University of Virginia Library

VI.
AN ADVENTURE WITH THE “BLUEBIRDS.”

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

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

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:

“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.