“It is best to have one. Most of us have standing permits to come and go in the city as we please.”
“Can you get me a permit?” asked Calhoun, eagerly.
“There is Jim Grantham,” replied Kate, thoughtfully; “his description will suit Calhoun close enough. I can get Jim to loan you his.”
Calhoun was now told that the Southern people in Nashville were thoroughly organized into a secret society. They had their signs and pass-words, so that they could know each other. So far no one had proved a traitor. The Federal authorities suspected that such an organization existed, but their shrewdest detectives never succeeded in finding out anything about it.
Kate, who had gone for the permit of James Grantham, soon returned with it. The description fitted Calhoun almost as well as if made out for himself. He could now walk the streets of Nashville with little fear of arrest.
He was given a list of those who could most probably give him the information he desired. He marvelled to see how quickly a little sign which he gave was answered, and was amazed at the work this secret organization was doing. Not a regiment entered or left Nashville but they knew its exact strength, and to what point it was ordered.
In two days Calhoun had gathered information which would be of vast value to the Confederate cause, and it was now time for him to see by what means he could leave the city. He was on his way to see three gentlemen who said they could get him outside of the city without trouble or danger, when an incident happened which came near sending him to the gallows. He was walking unconcernedly along the street, when he suddenly came face to face with Haines, now a captain. Although Calhoun was dressed in citizen’s clothes, the captain knew him at a glance.
“A spy! A spy!” he yelled at the top of his voice, and made a grab at Calhoun. Calhoun struck him a tremendous blow which sent him rolling in the gutter, and fled at the top of his speed.
But a score of voices took up the cry, and a howling mob, mostly of soldiers, were at his heels. He hoped to reach the river, where among the immense piles of stores heaped along the levee, or among the shipping, he might secrete himself, but a patrol guard suddenly appeared a block away, and his retreat was cut off. He gave himself up for lost, and reached for a small pistol which he carried, [pg 172]with the intention of putting a bullet through his own heart; “for,” thought he, “they shall never have the pleasure of hanging me before a gaping crowd.”
Just then he saw two young ladies standing in the open door of a house. What told him safety lay there he never knew, but hope sprang up within his breast. Dashing up the steps, he thrust the ladies back into the house, slammed the door to, and locked it. So rude was his entrance, one of the ladies fell to the floor.