Raiding with Morgan Part 31

"Now, answer my questions, and see that you tell the truth," said Calhoun.

"Are there any forces in front of us?"

"N-not-not as I know," he managed to say.

"Do you know the shortest road to Salineville?"

"Yes; yes."

"Will you guide us there if I spare your life?"

"Anything, I will do anything, if you won't kill me," he whined.

"Very well, but I will exchange horses with you, as I see you are riding a fine one, and he looks fresh," remarked Calhoun.

The exchange was made, and then Calhoun said, "Now lead on, and at the first sign of treachery, I will blow out your brains. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I will take you the shortest road."

"What's your name," asked Calhoun, as they rode along.

"Andrew Harmon."

"Well, Andrew, I wish all Yankees were like you. If they were, we should have no trouble whipping the North. I reckon you are about as big a coward as I ever met."

Harmon, still white and trembling, did not answer; he was too thoroughly cowed.

Ride as hard as Morgan's men could, when they neared Salineville Shackelford was pressing on their rear. They had either to fight or surrender.

"My brave boys, you have done all that mortals can do. I cannot bear to see you slaughtered. I will surrender."

As Morgan said this his voice trembled. It was a word his men had never heard him use before.

"General, it is not all over for you," cried Calhoun, his voice quivering with emotion. "Think of the joy of the Yankees if you should be captured.

Let me take half the men. You take the other half and escape. I can hold the enemy in check until you get well away."

Morgan demurred. "The sacrifice will be too great," he said.

"You must, you shall consent. We will force you," the cry went up from the whole command as from one man.

Morgan bowed his head, he could not speak. In silence he took Calhoun's hand, tears gathered in his eyes, the first tears Calhoun ever saw there.

There was a strong clasp, a clasp which seemed to say "It may be the last," then, wheeling his horse, Morgan galloped swiftly away, followed by less than half of his six hundred.

There was not a moment to lose, for the Federals were already charging down with triumphant cheers, confident of an easy victory. Calhoun had posted his men well, and a withering volley sent the Federals reeling back. They charged again, only to recoil before the fierce fire of the Confederates. There was now a lull in the fighting. Calhoun saw that they were flanking him on the right and left. "Charge!" he shouted, and the little band were soon in the midst of their enemies. The Federals closed in around them. There was no way to retreat. Calhoun's men, seeing how hopeless the fight was, began to throw down their arms.

"Surrender," cried a fine-looking officer to Calhoun, who, well in front, was fighting like a demon. Even in that h.e.l.l of battle Calhoun knew the officer. It was Mark Crawford, the captain whose horse he had captured in Tennessee, and whom he afterwards took prisoner at Cave City. But the captain was wearing the shoulder-straps of a major now.

"Never!" shouted Calhoun, in answer to the summons to surrender, and with sword in hand, he spurred forward to engage Crawford in single combat. But that officer had a revolver in his hand, and he raised it and fired.

Calhoun felt as if he had been struck on the head with a red-hot iron. He reeled in his saddle, and then fell forward on his horse's neck. His sword dropped from his nerveless hand. His horse, wild with fear and not feeling the restraining hand of a master, broke through the ranks of the Federals, and bore him out of the conflict.

Still clinging to the neck of his horse and the horn of his saddle, he kept his seat. He straightened himself up, but the blood streaming over his face blinded him, and he saw not where he was going. Neither did he realize what had happened, for the shock of his wound had rendered him half-unconscious. His mind began to wander. He was a soldier no longer, but a boy back in Kentucky running a race with his cousin Fred.

"On! on! Salim," he weakly shouted; "we must win, it is for the Sunny South we are racing."

The horse still ran at full speed, his glossy coat dripping with perspiration, his nostrils widely distended and showing red with blood.

But his pace began to slacken. Darkness gathered before the eyes of Calhoun. "Why, it's getting night," he murmured; "Fred, where are you?"

Lower still lower he sank, until he was once more grasping the neck of his horse. A deadly faintness seized him, total darkness was around him, and he knew no more.

With Calhoun gone, all resistance to the Federals ceased. Of the six hundred, who had ridden so far and so well, fully one-half were prisoners.

The Federals were greatly chagrined and disappointed when they found that Morgan was not among the prisoners. The man they desired above all others was still at liberty. "Forward," was the command, and the pursuit was again taken up.

With the remnant of his command, Morgan was nearing New Lisbon. If there were no foes before him there was still hope. From a road to the west of the one he was on, a cloud of dust was rising. His guide told him that this road intersected the one he was on but a short distance ahead. His advance came dashing back, saying there was a large body of Federal troops in his front. From the rear came the direful tidings that Shackelford was near. Morgan saw, and his lip quivered. "It is no use," he said, "it is all over."

The ride of the six hundred had ended-a ride that will ever live in song and story.

"Morgan has surrendered! Morgan is a prisoner!" was the news borne on lightning wings all over the entire North.

What rejoicing there was among the Federals! The great raider, the man they feared more than an army with banners, was in their power.

CHAPTER XIX.

AN ANGEL OF MERCY.

In front of one of the most beautiful and stately farm-houses in Columbiana County stood a young girl. With clasped hands and straining eyes she was gazing intently down a road which led to the west. The sound of battle came faintly to her ears. As she listened, a shudder swept through her slight frame.

"My brother! My brother!" she moaned, "he may be in it. O G.o.d of battles, protect him!"

She would have made a picture for an artist as she stood there. The weather being warm, she wore a soft, thin garment, which clung in graceful folds around her. Her beautifully rounded arm and shapely shoulders were bare. Her luxuriant hair, the color of sun-beams, fell in a wavy ma.s.s to her waist. Her eyes, blue as the sky, were now troubled, and a teardrop trembled and then fell from the long lashes.

As she looked, the sound of battle became fainter, and then ceased altogether. But down the road, a mile away, a little cloud of dust arose.

It grew larger and larger, and at last she saw it was caused by a single horseman who was coming at a furious pace. Was the rider a bearer of ill tidings? No, there was no rider on the horse. He who rode must have been killed. It might be her brother's horse; she grew sick and faint, but still she gazed. The horse came nearer; he was slackening his speed. Yes, there was some one on the horse-a man-but he had fallen over on the saddle, and his arms were around the horse's neck.

It must be her brother, wounded unto death, coming home to die, and she gave a great convulsive sob. Then like a bird she flew to the middle of the road. She saw that the horse's mane and shoulders were dripping with blood, that the rider's hair was clotted with it.

As the horse came to her it stopped, and the rider rolled heavily from the saddle. With a cry she sprang forward and received the falling man; but the weight of Calhoun, for it was he, bore her to the earth. She arose, screaming for help. There was no one in the house except a colored servant, who came rushing out, and nearly fainted when she saw her mistress. No wonder, for the girl's dress and arms were dripping with blood.

"Oh! Missy Joyce! Missy Joyce!" wailed the colored woman, "what's de mattah? Be yo' killed?"

"No, no, this soldier-he is dead or dying. Oh, Mary, what can we do?"

But help was near. A couple of neighbors had also heard the sound of battle, and were riding nearer that they might learn the result.