“Andrew Harmon.”
“Well, Andrew, I wish all Yankees were like you. If they were, we should have no trouble [pg 249]whipping the North. I reckon you are about as big a coward as I ever met.”
Harmon, still white and trembling, did not answer; he was too thoroughly cowed.
Ride as hard as Morgan’s men could, when they neared Salineville Shackelford was pressing on their rear. They had either to fight or surrender.
“My brave boys, you have done all that mortals can do. I cannot bear to see you slaughtered. I will surrender.”
As Morgan said this his voice trembled. It was a word his men had never heard him use before.
“General, it is not all over for you,” cried Calhoun, his voice quivering with emotion. “Think of the joy of the Yankees if you should be captured. Let me take half the men. You take the other half and escape. I can hold the enemy in check until you get well away.”
Morgan demurred. “The sacrifice will be too great,” he said.
“You must, you shall consent. We will force you,” the cry went up from the whole command as from one man.
Morgan bowed his head, he could not speak. In silence he took Calhoun’s hand, tears gathered in his eyes, the first tears Calhoun ever saw there. There was a strong clasp, a clasp which seemed to say “It may be the last,” then, wheeling his horse, Morgan galloped swiftly away, followed by less than half of his six hundred.