Читать книгу Raiding with Morgan - Dunn Byron Archibald - Страница 2

The great battle of Shiloh had been fought, and victory had been snatched from the hands of the Confederates by the opportune arrival of Buell’s army.

The Southerners had lost their beloved commander, slain; a third of their number had fallen. Although defeated they had not been conquered. They had set forth from Corinth in the highest hopes, fully expecting to drive Grant’s army into the Tennessee River. This hope was almost realized, when it suddenly perished: twenty thousand fresh troops had arrived upon the field, and the Confederates were forced to retreat. But they had fallen back unmolested, for the Federal army had been too severely punished to think of pursuing. Both armies were willing to rest and have their decimated ranks filled with fresh troops.

Of all the Southern troops engaged at Shiloh none felt their defeat more keenly than the Kentucky brigade under the command of Colonel Trabue. They had fought as only brave men can fight; they left one-third of their number on the field, killed and wounded. Defeat could not demoralize them, and it fell to their lot to cover the retreat of Beauregard. They had stood like a wall of adamant between their fleeing army and the victorious Federals. No charge could pierce that line of heroes. With faces to the foe, they slowly fell back, contesting every inch of ground.

Fondly had they hoped that Grant would first be crushed, then Buell annihilated, and their march to Nashville would be unopposed. From Nashville it would be an easy matter to redeem their beloved Kentucky from the ruthless Northern invaders.

It was but a few days after the battle that there was a social gathering of Kentucky officers at the headquarters of General John C. Breckinridge. Conspicuous in that group of notable men was one whose insignia of office showed him to be only a captain. But he was already a marked man. He had greatly distinguished himself in Kentucky and Tennessee as a daring raider and scout, and at the battle of Shiloh he had rendered invaluable service at the head of a squadron of independent cavalry.

It was but natural that in such a gathering the situation would be freely discussed. “It looks to me,” said Breckinridge, with a sigh, “that if we are forced to give up Corinth, our cause in the West will be lost. I am in favor of holding Corinth to the last man.”

“What is your opinion, Morgan?” asked one of the officers, turning to the captain of whom we have spoken.

Thus addressed, John H. Morgan modestly answered: “The General will pardon me if I differ with him somewhat in his opinion. Corinth should be held, as long as that can be done with safety to the army. But Corinth itself is of little value to us, now that the railroad between here and Chattanooga is in the hands of the enemy. It is not worth the sacrifice of a hundred men.”

“What! would you give up Corinth without a struggle?” asked the officer, in surprise.

“Not if a battle offered a reasonable hope of victory,” replied Morgan. “What I mean is, that the place should not be held so long as to endanger the safety of the army. Corinth is nothing; the army is everything.”

“Then you believe, Captain, that Corinth could be lost, and our cause not greatly suffer?”

“Certainly. The further the enemy advances into the South, the more vulnerable he becomes. Even now, give me a thousand men, and I can keep forty thousand of the enemy busy protecting their lines of communication.”

“Morgan, you are joking!” exclaimed several of the officers.

“No joke about it. I expect to see old Kentucky before many days; and if I do, there will be consternation in the ranks of the Yankees.”

“Do you think you can reach Kentucky with a thousand men?” asked Breckinridge, in a tone which showed his doubt.

“I shall make the attempt with less than half of that number,” replied Morgan, coolly.

A murmur of surprise arose, and then Trabue asked: “Will Beauregard let you make the hazardous attempt?”

“Yes, with my own squadron, but he will risk no more men in the venture.”

“Well, good-bye, John, if you try it,” said one of the officers, laughing.

“Why good-bye, Colonel?”

“Because the Yankees will get you sure.”

“Perhaps!” answered Morgan, dryly, as he arose to go.

“The whole South will ring with the praises of that man one of these days,” remarked Breckinridge, after Morgan had made his exit.

“A perfect dare-devil. I am proud he is a Kentuckian,” remarked Trabue.

Not knowing the flattering words spoken of him, Morgan wended his way to his headquarters, where he was informed by the orderly who took his horse that a young Confederate officer had been waiting for some time to see him.

“He said he must see you,” continued the orderly, “and if necessary he would wait all night.”

“All right, I will see what he wants,” replied Morgan, as he turned and entered his headquarters. There he was greeted by a young man, not much more than a boy, who wore the uniform of a Confederate lieutenant.

Morgan gave him a swift glance, and then exclaimed: “Bless my heart! if this isn’t Calhoun Pennington, son of my old friend Judge Pennington! I am more than glad to see you. I have heard of some of your exploits, and often wondered why you did not seek to take service with me. Let’s see! You were on the staff of the late lamented Governor Johnson, were you not?”

“Yes,” replied Calhoun; and his voice trembled, and tears came into his eyes in spite of himself, as he thought of the death of his beloved chief.

“A grand man, a brave man,” said Morgan, gently. “Now that he has gone, what do you propose doing?”

“That is what I have come to see you about. General Beauregard has offered me a position on his staff, but I wanted to see you before I accepted.”

“What! a position on the staff of General Beauregard! That is a rare honor for one so young as you are. Of course you are going to accept?”

“I do not know yet; I am to give him an answer in the morning, as I said I wanted to see you first. Great as the honor is which has been offered me, I feel it is a service which would not be agreeable to me. I much prefer the freer life of a scout and ranger. Perhaps you may know, I have done much of this kind of work. I have even performed more dangerous tasks than that of scouting, and I confess I rather like it.”

Morgan mused for a moment, and then suddenly asked: “Are you not a cousin of Frederic Shackelford, son of the late Colonel Richard Shackelford of our army?”

Calhoun’s brow clouded. “Yes,” he answered; “but why do you say the late Colonel Shackelford? Uncle Dick is not dead.”

“Is that so? I am rejoiced to hear it. It was reported he was among the slain.”

“He was desperately wounded,” answered Calhoun, “but he did not die, and he is now a prisoner in the hands of the Yankees. Uncle Dick is a hero; but as for that traitor cousin of mine, I hate him!” and again Calhoun’s brow grew dark.

“I have no reason to love him,” laughed Morgan, “but I cannot help admiring him. He it was who discovered our well-laid plans, and forced me to flee from Lexington, as a thief in the night.”

“Aye!” answered Calhoun, “but for him and that brute Nelson, Kentucky would now have been out of the Union. But that is not all. Had it not been for the same two traitors there would have been a different story to tell of Shiloh. Grant’s army would now have been prisoners, Buell’s in full flight, and our own pressing northward to redeem Kentucky. Had there been no Nelson, Buell’s army would not have reached Grant in time to save him from destruction. If there had been no Fred Shackelford I should have borne the news to General Johnston that Buell would join Grant by the fifth, and Johnston would have made his attack a couple of days earlier. I was bearing the news to Johnston that Nelson would reach Savannah by the fifth when I was captured.”

“Captured?” echoed Morgan, in surprise.

“Yes, captured, and by no less a personage than my cousin Fred Shackelford. But for this I would have reached Johnston by the second; as it was, I did not reach Shiloh until the morning of the last day of the battle.”

“Then you escaped?” queried Morgan.

“No; my cousin let me go, after he had held me until he knew my information would be of no value. I was dressed in citizen’s clothes. He could have had me hanged as a spy. I suppose I ought to be thankful to him, but I am not.” And Calhoun shuddered when he thought how near he had been to death.1

“That was kind of him,” said Morgan; “and you ought to be thankful to him, whether you are or not. To tell the truth, I took a great fancy to young Shackelford, and tried hard to get him to cast his lot with me. But as I failed to get him, I believe you would make a splendid substitute. You still think you had rather go with me than be on Beauregard’s staff?”

“A thousand times, yes. I had rather go with you as a private than be a lieutenant on the General’s staff,” answered Calhoun, with vehemence.

Morgan’s eyes sparkled. “That is the finest compliment I ever had paid me,” he said, “but I cannot allow the son of my old friend Judge Pennington to serve in the ranks as a private soldier. Yet my companies are fully officered now. Let’s see! How would you like to go back to Kentucky?”

“Go back to Kentucky?” asked Calhoun in surprise.

“Yes, to recruit for my command. Do you think you could dodge the Yankees?”

“I believe I could. I could at least try,” answered Calhoun, his face aglow with the idea.

“The case is this,” said Morgan: “I am going to make a raid in a few days, and am going to try to reach Kentucky. My present force is small – not much over four hundred. I do not look for much help from the Confederate Government. Those in authority do not regard with much favor independent organizations. To augment my force, I must in a great measure rely on my own efforts. I know there are hundreds of the flower of Kentucky youths eager to join me if they had the opportunity. You are just the person to send back to organize them. When can you start?”

“In the morning,” answered Calhoun.

Morgan smiled. “Good!” he said. “You are made of the right material. We will make full arrangements to-morrow. Good night, now, for it is getting late.”

Thus dismissed Calhoun went away with a light heart. He was to be one of Morgan’s men. It was all he wished.

The next morning Calhoun informed General Beauregard that while sensible of the great honor which he would bestow on him by appointing him a member of his staff, yet he believed he could be of more service to the South by casting his fortune with Morgan, and he had concluded to do so.

“While I greatly regret to lose you,” replied the General, “I believe you have chosen well. To one of your temperament service with Morgan will be much more congenial than the duties of a staff officer. In fact,” continued the General, with a smile, “I think you resemble Morgan in being restive under orders, and prefer to have your own way and go where you please. A command or two of partisan rangers may do, but too many would be fatal to the discipline of an army. Morgan may do the enemy a great deal of mischief, but after all, the fate of the South must be decided by her great armies.”

“True, General,” replied Calhoun, “but if Morgan can keep thousands of the enemy in the rear guarding their communications, the great armies of the North will be depleted by that number.”

“That is true also,” answered Beauregard; “and for that reason Morgan will be given more or less of a free rein. I have recommended him for a colonelcy. Convey to him my regards, and tell him I heartily congratulate him upon his last recruit.”

General Beauregard’s kind words touched Calhoun deeply. “Thank you, General,” he replied, with feeling. “I trust I shall never prove myself unworthy of your good opinion. May God bless you, and crown your efforts with victory!”

After parting with Beauregard, Calhoun lost no time in reporting to Morgan. He found his chief in command of about four hundred men, rough, daring fellows who would follow their leader wherever he went. A more superb body of rough-riders was never formed.

Calhoun was introduced to the officers of the squadron, and when it became known that he was going back to Kentucky to recruit for the command – although many of the officers wondered why their chief had selected one so young – they gave him a hearty welcome. But when it became known that he was the son of Judge Pennington, of Danville, that he had already won renown as a daring scout, and had been offered a position on the staff of General Beauregard, their welcome was doubly enthusiastic.

To this welcome there was one exception. One of Morgan’s officers, Captain P. C. Conway, had applied to Morgan for permission to go back to Kentucky on this same duty, and had been refused. He was a short, thickset, red-faced man with a very pompous air. His weakness was liquor; yet he was a brave, efficient officer. What he considered an affront was never forgiven, for he was of a revengeful disposition. It was consistent with his character that he should become a mortal enemy of Calhoun.

When he was introduced to Calhoun he merely bowed, and did not offer to give his hand.

“I believe I have heard of Captain Conway,” said Calhoun, with a smile. “I have heard a cousin of mine speak of him.”

“Why, yes,” spoke up Morgan, with a twinkle in his eye, “Captain, Lieutenant Pennington is a cousin of your particular friend, Captain Fred Shackelford, of the Yankee army.”

Conway fairly turned purple with rage. “Lieutenant Pennington has no reason to be proud of his relationship to that sneak and spy,” he snorted.

“I have no more reason to love my cousin than you,” replied Calhoun, with some warmth. “He may have played the spy; so have I; but sneak he is not, and I would thank you not to use the term again, traitor though he is to the South and his native state.”

Conway glared at him for a moment, but there was something in Calhoun’s eye which told him that if he repeated the term it might cause trouble, so he snapped: “Well, spy and traitor, if those terms suit you better; but it may be of interest to you to know that I have sworn to see that precious cousin of yours hanged, and” – with a fearful oath – “I will see that he is.”

With these words he turned on his heel and stalked away.

“Shackelford’s name has the same effect on Conway that a red rag has on a mad bull,” laughed Morgan. “He can never forget that trick your cousin played on him.”

“Ah! I remember,” said Calhoun; “Fred told me all about it. Conway may take a dislike to me simply because I am Fred’s cousin. I noticed that he greeted me rather coldly.”

“I reckon he will not carry his hatred so far as that,” replied Morgan, “yet it may be best not to mention Shackelford’s name to him.”

But Morgan might have changed his mind if he had heard Conway talking to a brother officer.

“Just to think,” he fumed, “that the Captain picked on that young upstart to go back to Kentucky to recruit instead of one of us. I volunteered to go yesterday, and he put me down. To my mind, Pennington is no better than that sneak of a cousin of his, and Morgan will find it out some day.”

“Better keep a still tongue in your head, Conway,” dryly replied the officer, a Captain Matthews, to whom Conway was complaining. “Morgan will give you hell if he finds you are trying to create dissatisfaction.”

“I am not afraid of Morgan,” muttered Conway, but he said no more.

In the mean time Calhoun was hurriedly making preparations for his journey. Many of the officers and men were engaged in writing letters to send back by him to the dear ones in Kentucky. Morgan intrusted to him several important communications to prominent Southern sympathizers.

Just as Calhoun was ready to start, Morgan gave him his secret instructions.

“What I now tell you,” he said, “is too important to commit to writing. You may be captured. For hundreds of miles you must ride through a country swarming with Yankees. You will need discretion, as much or more than you will need courage. Much depends on your success. I intend to make a raid north about the first week in May. If possible (and I think it is), I shall try to reach Kentucky. My force when I start will not reach five hundred. If I could be joined by a thousand when I reach Kentucky, I believe I could sweep clear to the Ohio River. But with the short time at your disposal that will be impossible. But join me at Glasgow with all you can. I expect to be in Glasgow by the tenth of May at the latest.”

“All right,” replied Calhoun, “I will try to meet you there at that time, with at least one or two good companies.”

Little did Morgan think at the time how badly he would need those companies.

At last all was ready, and amid shouts of “Good-bye” and “Success to you,” Calhoun vaulted into the saddle and rode away eastward.