University of Virginia Library

II.
HUNTED DOWN.

1. I.

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

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

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

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

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 half-closed
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

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

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.

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

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

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

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;

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

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.