CHAPTER XII.
Starts to find General Bragg's forces—"Wools" the secesh farmer—Receives a bottle of rum—Guerrillas washing stockings—Finds Bragg's advance—Recognized as a Yankee spy—Ordered off his mule to be shot—The clamor of the crowd—Recognized as a Confederate spy—Rebel Surgeon vouches for him—Is released—Gray-headed rebel brought to justice—The Sutler of the 2d Arkansas Cavalry a prisoner—What became of the guerrillas that were washing stockings.
The next trip that I made was under the following instructions from General Ross:
"I understand," said he, "by report from citizens, that General Bragg is coming this way with his forces, and I want to know whether he really is coming or not, and on what road and with how much force he is coming. I want you to go to Somerville, and if you find nothing there, go to Lagrange, and thence to Grand Junction, Saulsbury, Middleton, and Pocahontas, and then back. If you find a force at any place in your route, you will come immediately back and report. You will make the trip with as little delay as possible."
I received my instructions in the evening, and early the next morning, in the disguise of a well-dressed citizen, mounted on a mule, I was on my way. During the cool of the morning I traveled along at a smart trot, and by sunrise I had made about eight miles. When about twelve miles out, I was about passing a plantation house, when an old planter, who was feeding some hogs near the road, motioned me to stop.
"Good morning, stranger," said he, as I reined up.
"Good morning, sir."
"Where have you been?"
"Oh, ho, ho, ho; I have been to Bolivar," said I, laughing. "I have been there a week, and I know all about the Yankee forces in there, and now, if I can only find General Bragg, then I am all right!"
"Oh, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Won't you alight and come in?"
"Well, yes, I don't care if I do; for I have been riding since before daylight."
I dismounted and went in, and, as soon as I was seated, the old man inquired who I was.
"I have been acting the Yankee, and I belong to General Bragg's command."
"You do?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Well, do you ever drink any?"
"Oh, yes, I drink when I can get it; but a man is very fortunate to get it these times."
"I have got some nice rum here; will you try some of it?" (offering me a glass and bottle.)
"Yes, sir! I'll take a drink of rum."
"How did you manage to get into Bolivar?"
"Oh, I told them that I was a Union man, and wanted to go in and take the oath!"
"Well, there is right smart of them gets in that way, but there a'n't many of them that thinks it binding."
"You have taken the oath, I suppose."
"Yes, we all do that, in order to get along smoothly. But, come, breakfast is ready; sit up and eat some breakfast."
"Thank you; my ride this morning makes me quite hungry."
The breakfast was just what I wanted, and his invitation saved me the trouble of asking for it. When I had finished, said I,
"Mister, look 'e here; have you got any more of that 'divine, adorable stuff?'"
"Yes, I have got more of it in the cellar."
"Well, can't you bestow a little more of your hospitality on a fellow, in the shape of about a pint, to put in my pocket and take along?"
"Yes, certainly you can," spoke the planter's wife, "if I can find any thing to put it in." She then went in search of a bottle, and soon returned with a pint bottle filled with it, which she stowed away in my coat pocket with her own hands.
With a profusion of thanks and good wishes to them, I bade them adieu, and resumed my journey. Somewhere near three miles east of Somerville is a beautiful spring, that makes its exit from the ground beneath a group of shady elm trees. There I saw three men, engaged in washing their stockings! It is not usual for men to wash their own stockings in the ordinary peaceful avocations of life, and the fact of their being so engaged, and also dressed like citizens, was conclusive evidence to me that they were guerrillas. Riding down to the spring and dismounting, I said, pulling out my bottle, "Look 'e here, boys; here is a present that I received this morning; won't you try some of it?"
One of the men took the bottle and drank, and the other two declined, saying that they never drank. I then took a "little smile" myself, mounted my horse, and rode on.
Finding no troops at Somerville, on my arrival there, I continued on, taking the road that leads south to Lagrange, which place I reached late in the afternoon. There I found four regiments of infantry and two regiments of cavalry. They had just arrived, and had not yet thrown out any pickets. The advance cavalry had but just entered the town, and the other troops were coming in the distance.
I rode along into town among the soldiers, as familiarly as if I belonged in the place, and stopped near the drug store. Standing within a few feet of the drug store, was a large, corpulent, red-faced old man, with hair almost white, leaning upon a walking-staff; near by was a Colonel, dismounted, and leaning with his left hand upon his saddle; all about were cavalry soldiers, dismounted. As I reined up, the old man pointed to me, and said, "Colonel, there is a d—d Yankee spy; he ought to be shot. I know him, Colonel, and know that he is a Yankee spy."
"If he is a Yankee spy he shall be shot."
"I have seen him before. I know that he is a Yankee spy."
IF HE IS A YANKEE SPY I'LL HAVE HIM SHOT.
"A Yankee spy!" "A Yankee spy!" "Shoot him!" "Hang the d—d son of a b—h!" cried out the soldiers, rushing up to get a sight of me.
"Where do you belong?" inquired the Colonel.
"My home is in Osceola, Mississippi County, Arkansas; but I am from Memphis now."
"What are you doing here?"
"I have been out to Somerville, and beyond toward Bolivar, to see some friends."
"Yes, Bolivar," cried the old man; "the d—d rascal has just come from Bolivar, and there is where he belongs. I tell you, Colonel, I know him; I know that he is a Yankee spy."
"Well, if you know him to be a Yankee spy, I'll shoot him." (Addressing me, and drawing his revolver and cocking it:) "Get off from your mule."
I dismounted, and one of the soldiers led my mule to one side, and the crowd opened behind me. The excitement was intense, and the crowd dense, and, in its excitement, it swayed to and fro like an angry mob, and cries went up from every direction, "Hang him!" "Shoot him!" "Shoot the d—d rascal!" I can not picture the horror that filled me. In all that vast multitude, there was not a friendly eye to witness my doom. To escape was utterly impossible! Die I must by the hands of traitors, and my fate be wrapped in oblivion to my comrades and relatives! The color left my face and a cold tremor crept over me, and such indescribable sensations filled me as makes me shudder at this when I think of it.
Just then Doctor Biggs, surgeon of the 4th Tennessee Infantry, stepped out of the drug store to learn the cause of the excitement. As he came out, he saw me and recognized me as the Confederate spy that had been captured by the Federal pickets near his house, and who had eaten breakfast with him.
"Colonel, you are gwine to shoot the wrong man thar," said the doctor. "I know that ar man, and I know who he is and whar he belongs. He is no Yankee spy."
"I know that he is a Yankee spy," said the old man.
"I know better," said the doctor; "and if you kill him, you kill the wrong man. You ar not a gwine to find out his business; and if you kill him, he'll not tell you. I know that he is all right. I have seen him in a tighter place than he is in now." Then stepping to the soldier that held my mule, he snatched the bridle out of his hand, and, turning to me, he said: "Here, take your mule; they are not a gwine to shoot you." Then turning to the Colonel, and stamping his foot on the ground, he said: "You are not a gwine to shoot that man, for I know that he is all right!"
"Well, doctor, if you know that he is all right, and are willing to vouch for him, I'll let him go."
"I will vouch for him, for I know who he is." Then turning to me, he said: "Get on your mule and go about your business; they are not a gwine to hurt you."
I mounted my mule and the soldiers opened the way for me, and I went a sailing out of town; and I don't think I was very long in getting back to Bolivar.
I tell you, reader, in that Doctor Biggs I fully realized that "a friend in need was a friend indeed." His appearance at that critical moment was as unexpected as would have been a visit from an angel in heaven. When I reported to General Ross, I narrated to him my adventure.
"Bunker," said he, "don't you know that when you go out as a spy, you go, as it were, with a rope round your neck, ready for any body to draw it tight?"
"Yes, I think I had a slight hint of that fact on this trip."
I resolved that, if ever an opportunity offered, the old, gray-headed rebel at Lagrange should be brought to account for his treatment; so I went to the Provost-marshal and gave him a narrative of the adventure, and a description of the rebel, so that in case he should ever visit the place he might be captured.
About two months after the foregoing adventure occurred, Lagrange was occupied by Federal troops, and the same officer that was Provost-marshal in Bolivar now commanded the post at Lagrange. As I was passing along the streets, one day, I saw, not ten feet from the place where I first saw him, the old, gray-headed rebel, with his staff in his hand. His appearance was permanently stereotyped in my mind, and I could not be mistaken in the man who had so nearly deprived me of my life.
Drawing my revolver, I walked up to him, saying, "You d—d old, gray-headed rebel! do you remember the 'Yankee spy?' Do you 'know him' now? Have you 'seen him before?'"
"What do you mean?" said he; "I don't understand you!"
"You don't know what I mean! You don't remember telling the rebel Colonel, standing in the tracks where you now stand, 'I know him; I have seen him before; I know that he is a Yankee spy!' Don't tell me, you old, gray-headed villain, that you don't know what I mean! You start with me to the commander of the post, or I'll blow your brains out here!"
The old fellow led the way and I followed, with, my revolver cocked.
"Colonel," said I, as we entered his office, "here is the old, gray-headed devil that said to the rebel Colonel, 'Kill the Yankee spy;' and I have brought him in for you to dispose of."
"Bunker," said the Colonel, "a'n't you mistaken?"
"No, I a'n't! I know him, and I found him standing in the very place where he tried to have me shot!" Then turning to the old man, I said: "Didn't you tell the rebel Colonel that I was a Yankee spy, and try to have him shoot me? Tell me the truth, or I'll kill you right here!"
"Ye—yes, I—believe I—d-do—recollect it now."
"You old whelp! you deserve to be shot!" said the Colonel. "Here I have been guarding your house, and guarding your mules, and boarding with you; and you representing yourself to have always been a Union man, and the oath in your pocket that you took last summer!" Then turning to me, he said: "Bunker, I'll dispose of him as he ought to be."
"Thank you, Colonel, I wish you would."
The next morning the guards were removed from the old man's premises, and he was put aboard the cars, in irons, destined to go North.
A day or two afterward I happened to be passing by where a number of rebel prisoners were confined, and there I saw the sutler of the 2d Arkansas Cavalry (the regiment that I run with so long). The sutler knew me, and motioned to me to come in; so I got permission of the officer in charge to go in and see him. He still supposed that I was secesh.
"Ruggles," said he, "I am here under arrest as a guerrilla. Now, you know that I am no guerrilla, but a regularly authorized sutler in the 2d Arkansas Cavalry. I wish you would see the commander of the post and explain that fact to him, so that I may be treated as a prisoner of war, and not as an outlaw."
"Well, I will tell him what I know about it. Perhaps he will recognize you as a prisoner of war."
"Thank you! Do what you can for me. But, between you and I, (speaking confidentially,) I quit sutlering and joined a band of guerrillas, because I thought that I could make more money at it. It was all bad management that we got captured."
Just then another prisoner came up, and, taking me by the hand, said, "Don't you know me?"
"No, I don't remember you, as I know of."
"Do you remember of seeing three men at the spring, three miles east of Somerville, last summer, when you was riding by, and of offering them some rum to drink?"
"Oh, yes! I do recollect it now."
"Well, I am the man that drank with you, and the other two are here."
"Are they?"
"Yes. Now, you know that we are only citizens, and that we don't belong to any guerrilla band."
"Of course I do! You are no guerrillas!"
"If you please, I want to have you go and see the commanding officer, and tell him that we are not guerrillas, but peaceable, quiet citizens."
"Certainly, boys! I'll help you out of this, if I can?"
I went to the commander of the post and told him what "I knew about them," and did all I could to "get them out of that," and a few days after they were all sent North in irons.