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  A LITTLE UNION SCOUTBy JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS]

  I drank in the melody with a new sense of its wild andmelancholy beauty (_Page 56_)]

  A LITTLE UNION SCOUT

  By

  JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

  AUTHOR OF GABRIEL TOLLIVER,THE MAKING OF A STATESMANAND WALLY WANDEROON

  _Illustrated by George Gibbs_

  NEW YORKMcCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.MCMIV

  _Copyright, 1904, by_JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

  Published, April, 1904

  Copyright, 1904, by The Curtis Publishing Company

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  I drank in the melody with a new sense of its wildand melancholy beauty _Frontispiece_

  Facing page

  "He's tryin' to git away!" yelled Forrest in a voicethat could be heard all over the field 10

  "I want you to catch this fellow and fetch him to me" 38

  Whistling Jim ran into him head down like a bull 64

  I was wild with remorse and grief 96

  "If hate could kill you, you would fall dead from this horse" 110

  The leader ... had an evil-looking eye 138

  He had me covered 156

  A LITTLE UNION SCOUT

  I

  A young lady, just returned from college, was making a still-hunt inthe house for old things--old furniture, old china, and old books. Shehad a craze for the antique, and the older things were the moreprecious they were in her eyes. Among other things she found an oldscrap-book that her mother and I thought was safe under lock and key.She sat in a sunny place and read it page by page, and, when she hadfinished, her curiosity was aroused. The clippings in the oldscrap-book were all about the adventures of a Union scout whose namewas said to be Captain Frank Leroy. The newspaper clippings that hadbeen preserved were queerly inconsistent. The Northern and Westernpapers praised the scout very highly, and some of them said that ifthere were more such men in the army the cause of the Union wouldprogress more rapidly; whereas the Southern papers, though paying ahigh tribute to the dash and courage of the scout, were highly abusive.He was "one of Lincoln's hirelings" and as villanous as he was bold.

  The girl graduate at once jumped to the conclusion that there was astory behind the old scrap-book, else why should it be preserved by herfather, who had been a Confederate soldier? This idea no sooner tookshape than she became insistently inquisitive. As for her father, thevery sight of the scrap-book awoke the echoes of a hundredexperiences--long and dangerous rides in the lonely night, battles,sharp skirmishes and bitter sufferings.

  The story, such as it was, took shape in my mind, and I am afraid thatthe young girl had small difficulty in persuading me to tell it. Memorybrought before me the smiling features of Harry Herndon, my life-longfriend and comrade, the handsome face of Jack Bledsoe, one of ourcollege mates from Missouri, and the beautiful countenance of hissister, Katherine Bledsoe. These and a hundred other faces camecrowding from the past, and the story was told almost before I knew it.

  When Harry Herndon and I went to the wars we were somewhat belated. Theexcitement of '61 found us at college, where we had orders to remainuntil we had finished the course, and the orders came from one whom wehad never dared to disobey--Harry's grandmother. And then, when we wereready to go, she cut in ahead of our plans and sent us to the West withletters to General Dabney Maury, whom she had known when he was a boyand later when he was a young officer in the regular army.

  We were not ill-equipped for two raw youngsters; we had Whistling Jim,the negro, three fine horses, and more money than I had ever seenbefore. We went to General Maury and were most courteously received.The Virginia Herndons--Harry belonged to the Maryland branch--wererelated to him--and he liked the name. We caught the barest glimpse ofservice at Corinth, and were fortunate enough to be in a fewskirmishes, where we distinguished ourselves by firing at nothingwhatever.

  In the course of a few weeks General Maury was made commander of theDepartment of the Gulf, with headquarters at Mobile, where we sawservice as clerks and accountants. For my part, the life suited mepassing well, but Harry Herndon fretted so that we were soontransferred to the command of General Forrest, who was sadly in need ofmen. As it happened, we had little difficulty in finding our man. Wehad heard that he was in the neighborhood of Chattanooga, giving hismen and horses a much-needed rest; but on the way news came to us that,in spite of his brilliant achievements in the field, he had beendeprived of the choicest regiments of his brigade--men whom he hadtrained and seasoned to war. After this mutilation of his command, hehad been ordered to Murfreesborough to recruit and organize a newbrigade.

  Toward Murfreesborough, therefore, we made our way, falling in with anumber of Forrest's men who had been on a brief visit to their homes inAlabama and were now returning to their command. As we shortlydiscovered, the Union commanders in Tennessee mistook General Forrest'smovement to the neighborhood of Chattanooga for a retreat; for, shortlyafter he moved in that direction, an ambitious Federal officer askedand received permission to enter Northern Alabama with a force largeenough to worry the Confederate leader if he could be found. Theorganization and equipment of this force required a longer time thanthe Federal commander had counted on, and by the time it was ready tomove General Forrest, with the remnant of his command, was on his wayto Murfreesborough.

  In some way--the sources of his information were as mysterious as hismovements--General Forrest learned that a Federal force was making itsway toward Northern Alabama, and he did not hesitate to give it hisattention. Within a very short time he had followed and overtaken it,passing it on a road that lay parallel to its line of march. Then itwas that the Federal commander began to hear rumors and reports allalong his route that Forrest was making a rapid retreat before him. Itwas stated that his men were discontented and that the condition of hishorses was something terrible.

  One day, along toward evening, the Federal commander went into camp inthe neighborhood of a wooded hill that commanded the approach from thesouth. He felt sure that the next day would witness the rout andcapture of the Confederate who had for so long harassed the Federals inTennessee. As he came to the hill he passed within a few hundred yardsof Forrest's men, who were concealed in the woods. The Federals wentinto camp, while Forrest, leaving a part of his command in the enemy'srear, silently passed around his right flank.

  Now, it happened that Harry Herndon and myself, accompanied byWhistling Jim and the companions we had picked up on the way, werecoming up from the south. It happened also that we were following theroad leading through the valley to the left of the hill on which theopposing forces were stationed. It was very early in the morning, andas we rode along there was not a sound to be heard, save the jinglingof our bridles.

  The valley had more length than breadth, and was shaped something likea half-moon, the road following the contour of the crescent. We hadproceeded not more than a hundred yards along the road within thecompass of the valley when a six-pounder broke the silence with a bang,and a shell went hurtling through the valley. It seemed to be souncomfortably near that I involuntarily ducked my head.

  "Marse Cally Shannon," said Whistling Jim, the negro, addressing me,"what you reckon make dem white folks bang aloose at we-all, when weain't done a blessed thing? When it come ter dat, we ain't ez much ezspeaken ter um, an' here dey come, bangin' alo
ose at us. An' mo' dandat, ef dat ar bung-shell had 'a' hit somebody, it'd 'a' fetched sump'nmo' dan blood."

  Whistling Jim's tone was plaintive, but he seemed no more frightenedthan Harry was. Following the bang of the gun came the sharp rattle ofmusketry. We learned afterward that this firing occurred when theadvance guard of the Federal commander collided with Forrest's famousescort. We had no idea of the result of the collision, or that therehad been a collision. We had paused to make sure of our position andwhereabouts. Meanwhile, the little six-pounder was barking awayfuriously, and presently we heard a strident voice cut the morning air:"Go and tell Freeman to put his battery right in on that gun. I giveyou five minutes."

  "That's our man!" cried one of the troopers who had fallen in with uson our journey. Joy shone in his face as he urged his horse forward,and we followed right at his heels. In a moment we saw him leap fromhis horse and throw the bridle-reins to a trooper who was holding astring of horses. We gave ours to Whistling Jim to hold and ran forwardwith the man we had been following.

  We came right upon General Forrest--I knew him from the newspaperportraits, poor as they were. He was standing with his watch in hishand. He looked us over with a coldly critical eye, but gave us nogreeting. He replaced the watch in his pocket and waved his hand to abugler who was standing expectantly by his side. The clear notes rangout, and instantly there ensued a scene that baffles description. Therewas a rush forward, and Harry and I were carried with it.

  I could hear loud commands, and shouting, and the rattle of carbines,muskets, and pistols made my ears numb--but what happened, or when orwhere, I could no more tell you than the babe at its mother's breast. Icould only catch glimpses of the fighting through the smoke, and thoughI was as close to General Forrest as any of his men--right by his side,in fact--I could not tell you precisely what occurred. I could hearcries and curses and the explosion of firearms, but beyond that all wasmystery.

  I had time during the _melee_ to take note of the actions of GeneralForrest, and I observed that a great change had come over him. Hisface, which was almost as dark as an Indian's when in perfect repose,was now inflamed with passion and almost purple. The veins on his neckstood out as though they were on the point of bursting, and his blazingeyes were bloodshot. Above the din that was going on all around him hisvoice could be heard by friend and foe alike. I cannot even describe myown feelings.

  A courier rode up. He had lost his hat, and there was a spot of bloodon his chin. He reported that the Federals were making a desperateeffort on the extreme right. "He's tryin' to git away!" yelled Forrestin a voice that could be heard all over the field. "Tell Freeman totake his guns thar and shove 'em in right on top of 'em. We've got thebulge on 'em here, and we're coming right along."

  "He's tryin' to git away!" yelled Forrest in a voicethat could be heard all over the field.]

  And, sure enough, we began to find less and less resistance in front ofus, and presently I could see them running out into the valley, fillingthe road by which we had come.