The Boy Spy / A substantially true record of secret service during the war of the rebellion, a correct account of events witnessed by a soldier

by Joseph Orton Kerbey

As I have said before, there were several ladies in the Craig family, all of whom were present that evening; in addition there was a Miss Rose Maynard, who was the daughter of the loyal Congressman from that district. Their residence was on one of the main streets of the town, and at the time of which I write the Hon. Mr. Maynard was exiled to Congress at Washington. I will state here that I met him on my return to Washington, a few days later, when I gave him the latest news of his family.

Among the gentlemen present was a Mr. Buchanan, who was a Confederate soldier then stationed at Knoxville. He was, I think, the son of a Buchanan who had been a Minister to the Netherlands, under the former Democratic Administration. I mention him here, on account of his having been more recently from Washington than myself. I was able to gather from his talk to the ladies, in a general way, that he had in some way been acting as a sort of a spy for the Rebels; at least he had been in communication with those who were so engaged, and it was through his boastful talk of his family connections that I secured one of the most important secrets of my mission.

I will do Mr. Buchanan the justice and credit to say that he was an accomplished young gentleman. He had been abroad with his parents, or perhaps it was an uncle, and being raised, as it were, in the diplomatic world, he was, of course, able to conduct himself in a becoming way in the society of ladies. Indeed, he seemed to completely eclipse me for that evening with these ladies, but I was so filled with homesickness just then that I did not care so very much about it. One of Mr. Buchanan's happy accomplishments was his ability to recite, in what we all felt to be a perfectly delightful way, Poe's and Byron's poetry. Somebody had learned of his talent in this direction, so we kept the young fellow "going" right along.

Only one of his recitations remain in my memory, that of "Annabel Lee"; indeed, and in truth, I may say now with him, that "The stars never rise, but I see the bright eyes" of Miss Maggie, who seemed to be so much infatuated with him.

The younger Miss Craig and Buchanan were of the same mind on the war question. My gray uniform talked for me, while Miss Maggie, to my great delight, amused the parlor full of company with a ludicrous account of the battle of Mill Spring, or Fishing Creek, given her and her friend, by the Rebel troops from that section, who had participated in it.

It will be remembered that this little fight was one of the first, if not the very first, Union victory in the West. Zollicoffer was killed, and the Rebels retreated in the very worst disorder as far to the rear as Knoxville, Tennessee, over a hundred miles from the battlefield.

Miss Maggie told the story in her delightful way, appealing, as she went along, to her Rebel sister and others who were opposed to her side for confirmation as eye-witnesses to the ludicrous appearance of the Rebel soldiers as they rode back to town on mules—in their dirty, ragged clothes, many of them hatless, and sometimes two or three on one old mule.

To make it more interesting, she related, as a preliminary, how the gallant Secessionists had marched out of town but a few days before with a whoop and a hurrah, she declaring: "She felt sure those men would go straight through to Boston, and bring Lincoln back as they returned via Washington." The father, who had been quietly sitting back in the corner, enjoying Maggie's fun at her sister's and Mr. Buchanan's expense, broke his silence to add drily:

"Mr. Brownlow says, when they saw the Stars and Stripes and looked into the muzzles of the Union guns, they started to run, and didn't stop 'till they got to the other side of sundown."

If there are any readers of the Western armies who participated in Mill Spring or Fishing Creek, I can assure them that their little victory that day was a great God-send to thousands of the noblest-hearted Unionists of East Tennessee, who, from their hiding-places in the rocks and crevices of the mountains, saw the boastful Rebels run like wild sheep a hundred miles without stopping.