Starts to find General Bragg's forces--"Wools" the secesh
farmer--Receives a bottle of rum--Guerrillas washing
stockings--Finds Bragg's advance--Recognized as a Yankee
spy--Ordered off his mule to be shot--The clamor of the
crowd--Recognized as a Confederate spy--Rebel Surgeon
vouches for him--Is released--Gray-headed rebel brought to
justice--The Sutler of the 2d Arkansas Cavalry a
prisoner--What became of the guerrillas that were washing
stockings.
The next trip that I made was under the following instructions from
General Ross:
"I understand," said he, "by report from citizens, that General Bragg is
coming this way with his forces, and I want to know whether he _really
is_ coming or not, and on what road and with how much force he is
coming. I want you to go to Somerville, and if you find nothing there,
go to Lagrange, and thence to Grand Junction, Saulsbury, Middleton, and
Pocahontas, and then back. If you find a force at any place in your
route, you will come immediately back and report. You will make the trip
with as little delay as possible."
I received my instructions in the evening, and early the next morning,
in the disguise of a well-dressed citizen, mounted on a mule, I was on
my way. During the cool of the morning I traveled along at a smart
trot, and by sunrise I had made about eight miles. When about twelve
miles out, I was about passing a plantation house, when an old planter,
who was feeding some hogs near the road, motioned me to stop.
"Good morning, stranger," said he, as I reined up.
"Good morning, sir."
"Where have you been?"
"Oh, ho, ho, ho; I have been to Bolivar," said I, laughing. "I have been
there a week, and I know all about the Yankee forces in there, and now,
if I can only find General Bragg, then I am all right!"
"Oh, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Won't you alight and come in?"
"Well, yes, I don't care if I do; for I have been riding since before
daylight."
I dismounted and went in, and, as soon as I was seated, the old man
inquired who I was.
"I have been acting the Yankee, and I belong to General Bragg's
command."
"You do?"
"Yes, _sir_!"
"Well, do you ever drink any?"
"Oh, yes, I drink when I can get it; but a man is very fortunate to get
it these times."
"I have got some nice rum here; will you try some of it?" (offering me a
glass and bottle.)
"Yes, _sir_! I'll take a drink of _rum_."
"How did you manage to get into Bolivar?"
"Oh, I told them that I was a _Union_ man, and wanted to go in and take
the _oath_!"
"Well, there is right smart of them gets in that way, but there a'n't
many of them that thinks it binding."
"You have taken the oath, I suppose."
"Yes, we _all_ do that, in order to get along smoothly. But, come,
breakfast is ready; sit up and eat some breakfast."
"Thank you; my ride this morning makes me quite hungry."
The breakfast was just what I wanted, and his invitation saved me the
trouble of asking for it. When I had finished, said I,
"Mister, look 'e here; have you got any more of that 'divine, adorable
stuff?'"
"Yes, I have got more of it in the cellar."
"Well, can't you bestow a little more of your hospitality on a fellow,
in the shape of about a pint, to put in my pocket and take along?"
"Yes, certainly you can," spoke the planter's wife, "if I can find any
thing to put it in." She then went in search of a bottle, and soon
returned with a pint bottle filled with it, which she stowed away in my
coat pocket with her own hands.
With a profusion of thanks and good wishes to them, I bade them adieu,
and resumed my journey. Somewhere near three miles east of Somerville is
a beautiful spring, that makes its exit from the ground beneath a group
of shady elm trees. There I saw three men, engaged in _washing their
stockings_! It is not usual for _men_ to wash their own stockings in the
ordinary peaceful avocations of life, and the fact of their being so
engaged, and also dressed like citizens, was conclusive evidence to me
that they were guerrillas. Riding down to the spring and dismounting, I
said, pulling out my bottle, "Look 'e here, boys; here is a present that
I received this morning; won't you try some of it?"
One of the men took the bottle and drank, and the other two declined,
saying that they never drank. I then took a "little smile" myself,
mounted my horse, and rode on.
Finding no troops at Somerville, on my arrival there, I continued on,
taking the road that leads south to Lagrange, which place I reached late
in the afternoon. There I found four regiments of infantry and two
regiments of cavalry. They had just arrived, and had not yet thrown out
any pickets. The advance cavalry had but just entered the town, and the
other troops were coming in the distance.
I rode along into town among the soldiers, as familiarly as if I
belonged in the place, and stopped near the drug store. Standing within
a few feet of the drug store, was a large, corpulent, red-faced old man,
with hair almost white, leaning upon a walking-staff; near by was a
Colonel, dismounted, and leaning with his left hand upon his saddle; all
about were cavalry soldiers, dismounted. As I reined up, the old man
pointed to me, and said, "Colonel, there is a d--d Yankee spy; he ought
to be shot. I know him, Colonel, and know that he is a Yankee spy."
"If he is a Yankee spy he shall be shot."
"I have seen him before. I _know_ that he is a Yankee spy."
[Illustration: IF HE IS A YANKEE SPY I'LL HAVE HIM SHOT.]
"A Yankee spy!" "A Yankee spy!" "Shoot him!" "Hang the d--d son of a
b--h!" cried out the soldiers, rushing up to get a sight of me.
"Where do you belong?" inquired the Colonel.
"My home is in Osceola, Mississippi County, Arkansas; but I am from
Memphis now."
"What are you doing here?"
"I have been out to Somerville, and beyond toward Bolivar, to see some
friends."
"Yes, _Bolivar_," cried the old man; "the d--d rascal has just come from
Bolivar, and _there_ is where he belongs. I tell you, Colonel, I _know_
him; I _know_ that he is a Yankee spy."
"Well, if you know him to be a Yankee spy, I'll shoot him." (Addressing
me, and drawing his revolver and cocking it:) "Get off from your mule."
I dismounted, and one of the soldiers led my mule to one side, and the
crowd opened behind me. The excitement was intense, and the crowd dense,
and, in its excitement, it swayed to and fro like an angry mob, and
cries went up from every direction, "Hang him!" "Shoot him!" "Shoot the
d--d rascal!" I can not picture the horror that filled me. In all that
vast multitude, there was not a friendly eye to witness my doom. To
escape was utterly impossible! Die I must by the hands of traitors, and
my fate be wrapped in oblivion to my comrades and relatives! The color
left my face and a cold tremor crept over me, and such indescribable
sensations filled me as makes me shudder at this when I think of it.
Just then Doctor Biggs, surgeon of the 4th Tennessee Infantry, stepped
out of the drug store to learn the cause of the excitement. As he came
out, he saw me and recognized me as the Confederate spy that had been
captured by the Federal pickets near his house, and who had eaten
breakfast with him.
"Colonel, you are gwine to shoot the wrong man thar," said the doctor.
"I know that ar man, and I know who he is and whar he belongs. He is
_no_ Yankee spy."
"I know that he _is_ a Yankee spy," said the old man.
"_I know better_," said the doctor; "and if you kill him, you kill the
_wrong_ man. You ar not a gwine to find out his business; and if you
kill him, he'll not tell you. I _know that he is all right_. I have seen
him in a _tighter place_ than he is in now." Then stepping to the
soldier that held my mule, he snatched the bridle out of his hand, and,
turning to me, he said: "Here, take your mule; they are not a gwine to
shoot you." Then turning to the Colonel, and stamping his foot on the
ground, he said: "_You are not a gwine to shoot that man, for I_
KNOW _that he is all right_!"
"Well, doctor, if you know that he is all right, and are willing to
vouch for him, I'll let him go."
"I _will_ vouch for him, for I know who he is." Then turning to me, he
said: "Get on your mule and go about your business; they are not a gwine
to hurt you."
I mounted my mule and the soldiers opened the way for me, and I went _a
sailing_ out of town; and I don't think I was very long in getting back
to Bolivar.
I tell you, reader, in that Doctor Biggs I fully realized that "a friend
in _need_ was a _friend indeed_." His appearance at that critical moment
was as unexpected as would have been a visit from an angel in heaven.
When I reported to General Ross, I narrated to him my adventure.
"Bunker," said he, "don't you know that when you go out as a spy, you
go, as it were, with a rope round your neck, ready for any body to draw
it tight?"
"Yes, I think I had a _slight hint_ of that fact on this trip."
I resolved that, if ever an opportunity offered, the old, gray-headed
rebel at Lagrange should be brought to account for his treatment; so I
went to the Provost-marshal and gave him a narrative of the adventure,
and a description of the rebel, so that in case he should ever visit the
place he might be captured.
About two months after the foregoing adventure occurred, Lagrange was
occupied by Federal troops, and the same officer that was
Provost-marshal in Bolivar now commanded the post at Lagrange. As I was
passing along the streets, one day, I saw, not ten feet from the place
where I first saw him, the old, gray-headed rebel, with his staff in his
hand. His appearance was permanently stereotyped in my mind, and I could
not be mistaken in the man who had so nearly deprived me of my life.
Drawing my revolver, I walked up to him, saying, "You d--d old,
gray-headed rebel! do you remember the '_Yankee spy_?' Do you '_know
him' now_? Have you '_seen him before_?'"
"What do you mean?" said he; "I don't understand you!"
"_You don't know what I mean!_ You don't remember telling the rebel
Colonel, standing in the tracks where you now stand, '_I know him; I
have seen him before; I know that he is a Yankee spy!_' Don't tell me,
you old, gray-headed villain, that you _don't know what I mean_! You
start with me to the commander of the post, or I'll blow your brains out
here!"
The old fellow led the way and I followed, with, my revolver cocked.
"Colonel," said I, as we entered his office, "here is the old,
gray-headed devil that said to the rebel Colonel, 'Kill the Yankee spy;'
and I have brought him in for you to dispose of."
"Bunker," said the Colonel, "a'n't you mistaken?"
"No, I a'n't! I know him, and I found him standing in the very place
where he tried to have me shot!" Then turning to the old man, I said:
"Didn't you tell the rebel Colonel that I was a Yankee spy, and try to
have him shoot me? _Tell me the truth, or I'll kill you right here!_"
"Ye--yes, I--believe I--d-do--recollect it now."
"_You old whelp! you deserve to be shot!_" said the Colonel. "Here I
have been guarding your house, and guarding your mules, and boarding
with you; and you representing yourself to have _always been a Union
man, and the oath in your pocket that you took last summer_!" Then
turning to me, he said: "Bunker, I'll dispose of him as he ought to
be."
"Thank you, Colonel, I wish you would."
The next morning the guards were removed from the old man's premises,
and he was put aboard the cars, in irons, destined to go North.
A day or two afterward I happened to be passing by where a number of
rebel prisoners were confined, and there I saw the sutler of the 2d
Arkansas Cavalry (the regiment that I run with so long). The sutler knew
me, and motioned to me to come in; so I got permission of the officer in
charge to go in and see him. He still supposed that I was secesh.
"Ruggles," said he, "I am here under arrest as a guerrilla. Now, you
know that I am _no guerrilla_, but a regularly authorized sutler in the
2d Arkansas Cavalry. I wish you would see the commander of the post and
explain that fact to him, so that I may be treated as a prisoner of war,
and not as an outlaw."
"Well, I will tell him what I know about it. Perhaps he will recognize
you as a prisoner of war."
"Thank you! Do what you can for me. But, between you and I, (speaking
confidentially,) I quit sutlering and joined a band of guerrillas,
because I thought that I could make more money at it. It was all bad
management that we got captured."
Just then another prisoner came up, and, taking me by the hand, said,
"Don't you know me?"
"No, I don't remember you, as I know of."
"Do you remember of seeing three men at the spring, three miles east of
Somerville, last summer, when you was riding by, and of offering them
some rum to drink?"
"Oh, yes! I do recollect it now."
"Well, I am the man that drank with you, and the other two are here."
"Are they?"
"Yes. Now, you know that we are only citizens, and that we don't belong
to any guerrilla band."
"Of course I do! You are no guerrillas!"
"If you please, I want to have you go and see the commanding officer,
and tell him that we are not guerrillas, but _peaceable, quiet
citizens_."
"Certainly, boys! I'll help you out of this, if I can?"
I went to the commander of the post and told him what "I _knew about
them_," and did all I could to "_get them out of that_," and a few days
after they were all sent North in irons.