  “Is this General Shackelford?” asked Calhoun of a distinguished-looking Confederate officer. “It is; what can I do for you, my boy? You look as if you had been seeing hard times.” “I have,” answered Calhoun; “I have just escaped from the North. I am one of Morgan’s men.” “Are you one of the officers who escaped with Morgan?” asked the General, with much interest. “Yes and no. I was not in prison with Morgan, but I escaped South with him.” “I had a nephew with Morgan,” continued the General. “We have not heard from him since Morgan was captured. The report is that he was killed in the last fight that Morgan had before he was captured. Poor Cal!” and the General sighed. “Uncle Dick, do you not know me?” asked Calhoun, in a broken voice. General Shackelford stared at Calhoun in astonishment. “It cannot be, yes, it is Cal!” he exclaimed, and the next moment he had Calhoun by the hand, and was nearly shaking it off. “And you have been in a Northern prison, have you?” asked the General. [pg 311]“No, but I was wounded near unto death. Fortunately I fell into kind hands.” “But your looks, Cal; you are nothing but skin and bones.” “No wonder. I have not had enough to eat in the last seven days to keep a bird alive. Then I was none too strong when I started on my journey south.” “Tell me about it some other time,” said the General. “What you want now is rest and something to eat.” And rest and food Calhoun got. When he came to tell his story it was listened to with wonder. He was taken to General Joseph E. Johnston, then in command of the Confederate forces around Dalton, and the story was repeated. “You know, I presume,” said Johnston, “that Morgan escaped, and is now in Richmond.” “Yes, I long to be with him,” answered Calhoun. “I feel as strong as ever now.” “Do not be in a hurry to report,” said Johnston. “Wait until you hear from me.” In a few days Calhoun received a message from General Johnston saying he would like to see him. Calhoun lost no time in obeying the summons. He was received most cordially. “In the first place, Captain,” said the General, “allow me to present you this,” and he handed him his commission as captain in the Confederate army. Calhoun choked, he could only stammer his thanks. But what came next astonished him still [pg 312] Calhoun knew not what to say; it was a place of the greatest honor, but he hated to leave Morgan. “Will you let me consult my uncle before I give an answer?” asked Calhoun. “Most certainly,” replied the General. “Accept it, by all means, Cal,” said General Shackelford when Calhoun appealed to him. “In the first place, it is your duty to serve your country in the place where you can do the most good. There is no question but that at the head of the Secret Service you can render the country vastly better service than you can riding with Morgan. In the next place, I fancy it will not be exactly with Morgan as it was before his unfortunate raid. His famous raiders are prisoners, or scattered. It will be impossible for him to gather another such force. They understood him, he understood them. This will not be the case with a new command. Then, this is for your ear alone, Calhoun, the authorities at Richmond are not satisfied with Morgan. In invading the North he disobeyed orders; and this, those high in authority cannot overlook.” So, with many regrets, Calhoun decided to accept the offer of General Johnston; but for many days his heart was with his old chieftain. The [pg 313] In June, 1864, Morgan made his last raid into Kentucky. At first he was successful, sweeping everything before him. He had the pleasure of taking prisoner General Hobson, the man who had tracked him all through his Northern raid. But at Cynthiana he met with overwhelming defeat, his prisoners being recaptured, and he escaping with only a small remnant of his command. On the morning of the 4th of September, 1864, the end came. General Morgan was slain in battle at Greenville, East Tennessee. Calhoun mourned him as a father, when he heard of his death. It was long months afterwards before he heard the full particulars, and then they were told him by an officer who was with the General on that fatal morning. “We marched into Greenville,” said the officer, “and took possession of the place on the afternoon of the 3d. There was a small company of Yankees within four miles of us, but there was no considerable body of Yankees nearer than Bull’s Gap, sixteen miles away. The General established his headquarters at the house of a Mrs. Williams, the finest house in the little city. “In the evening a furious storm arose and con[pg 314] “But there were traitors in Greenville, and they carried the news to the little company of Yankees four miles away that Morgan was in the city, and told at what house he lodged. Two daring young cavalrymen volunteered to carry the news to General Gillem at Bull’s Gap. Talk about the ride of Paul Revere, compared to the ride of those two Yankees! Buffeted by wind and rain, one moment in a glaring light and the next in pitch darkness, with the thunder crashing overhead, in spite of wind and rain, those two cavalrymen rode the sixteen miles by midnight. “The command was aroused. What if the rain did pour and the elements warred with each other? Morgan was the prize, and by daylight Gillem’s soldiers had reached Greenville. So complete was the surprise that the house in which the General slept was surrounded before the alarm was given. Then thinking only of joining his men, the General leaped out of bed, and without waiting to dress, seized his sword and dashed out of the house, seeking to escape by the way of the garden. But he was seen by a soldier and shot dead. The news that Morgan was killed seemed to go through the air. It was known in an incredibly short time by both sides. [pg 315]“Now,” said the officer, “occurred one of the most singular circumstances I know of during the war. There was no flag of truce, no orders to cease firing, yet the firing ceased. The Confederates gathered together, and marched out of the city; the Federals marched in; the two were close together, within easy musket range, but not a shot was fired. It seemed as if both sides were conscious that a great man had fallen, a gallant soul fled, and that even grim war should stay his hand.” It is not within the scope of this book to follow Calhoun through the last year of the war. Suffice it to say, that in the enlarged sphere of his new position, his genius found full scope. He was all through the Atlantic campaign, where for four months the thunder of cannon never ceased, and where seventy-five thousand men were offered as a sacrifice to the god of war. He followed Hood in his raid to the rear of Sherman’s army, and then into Tennessee. He was in that hell of fire at Franklin, where fell so many of the bravest sons of the South. At Nashville he was among those who tried to stem the tide of defeat, and was among the last to leave that fatal field. When the remnants of Hood’s army were gathered and marched across the states of Alabama and Georgia into North Carolina, hoping to stay the victorious progress of Sherman, Calhoun was with them. Not until the surrender of Lee and Johnston did Calhoun give up every hope of the independence of the South. But the end came, and in bitter anguish [pg 316] Even the victors stood in silence over the grief of those whom they had met so many times in battle. They were brothers now, and they took them by the hand and bade them be of good cheer, and divided their rations with them. The soldiers who had fought each other on so many bloody fields were the first to fraternize, the first to forget. When Calhoun gave his parole, he met his cousin Fred, who was on General Sherman’s staff. The meeting was a happy one for Calhoun, for it served to dispel the gloom which depressed his spirits. It seemed to be like old times to be with Fred again. Nothing would satisfy Fred, but that Calhoun should return home by the way of Washington. He consented, and was in Washington at the time of the Grand Review. All day long he watched the mighty armies of Grant and Sherman, as with steady tread they marched through the streets, showered with flowers, greeted with proud huzzahs. And then he thought of the home-coming of the ragged Confederates, and the tears ran down his cheeks. But as he looked upon the thousands and thousands as they marched along, and remembered [pg 317] |
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