secure the privilege to be obtained from the military authorities, took
the oath of allegiance.
Every trip that I made in the disguise of a Confederate soldier revealed
to me Confederate wolves clad in Union garments. On one occasion, I had
been sent for, and was in the act of receiving my instructions from the
Adjutant in regard to a trip that I was required to make, when an old
gray-headed citizen called in to procure some military favor. The
Adjutant, not supposing the little he had yet to communicate to me would
give the citizen any clue to the plans I was about to carry out,
finished his instructions in his presence. I observed that the old man
paid more than usual attention to what was said, and, from the
expression of his countenance, I suspected that he comprehended the move
that I was about to make. I became so impressed with the idea that the
old man meant me evil, that after I had left and the old man had taken
his departure, I went back and obtained permission to take a squad of
men with me.
I made the trip in the night. My route was on a road that passed the old
man's house. I came upon two men by the roadside, evidently watching for
somebody to pass. As soon as they discovered that a _squad_ of men,
instead of a _single man_, was approaching, they fled without waiting
for me to come up. Had the old man succeeded, it would have been my last
scout. I ascertained from the colored people on the place that the two
men were the old man and his son, and that they were watching to kill a
Yankee spy that they expected would pass that night.
When General Van Dorn gave up the pursuit after General Leggett's
brigade, he fell back with his command to Coldwater and Holly Springs,
Mississippi, and for a few weeks every thing remained quiet.
Toward the latter part of August rumor became prevalent that an attack
was intended against the forces garrisoning Bolivar, which rendered it
necessary to watch closely. On the night of August 27th, General Ross
told me that he had heard that a force of the enemy had again got as far
north as Grand Junction, and that he wanted I should ride down that
night and find the enemy's pickets if they were north of the Junction;
if not, to go on to the Junction and then return.
I started at 9 o'clock. The weather was warm, but the night was
extremely dark, which rendered the undertaking unpleasant and hazardous.
It was impossible to distinguish objects at a distance, and it would
require the utmost precaution to prevent running into the pickets before
I was aware of their presence.
After having arrived within three miles of Grand Junction, the ride
became more dangerous than before. Knowing that my safety required
increased vigilance, I slackened my pace to a very slow walk, peering
forward into the dark distance with all the powers of my vision, hoping
if there was any pickets I might be able to see them in time to escape.
In that manner I felt my way along in suspense, until within
three-quarters of a mile of Grand Junction. Here a single sentry stepped
out in the midnight darkness, not more than six feet ahead of my mule,
and challenged:
"Halt! who comes there?"
I had got too close to venture an escape by running, and I resolved to
make the best use of my position that the circumstances would permit,
and take my chance for the result.
"A friend, with the countersign," I replied, at the same time drawing my
revolver and hanging it down by my side.
"Advance one, with the countersign!" said the sentry.
"There a'n't but one here," said I; "my mule is so ugly that I don't
like to dismount, and so skittish that I don't know as I can advance;"
and at the same time I pretended to urge my mule forward to the sentry,
who stood with his piece at "arms port." "Bring your piece to an
'order,'" said I, "if you please, so that I can get my mule up without
dismounting." He brought his piece to an order, and as the mule moved
forward, he stepped one foot forward and leaned toward me to receive the
countersign. I leaned forward, and, thrusting my revolver to his breast,
_gave him my countersign_! The heavy _thug_, as he dropped, told _me_
that the "_countersign was correct_!"
I did not wait to observe the effect of the report of my revolver upon
his sleeping companions, but, putting spurs to my mule, I dashed back
toward Bolivar. On did I press my mule at the top of his speed, fairly
_flying_ over the ground until I reached Van Buren. As I was passing old
Billy Moore's house, his dogs sprang at my mule, from the side of the
road, with an infernal yelp, and the next instant I lay sprawling in the
road--stunned from the shock of the fall. How long I lay there I do not
know--probably not long--but as soon as I came to consciousness, I was
alarmed for my safety, and made an effort to get up. My mule had stopped
when I fell, and stood facing me, only a few feet from where I lay. I
managed, however, to get on my mule and go on.
A short distance from Van Buren I came to a cross-road that led to
another road that came out into the one that I was on. There I halted,
thinking that, perhaps, the same dogs that had done me an evil turn, by
barking at me, would do me a good one by barking at my pursuers, if any
there were. I had waited but a few minutes when they commenced to bark,
and in an instant more I could hear the tramp of horses approaching.
I again dashed ahead down the cross-road into the other one and on to
Spring Creek bottoms. Where each of the roads crosses the bottoms the
water spreads out over the roads to the width of a hundred yards. I
crossed to the opposite side and there halted, and listened for the
splash of the water as my pursuers came up, but none came. At the
cross-road, not knowing which I had taken, they abandoned the pursuit.
Feeling satisfied of this, I moved on leisurely toward Bolivar.
At daylight I reached Mr. Dicken's plantation, which is within five
miles of Bolivar. I had called there several times, and had become
considerably acquainted with the family. Being sore from my bruises, and
much fatigued and hungry from my night's ride, I concluded to give them
a call. As I rode up I observed three strange horses feeding in one of
the out-sheds. My rap at the door was responded to by Mrs. Dickens, who
received me with a hearty welcome; and Mr. Dickens was equally glad to
see me. I had, on a former occasion, introduced myself as a citizen of
Tennessee, living in Memphis. My mule was cared for by one of the
servants, and in a few minutes we were engaged in a free and easy
conversation about the news from _our_ army; and likewise we
congratulated each other upon the future success of the Confederate
cause. The Lincoln tyranny also came in for its share of discussion.
While thus engaged, three strangers entered, without rapping, to whom I
was introduced as one of "_our_ folks" from Memphis. I soon learned that
they had been there all night.
Shortly after the three men entered, one of them said that he had
something to drink in another room, and proposed that we retire by
ourselves and "take a smile." So we men folks all repaired to the other
room, where we indulged pretty freely. It was not long until the
conversation of my new acquaintances flowed as freely as their liquor
had done, and I learned from it that they were guerrillas, who had
stopped to spend the night on their way to Middleburg, to attend a
jollification to come off that day. By this time breakfast was
announced, and we repaired to the table. I have rarely eaten a meal that
relished better, though it was only a plain one.
When breakfast was over, my guerrilla acquaintances invited and even
urged me to accompany them; but I declined, stating as a reason that I
had business of great importance, the nature of which I was not at
liberty to divulge, and that several of _our most reliable_ friends were
waiting in anticipation of my arrival at the house of Dr. Coleman, in
Bolivar. My mule was got ready, and, having bid them farewell, I resumed
my ride back to camp.
Two days after, I accompanied an expedition to Middleburg to capture the
guerrillas, but without success. My report at head-quarters caused an
increase in vigilance on the part of scouts and pickets. On the 31st of
August, the enemy, 6,000 strong, was found to be advancing in the
vicinity of Middleburg. General Leggett, with less than one thousand
men, mostly from the 20th and 78th Ohio regiments of infantry, met them
there, and a desperate fight ensued, in which our loss was trifling and
that of the enemy severe. So badly punished was the enemy that he
withdrew his forces.