HUNTING FOR BUSHWHACKERS
Early in September, 1864, after Admiral Porter had been transferred
to the North Atlantic Squadron, I was ordered from the Benton to the
command of the United States steamer Tyler, relieving Lieutenant
Commander Edward Pritchett, who, in command of the Tyler, had also been
in charge of the White River division of the Mississippi Squadron.
The Tyler, like the Benton, was a ship with a history. She was one
of the two steamers that had performed such excellent service at the
battle of Pittsburg Landing; and the navy claimed that those two boats
really saved the day on the 6th of April, by keeping a large body of
Albert Sidney Johnston’s army in check and covering our disorganized
troops that had been driven down to the bank of the river. By thus
preventing the rebel attack until the next day, Buell was enabled to
effect a junction with Grant, and then turn what had been a check to
our arms into a decided victory for the Union. It is quite certain
that Grant in his dispatches spoke in very high terms of the service
rendered by the gunboats on that occasion.
The Tyler was a large high-pressure wooden steamer, entirely unarmored,
her wheels unusually far aft, and with two very tall smokestacks. In
fitting her for the naval service she had been divested of all her
upper or “hurricane deck” and “texas,” thus giving her a flush spar
deck three quarters of her length, with a spacious poop deck, raised
some six feet, which afforded comfortable cabins for the commander.
She mounted ten 8-inch guns of sixty-three hundredweight on the berth
deck, a 30-pound Parrott rifle on the forecastle, and two brass
12-pounders on the poop. This was a very formidable battery for a river
steamer; and as she was very high out of the water, when the river was
at a good stage her guns commanded the low banks and could sweep the
level country for a great distance.
Captain Pritchett was a very vigilant and active young officer, and
he kept the Tyler in a high state of efficiency, and nearly always in
motion, so that she had earned from the Confederates the name of the
“Black Devil,” from her color and her apparent ubiquity.
Late in October, 1864, Major-General E. R. S. Canby, who was at the
time in command of the military division of the West Mississippi, with
headquarters at New Orleans, came up to White River on the passenger
steamer General Lyon on a tour of inspection of our army in Arkansas.
Brigadier-General Maginnis was in command of ten thousand United States
troops encamped at the mouth of White River.
This point was also my headquarters with the Tyler; and as I happened
to be there at the time, I made an official call upon General Canby,
which he returned, and he afterward dined with me on board my ship.
In this way I came to know that a movement of our army up the White
River in force was contemplated, with a view of flanking General Dick
Taylor and thus retrieving, if possible, the laurels lost in the
unfortunate campaign up the Atchafalaya earlier in the season.
General Canby, was very anxious to make a personal reconnaissance of
the White River. So, at his request, I dispatched the Hastings up the
river with the general and his staff on the morning of November 3, that
he might obtain a clear idea of the proposed field of operations.
All went well with the expedition until the following day, when, in
passing close in to the bank at a bend in the river, a concealed
guerrilla fired at the general, who was seated on a camp-stool on the
upper deck of the boat, and wounded him very severely in the thigh.
Our steamer at once opened fire upon the bushwhacker, but he escaped
into the adjoining woods, evidently uninjured. As the general was found
to be suffering severely from his wound and the surgeon was unable to
extract the ball, Captain Rogers very properly decided to return at
once to White River station.
Upon the arrival of the Hastings a consultation of army surgeons was
held on board, and it was their unanimous opinion that the general
could not be moved with safety, and that he must be sent down to New
Orleans at once.
Accordingly General Maginnis came to me and expressed an earnest desire
to have the Hastings sent down the river.
This was clearly beyond my authority, as the limits of our division
only extended to Natchez, and from there to New Orleans the river was
in charge of vessels of another squadron. But realizing the exigency, I
first obtained an official requisition from General Maginnis, and then,
severing the red tape, sent the Hastings off with the sorely wounded
officer on my own responsibility.
After several months General Canby recovered and wrote me a very
charming note from New Orleans acknowledging what he was pleased to
call my courtesy, and in due time the Navy Department, with much less
warmth, also acknowledged my official report of what I had done and
condoned my unwarranted assumption of authority in consideration of the
circumstances. So every one was satisfied excepting Captain Rogers.
That gentleman, however, seemed to feel himself personally aggrieved
in having had his steamer bushwhacked, and nothing would satisfy him
but an attempt at retaliation.
A Union scout, who had been on a mission up the White River lately,
came into our camp, and from him we learned that the cowardly shot that
wounded General Canby had been fired by a man named Kane, who lived
near by the point where he had bushwhacked our steamer. Graves said
that Kane boasted of having shot the general, and the scout informed
us that his house was the headquarters for all the guerrillas of the
neighborhood, who were but little better than robbers, as they were
largely Confederate deserters, and preyed upon their own people as well
as upon the “Yanks,” as we were called.
After talking the matter over with Rogers and Graves, I consented to
join in an effort to capture Kane and his gang, and I detailed my
executive officer, Mr. Wilson, with fifty men to accompany me with
Captain Rogers in the raid.
As there was no moon, we decided to make the attempt at once; and as we
wished to reach Kane’s house late at night, we started at a very early
hour in the morning, no information of the projected raid being given
out, as such news had a way of traveling overland to the Confederates
in a most unaccountable manner.
In fact it was announced carelessly on shore that the Hastings was
going up to Cairo for repairs, so when she was missed the next morning
it was assumed that she had gone there.
We steamed very quietly up the White River to a point where a bayou
made in to the stream, some dozen miles below Kane’s plantation, and,
turning the boat, backed her up the bayou about a mile to a bend where
she was completely concealed by the overhanging cottonwood trees,
draped with their long pendants of moss.
Here we waited for night. At eleven o’clock we cast off from the bank
and steamed down the bayou and into the main river, which we ascended
with great caution, literally feeling our way, until Graves assured me
that we were but a scant mile below Kane’s house. We then ran in to the
bank and, securing the boat to the trunk of a great tree, landed our
shore party, which altogether numbered one hundred and ten officers and
men.
We took up the line of march, Graves ahead, Rogers and I following
closely, as indeed was very necessary in the darkness, and the men
coming after us in double file and in as close order as was practicable.
The road was abominable, a mere cowpath, in many places grown up and
almost impassable, and shortly after leaving the steamer we were
compelled to cross a run where the water was knee-deep; but at last we
came in sight of the house, a long, low, story and a half structure,
part log, part frame, surrounded on two sides by a broad porch. At a
short distance and near the woods, which on that side came quite close
to the home buildings, were three wretched cabins or negro quarters, a
half-ruined ginhouse, a smokehouse, two very large corn cribs, and a
high-roofed barn.
No lights were visible, and as it was past midnight it was probable
that all the inmates of the house were asleep. Of course it was
necessary to surround the house closely, to avoid the escape of our
quarry; but the danger in that operation lay in arousing the dogs,
always so numerous and so watchful on a Southern plantation, and thus
giving the alarm.
Graves suggested to me in a whisper that he and Captain Rogers had
better take one portion of the men and, after falling back some little
distance, make a détour, so that they could approach the house from the
rear and farther side, while I should remain where I was and guard the
front and near side.
“When you hear an owl hoot three times and after a pause hoot once,
you may know that we are in position and ready to close in. I will
then wait five minutes and repeat the same signal. When you hear it,
captain, close in with your party, side and front, and we will have
them trapped, sure.”
I deferred to Graves’s suggestions, as he was quite a famous scout.
“But,” said I, “Mr. Graves, I hope you can make your owl hoots very
natural. You know these fellows we are after are quite familiar with
woodcraft, and they would only be aroused and made suspicious by a bad
imitation of an owl.”
“Don’t you fear for that, captain. I can cheat the owls themselves, let
alone these butternuts.”
Graves and Rogers left us with their party, disappearing as silently
in the gloomy shadows of the night as wood goblins. I gathered my own
men closely together, warned them in low tones against making the least
noise, and then waited patiently for the signal.
While on board the boat or during the excitement of the march, I had
not felt the cold; but now that we were quiet I found myself chilled
to the bone, notwithstanding my thick pea-jacket, which I wore with
my sword and pistol belt buckled outside of it. Occasionally I heard
the distant baying of a hound; a possum or rabbit rustled through
the dead leaves as he crossed the path, and once I heard the hoot of
an owl from the woods in the rear of the house we were watching. I
listened anxiously, but there was only a single call, evidently not
from our companions. Then I heard what boded ill for the success of our
venture--the sharp yelp of a foxhound near the barn, and soon it was
repeated nearer at hand!
“The brute has scented us, sir,” said Mr. Watson, “and he will have the
whole place alarmed if he is not stopped. What shall we do?”
But before he had finished speaking, three distant hoots of an owl were
heard. We paused, and in a moment they were followed by a single hoot,
and then all was still.
“Five minutes more, Watson, and we will make our rush. Let the cur bark
if he will.”
Again the hoot of the owl broke the stillness of the night, this time
nearer, and, giving the word, we rushed at double-quick from our cover,
deployed, and, as our comrades appeared, we had the house closely
surrounded on every side.
“Keep a sharp lookout, Mr. Watson, and do not let a living soul pass
your line. Don’t parley with any who may try to escape. If they fail to
stop and throw up their hands, shoot! We have shrewd and dangerous men
to deal with, sir.”
With Rogers, Graves, and a dozen men I mounted the steps of the porch
and knocked loudly at the door. There was no reply, but we could hear
movements within.
“Better not wait, captain,” said Graves; “the Lord only knows what
trick they may be up to. I would break in the door.” And break it in we
did.
Then, turning the slides of our boat lanterns, we flashed the light
into the hall, which was bare and empty. Near the foot of the stairs
was a rough cedar settle with a row of pegs, from which hung a quantity
of feminine wraps of various kinds and colors, with a dozen or more
bonnets and worsted head coverings, but not a single masculine garment
or hat, save a dilapidated old broad-brimmed straw, which had evidently
been left over from the past summer.
I saw Graves gazing at this array of women’s gear with a puzzled look
on his face.
“Why, captain, this looks more like a young ladies’ boarding-school
than a bushwhacker’s crib. What does it mean, I wonder?”
A feeble light flashed over the banisters from the upper landing, and a
tremulous female voice exclaimed, “What is it you want here, gentlemen,
at this time of night?”
“Well, madam,” I replied, “we want Mr. Kane for one, and such of his
friends--men, I mean, not women--as may be here.”
“Mr. Kane is not here, sir, I assure you.”
“I regret to doubt your word, madam, but it is my painful duty to
search this house, and I must do it quickly. Please dress yourself at
once, for I can allow you only five minutes for your toilet.”
The lady gave a little scream. “Oh, sir, you mustn’t come up here with
all those men. It is quite impossible. There are none here but women.
There isn’t a man in the house.”
“Where _are_ the men, then?” I queried.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Cousin Bob and the boys are all
away at a dance at Mr. Shriveley’s, five miles up the Greenberry road.
They won’t be back until morning.”
Graves drew me aside. “She is fibbing; didn’t you notice how she
hesitated? Those men are upstairs, and we shall have to go up for them.”
It was very probable that he was right, so I said: “Madam, much as I
regret it, my duty is plain. Your house is surrounded by the forces of
the United States, under my command. I must search this house for the
persons I have come here to arrest, and I shall do it, disturbing you
as little as possible. You can have five minutes undisturbed in which
to dress yourself--not a moment more.”
She saw that I was in earnest and hurried away. Sending some men with
Mr. Watson to thoroughly search the lower rooms, we went upstairs at
the expiration of the five minutes, and found three large chambers with
dormer windows giving upon the roof. The first room we entered had two
beds, and by the dim light of our lantern four heads could be seen
buried beneath the bed clothing.
“Well, sir,” said the lady we had first encountered, as she entered the
room wearing a morning wrapper, with a shawl drawn about her shoulders,
“are you satisfied that I told you the truth and that there are no men
here?”
The smothered giggle that came from beneath the blankets was
unmistakably feminine. Our position was certainly becoming
embarrassing, not to say ridiculous, and I was beginning to feel very
uncomfortable under the gaze of the lady who was acting as spokeswoman.
To tell the honest truth, I would rather have been facing a ten-gun
battery just then--and the worst of it was that the woman evidently
knew it.
Graves, who was of a coarser temperament, came to the rescue: “Madam,”
said he, “Captain Kelson has already told you that we are here on duty
and that we must perform it. If the persons in these beds are women,
let them put out their hands,--they can keep their faces hid if they
choose,--and we will be satisfied,” and he looked at me for my assent.
“That is a fair proposition, madam, and will bring this disagreeable
business to an end,” said I.
The lady hesitated, then went to the beds and whispered to the
occupants, and out came four white, ringed, and very shapely hands from
beneath the coverings.
“I am satisfied, madam,” said I, “and as a matter of form Mr. Graves
will accompany you alone to the other chambers and put the occupants to
the same test.”
Graves went with the lady, while we waited in the hall, and when he
returned he was almost dumb with amazement.
“There are sixteen women in this house, not counting the madam here,
and not a ghost of a man! What does it mean? I feel as though I had
been raiding a nunnery!”
We went downstairs accompanied by our fair friend, who, strange to
say, now that our search was over, seemed uncommonly willing to talk,
carefully evading our questions, however, when we endeavored to obtain
some clue to this houseful of girls,--for most of them were evidently
young women.
While I was apologizing as best I could for our ungallant and untimely
visit, there was the report of a musket outside, and as we rushed to
the porch a half dozen scattering shots were heard in the direction of
the barn, while the hounds set up a dismal howl.
Mr. Watson came toward me in a great state of excitement.
“They have got away, sir!”
“Who have got away?”
“The men! There were a dozen of them in the barn and hearing us they
quietly broke a board out at the back and got away in the woods. The
last man of them made a noise and attracted our attention, and we tried
to catch him; but he had the start of us and got away with the rest of
them!”
It was even so; while we were searching the house and were being
detained by the fluent young woman, her friends were escaping.
It seems they had had a little dance at the house, and a number of
girls had ridden over to take part in it. When it was finished it was
too late for them to go to their homes, so their hostess had doubled
them up in her beds, and the men had quartered themselves in the barn
and thus escaped capture.
We returned to the Hastings and made the best of our way back to our
headquarters, with very little to say to the outside world concerning
our raid. This episode, however, commencing in comedy, had a tragic
ending for at least one of the actors.
Graves, the scout, was soon after sent on a special mission by the
general on the other side of the river, not far from Jackson, within
the Confederate lines. By an unfortunate chance he there met, face to
face, one day, the young woman who had parleyed with us at her cousin’s
house on White River. Graves was in Confederate uniform, which he often
wore on these scouting expeditions, but the woman recognized him at
once and denounced him to the military authorities. He was arrested,
tried before a drum-head court martial, and was hanged within twelve
hours!