V.
HOW S— CARRIED OFF A FEDERAL FIELD-OFFICER.
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 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
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
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 tree-trunk
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
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.”
“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.
