Riding cautiously as near the town as I could prudently, I took a good survey of it, but did not add much to my store of knowledge. Meeting an old darkey coming along the road, I stopped him, and in a low tone asked several questions as to what troops occupied the place, and if the bridge at town was in good repair. He informed me that the place was occupied by Morgan's Battalion of Cavalry and part of Wharton's Hangers; that some of them were quartered in the town, but the larger part were camped on the south side of the river, and were picketing the bridge, which was in good condition.
I had now accomplished all that I had been sent to do. I had learned all about every bridge, and had explored every approach to Shelbyville from the north side of the river. Feeling glad that my dangerous duty was over, with a feeling of relief I turned my horse's head once more toward Murfreesboro', where in imagination I could see "old Starry," poring over his maps by candle light, perhaps impatiently awaiting my arrival; but I was, as railroad men say, "on time," so I did not give myself any uneasiness on that score. I had not ridden more than three hundred yards when I saw a couple of men step into the road only a few yards ahead of me, and then facing me they commanded me to "halt." Knowing that death was my portion if captured in that disguise, I instantly spurred my animal forward at a charge, straight upon them. When within about two jumps of them, I fired on the right hand man, when he gave an exclamation of pain and let his gun fall, and the next jump my horse struck him full in the breast with his knees and knocked him high in the air, and as he fell to the ground cleared his body with a bound. The left hand man fired as I passed, and so close were we to each other that the powder from his gun stung my face like fine shot. Seeing more men in the cedars on the right, I threw myself down, Comanche fashion, with my head by my horse's breast, but not a second too soon, for they sent a dozen balls whistling after me. Driving the spurs into my horse, I urged him to his utmost for about three miles, when I then checked up, to see if I was pursued; but I heard no more of the rebels that night, and pursued my way unmolested to camp, where I arrived just as the General was eating his breakfast. I do not know who it was that was firing on me, unless I had blundered inside of the rebel pickets in the dark. The General was very glad that I escaped so well, and praised me to all the officers for venturing so far. But I soon had additional cause to feel proud, for my party of scouts were the first Yankees into Shelbyville, where we captured a bank and put it under charge of a guard until relieved by the authorities. This was the only institution in Tennessee which could redeem its notes; and I afterward learned that it did redeem its entire circulation in United States currency.
The rebels soon got over their scare and began to trouble us again. I scouted the country a good while as Captain Bonham, of the 1st Louisiana Cavalry, but I accomplished nothing more worthy of narration, except that I had a few single-handed combats with members of Morgan's command.
CHAPTER XVIII.
TRIP TO DECATUR—LIVELY ADVENTURES.
On the 8th of April I was sent by General Mitchell down to Decatur, to get information as to the state of the country, and to destroy the railroad bridge at that point, if possible. I set out for Shelbyville, mounted on old Punch, my pet horse, properly armed and fully equipped with turpentine and matches, to do the required work. "Old Starry," (our pet name for General Mitchell), "blowed me up" that morning for being slow, which was the only time he was ever out of humor with me. He had given me a fine horse the day before, and I told him I was trying him to see if he was suitable for the trip; and that he was not to be trusted, and I would, consequently, have to ride old Punch.
This horse, for his services, deserves especial mention, and I will, therefore, describe him. He was a Spanish brown, fifteen hands high, with black legs, mane and tail. He was no fancy horse, but heavy and substantial, with a good honest trot, a fast walk and never failing wind. I had drawn him at Camp Gurley, and trained him to suit my purpose.
Near to the town of Fayetteville, in Lincoln county, Kentucky, night overtook me, and I left the road a short distance and slept in the woods. This was on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning I rode into town. The citizens were astonished to see a single man dressed in full Yankee costume—blue jacket, blue blouse and blue pants—and armed with the well known Yankee accoutrements, venture among them. They gathered about me in a great crowd, and seemed to regard it as the freak of a madman; but on approaching me at the hotel, they found me entirely rational, cool, and of decent deportment, and they at once changed their minds, and took me for one of their own men in disguise. Seeing that it was my best plan to encourage this belief, I ordered my breakfast, went to the stable to see my horse fed, and then returned to my room at the hotel. There were about three hundred men gathered on the sidewalk to ascertain what the strange arrival meant, and to hear the news; and they were watching me with eager interest. I felt that I was playing a delicate game, with my neck in a halter. If they had only known my true character, they would but too gladly have hanged me to the nearest tree. They asked me my name, which I told them; next my regiment, and with a swaggering air, I said: