Raiding with Morgan. Dunn Byron Archibald
man covered with his revolver.
“Now,” continued Calhoun, “your name, rank, and regiment.”
“Mark Crawford, Captain Company B, – th Ohio Cavalry,” was the answer.
“Captain Crawford, I am very happy to have met you. As it may be a little inconvenient for you and me to travel together, I ask you to give me your parole of honor that you will not bear arms against the Southern Confederacy until regularly exchanged.”
“May I be permitted to ask,” replied the Captain, with a peculiar smile, “who it is that makes this demand?”
“Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry.”
“Well, Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry, you may go to the devil, before I will give you my parole.”
Calhoun was astounded at the reply. “I am afraid I shall have to shoot you,” he said.
“Shoot an unarmed prisoner if you will,” was the fearless reply; “it would be an act worthy of a Rebel and traitor. Lieutenant Pennington, I am well aware you are alone, that you cannot take me with you. It would be an act of cowardice in me to give you my parole.”
As Captain Crawford said this, he folded his arms across his breast and looked Calhoun in the face without the quiver of a muscle.
Calhoun was filled with admiration at the bravery of the man. “Captain, you are too brave a man to die a dog’s death, neither would I think of shooting a defenceless man. I shall let you go, but shall be under the necessity of borrowing your horse. You will find mine in the bushes there badly crippled. Good-bye. May we meet again.” Thus saying, Calhoun sprang on the Captain’s horse, and dashed away.
Captain Crawford stood looking after him until he was out of sight. “May you have your wish, my fine fellow!” he exclaimed; “I would ask nothing better than that we should meet again.”
Both had their wish; they met again, not once, but several times.
“A brave fellow, that,” said Calhoun to himself, as he galloped away. “I would as soon have thought of shooting my brother. He didn’t bluff worth a cent.”
The horse which Calhoun had captured was a good one, and he rode him for many a day. We will not follow Calhoun in all his adventures in his journey toward his destination in Kentucky. Suffice it to say, he met with numerous perils and made some narrow escapes, but at last found himself near Danville. There resided a few miles from Danville a rich planter named Ormsby. Calhoun knew him as an ardent friend of the South, one well versed in all secret attempts to take Kentucky out of the Union, and one who kept well posted in everything which pertained to the welfare of the Confederacy; and at Ormsby’s he resolved to stop and lay his plans for the future.
He was received with open arms. “So you are from John Morgan,” said Mr. Ormsby, “and wish to recruit for his command. You have come at an opportune time. To-morrow there is a secret meeting of prominent Confederates near Harrodsburg. I am to attend. You will meet a number there for whom you have letters. Of course you will go with me?”
Tired as he was, Calhoun rode that night with Mr. Ormsby to be present at the meeting. If he was to meet Morgan at Glasgow during the first days of May, his time was short, very short, and what he should do had to be done quickly.
When he was introduced to those present as from Morgan, and just from Corinth, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. He had to tell the story of Shiloh, of the tragic death of Governor Johnson, of the retreat, but how the spirit of the Southern army was unbroken, and that the South would not, and could not, be conquered.
To his delight, Calhoun found that two companies of cavalry were nearly ready to take the field, and it was unanimously agreed that they should cast their fortune with Morgan.
“I believe that Morgan with a thousand men can ride clear to the Ohio River,” declared Calhoun. “It only remains for Kentuckians to rally to his standard, and give him the support that he desires.”
It was agreed that the companies should be filled as soon as possible, and should go whenever Calhoun said the word.
Calhoun returned with Mr. Ormsby, as he wished to enter Danville to visit his parents. Disguised as a country boy with produce to sell, he had no trouble in passing the pickets into town. With a basket of eggs on his arm, he knocked at the back door of his father’s residence. It was opened by Chloe, the cook.
“Want eny good fresh eggs?” asked Calhoun.
“No; go way wid ye, yo’ po’ white trash,” snapped the old negro woman, as she attempted to shut the door in his face.
“Chloe!”
The dish which she held in her hand went clattering to the floor. “Fo’ de land’s sake!” she cried, “if it isn’t Massa Calhoun. De Lawd bress yo’, chile! De Lawd bress you!” And she seized him and fairly dragged him into the house.
“Hush, Chloe, not so loud. Don’t tell father I am here yet. And, Chloe, don’t whisper I am here to a soul. If the Yankees found out I was here, they might hang me.”
“Oh, Lawd! Oh, Lawd! hang youn’ Massa?” she cried. “Ole Chloe tell no one.”
“That’s right, Aunt Chloe. Now bake those biscuits I see you are making, in a hurry. And make my favorite pie. I want to eat one more meal of your cooking. No one can cook like Aunt Chloe.”
“Yo’ shell hev a meal fit fo’ de king!” cried the old negress, her face all aglow.
“You must hurry, Chloe, for I can’t stay long. Now I will go and surprise father.” And surprise him he did. The old Judge could hardly believe the seeming country boy was his son.
“Where in the world did you come from?” he asked.
“From Corinth,” answered Calhoun. “I am now back to recruit for Morgan.”
“So you have joined Morgan, have you?”
“Yes. Now that Governor Johnson is killed, I know of no service I would like as well as to ride with Morgan.”
“You could have come home, my son.”
“Father! what do you mean? Come home while the South is bleeding at every pore? Come home like a craven while the contest is yet undecided?”
“I am wrong, my son; but it is so hard for you, my only child, to be in the army. Oh! that dreadful battle of Shiloh! The agony, the sleepless nights it has caused me! Thank God you are yet safe.”
“Yes, father, and I trust that the hand of a kind Providence will still protect me. But here is a letter from Morgan.”
The Judge adjusted his spectacles, and read the letter with much interest. “My son,” he said, after he had finished it, “it is well you were not captured with such letters on your person. It might have cost you your life. Even now I tremble for your safety. Does any one know you are in Danville?”
“Only Aunt Chloe, and she is as true as steel.”
“Yet there is danger. I know the house is under the closest surveillance. The Federal authorities know I am an ardent friend of the South, and they watch me continually. Morgan says in his letter that he hopes it will not be long before he will be in Kentucky.”
“And mark my word,” cried Calhoun, “it will not be! Before many weeks the name of Morgan will be on every tongue. He will be the scourge of the Yankee army. But, father, what of Uncle Dick and Fred?”
“Colonel Shackelford is at home minus a leg. The Federal authorities have paroled him. Fred is at home nursing him. Your uncle won imperishable honors on the field of Shiloh. What a pity he has such a son as Fred!”
Calhoun’s face clouded. The remembrance of his last meeting with Fred still rankled in his breast. “I never want to see him again,” he said.
The Judge sighed, “Oh, this war! this war!” he exclaimed; “how it disrupts families! You and Fred used to be the same as brothers. I thought nothing could come in between you and him. Calhoun, he is a noble boy,