Byron Dunn - Raiding with Morgan

“Ah! in the days of knighthood to be unhorsed was to be defeated,” exclaimed Miss Osborne, gayly. “You must admit yourself vanquished!”

Haines laughingly replied: “I am sorry to disappoint you; but as I captured my enemy’s horse and he fled on foot, I cannot admit defeat.”

“Then your enemy was a solitary knight?” queried Miss Osborne.

“Yes, but to all appearances a most gallant one.”

“Strange,” she mused, “who he could be, and what he could be doing in this section. The place for true knights, at this time, is at Corinth.”

“From letters captured with his horse, I take it he was from Corinth,” said Haines. “From those letters we learned that his name was Calhoun Pennington, that he was a lieutenant in the command of Captain John H. Morgan, a gentleman who has given us considerable trouble, and may give us more, and that he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for Morgan’s command.”

“You say you captured letters?” queried the girl.

“Yes, a whole package of them. They were from members of Morgan’s command to their friends back in Kentucky. The boys are having rare fun reading them.”

“I suppose it is according to military usages to read all communications captured from the enemy,” remarked Miss Osborne with a slight tinge of sarcasm in her tone, “but it seems sacrilege that these private letters should fall into profane hands.”

“Some of them were rich,” laughed Haines; “they were written by loving swains to their girls. There were others written to wives and mothers, which almost brought tears to our eyes, they were so full of yearnings for home.”

“Lieutenant, there was nothing in those letters of value to you from a military standpoint, was there?” suddenly asked Miss Osborne.

“Nothing.”

“Then I have a great boon to ask. Will you not give them to me?”

“Why, Miss Osborne, what can you do with them?” asked Haines, in surprise.

“I can at least keep them sacred. Perhaps I can find means of getting them to those for whom they are intended. Think of those wives and mothers watching, waiting for letters which will never come. Oh! give them to me, Lieutenant Haines, and you will sleep the sweeter to-night.”

“Your request is a strange one,” said the Lieutenant; “yet I can see no harm in granting it. You can have the letters, but the boys may have destroyed some of them by this time.”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you! You will never regret your kindness. I shall remember it.”

“I only ask you to think better of Yankees, Miss Osborne; we are not all monsters.”

Dinner was now over, and Sergeant Latham came to report that the hour for the halt was up, and to ask what were the Lieutenant’s orders.

“Have the troop ready, and we will return to camp. I see nothing more we can accomplish here,” answered the Lieutenant.

The Sergeant saluted and turned to go, when the officer stopped him with, “Say, Sergeant, you can gather up all those letters we captured and send them up here with my horse.”

“Very well,” said the Sergeant, but he muttered to himself, as he returned, “Now, I would like to know what the Lieutenant wants of those letters. I bet he has let that girl pull the wool over his eyes.”

In a few moments a soldier appeared leading the Lieutenant’s horse.

The family had accompanied Lieutenant Haines to the porch. Stepping down to where his horse was, he said to the soldier, “You may return and tell Sergeant Latham to move the troop. I will catch up with you in a few moments. Did you bring the letters?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the soldier, saluting, and handing the package to his commander.

“Very well, you may go now.”

Lieutenant Haines stood and watched the soldiers while his order was being obeyed, for he did not wish to have any of his men see him give the package to Miss Osborne.

After his troop had moved off, Haines placed the bridle of his horse in the hands of a waiting colored boy, and returning to the porch where Mr. Osborne and the ladies still stood, said: “That is the horse I captured from my foe. He is a beauty, isn’t he? Jupiter was a splendid horse, but I do not think I lost anything by the exchange. Here are the letters, Miss Osborne; you see I have kept my promise,” and he reached out the package to her.

But before she could take them they were snatched from Haines’s hand, and a stern voice said, “I will take the letters, please.”

Had a bombshell exploded at Lieutenant Haines’s feet he would not have been more surprised, and his surprise changed to consternation when he found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Lieutenant Haines was no coward, but he was unarmed save his sword, and there was no mistaking the look in Calhoun’s eye. It meant death if he attempted to draw his sword.

As for Mr. Osborne, he seemed as much surprised as Lieutenant Haines. Miss Osborne gave a little shriek, and then cried. “Oh, how could you betray us!” and stood with clasped hands, and with face as pale as death.

Mr. Osborne was the first to recover from his surprise. “I know not who you are,” he said, “but Lieutenant Haines is my guest, and I will have no violence. Lower that weapon!”

Without doing so, Calhoun answered, “If I have done anything contrary to the wishes of those who have so kindly befriended me, I am sorry; but I could not withstand the temptation to claim my own. As it is, I will bid you good day.”

Thus saying, he dashed past them, and snatching the bridle of his horse from the negro boy, he vaulted into the saddle and was away at full speed.

For a moment not a word was spoken, and then Lieutenant Haines turned on Mr. Osborne and said, bitterly, “I congratulate you on the success of your plot. I will not be fool enough again to take the word of a Southern gentleman.”

Mr. Osborne flushed deeply, but before he could reply, his daughter sprang in front of him, and faced Lieutenant Haines with flashing eye.

“I will not have my father accused of deception and falsehood,” she cried. “He knew nothing of that Confederate being concealed in the house. I alone am to blame, and I told you nothing. I strove to entertain you and keep you from searching the house, and I accomplished my purpose.”

“And you got those letters from me to give to him?”

“Yes.”

Lieutenant Haines groaned. “It may be some satisfaction to you,” he said, “to know that this may mean my undoing, disgrace, a dishonorable dismissal from the service.”

“I shall take no pleasure in your dishonor,” she exclaimed, the color slowly mounting to her cheeks. “I did not intend that Lieutenant Pennington should show himself. It was his rashness that has brought all this trouble.”

“How can I return to camp without arms, without a horse? It would have been a kindness to me if your friend Lieutenant Pennington had put a bullet through my brain.”

Mr. Osborne now spoke. “Lieutenant Haines,” he said, “my daughter speaks the truth when she says I knew nothing of the Confederate officer being in my house. Had I known it, I should have tried to conceal him, to protect him; but I should not have invited you to be my guest. As my guest, you are entitled to my protection, and I shall make what reparation is in my power.” Then turning to the colored boy who had stood by with mouth and eyes wide open, he said, “Tom, go and saddle and bridle Starlight, and bring him around for this gentleman.”

“Surely you do not intend to give me a horse, Mr. Osborne,” said Haines.

“As my guest, I can do no less,” replied Mr. Osborne. “If Lieutenant Pennington had not taken his, I should have let him have one to continue on his way to Kentucky. So you see, after all, I am out nothing.”