PART IV. SCOUT LIFE.
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On the borders of Scotland, in the good old times, there was a
“Debatable land”—bone of contention between Pict and
Anglo-Saxon. In Virginia, lately, there was a similar region,
the subject of dispute between Federal and Southron. In
Scotland, the men-at-arms and barons fought along the banks
of the Tweed; in Virginia, “Mosby's men” and their blue
opponents contended on the banks of the Rappahannock.
Our “Debatable land” was, in fact, all that fine and beautiful
country lying between the Potomac and the last-named
river, over which the opposing armies of the North and the
South alternately advanced and retired.
This land was the home of the scout; the chosen field of the
ranger and the partisan. Mosby was king there: and his liegemen
lived as jovial lives as did the followers of Robin Hood in
Sherwood Forest, in the old days of Merry England.
But the romantic lives of Mosby and his men will not be
touched on here. The subject would become enthralling were
it to be more than alluded to—the pen would drag the hand
into a sketch, and not a short one, of that splendid ranger-life
amid the Fauquier forests, the heart of “Mosby's Confederacy.”
Not to-day can I delineate the lithe, keen partisan, with his
roving glance, his thin curling lip, his loose swaying belt containing
the brace of pistols ready loaded and capped. Some
abler hand must draw the chief of rangers, and relate his exploits—
the design of the present writer is to record some
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adventures of “scout life,” which differs in many points from that
of the regular partisan, though not wholly.
The scout proper is “commanding in the field,” with no one
near to give him orders. He goes and comes at will, having
that about him which all pickets obey. He is “on detached
service;” and having procured certain information, reports to
the officer who has sent him, without intermediate ceremony.
Operating within the enemy's lines at all times, he depends for
success and safety on the quickness of his eye and hand—and
his reliance on these is great. He is silent in his movements,
low-toned in his speech, abstemious in his habits, and as untiring
on the track of the enemy as the Cuban blood-hound on
the trail of the fugitive. He sleeps rarely in houses, preferring
the woods; and always slumbers “with one eye open,” on the
look out for his enemy.
The scout has a thorough knowledge of the country, and is
even acquainted with “every hog path.” He travels in the
woods; and often in crossing a sandy highway dismounts, and
backs his horse across the road, to mislead the enemy, on the
watch for “guerillas,” as to the direction of his march. He
thus “flanks” their pickets, penetrates to their camps, reconnoitres
their number and position, and strives to pick up some
straggler whom he can pump for information. Thus lurking
and prowling around the enemy's camps, by night and day,
the scout never relaxes his exertions until he discovers what
he wishes. That discovery once made—of the strength, situation,
and probable designs of the enemy—the stealthy emissary
“snakes” back as he came; mounts his trusty steed in
the depth of the wood; and first listening attentively, sets out
on his return with his supply of valuable information.
If he cannot “flank” the enemy's pickets, he charges them.
If he cannot glide through, he fights through. If he meets a
straggling enemy or enemies not in too great number, he puts
his pistol to his or their heads, and brings him or them along—
pleasantly chatting with them as he goes along, but keeping
his eye and his pistol muzzle upon them.
When he relates his adventures, he does so with a laugh—
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noting the humorous side of things. Indeed his life seems
chiefly attractive to him from that very humorous phase, and
he jests about his perils with a gay light spirit which is one of
the greatest charms of his society. He has extricated himself
from deadly peril safely, “fooled” his foe, and is chatting after
the occurrence with his friends by the camp fire. Could anything
be more satisfactory? So the scout plays over the comedy
for your entertainment; relates every incident in a spirit
of dry humour; rolls up in his blanket by the fire when he is
tired; and, before daylight, has disappeared on another expedition.
Thus toiling, watching, and fighting, enduring hardship, risking
liberty and life hourly, the scout passes his life. He is not
a paid spy—not a spy at all, for he goes uniformed and armed,
and the work is his reward. The trump of fame will never
sound for him. If he falls, it will be in the depths of some
forest, where his bones will moulder away undiscovered; if he
survives, he will return to obscurity as a rain-drop sinks into
the ocean and is seen no more.
That will be his fate; but while he is alive, he lives. He
loves his vocation, and gives to the cause what he possesses—a
piercing eye, a ready hand, and a daring soul. For his services,
often invaluable, and his risk of life night and day, he receives—
when he can get it—eleven dollars a month; and with
this, or with nothing, he is perfectly content. What he asks is
simply the liberty to rove; to hunt the enemy after the fashion
most agreeable to him; to have himself killed, if the killing
must take place, in single combat, with the pistol, rather than
in line of battle with the musket.
It results from this that the life of the scout is apt to be
crowded with adventure, contrast, and all that is picturesque.
Here to-day, away to-morrow; closeted with the commanding
general, while an orderly keeps off all intruders, and then disappearing
like a shadow on some secret mission; passing the
most obdurate pickets with a single word; silently appearing
in the houses of friends far behind the enemy's lines; reconnoitring
their camps, picking up stragglers, attacking them alone
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or in company with others, upon all occasions—such are some
of the phases which the scout exhibits, such some of the occupations
of his stirring existence.
A few of these adventurous incidents are here recorded just
as I heard them from an accomplished scout of General Stuart.
They will be found sufficiently “romantic,” but I believe them
to be exactly true.
As such, they possess a value which no mere fiction could.
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Among the numerous scouts employed by General Stuart,
none was braver or more intelligent than a young man named
Frank S—. Innumerable were his adventures, almost ineredible
his hair-breadth escapes and his reckless, dare-devil
exploits. The annals of fiction contain nothing more curious
and moving than some of his experiences; and in this and the
succeeding sketch I propose to indicate the species of daily life
which S—lived during the late war.
A few words, first, of the scout himself. He certainly was a
ranger born. Passionately devoted to his dangerous calling,
and following it from predilection, not from any hope of reward,
or spurred on by ambition of distinction, he was never so happy
as when beating up the quarters of the enemy, and throwing
them into confusion by some sudden attack. He was not an
officer, and never moved a finger to secure a commission; all
he asked was permission to mount his horse, wander off and
seek the neighbourhood of the enemy's camps, in search of incident
and adventure. On such occasions he preferred to be
alone, to follow his appointed work without assistance, depending
only upon his own strong arm and trusty weapons. He
cared little for society, though no one seemed more amiable; I
never saw a brighter or more friendly smile than his. That
smile did not deceive; there was no deceit of any sort in
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S—. He loved his friends, but he loved his calling better
still. It might have been said of him that man delighted him
not, nor woman either. His “chief delight” was to penetrate
the dense woods of Fauquier, assail the enemy wherever he
found an opening, and inflict upon them all the injury in his
power. In the eyes of the scout those enemies were wolves,
and he hunted them. This sketch will demonstrate the fact
that now and then they returned the compliment.
In person S— was suited to his calling; stout but active;
a good hand with pistol and sabre; quick of eye; and with
nerves which no peril could shake. Soldiers generally prefer
broad daylight and an open country to operate in; S—
liked a forest where no moon shone; whose soft earth gave
back no sound when the hoofs of his horse fell upon it; and
where even in the gloomy silence of midnight he could approach
a vidette undiscovered. When he found it necessary to penetrate
the hostile lines, and could not elude the watchful guardians
of the night, his habit was to brace himself in his stirrups,
draw his pistol, and to the quick, “Halt! who goes there?”
shout, “Form fours! draw sabres! charge!” to an imaginary
squadron behind him, and pass on with loud yells, firing his
pistol as he advanced. The result was, generally, that the picket
fired wildly at him, and then fled before the tremendous onslaught
of “rebel cavalry,” whereupon the adventurous scout
passed through at a thundering gallop, drove the picket before
him, and adroitly slipping, at the opportune moment, into some
by-path of the woods, was “within the lines.” When the enemy
made a stand at the next rising ground to receive the expected
charge, none came. When they returned to look for
S—, he had disappeared.
But to come to the incident I design narrating.
It was in November, 1863, when the Federal army lay around
Culpeper Court-House and Mitchell's Station, that S— was
sent on a scout to ascertain the number, position, and movements
of the Federal forces. Taking with him two companions,
he crossed the upper Rapidan, passed the Confederate cavalry
pickets, and carefully worked his way toward Mitchell's
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Station. General Meade had pushed forward his lines to this
point a few days before—or rather established large camps
there—and this fact, visible from Clark's mountain, made it
desirable to ascertain, if possible, his designs. This was S—'s
mission.
In due time the small party reached the vicinity of the station,
and it now became necessary to prosecute the remainder
of the journey on foot. They accordingly dismounted, and
leaving their horses in a thick copse, “snaked” in the direction
of a large Federal camp near at hand, taking advantage
of every cover. In this manner they came close upon the
camp, and were rewarded with a sight of acres of canvas.
Lazy-looking infantry were strolling about, quarter-guards
walking their posts, and officers in gay uniforms went to and
fro, saluted by the sentinels with a “present” as they passed.
The size of the encampments enabled S—to form a tolerably
accurate estimate of the amount of force which General
Meade had concentrated at this point; and having passed the
whole day thus moving cautiously around the spot, thereby
discovering all which a mere reconnoissance could reveal, the
scout began to look for stragglers, from whom, as his prisoners,
he might derive more accurate information still. The love of
rambling is inherent in soldiers of every nation; and the prospect
of butter and eggs, resulting from a foraging expedition
to the neighbouring farms, was well known to be irresistible with
the Federal troops. To pick up these wandering foragers, if
they were not in too great numbers, was the object of S—.
His method on such occasions was to come upon the individual
or the party unawares, silently present the muzzle of his pistol,
and “take them in charge.” Once his prisoners, all was friendly
and peaceful, and all the information possible was extracted.
After a fatiguing day, S—and his party lay down in the
woods near the Federal camp, to snatch an hour's sleep before
proceeding to their nocturnal work. But on this occasion,
Fate had determined to play them a sorry trick. The “stragglers”
whom they designed hunting and entrapping during
the hours of darkness were to “turn up” in a fashion and at a
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moment neither expected nor desired. The woful adventures
which befell the scout and his companions I now proceed
to relate.
S— had selected for his bivouac a retired spot where the
encircling woods gave excellent promise of concealment, and
the covert was so dense as to set him completely at his ease.
Through the thick brushwood no glimmer of firelight could be
seen; and the sconts ventured to kindle a fire, which the chill
November night rendered far from unacceptable. By the
carefully shaded blaze they warmed their benumbed fingers,
ate their supplies of hard bread and bacon, and spread their
blankets for a brief sleep. S— took off his shoes; laid his
hat at his head; and having picked up somewhere a certain
“Life of Stonewall Jackson,” recently published in Richmond,
now drew it from his haversack, and read a few passages by
the firelight. Although he did not inform me of the fact, this
volume must have produced a soothing effect upon his feelings,
for in a short time his eyelids drooped, the volume fell
from his hands, and he sank to slumber. His companions were
already snoring by his side.
They slept longer than they designed doing—in fact
throughout the entire night. The weather, which had been
lowering at nightfall, became gradually more threatening; and
soon an imperceptible drizzle began, just sufficient to wet the
blankets of the sleepers, but not to chill and awake them.
They slept on serenely; and now as day drew near, the hostile
Fate approached. It came in the shape of a squad of infantry
soldiers, armed with muskets, from the adjoining camp; and
this party, on their way to forage for butter, eggs, ponltry,
and other desirable components of a military breakfast, had
stumbled on the slumbering scouts.
The first intimation which S— had of the danger which
menaced him was, he declared, an instinctive feeling that
some dangerous foe was near; and this even before he woke.
He was not long, however, to remain in doubt, or be compelled
to question his instincts. He opened his eyes to find the
blanket suddenly drawn away from his face, and to hear a
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harsh and sarcastic voice exclaim: “How are you, Johnny
Reb? Come, get up, and we will give you more comfortable
accommodations than out here in the rain!”
S— was wide-awake in an instant, and through his halfclosed
lids reconnoitred, counting his opponents. They were
six in number, all armed and ready. The situation looked
ugly. With his companious wide-awake and on the alert
there might have been some ground for hope; but they were
slumbering like the Seven Sleepers, and in utter unconsciousness
of danger. As to S— himself, he was in their very
grasp, and practically disarmed; for it was obvious that at the
first movement which he made to draw his pistol from the
holster around his waist, the six muskets, cocked and pointing
at his breast, would be discharged as one piece, and his body
riddled with bullets.
The situation was depressing. S— and his companions
were in a veritable trap. The least movement which he made
would at once put an end to him, if six balls through the body
could do so; and it was obviously necessary to surrender at
once or betake himself to strategy. The first was out of the
question, for S— had made up his mind never to surrender,
had indeed sworn a solemn oath not to do so under any circumstances;
the second alternative remained. A ruse had
already suggested itself to his quick and daring mind; and
this he now proceeded instantly to carry out. To the sneering
address of his opponent bidding him get up, he made no immediate
reply, but again closed his eyes, pulled the blanket up
again over his shoulders, and turning his back, muttered in a
sleepy voice: “Oh! go away, and let me sleep, will you!”
This reply highly tickled his adversaries; and so much did
they relish the evident impression of the “Johnny Reb” that
he was among his own comrades in the Confederate camp, that
they shook all over in the excess of their mirth. S— was a
dangerous man, however, to jest with; and no doubt believed
in the proverb which declares that “they laugh best who laugh
last.” While his opponents were thus indulging their merriment,
and highly enjoying the surprise and mortification he
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would feel when awake to the real nature of his situation,
S— was busy executing the plan which he had determined
upon. Pulling his blanket still further over his head, he drew
a long laboured breath, turned as men do languidly in slumber,
and cautiously moved his hand beneath the blanket toward
the pistol in his belt. The hand slowly stole downwards
under the cover, approached the weapon, and then he had
grasped the handle. A second careless movement extracted
the pistol from the holster; his finger was on the hammer—
without noise the weapon was cocked.
The scout was just in time. The squad had finished their
laugh, enjoyed their little comedy sufficiently, and now designed
bringing the affair to an end. The leader accordingly stooped
down and dragged away the blanket—when a shot followed,
with the muzzle of the pistol upon his breast, and he fell forward
dead, covering S— with his blood. The scene which
followed was brief. The rest of the squad levelled their muskets
at the scout, and fired with the muzzles nearly touching
him, but he was wounded by none. The body of their companion
lying across him received the larger portion of the balls;
and S— rose to his feet, armed with his deadly revolver,
which still contained four charges. These he fired in succession
rapidly, but with good aim, and two of the five remaining
men were wounded. The three others, finding their guns
discharged, dropped them, and hastily ran toward the Federal
camp.
S—'s companions had been aroused by the firing, but
were of no assistance to him. One disgracefully fled into the
woods without firing a shot, and the other had committed the
fatal fault of allowing his arms to become wetted by the rain.
When he attempted to fire his pistol the cap snapped, and none
of the barrels could be discharged.
This proved, however, of no great importance. S— had
repulsed the whole party for the moment, and did not need
assistance. What remained for them now was a rapid retreat
from the dangerous locality. The sudden firing, and the men
running in, had alarmed the Federal camp, and a large party
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were seen approaching rapidly to take vengeance for the blood
of their comrades. S— accordingly hastened to retire, and
disappeared with his companion just as the enemy rushed upon
the area near the bivouac fire. In this sudden “change of
base,” stores of some value to him were necessarily abandoned.
In fact he was compelled to leave his horse, hat, shoes, blanket,
and “Life of Jackson”—to fly bareheaded and in his
stocking feet. Even thus lightened of all superfluous weight,
it was doubtful if he could escape; for the shouts which now
resounded as he ran showed that the enemy were pursuing him
hotly, with the evident determination of running him “to earth”
and destroying him.
In a few moments it became plain to S— that he was to
be “hunted down.” In fact, the encounter at the bivouac—
resulting so disastrously to the assailants—had profoundly enraged
their friends, and a large detachment speedily scattered,
blocking up every avenue by which the scout could escape.
In the distance cavalry could be seen preparing to cut him off
from the mountain, and before S— had gone half a mile he
awoke to the unpleasant consciousness that he was surrounded.
Stealing along, a solitary figure—for his companion had gone
another way—he peered warily from his covert, seeking a loophole
of escape; but wherever he turned the paths were picketed,
and the chances of escape seemed hopeless indeed.
Under circumstances so discouraging, an ordinary man would
have lost “heart of hope.” But S— was not an ordinary
man. His perilous situation only developed the strong manhood
of his character.
He surveyed his position at a glance, and estimated the
chances. It seemed that nothing but his own quick eye and
knowledge of woodcraft could save him; if he was caught,
there appeared to be small likelihood of his escaping death.
He had penetrated the Federal lines, reconnoitred their encampments,
slain their foraging parties; and although this was
done in full Confederate uniform, with arms at his side, as a
legitimate partisan operation, S— had little doubts of the
light in which his enemies would insist upon regarding him.
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He felt that he would probably be treated as a “guerilla,” if
not as a spy, and shot without benefit of clergy. For this reason
he did not intend to surrender. He proposed to escape
if he could; if he could not, he would sell his life as dearly as
possible.
One conviction is apt to result very powerfully from scout
life—that few situations are so really hopeless that skill and
nerve will not extricate their possessor. S— had these qualities
in great perfection, and now brought all his courage and
finesse to bear upon the contest for life and death. His enemies
were on every side following the trail of their game, and
with videttes posted at every point around, were beating the
covert for the prey.
S— had, however, been hunted before, and his brave
heart did not recoil from the struggle. Running silently with
bare head and shoeless feet through the woods, he paused from
time to time to listen to the shouts of his pursuers, and it soon
became obvious that they were rapidly approaching upon
every side. However fleet of foot he might be, and whatever
might be his accomplishments in woodcraft, the probabilities
of escape grew more and more doubtful. As he doubled, and
turned, and circled, like a hunted wolf, the enemy every instant
drew nearer, and soon their detached parties were nearly
upon him. It was evident that they knew the country perfectly;
and such was their success in intercepting his retreat, that
he very soon found himself completely hemmed in, and his enemies
in every direction cutting off his escape. The parties
gradually closed in upon him on every side, and in a few minutes
more, unless he could discover some place of concealment,
he must inevitably fall into their hands, when a bullet or a cord
would terminate the hunt and his career on earth at the same
time.
This conviction induced S—, whose nerve had never faltered,
to seek on every side for some hiding-place. But the
result was discouraging. The woods were open—without undergrowth—
and every moment was now precious. S—
redoubled his speed, and darting through the wood, suddenly
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found himself in a small open field, in the middle of which
rose a clump of pines, one of which had recently fallen. In
the bushy top of this fallen tree he now concealed himself,
panting from his long run, and listening to the sound of his
approaching foes closing in on every side. To fight and die
seemed his only resource; and reloading his pistol, he grimly
waited for the moment which should find him at bay, in the
presence of his enemies.
He did not wait long. A few minutes only had elapsed
when a party of three or four Federals entered the little area,
and approached the clump of pines. They passed close to the
scout, looking everywhere for traces of him; but he crouched
down, held his breath, and they seemed about to prosecute their
search in some other direction. S— was indeed congratulating
himself upon his safety, when, raising his head, he caught
the eye of one of the enemy, who had lingered behind the rest,
fixed steadily upon him. He was discovered; and starting to
his feet, was greeted with the shout, “Here he is!” which was
instantly echoed by a hundred voices.
S— now saw that his life hung upon a thread. Unless he
could force his way through the cordon hemming him in, he
was lost. He was unwilling to waste the loads in his pistols
before the final struggle took place—the last desperate struggle
which was to terminate all. But that conflict now seemed
about to take place.
For a single instant the scout and his foes stood looking at
each other, and neither made any movement to fire. In presence
of this desperate man, the enemy seemed averse to the
encounter, and waited for their comrades to come up. This
short pause gave the scout an opportunity to decide upon his
course. If he could only secure a short “start,”—if he were
only mounted! His feet were bruised and sore, his strength
greatly diminished by the close, hot chase. Oh! for a horse to
charge them and break through, as he felt he could though
they were forty deep! As the thought flashed through his
mind, his eyes fell on a mule which was grazing in the field
not far from him. To dart to the animal and throw himself
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upon its back was the work of an instant; and in the midst of
furious outcries and hastily fired shots he dug his heels into the
sides of the frightened animal, and commenced his race for life.
Behold S— now, mounted on his mule, with bare head
and shoeless feet, grasping the mane of the animal with one
hand, holding his pistol in the other, and driving onward like
some grotesque figure of the German ballads! Such was the
speed to which he forced the animal, that he would probably
have distanced his pursuers had not the perversity of the brute
defeated all his calculations. The mule had no sooner recovered
from his first fright at finding himself so unceremoniously
mounted, than he made violent attempts by “roaching”
his back, and kicking up, to unseat his rider. S— was an
excellent horseman, and might have defied the kicking-up portion
of the performance, despite the fact that he was riding
without saddle or bridle; but no horsemanship could counteract
the detestable roaching of the animal's spine. At the fifth or
sixth kick-up, accompanied by a movement which made the
mule resemble an angry cat in outline, the scout was landed on
terra firma, amid the shouts of his enemies, who rushed toward
him, firing as they came.
They reached the spot, uttering outcries and curses; but their
obstinate foe had once more eluded them. The scout had risen
quickly, darted into the woods, and the chase again commenced
with more ardour than at first.
S— now put forth all his remaining strength to distance
the enemy, following more hotly than ever on his track. Panting
and worn out almost, half resolving a hundred times to
turn and fight and die, he still kept on, the shouts of his enemies
in his very ears. He was growing desperate, and had become
nearly exhausted. A burning thirst raged in his throat; and
although the enemy were on his very heels, he could not resist
the temptation, as he reached a little meadow through which
ran a limpid stream, to pause and quench his thirst. Throwing
himself upon his knees on the margin of the brook, he stooped
and swallowed one refreshing draught of the cool water, and
then rising up, found from the shouts of his pursuers that they
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were at last upon him—all further hope from flight of no avail.
A last desperate expedient suggested itself—concealment in the
undergrowth which skirted the stream; and throwing himself
at full length amid the bushes, not far from the spot where he
had knelt down, he hastily drew the undergrowth around him
and awaited the struggle.
He had scarcely disappeared from view when his enemies
reached the spot. He heard their footsteps; their cries resounded;
and suddenly the voice of one of them exclaimed:
“Here's the scoundrel's knee-print in the sand where he
drank just now! He ain't far off!”
This cry was the signal for all the detached parties to converge
toward the spot; and very soon the field was full of
them. The scout heard them deploying in every direction to
guard all the outlets, preparatory to a rigid search of every
species of covert in which a fugitive could conceal himself.
The green meadow was dotted with clumps of bushes, which
grew in thicker luxuriance along the little watercourse; and in
some of these hiding-places it was obvious to the enemy that
their victim lay hidden. The prey was at last hunted down;
had taken to earth; and it was now only necessary to beat the
undergrowth with efficient diligence in order to flush the
dangerous game.
The hunters proceeded to their task with energy and excellent
method. No portion of the ground was neglected, and
their attention was especially directed to the bushes along the
stream.
Lying on his back in the dense jungle, with a cocked pistol
in each hand, his finger on the trigger, the scout listened with
ears rendered preternaturally acute to the cries and exclamations
of his enemies, who moved up and down the watercourse,
and on every hand searching every foot of ground for their
prey. S— had not wasted a moment in deciding upon his
plan of action if discovered He was exhausted, and could no
longer fly; and to be taken prisoner was not an alternative.
He would fight as long as he could stand; give his enemies
the full benefit of the ten barrels of his revolvers at close range;
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grapple with them breast to breast; and if he could not fight
his way out—die.
Such was his plan; and he listened to the footsteps around
him with that firm nerve which the brave man summons to
his aid when face to face with death.
The moment had now come which was to decide his fate.
The pursuers had searched every portion of the field without
success, and now returned to the point from which they had
set forth, subjecting the covert to a second and more rigid inspection.
Their feet were heard trampling amid the undergrowth;
they stopped to put aside the bushes, and peer into
every nook. S— heard their very breathing, and cast an
eye upon his pistols to see that he had neglected nothing; that
every tube was capped, every barrel loaded, and both weapons
cocked. All was right, and he experienced the fierce joy of
the man who feels that at least he need not die without dragging
down more than one enemy in his fall.
The steps were at his side; oaths and exclamations echoed in
his very ears. One of the hostile party seemed determined to
leave no inch of the ground unexplored, and bent down, plunging
his glances into the very bushes over the scout's head.
S— grasped his pistols with a firmer clutch, strung his
nerves for instant contest, and prepared to rise suddenly to
his feet, lay the curious individual before him dead with a
pistol bullet through the heart, and throw himself like a tiger
at bay into the midst of his enemies.
The bushes were thrust aside; an oath resounded within
three feet of him; he had covered the heart of his enemy with
the muzzle of his right-hand pistol crossed over his breast—
when the autumn foliage swayed back to its place, an exclamation
of disappointment followed, and the footsteps retreated
from his hiding-place.
The scout drew a long breath. He was saved.
All day long he lay hidden, hearing more than one sound
which proved that his enemies were still hovering near; but
they had given up the search in despair. At night he quietly
rose, and found that the coast was clear. Proceeding cautiously
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to reconnoitre, he discovered that the ground around his hiding-place
was only partially guarded, and had little difficulty in
escaping. Eluding such parties as were still prowling around,
he flanked the Federal pickets, travelled all night, and before
daylight was safe within the Southern lines.
Such was the narrative of S—, related to me in my tent
on the Rapidan. To suspect exaggeration or inaccuracy in the
narrator would be to do a brave and truthful soldier great injustice;
and I have recorded this true incident as a veritable
illustration of the curious “scout-life” of the war.
-- 500 -- p521-527
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In “Hunted Down,” I have attempted to give some idea of
scout life on the Rappahannock during the late war. Another
narative of the same description may interest those readers who
relish wild adventure; and the present incident will be found
more curious than the former. It befell the same personage,
S—, one of General Stuart's scouts, and I again beg to warn
the worthy reader against regarding these relations as fanciful.
Imagination has nothing to do with this one; if it possesses
no other merit, I am sure it does possess that of truth. It was
told me by the brave man whom it concerns, and I never knew
him to boast or exaggerate.
The incident took place during the summer of 1863, in the
country beyond the Rappahannock, not far from the foot of
the Blue Ridge. This region—the county of Fauquier—was the
true Paradise of the scout. On its winding and unfrequented
roads, and amid its rolling hills and mountain spurs, the scout
and ranger wandered at will, bidding defiance to all comers.
The thick woods enabled him to approach unseen until almost
in contact with the Federal parties or their encampments; and
if pursued, he had only to leap the nearest stone wall, rush
under a crest of a hill, and disappear like a shadow, or one of
those phantoms of diablerie which vanish in the recesses of
the earth. For secret operations of every description, no
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country in the world is more favourable; and the present writer has
journeyed by roads and across fords in the immediate vicinity
of hostile forces, by which a column of ten thousand men
might have moved with no more difficulty than a solitary horseman.
No prying eyes followed the scout upon his way; the
extensive uplands were pasture ground for grazing great herds of
cattle. The traveller went on, mile after mile, unespied by any
one, and in presence only of tall forests and azure mountains.
In Fauquier, S— had many friends whom he was fond of
visiting on his adventurous excursions; but unfortunately he
had also a number of enemies in the persons of Federal soldiers.
Detached bodies of the enemy had pitched their tents
in the region, and the Federal cavalry scouted the main roads,
greatly harassing the inhabitants. To harass their parties in
return was the work of the ranger; and scarce a day passed
without some collision in the extensive fields or the forest glades,
in which, on one side or both, blood would flow.
Among the Federal forces, S— had achieved a high reputation
as a scout and a partisan; and had also aroused in his
enemies a profound hatred. His daring reconnoissances, secret
scouts, and audacious attacks on foraging parties, had made
them pass a lively time—and great was the joy of a Federal
Colonel commanding pickets on the upper Rappahannock
when he received intelligence one day in this summer of 1863
that the well known S— was alone at a house not far from
camp, where his capture would be easy.
S— was, in fact, at the house indicated, without the least suspicion
that his presence had been discovered. He had been sent
upon a scout in that region, and finding himself in the neighbourhood
of the family with whom he had long been on terms
of intimacy, embraced the occasion to visit them and rest for a
few hours before proceeding upon his way. On the evening
when the events about to be related occurred, he was seated in
the parlour, conversing with one of the young ladies of the
family, and perfectly at his ease both in body and mind. His
horse—an excellent one, captured a few days before from the
enemy—was in the stable, enjoying a plentiful supply of corn;
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he had himself just partaken of a most inviting supper, to
which bright eyes and smiles had communicated an additional
attraction; and he was now sitting on the sofa, engaged in
conversation, not dreaming of the existence of an enemy within
a thousand miles. Let it not be supposed, however, that S—
was disarmed either of his caution or his weapons. His eye
wandered unconsciously, from pure habit, every few moments
toward the door, and around his waist was still buckled the
well-worn belt containing his pistols. These never left his person
day or night as long as he was in the vicinity of his enemies.
Such was the comfortable and peaceful “interiour” which
the mansion presented when the incident I purpose to relate
took place. S— was tranquilly enjoying himself in the society
of his kind hostess, and laughing with the light-hearted
carelessness of a boy who finds a “spirit of mirth” in everything,
when suddenly his quick ear caught the clatter of hoofs
upon the road without, and rising, he went to the window to
reconnoitre. A glance told him that the new-comers were the
enemy; and the crack through which he looked was sufficiently
large to enable him to see that they consisted of a detachment
of Federal cavalry, who now rapidly approached the house.
With such rapidity did they advance, that before S— could
move they had reached the very door; and no sooner had they
done so, than at a brief order from the officer commanding,
several men detached themselves from the troop, hurried to the
rear of the house, and in an instant every avenue of escape
was effectually cut off.
S— was now fairly entrapped. It was obvious that in
some manner the enemy had gained intelligence of his presence
at the house, and sent out a detachment for his capture or
destruction. The scout required no better proof of this than
the systematic manner in which they went to work to surround
the house, as though perfectly sure of their game, and the
business-like method of proceeding generally on the part of
the men and officers. To meet this sudden and dangerous
advance of his foes, S— saw that he must act with rapidity.
Skill and decision would alone save him, if anything could;
-- 503 --
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and in a few rapid words he explained the state of affairs. He
informed his entertainers that he was the game for whom they
were hunting; he had heard that a price was set upon his
head; if there was no means of leaving the house or concealing
himself, he did not mean to surrender; he would not be
taken alive, but would fight his way through the whole party
and make his escape, or die defending himself.
Such was the tenor of the brief address made by S—
to his fair entertainers; but they informed him in quick words
that he need not despair, they would conceal him; and then
the brave hearts set to work. One ran to the window and
demanded who was without; another closed the door in rear,
the front door being already shut; and while these movements
were in progress S— was hurried up the staircase by one
of the young ladies, who was to show him his hiding-place.
Before he had reached the head of the staircase a novel proof
was given by the Federal cavalry of the terror which they
attached to his name. A sudden explosion from without shook
the windows; six or eight carbine-balls pierced the front door,
passed through and whistled around the ladies; and a loud
shout was heard, followed by heavy shoulders thrust against
the door. It was afterwards discovered that the rattle of the
door-latch in the wind had occasioned the volley; the noise
was supposed to be that made by S— as he was about to
rush out upon them!
The scout had, meanwhile, been conducted by his fair guide
to his hiding-place, which was in a garret entirely destitute of
furniture, with bare walls, and apparently without any imaginable
facility for enabling a man to escape the prying eyes of
the “party of observation.” Here, nevertheless, S— was
concealed; and his hiding-place was excellent, from its very
simplicity. The garret had no ceiling, and the joists were
even unboarded; but upon them were stretched two or three
loose planks. The young lady hurriedly pointed to these.
S— understood in an instant; and, swinging himself up,
he reached the joist, lay down at full length upon one of the
planks next to the eaves, and found himself completely
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protected from observation, unless the search for him was so
minute as to leave no corner unexplored.
Having assisted the scout to ensconce himself in his hiding-place,
the young lady hastened down from the garret, and
descended the main staircase, just as the Federal soldiers burst
open the front door and swarmed into the passage. From the
plank beneath the eaves, as the door of the garret had been
left open, S— informed me he heard every word of the following
colloquy:
“Where is the guerilla we are after?” exclaimed the officer
in command, sternly addressing the lady of the house.
“What guerilla?” she asked.
“S—.”
“He was here, but is gone.”
“That is untrue, and I am not to be trifled with!” was the
irate reply. “I shall search this house—but first read the
orders to the men!” he added, addressing a non-commissioned
officer of the troop.
This command was obeyed by a sergeant, holding an official
paper in his hand; and S— had the satisfaction of hearing
read aloud a paper which recited his various exploits, commented
upon his character in terms far from flattering, declared
him a bush whacker and guerilla, and ordered him to be put to
death wherever he was found—the men being expressly forbidden
to take him prisoner. This order was from Colonel—,
commanding the neighbouring force, and S—heard
every word of it. He was to be pistoled or sabred. No hope
of mercy—no surrender taken. Death to him!
Peril unnerves the coward, but arouses a fierce pride and
courage in the breast of the brave, to dare all, and fight to the
death. S—was made of the stuff which does not cower before
danger, but enables a man to look the King of Terrours in
the face without the shudder of a nerve. He was armed as
usual with two pistols carefully loaded and capped—for he
never neglected his arms—and before he was taken, or rather
killed, he hoped to lay low more than one of his assailants.
This was his calculation; but the scout was still a long way
-- 505 --
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from regarding his fate as sealed, his death as certain. He had
an obstinate faculty of hoping, and took the brightest view of
his critical situation. He might not be discovered; or if discovered,
he was in a position to fight to an advantage which
would make the issue of the struggle exceedingly doubtful.
He intended to spring to the floor, shoot the one or two men
who would probably penetrate to the garret, and hurl them
down the staircase—and then placing himself at the head of the
stairs, sheltered from bullets by a projection of the wood-work,
defy them to ascend. “They never could have got me out of
there,” said S—with a laugh, “unless they had burned the
house, or brought a piece of artillery to shell me out. I had
two pistols, and could have held my ground against the whole
of them all day.”
But not to digress from the actual res gestœ of the occasion,
the search for S—speedily commenced. First the parlour
and dining-room were subjected to a rigid examination, and
finding there no traces of the scout, the men scattered themselves
over the house, ransacking every apartment, and compelling
the young ladies to throw open the most private recesses
of their chambers. They looked under beds, into closets, and
behind dresses hanging up in the wardrobes, in vain search for
the game. Sabres were thrust into beds, to pierce and immolate
the dangerous wild animal if he were lying perdu between
the mattresses; and the points of the weapons did not spare the
female clothing depending from pegs in the closets. The scout
might be straightened up against the wall, behind those white
garments in closet or wardrobe; but an assiduous search failed
to discover him, and soon no portion of the whole establishment
remained unexplored but the garret. To this the party now
directed their attention.
“What room is that up there?” was the curt question of one
of the men to the young lady who stood near him.
“A garret,” was the reply.
“He may be up there—show me the way!”
“You see the way—I do not wish to go up there; the dust
will soil my dress.”
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A growl greeted these quiet words, and the trooper turned
to a black servant-girl who had been made to go around with
the party in their search, holding a lighted candle.
“You go before, and show us the way,” said the trooper.
The girl laughed, declared that nobody was up there; but on
hearing the order repeated, ascended the stairs, followed by the
man.
S—had listened attentively and lost nothing; the architecture
of the house enabling him to catch the least sound without
difficulty. After the protracted search in the rooms beneath,
during which his hiding-place had not been approached,
he began to hope that the danger was over. This hope, however,
was found to be illusory, and he prepared for the crisis.
The steps of the servant-girl were heard ascending, followed
by the tramp of the trooper, whose heavy sabre rattled against
the stairs as he moved. Then a long streak of light ran over
the garret floor; and cautiously thrusting out his head from his
hiding-place, S—saw the head of the girl and her companion,
as step by step they mounted to the apartment. The
girl held up her dress with affected horror of the dust; and when
she had reached a position from which a full stream of light
could be directed into the room, she paused, and with a low
laugh called her companion's attention to the fact that there
was nothing whatever in the garret.
This, however, did not satisfy him, and he insisted upon making
a thorough search. The girl was obliged to obey his order,
and in a moment they were both standing in the room.
S—measured the man before, or rather beneath him,
through a crevice in the plank, and calculated where he could
shoot him to the best advantage. This resource seemed all that
was left. Discovery appeared inevitable. The scout was lying
upon a single plank, directly over the head of his enemy, and
it was only necessary, apparently, for the latter to possess
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ordinary eyesight to discover him. This was the scout's conviction,
as he now cautiously moved his finger to the trigger of
the pistol, which he had drawn and cocked, in expectation of
the coming struggle. He would certainly be discovered in ten
seconds, and then for an exhibition of his prowess as a Confederate
soldier and scout, which should either extricate him from
his peril, or force his very enemies to respect the courage of
the man they overwhelmed and put to death! His plan, as I
have said, was simple. He would throw himself upon this man,
shoot him through the heart, hurl the body upon the heads of
those below, and then hold his position against the whole party
at the pistol's muzzle. It was improbable that the Federal
troopers could be induced to mount the narrow stairway, at the
head of which stood at bay a desperate and determined man,
armed with a revolver in each hand. It would be certain death
to them; he must either be burned out or shelled out with
artillery! That either of these courses, however, would be
resorted to, appeared improbable; they would place a guard
around the house, and either starve or attempt to dislodge him
in some other manner. But then he would gain time; now if
time were only gained, the scout had so much confidence in his
own resources that he believed himself safe.
To return to the scene actually occurring: the Federal
trooper gazed around the garret for some hidden nook or
cranny wherein a rebel could be stowed away. Some empty
boxes attracted his attention, but an examination of them
resulted in nothing. Then, all at once, the eyes of the man
were directed toward the spot where the scout was concealed.
S—gave himself up for lost; his finger was on the
trigger, and he was about to forestall his enemy by sending a
ball through his brain, when suddenly he drew a long breath,
removed his finger from the trigger, and flattened himself
almost to nonentity on his plank. The girl had adopted an
excellent ruse, and as simple as it was excellent. Whilst conversing
carelessly with the man, she had moved directly
beneath S—, in consequence of which movement the candle
threw the shadow of the plank on which he lay directly upward.
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Thus the person of the scout, prone on the plank, was wholly
hidden from view. In vain did the man move from side to
side, evidently suspecting something, and order the girl to hold
the light in such a manner as to illuminate the dusky recess
beneath the rafters. She readily did so, but so adroitly that at
every movement the shadow was made still to conceal the
scout; and ere long this comedy, in the issue of which the
life of a man was involved, came to an end. Satisfied that the
garret contained no one, the man retired, and the clank of his
sabre on the staircase as he descended gradually receded from
the hearing of S—. He was saved.
The Federal troopers remained at the house some time longer,
their officer exhibiting the utmost anger and disappointment at
the result of the expedition; but they finally departed, warning
the lady of the mansion that if she harboured “guerillas”
thereafter, her house would be burned. Leaving videttes
behind, the officer then departed with his detachment.
This was the signal for S—to descend, which he did at
once. A brief reconnoissance through the window revealed
the dark figures posted at stated intervals around the house—
but these only made him laugh. He did not fear them, and
had only one regret—the impossibility of getting his horse off.
The attempt would reveal his presence, involve the family in
danger, and might fail. He accordingly resolved to retire on
foot. This was at once and successfully accomplished. S—
bade his kind friends farewell, stole out of the back door, glided
along the garden fence, beneath the shadow of the trees, and
gained the wood near by without being challenged.
In an hour he was safe from all pursuit, at a friend's, on one
of the spurs of the Blue Ridge. Soon afterwards he was relating
this narrative to the present writer, near Orange.
I was interested in it, and thought that the reader might
share this interest. He knows, at least, how S—overheard
his death-warrant.
-- -- p521-536
[figure description] Page 509.[end figure description]
Another adventure of S—, the scout, will be here narrated.
He related it to me in my tent near Orange more than a year
ago; but the incidents come back, as do many things in
memory—living, breathing, real, as it were, in the sunshine of
to-day; not as mere shapes and recollections of the past.
In the summer of the good year 1863, S— went with two
or three companions on a little scout toward Warrenton.
Do you know the pretty town of Warrenton, good reader?'
Tis a delightful little place, full of elegant mansions, charming
people, and situated in a lovely country. Nowhere are the
eyes of youthful maidens bluer—au revoir bien-tôt, sweet stars
of my memory!—nowhere are truer hearts, or more open
hands. Here Farley, the famous partisan—one of the friends
I loved—used to scout at will, and when chased by his foes,
rein up his horse on the suburbs, and humorously fire in their
faces as they darted in pursuit of him; laughing quietly with
that low musical laugh of his, as his good horse (“Yankee
property” once) bore him away. Here a friend of mine afterwards—
but whither am I wandering? See the force of habit,
and the inveterate propensity to rove even on paper; the result
of life in the cavalry! I forget that another branch of the
service now claims my thoughts—that the blanket wrapped in
its “Yankee oil-cloth” is rarely strapped behind my saddle as
in the good old days when, following one illustrious for ever, I
knew not whither I was going, where I would stop, or what
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greenwood tree would shelter me. Look! the red battle-flag
is floating in the wind; the column moves; will we sleep in
Virginia, Maryland, or Pennsylvania? We knew not, for the
cavalry are your true rovers of the greenwood; so I, who once
was a cavalry-man, rove still, even on paper.
I perceive I am growing dull. To return to S— and his
little scout near Warrenton in 1863. I cannot fail to interest
then, you see, my dear reader; for there is a certain species of
human interest in the adventures of those who deal in
“bloody noses, and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too,”
which everybody experiences; and the relation of these sanguinary
adventures demands very little “style.” You tell
your plain story as plainly as possible; and behold! you secure
the luxury of luxuries, a satisfied reader.
S— had, as I have said, two or three companions with him;
and having slept in the woods near Warrenton, the party proceeded
toward Catlett's in search of adventures. There were
plenty of Federal camps there, and in the neighbourhood; and
our scout promised himself much amusement. Behold them
then, full of the spirit of fun, and intent on celebrating the
day by an exciting hunt which should result in the running
down, and killing or capturing of some of the blue people.
They reached the vicinity of the railroad without adventures,
and then proceeded carefully to reconnoitre for the camps
known to be in that vicinity. This search was soon rewarded.
Reaching the summit of a hill, where some trees concealed
them, but the view was unobscured, they perceived in the
valley beneath two extensive camps, one on the right, the
other on the left; the Federal soldiers lounging about in careless
security.
Here was S—'s game plain before him, and waiting as it
were to be trapped. Stragglers from Federal camps—adventurous
explorers of the surrounding country in search of butter,
eggs, or fowls—these were the favourite victims of the scout;
for from such he often obtained valuable information, excellent
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[figure description] Page 511.[end figure description]
horses and equipments, and the finest patterns of revolvers;
all “articles in his line.” To lie in wait for stragglers or
others was thus a very safe game; but on this occasion S—
had loftier views. He had two or three men with him, tried
and trusty comrades; and with an army of this size, he felt
himself able to operate in the open field; making up by dash
and audacity what he lacked in numbers.
Having thus arrived at the conclusion that he could effect
something important, the scout waited for his opportunity, and
this opportunity soon came.
All at once a cortege of cavalry was seen advancing along
the road in the valley from one camp in the direction of the
other; apparently the escort of some officer of distinction.
The party numbered at least twenty, and the ground was unfavourable
for a surprise; but S— was unable to resist the
temptation to attack them, and at least throw them and their
camps into confusion—your true scout and hunter of bluebirds
never experiencing greater pleasure than when he can alone,
or with two or three companions, frighten and startle “to
arms” a whole brigade or regiment of his enemies. S—
accordingly stole down the hill, as much under cover as possible,
until he reached the side of the road over which the officer
and his escort were approaching—then in a few words he explained
his design to the others, and awaited.
The Federal officer came on in profound security, no doubt
considering himself as safe as though at home in his own country;
when suddenly, with a yell that rang through the hills, S—
and his party darted from their place of concealment, and
charged full tilt upon the frightened escort, firing on them as
they charged.
The escort did not await the shock. Believing themselves
waylaid by “Rebel cavalry,” and doomed to certain destruction
if they remained, they turned their horses' heads and broke in
disorder, flying back to the camp from which they came, pursued
by S—'s men.
Their commander, a Colonel, acted with more courage. S—
had shot him through the arm, inflicting a dangerous wound;
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but he attempted to draw his pistol and resist, calling all the
time to his cowardly escort to stand. S— immediately
closed in with him and attempted to kill him, but in this he
failed. The Colonel's horse set off at full speed in the direction
of the camp, toward which his rider had been going, and,
turning his own horse, S— followed, yelling and firing his
pistol as he went.
The chase was exciting; the situation altogether singular.
The camp of a whole brigade was directly in front, not four
hundred yards distant, and S— was on the heels of the
Colonel, who was already on the outskirts of the encampment.
The men ran from their tents in astonishment and dismay at
the firing, persuaded that a whole regiment of Confederate
cavalry was charging; and still the Colonel, like John Gilpin
of old, ran his race—not for “a thousand pounds,” but for a
more valuable stake, his life.
S— did not relax his gait or cease pursuit. Now they
were in the very camp; the Colonel still dashes on, and the
scout still follows on his track, firing as he goes. The Colonel
gesticulates violently, and shouts to the men:
“Shoot the d—d rascal! shoot him! There's only one of
them!”
S— laughs and bangs away still with his revolver.
The Colonel is in a frenzy of rage; his frightened horse
shies; the Colonel's hat drops, but the owner cannot stop to
regain it.
S— throws himself from the saddle, picks up the hat, and
again mounts, laughing.
But by this time the game was growing too dangerous. The
men had recovered from their astonishment and were running
to their guns. S— had no desire to receive a volley of musketry;
and, waving the captured hat with one hand, fired his
last barrel with the other at the Colonel, and then retreated at
a gallop, followed by a number of musket-balls, at which, however,
he only laughed.
He soon rejoined his men, who had pursued the escort into
the other camp; and then, as the whole place was buzzing like
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a nest of hornets, they quietly disappeared and were soon lost
in the extensive woods, where pursuit was impossible.
What S— did with his hat I am unable to say; but,
doubtless, the heart of some “high Confederate” was charmed
by the offering, for mighty is the market price of all that comes
through the blockade.
If not thus disposed of, the trophy lies somewhere hidden
among the opima spolia of S—, to be shown some day as a
memorial of that gay adventure in the summer forests of Fauquier.
-- -- p521-541
[figure description] Page 514.[end figure description]
I HAVE not yet done with S—, the scout. Still another
adventure of his comes back to my memory, and this also
shall proceed to be narrated.
The chosen field for the operations of the scout fraternity
was, as I have said, the county of Fauquier—not only because
the enemy frequented habitually that region, but from its great
adaptability to partisan manœuvres. Behold now, in this
bloody year 1863, our friend the scout making a little excursion
into the Chinquepin Territory in search of information,
adventure, spoils—whatever is calculated to charm the heart
of the free ranger of the woods. Mounted on a good fresh
horse, with pistols at side, and a good stout heart to back the
ready hand, the scout joyfully set forth all alone on his journey,
trusting to Providence to guide him, and to his own skill
and courage for the result.
The country swarmed with the enemy; and to find out all about
them, their strength, position, and probable designs, was the
main object of S— in going on his scout. If, however, any
opportunity of striking a blow presented itself, he intended to
avail himself of the “opening.” As will be seen, such opportunity
did present itself, and was promptly improved.
The scout reached, without adventures, the vicinity of Warrenton,
and was riding through a thick body of woods, when
all at once, on turning a bend in the winding bridle-path, he
came suddenly upon a Federal Colonel, followed by two
-- 515 --
[figure description] Page 515.[end figure description]
orderlies. The undergrowth was so thick, and the earth so soft, that
he was entirely unaware of the vicimty of his foes, until the
horses' heads were almost touching.
For a moment the opponents gazed upon each other motionless
and in silence. The Colonel and his escort seemed to have
a dim impression that the silent man before them was a foe,
and S—soon gave them good reasen for becoming confirmed
in this opinion. His hand darted to his pistol, but for some
moments he was unable to draw it. The Colonel was busy
doing the same; and, meanwhile, something like the following
dialogue took place between the opponents:
Colonel, excitedly.—“You are a guerilla?”
Scout, sternly.—“Yes, I am.”
Colonel.—“What do you want?”
Scout.—“You.”
And with these words S—banged away with his pistol,
missing his aim, but causing the two orderlies to beat a sudden
and complete retreat. The Colonel fired his pistol, and then
turned his horse's head to retreat, but S—was too quick for
him. In an instant he was beside his man, and ordered him
to drop his pistol and surrender. This command was doggedly
obeyed; but S—had no sooner achieved his object than he
saw himself threatened with a new danger.
Horses' hoofs were heard upon the road behind him; and
looking through an opening in the trees, he saw a party of
Federal cavalry, who had no doubt been attracted by the report
of his pistol, and were now approaching the spot at a rapid
gallop, evidently bent on ascertaining the cause of the firing.
Not a moment was to be lost. S—saw his prize about to
be snatched from him, and was called upon to act with rapidity
and resolution. Cocking his pistol, which he held in his right
hand, he ordered his prisoner to refrain from any outery on
peril of instant death; and then seizing the Colonel's bridle in
his left hand, he put spur to his horse and set off at a tremendous
gallop—the prisoner's horse galloping beside his own.
Thus commenced the race for life. The pursuers had evidently
descried him and comprehended his intention, for they
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uttered loud shouts, calling on him to stop or they would
fire.
The scout laughed his grim laugh. It was probable that
such a threat would influence him! He had long cultivated a
contempt for bullets issuing from carbines levelled by cavalry;
and if the coolest and most experienced marksmen, firing from
a rest, had menaced him, the effect would have been the same
with him. Even if his soul had not scouted the thought, surrender
was out of the question; and, instead of slackening his
gait, he put spurs to his horse, flying even faster, and carrying
along with him the Colonel, whose bridle was still grasped in
his inexorable hand.
The pursuers howled with rage and followed like wolves upon
his track. Every moment they seemed gaining on him, and the
Colonel's countenance began to indicate a lively anticipation
of rescue. But to aid his friends seemed hopeless. S—
had him completely in his power. Whenever he turned his
eyes toward the scout as they sped on, the grim muzzle of a pistol
met his view; and the expression of the scout's countenance
but too plainly proved that he would hesitate at nothing. If
anything was certain, this was, that S—had determined to
bring him out of the lines a prisoner, or leave him dead;
and the Colonel, like an intelligent man, did not venture to
raise his hand, or make any open efforts to assist his friends
and effect his release.
The pursuers still thundered on the track of the scout and
his prisoner; and the two horsemen continued to fly at headlong
speed. They passed out of the woods across an open
space, and into the woods again. All trace of a road, except a
narrow bridle-path, was now lost, and the trunks of the trees
grew so close together that it was difficult for the pursuers to follow
them except in single file. This it was soon obvious they
were doing, for the shouts were again close upon the track of
the fugitives; and the near approach of his friends induced the
prisoner to undertake a ruse on his own part, to assist them in
their exertions.
This he proceeded to do as follows. The wood, as I have
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said, was very dense, and the trees so close together as to make
it difficult for S—and his companion to pass along the narrow
bridle-path abreast between the trunks. On this circumstance
the Colonel, based his hopes of delaying the flight of
himself and S—, and thus giving time to his friends to come
up.
They were passing at this moment through a very narrow
space; there was scarce room for more than a single horse;
and on the side of the Colonel, that is, the left side, a stout treetrunk
made it necessary to incline his horse's head to the right,
and draw in his knee well to the saddle, to avoid scraping
against the trunk in passing. It was the Colonel's object now
to pass to the left of this tree; and then force S—, as he
passed on the right of it, to loose his hold of the prisoner's bridle,
who might then suddenly check his horse, wheel round, and so
escape.
No sooner was this ruse determined on than it was attempted.
By violently turning his horse's head to the left, and digging
his right heel into the animal's flanks, the Federal officer endeavoured
to interpose the tree between them, and so accomplish
his purpose; but S—was too quick for him. The scout was
not one to be outgeneralled by so simple and transparent a
device. No sooner had the Colonel jerked his bridle to the left,
than the scout counteracted his plan by still more violently
jerking it toward himself, and forcing the animal to dart by
between himself and the tree, instead of upon the opposite side.
The consequence was, that the Colonel's knee crashed against
the trunk; his foot was dragged out of the stirrup, and his boot
nearly torn from his leg, which was painfully bruised and lacerated.
He had no sooner regained his seat in the saddle than the
low tones of S—, supported by a levelled pistol, were heard
warning him that a repetition of that manœnvre, or any attempt
to escape whatever, would be followed by his instant
death.
Having communicated this warning with an accent of voice
that satisfied the listener that the speaker was ready, and even
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desirous to carry out his threat, S— again darted on, still
followed by the Federal cavalry.
No further effort was made by the prisoner to escape, and
the pursuers began gradually to relax the ardour of the chase;
but all at once a new danger presented itself. Directly in front
of them was a large camp; and to S—'s rapid questions, the
Colonel replied that the camp before them was his own. Realize
now, reader, the full comedy of the “situation.” S—was
charging at a thundering gallop the camp of a full Federal regiment,
with scores of the men lounging about the opening of
the tents; and by his side, a prisoner, was the Colonel of the
regiment, charging, somewhat unwillingly, with his captor!
This is not the fancy of a romance-writer, inventing the odd
contrasts of comedy for the amusement of his readers, but an
occurrence which really took place just as is here stated.
The scout was, however, equal to the occasion. Not only did
he unhesitatingly charge upon the camp, but through it. No
other course was left; but even if the choice had been possible,
this—the boldest—was the safest. It was necessary to take
the enemy completely by surprise; and having informed his
prisoner that at the first outery which he made, a pistol bullet
would be sent through his heart, he dug the spur into his horse's
side, dragged his companion on, and before the thoughtless
loungers of the camp realized the truth, had darted through
unopposed, and was racing with his prisoner far beyond pursuit.
Once in the woods again, S—was comparatively safe.
There was no cavalry near, and the slow infantry could not follow
the rough rider and his captive. To the latter S—now
coolly turned, and demanded his name and regiment. The reply
was a sullen refusal to give the required information, and the
scout saw that “coercion” was absolutely necessary to attain
his object. He accordingly crossed the pistol which he held in
his right hand in front of his breast, covered the prisoner's
heart, and said politely:
“Colonel, I asked you your name, and the number and State
of your regiment.”
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“I refused to give it.”
“If you do not, I will kill you.”
This response admitted of no reply. The officer looked at
his captor, saw that he was quite in earnest, and replied:
“My name is Colonel—, and my regiment is the—
Pennsylvania.”
“All right, Colonel; I see we understand each other. Now I
wish you would tell me anything you know that will interest
me.”
And laughing in his low fashion, the scout rode on with his
prisoner, whose good-humour gradually began to return. To
explain this, it may be conjectured that S—had not upon
this occasion encountered a very desperate son of Mars, but a
philosopher who contemplated the probabilities of an early
exchange, and submitted gracefully to his fate. In an hour the
scout and his prisoner had become quite sociable.
“That was a daring act of yours,” said the Colonel, “and
you have got out of this thing well.”
“I rather think so, Colonel.”
“I ought to have been more on my guard. Well done—
yes, very well done! especially going through my camp!”
It will be seen that the two had grown quite friendly, and
this amicable understanding continued uninterrupted. S—
had long since returned to the black leather holster that impolite
instrument first directed at his companion's breast, and they
rode on together in the friendliest manner imaginable, still
keeping in the woods.
Night thus surprised them; and no house being visible, a
proceeding took place which will seem to display the entente
cordiale between S— and his companion. They were both
sleepy; they determined to bivouac; and the scout simply took
his prisoner's parole not to attempt escape. Five minutes
afterwards they were sleeping side by side.
Rising at daylight, they proceeded on their way, and in a
few hours S— was within the Confederate lines with his
prisoner.
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S—is a scout who has had many very curious adventures, as
the narratives already laid before the reader will serve to show.
“He is not a “man of peace,” nor is his life a tranquil one.
While you, my dear quiet citizen, have been sleeping in your
comfortable bed, with the curtains drawn and the firelight shining
on Brussels carpeting and mahogany furniture, or luxuriously
stretching out your slippered feet toward the fender in
the breakfast-room, as you glance over the morning papers
before going to your cent. per cent. employments down town;
while you have been thus agreeably engaged, not knowing
what it is to wear a soiled shirt or miss a meal, or suffer from
cold or fatigue, S— has been in the saddle, hungry, weary,
exposed to rain and snow and storm, hunting Bluebirds.
Bluebird hunting is not a remunerative employment in a
pecuniary point of view, but it has its attractions. You don't
realize a hundred per cent. profit, and you run some risk; but the
blood flows faster and much more gloriously through the veins
than in trade, to say nothing of the “fuller life” it communicates
to all the faculties. But this is not denied. I proceed to
give a brief account of a recent scout which S— made into
the Federal lines:
One fine summer day in 1863 he took four men, made his
way unperceived across the Rappahannock, and soon reached
the neighbourhood of Warrenton. Leaving that place to his
left, he struck out with his party for the railroad, and coming
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near a Federal camp, placed his four men in ambush, and taking
a position on the road, awaited the appearance of some prey.
He had not waited long when a stray Federal cavalry-man came
along, and seeing S— dressed in a blue overcoat and Federal
accoutrements generally, had no fear of him. His confiding
simplicity was his ruin. When he had come within a few
yards S— “put his pistol on him,” in military parlance, and
took him prisoner, calling one of his men from the woods to
take charge of him. The captive had scarcely been conducted
into the underwood when two others appeared, coming from
the same direction, and S— determined to capture these also.
He called to the man who had taken charge of the prisoner;
but that worthy was too busy rifling the unfortunate bluebird,
and did not hear. S— then resolved to capture the two new
cavalry-men by himself. He accordingly advanced toward
them, when suddenly another came out of the woods and joined
them, making three. He still designed attacking them, when
another appeared, making four; and as these now approached
S— they suddenly drew their pistols, and levelling them,
ordered him to surrender. He was within five feet of them,
holding his pistol in his hand, and said colly:
“What do you mean?”
“We mean,” said the men, “that you are a guerilla, and you
are our prisoner.”
“I am no gnerilla,” was the reply.
“What do you belong to?”
“The First New Jersey.”
“Who commands it?”
“Major Janaway.”
“Right. Who commands the brigade?”
“Colonel Taylor.”
“Right again. Where is it stationed?”
“In the edge of Warrenton.”
“Yes. Who commands the division?”
“Look here,” said S—, who was throughly acquainted
with every part of his rôle, “I am tired of your asking me so
many questions; but I will answer. The First New Jersey is in
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Taylor's brigade, Gregg's division, and Pleasanton commands
the whole. I belong to the regiment, and am no guerilla.”
“He's all right, boys,” said one of the men; “let him go.”
“No,” said another; “I saw him capture one of our men ten
minutes ago.”
“You are mistaken,” said S—.
“You are a guerilla!” exclaimed the man.
“And how do I know you are not guerillas?” said S—;
“you have on blue coats, but let me see your pantaloons.”
They raised their coat-skirts and showed their blue regulation
pantaloons.
“Now show yours,” they said.
S— had foreseen, this, and readily exhibited his own, which
were those of a Federal officer.
“He's one of our officers, boys,” said the former spokesman.
“Yes, I am,” said S—, “and I'll report you all for this
conduct.”
“None of your talk,” said the incredulous cavalry-man. “I
know you are a guerilla, and you've got to go with us.”
“Very well,” returned S—; “the picket post is just down
the road. I'll take you there and convince you.”
“All right,” was the reply; and they ranged themselves, two
on each side, with drawn pistols, and all rode back.
S— now saw that it was neck or nothing. If he was conducted
to the picket he knew that his real character would be
discovered, his fate be a stout rope and a short shrift, and that
his body would soon be dangling from a tree as a warning to
all spies. He accordingly watched his chance, and suddenly
crossing his pistol over his breast, shot the man on his left
through the back; a second shot wounded a horse on his
right; and all four shot at him so close that their pistols nearly
touched him. Strange to say, not a ball struck him.
He then turned his horse and dashed back until he was opposite
the point where his men were concealed, when he
wheeled round, and they all stopped suddenly. S— coolly
crossed his leg over the pommel of his saddle, covered them
with his pistol, and said:
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“Now come on, you cowardly rascals! Charge me if you
dare! I'm certain of two of you.”
They remained consulting hurriedly within fifteen steps of
him for some minutes, and then turned round and rode back.
They had not gone fifty yards, however, when shame seemed
to overcome them; and whirling round, the three who were
unwounded charged him, firing as they came with their pistols.
S— charged forward to meet them, emptying his barrels in
quick succession; and the whole party turned their horses and
fled down the road, S— pursuing them with shouts, and firing
upon them until they had reached their picket post.
Such was S—'s curious adventure. There is no reason to
doubt it. Every army contains brave men and faint hearts.
S— seems to have encountered the latter.
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Cooke, John Esten, 1830-1886 [1867], Wearing of the gray: being personal portraits, scenes and adventures of the war. (E.B. Treat and Co., New York) [word count] [eaf521T].