Byron Dunn - Raiding with Morgan

“No; go way wid ye, yo’ po’ white trash,” snapped the old negro woman, as she attempted to shut the door in his face.

“Chloe!”

The dish which she held in her hand went clattering to the floor. “Fo’ de land’s sake!” she cried, “if it isn’t Massa Calhoun. De Lawd bress yo’, chile! De Lawd bress you!” And she seized him and fairly dragged him into the house.

“Hush, Chloe, not so loud. Don’t tell father I am here yet. And, Chloe, don’t whisper I am here to a soul. If the Yankees found out I was here, they might hang me.”

“Oh, Lawd! Oh, Lawd! hang youn’ Massa?” she cried. “Ole Chloe tell no one.”

“That’s right, Aunt Chloe. Now bake those biscuits I see you are making, in a hurry. And make my favorite pie. I want to eat one more meal of your cooking. No one can cook like Aunt Chloe.”

“Yo’ shell hev a meal fit fo’ de king!” cried the old negress, her face all aglow.

“You must hurry, Chloe, for I can’t stay long. Now I will go and surprise father.” And surprise him he did. The old Judge could hardly believe the seeming country boy was his son.

“Where in the world did you come from?” he asked.

“From Corinth,” answered Calhoun. “I am now back to recruit for Morgan.”

“So you have joined Morgan, have you?”

“Yes. Now that Governor Johnson is killed, I know of no service I would like as well as to ride with Morgan.”

“You could have come home, my son.”

“Father! what do you mean? Come home while the South is bleeding at every pore? Come home like a craven while the contest is yet undecided?”

“I am wrong, my son; but it is so hard for you, my only child, to be in the army. Oh! that dreadful battle of Shiloh! The agony, the sleepless nights it has caused me! Thank God you are yet safe.”

“Yes, father, and I trust that the hand of a kind Providence will still protect me. But here is a letter from Morgan.”

The Judge adjusted his spectacles, and read the letter with much interest. “My son,” he said, after he had finished it, “it is well you were not captured with such letters on your person. It might have cost you your life. Even now I tremble for your safety. Does any one know you are in Danville?”

“Only Aunt Chloe, and she is as true as steel.”

“Yet there is danger. I know the house is under the closest surveillance. The Federal authorities know I am an ardent friend of the South, and they watch me continually. Morgan says in his letter that he hopes it will not be long before he will be in Kentucky.”

“And mark my word,” cried Calhoun, “it will not be! Before many weeks the name of Morgan will be on every tongue. He will be the scourge of the Yankee army. But, father, what of Uncle Dick and Fred?”

“Colonel Shackelford is at home minus a leg. The Federal authorities have paroled him. Fred is at home nursing him. Your uncle won imperishable honors on the field of Shiloh. What a pity he has such a son as Fred!”

Calhoun’s face clouded. The remembrance of his last meeting with Fred still rankled in his breast. “I never want to see him again,” he said.

The Judge sighed, “Oh, this war! this war!” he exclaimed; “how it disrupts families! You and Fred used to be the same as brothers. I thought nothing could come in between you and him. Calhoun, he is a noble boy, notwithstanding he is a traitor to his state and the South. They say he is going to resign from the army for the sake of his father. Won’t you go and see him?”

“No,” brusquely answered Calhoun, yet he felt in his heart he was wronging his cousin by his action.

Dinner was now announced by Aunt Chloe, and it did her honest old heart good to see the way that Calhoun ate.

“I jes’ believe dat air chile hab had nuthin’ to eat fo’ a week,” she declared.

“I reckon I shall have to go now,” said Calhoun, rising reluctantly from the table. “I have already made too long a visit for a country boy with eggs to sell. I declare, Aunt Chloe, I do believe I should kill myself eating if I stayed any longer.”

“No danger of dat, chile,” replied Aunt Chloe, grinning.

The words of parting were few. “Do be careful, my son,” said Judge Pennington, his voice trembling with emotion. “God only knows whether I shall ever see you again or not.”

As Calhoun started to leave, a pair of sharp eyes was watching him. Those eyes belonged to a pretty girl named Jennie Freeman. The Freemans were Judge Pennington’s nearest neighbors, but Mr. Freeman was as strong a Union man as the Judge was a Secessionist. Once the best of friends, a coldness had sprung up between them since the opening of the war.

Jennie was two years older than Calhoun, but they had been playmates from babyhood, and were great friends. Jennie called him her knight-errant. More than once he had carried a pair of black eyes in fighting her battles when some of the larger boys had teased her.

Jennie had seen the supposed country boy enter the kitchen of Judge Pennington, and there was something in his walk and manner which attracted her attention. “If that isn’t Cal Pennington I am a sinner!” she exclaimed to herself.

She was on the watch for him, and when he remained so long she became more than ever convinced that her suspicions were correct. At length the boy came out with his basket on his arm.

“Hi, there, boy! come here,” she called. “What have you to sell?”

Calhoun paid no attention to her call, but hurried on the faster.

“I tell you, boy, you had better come here if you know when you are well off!” she called, in a threatening voice, “Oh, I know you!”

Calhoun saw that he was discovered, and that his best way was to try to make peace with her. “What do yer want?” he growled, as he walked toward her. “I hev nuthin’ to sell; all sold out.”

“Well, I never!” said the girl as Calhoun came up. “Do you think I don’t know you, Cal Pennington? A pretty figure you cut in those old clothes, and with that basket. What in the world are you doing here?”

“Hush, Jennie, not so loud. If discovered, I might be hanged,” said Calhoun, in a low voice.

“Yankees don’t hang traitors; they ought to,” replied the girl, with a toss of her head.

“But don’t you see I am in disguise? I might be taken as a spy.”

“What are you but one? I ought to inform on you at once.”

“Jennie, you wouldn’t do that. I am only here to see father and mother. I had to come in disguise, or I might be taken prisoner by the Yankees.”

“And you are not here to spy? You know there are many rumors afloat?” asked the girl.

“Just here to visit father and mother. Can you blame me, Jennie?” As Calhoun said this his heart smote him, for while it was true he was in Danville for the purpose of visiting his parents, his mission to Kentucky was for an entirely different object.

“Now, Jennie, you won’t tell on me, will you?” he continued, in a coaxing tone.

“No, if you behave yourself; but don’t let me hear of any of your capers,” answered the girl.

“You won’t, Jennie. Good-bye. I may be able to do you a good turn one of these days.”

Jennie stood looking after him until he disappeared, then shaking her head, she went into the house, saying: “I couldn’t inform on him, if he is a Rebel.”

The next few days were busy ones for Calhoun. He visited Nicholasville, Lexington, Harrodsburg; had interviews with a large number of prominent Secessionists; found out, as near as possible, the number of Federal troops garrisoning the different towns; in fact, gathered information of the utmost value to Morgan if he should ever raid Kentucky.

But all these things could not be done without rumors reaching the Federal authorities. It was known that the Southern element was extremely active; that recruiting for the Confederate army was going on; and at last, the name of Calhoun Pennington was mentioned. Some one who knew him well declared that he had seen him, and it was common report he was back recruiting for Morgan’s command. The Federal commander at Danville was ordered to keep a close watch on the house of Judge Pennington to see if it was not visited by his son.