CHAPTER XVIII.
THE RIDE OF THE SIX HUNDRED.
What Morgan’s thoughts were, what his hopes were, as he rode away from that fatal field at Buffington Island, no one knows. With him rode six hundred, all that were left of three thousand. He could have had no thoughts of attempting to cross the Ohio anywhere near Buffington Island, for he rode almost due north. It may have been he thought that he might cross near Wheeling or higher up, and escape into the mountains of Western Pennsylvania; or as a last resort, he might reach Lake Erie, seize a steamboat, and escape to Canada. Whatever he thought, north he rode, through the most populous counties of Ohio. And what a ride was that for six hundred men! Foes everywhere; Home Guards springing up at every corner; no rest day or night.
Close in his rear thundered the legions of General Shackelford, a Kentuckian as brave, as fearless, as tireless as Morgan himself. But in spite of all opposition, in spite of foes gathering on right and left and in front, Morgan rode on, sweeping through the counties of Meigs, Vinton, Hocking, Athens, Washington, Morgan, Muskingum, Guernsey, Belmont, Harrison, Jefferson, until he reached Columbiana County, where the end came.
At almost every hour during this ride the six hundred grew less. Men fell from their horses in exhaustion. They slept as they rode, keeping to their saddles as by instinct. The terrible strain told on every one. The men grew haggard, emaciated. When no danger threatened, they rode as dead men, but once let a rifle crack in front, and their sluggish blood would flow like fire through their veins, their eyes would kindle with the excitement of battle, and they would be Morgan’s fierce raiders once more.
As for Calhoun, it seemed as if he never slept, never tired. It was as if his frame were made of iron. Where danger threatened there he was. He was foremost in every charge. It looked as if he bore a charmed life. The day before the end came he was scouting on a road, parallel to the one on which the main body was travelling. Hearing shots, he took a cross-road, and galloped at full speed to see what was the trouble. A small party of Home Guards were retreating at full speed; one far in advance of the others was making frantic efforts to urge his horse to greater speed. Calhoun saw that he could cut him off, and he did so, reaching the road just as he came abreast of it. So intent was the fellow on getting away he did not notice Calhoun until brought to a stand by the stern command, “Surrender.”
In his surprise and terror, the man rolled from his horse, the picture of the most abject cowardice Calhoun ever saw. He fairly grovelled in the dust. [pg 248]“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” he cried, raising his hands in supplication. “I didn’t want to come; they forced me. I never did anything against you.”
Dismounting Calhoun gave him a kick which sent him rolling. “Get up, you blubbering calf,” he exclaimed, “and tell us what you know.”
The fellow staggered to his feet, his teeth chattering, and trembling like a leaf.