Raiding with Morgan Part 40

"Yes, I long to be with him," answered Calhoun. "I feel as strong as ever now."

"Do not be in a hurry to report," said Johnston. "Wait until you hear from me."

In a few days Calhoun received a message from General Johnston saying he would like to see him. Calhoun lost no time in obeying the summons. He was received most cordially.

"In the first place, Captain," said the General, "allow me to present you this," and he handed him his commission as captain in the Confederate army.

Calhoun choked, he could only stammer his thanks. But what came next astonished him still more. "I now offer you the position of Chief of the Secret Service of my army," said the General. "After listening to your story, although you are young, I believe there is no officer in the army more capable of filling it."

Calhoun knew not what to say; it was a place of the greatest honor, but he hated to leave Morgan. "Will you let me consult my uncle before I give an answer?" asked Calhoun.

"Most certainly," replied the General.

"Accept it, by all means, Cal," said General Shackelford when Calhoun appealed to him. "In the first place, it is your duty to serve your country in the place where you can do the most good. There is no question but that at the head of the Secret Service you can render the country vastly better service than you can riding with Morgan. In the next place, I fancy it will not be exactly with Morgan as it was before his unfortunate raid. His famous raiders are prisoners, or scattered. It will be impossible for him to gather another such force. They understood him, he understood them. This will not be the case with a new command. Then, this is for your ear alone, Calhoun, the authorities at Richmond are not satisfied with Morgan. In invading the North he disobeyed orders; and this, those high in authority cannot overlook."

So, with many regrets, Calhoun decided to accept the offer of General Johnston; but for many days his heart was with his old chieftain. The time came when he saw the wisdom of his uncle's remarks. General Morgan never regained his old prestige. It is true the Confederate government gave him the department of Western Virginia, but they so hampered him with orders that any great success was impossible.

In June, 1864, Morgan made his last raid into Kentucky. At first he was successful, sweeping everything before him. He had the pleasure of taking prisoner General Hobson, the man who had tracked him all through his Northern raid. But at Cynthiana he met with overwhelming defeat, his prisoners being recaptured, and he escaping with only a small remnant of his command.

On the morning of the 4th of September, 1864, the end came. General Morgan was slain in battle at Greenville, East Tennessee. Calhoun mourned him as a father, when he heard of his death. It was long months afterwards before he heard the full particulars, and then they were told him by an officer who was with the General on that fatal morning.

"We marched into Greenville," said the officer, "and took possession of the place on the afternoon of the 3d. There was a small company of Yankees within four miles of us, but there was no considerable body of Yankees nearer than Bull's Gap, sixteen miles away. The General established his headquarters at the house of a Mrs. Williams, the finest house in the little city.

"In the evening a furious storm arose and continued most all night. The rain fell in torrents. The lightning flashed incessantly, and there was a continual crash of thunder. It seemed impossible that troops could move in such a storm, and we felt perfectly safe.

"But there were traitors in Greenville, and they carried the news to the little company of Yankees four miles away that Morgan was in the city, and told at what house he lodged. Two daring young cavalrymen volunteered to carry the news to General Gillem at Bull's Gap. Talk about the ride of Paul Revere, compared to the ride of those two Yankees! Buffeted by wind and rain, one moment in a glaring light and the next in pitch darkness, with the thunder cras.h.i.+ng overhead, in spite of wind and rain, those two cavalrymen rode the sixteen miles by midnight.

"The command was aroused. What if the rain did pour and the elements warred with each other? Morgan was the prize, and by daylight Gillem's soldiers had reached Greenville. So complete was the surprise that the house in which the General slept was surrounded before the alarm was given. Then thinking only of joining his men, the General leaped out of bed, and without waiting to dress, seized his sword and dashed out of the house, seeking to escape by the way of the garden. But he was seen by a soldier and shot dead. The news that Morgan was killed seemed to go through the air. It was known in an incredibly short time by both sides.

"Now," said the officer, "occurred one of the most singular circ.u.mstances I know of during the war. There was no flag of truce, no orders to cease firing, yet the firing ceased. The Confederates gathered together, and marched out of the city; the Federals marched in; the two were close together, within easy musket range, but not a shot was fired. It seemed as if both sides were conscious that a great man had fallen, a gallant soul fled, and that even grim war should stay his hand."

It is not within the scope of this book to follow Calhoun through the last year of the war. Suffice it to say, that in the enlarged sphere of his new position, his genius found full scope. He was all through the Atlantic campaign, where for four months the thunder of cannon never ceased, and where seventy-five thousand men were offered as a sacrifice to the G.o.d of war. He followed Hood in his raid to the rear of Sherman's army, and then into Tennessee. He was in that h.e.l.l of fire at Franklin, where fell so many of the bravest sons of the South. At Nashville he was among those who tried to stem the tide of defeat, and was among the last to leave that fatal field. When the remnants of Hood's army were gathered and marched across the states of Alabama and Georgia into North Carolina, hoping to stay the victorious progress of Sherman, Calhoun was with them.

Not until the surrender of Lee and Johnston did Calhoun give up every hope of the independence of the South. But the end came, and in bitter anguish he laid down his arms. He had given his young life to his country when only seventeen years of age. For four years he had fought and hoped. When the end came it seemed to him the sky was darkened, that every hope had perished, that everything worth living for was gone. Oh, the bitterness of defeat! Strong men wept like children.

Even the victors stood in silence over the grief of those whom they had met so many times in battle. They were brothers now, and they took them by the hand and bade them be of good cheer, and divided their rations with them. The soldiers who had fought each other on so many b.l.o.o.d.y fields were the first to fraternize, the first to forget.

When Calhoun gave his parole, he met his cousin Fred, who was on General Sherman's staff. The meeting was a happy one for Calhoun, for it served to dispel the gloom which depressed his spirits. It seemed to be like old times to be with Fred again. Nothing would satisfy Fred, but that Calhoun should return home by the way of Was.h.i.+ngton. He consented, and was in Was.h.i.+ngton at the time of the Grand Review. All day long he watched the mighty armies of Grant and Sherman, as with steady tread they marched through the streets, showered with flowers, greeted with proud huzzahs.

And then he thought of the home-coming of the ragged Confederates, and the tears ran down his cheeks. But as he looked upon the thousands and thousands as they marched along, and remembered the depleted ranks of the Southern army, his only wonder was that the South had held out so long as it did. Defeated they were, but their deeds are carved deep in the temple of fame, never to be erased.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LONE RAIDER.

It was near the close of a beautiful day in early June that Joyce Crawford was once more standing by the gate, looking down the road. It is nearly two years since we saw her last. She has grown taller, more womanly, even more beautiful, if that were possible. The sound of war had ceased in the land. No longer was the fierce raider abroad; yet Joyce Crawford stood looking down that road as intently as she did that eventful evening when Calhoun Pennington came riding to the door.

She had not heard a word from him since his escape; nor had she expected to hear. All that she could do was to scan the papers for his name among the killed or captured Confederates. But the Northern papers published few names of Confederates known to have been killed, except the highest and most distinguished officers.

During these two years Joyce's heart had been true to her raider lover. He had said that he would come when the war was over, that the thunder of the last cannon would hardly have ceased to reverberate through the land before he would be by her side. It was two months since Lee had surrendered yet he had not come. That he had been untrue she would not admit; if such a thought came to her, she dismissed it as unworthy. No!

Like his general, he was lying in a soldier's grave; or he might be sick, wounded, unable to come.

This June evening, as she stood looking down the road, her thoughts were in the past. Once more, in imagination, Morgan's raiders came riding by; she beheld the country terror-stricken; men, women, and children fleeing from-they hardly knew what. Once more she heard the sound of distant battle, then down the road that little cloud of dust which grew larger and larger, until the horse with its stricken rider came to view. How vividly she remembered it all, how real it seemed to her! She actually held her breath and listened to catch the sound of battle; she strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of that little cloud of dust.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE HELD HER BREATH AND LISTENED TO CATCH THE SOUND OF BATTLE]

No sound of battle came to her ears, but away down the road, as far as she could see, arose a little cloud of dust. Her heart gave a great throb; why she could not tell, for she had seen a thousand clouds of dust arise from that road, as she watched and waited. The little cloud grew larger. Now she could see it was caused by a single horseman, one who rode swiftly, and sat his horse with rare grace. She stood with hands pressed to her bosom, her eyes dilating, her breath coming in quick, short gasps.

Before she realized it, the rider had thrown himself from his horse, and with the cry of "Joyce! Joyce!" had her in his arms, kissing her hair, her brow, her lips. For a minute she lay at rest in his arms; then, with burning brow and cheek and neck, she disengaged herself from his embrace, and stood looking at him with lovelit eyes. Could this be he whom, two years before, she had taken in wounded nigh unto death? How manly he had grown! How well his citizen suit became him!

"Were you watching for me, Joyce?" asked Calhoun.

"I have watched for you every night since Lee surrendered. I began to think you had forgotten-no, not that, I feared you had been slain," she exclaimed, in a trembling voice.

"Death only could have kept me from you, Joyce. In camp and battle your image was in my heart. The thought of seeing you has sweetened the bitterness of defeat. The war did not end as I thought it would, but it has brought me to you-to you. Now that the war is over, there is nothing to separate us, is there, Joyce?"

She grew as pale as death. She had not thought of her father before-he believed that the South had been treated too leniently, that treason should be punished. All that the South had suffered he believed to be a just punishment for her manifold sins. If the Rebels' lives were spared, they should be thankful, and ask nothing more. Joyce knew how her father felt. Not a word had ever pa.s.sed between them relative to Calhoun since his escape; but the father knew much more than Joyce thought. He had kept still, thinking that time would cure his daughter of her infatuation, for he considered it nothing else.

Calhoun saw the change in Joyce, how she drew from him, how pale she had grown, and he asked, "What is it, Joyce? Why, you shrink from me, and tremble like a leaf. Tell me, Joyce, what is it?"

"My father!" she whispered, "Oh, I fear-I fear!"

"Fear what, darling?"

"That he will drive you from me; that he will forbid me seeing you!"

"For what?"

"Because you fought against your country; because you were one of Morgan's men."

"What would he do? Hang me, if he could?" asked Calhoun, bitterly.

"No, no, but-oh, Calhoun, let us hope for the best. Perhaps when he sees you it will be different. You must see him. He and aunt have gone to New Lisbon; but they will be at home presently."

With many misgivings Calhoun allowed his horse to be put up, and he and Joyce enjoyed an hour's sweet converse before her father and aunt returned.

When her father entered the room Joyce, with a palpitating heart, said: "Father, let me introduce you to Mr. Calhoun Pennington, of Danville, Kentucky. He is the young officer whom we cared for when wounded. He has come to thank us for the kindness shown him."

Mr. Crawford bowed coldly, and said, without extending his hand, "Mr.

Pennington need not have taken the trouble; the incident has long since been forgotten. But supper is ready; I trust Mr. Pennington will honor us by remaining and partaking of the repast with us."

Calhoun could do nothing but accept, yet he felt he was an unwelcome guest. As for Joyce, she knew not what to think; she could only hope for the best. The meal pa.s.sed almost in silence. Mr. Crawford was scrupulously polite, but his manner was cold and constrained. Poor Joyce tried to talk and appear merry, but had to give it up as a failure. Every one was glad when the meal was through. As they arose from the table, Mr. Crawford said: "Joyce, remain with your aunt, I wish to have a private conversation with Mr. Pennington." Calhoun followed him into the parlor. He knew that what was coming would try his soul more than charging up to the mouth of a flaming cannon.

The first question asked nearly took Calhoun's breath away, it was so sudden and unexpected. It was, "Young man, why am I honored with this visit?"