CHAPTER X
HUNTING FOR BUSHWHACKERS
EARLY in September, 1864, after Admiral Porter had been transferred to the North Atlantic Squadron, I was ordered from the Benton to the command of the United States steamer Tyler, relieving Lieutenant Commander Edward Pritchett, who, in command of the Tyler, had also been in charge of the White River division of the Mississippi Squadron.
The Tyler, like the Benton, was a ship with a history. She was one of the two steamers that had performed such excellent service at the battle of Pittsburg Landing; and the navy claimed that those two boats really saved the day on the 6th of April, by keeping a large body of Albert Sidney Johnston’s army in check and covering our disorganized troops that had been driven down to the bank of the river. By thus preventing the rebel attack until the next day, Buell was enabled to effect a junction with Grant, and then turn what had been a check to our arms into a decided victory for the Union. It is quite certain that Grant in his dispatches spoke in very high terms of the service rendered by the gunboats on that occasion.
The Tyler was a large high-pressure wooden steamer, entirely unarmored, her wheels unusually far aft, and with two very tall smokestacks. In fitting her for the naval service she had been divested of all her upper or “hurricane deck” and “texas,” thus giving her a flush spar deck three quarters of her length, with a spacious poop deck, raised some six feet, which afforded comfortable cabins for the commander.
She mounted ten 8-inch guns of sixty-three hundredweight on the berth deck, a 30-pound Parrott rifle on the forecastle, and two brass 12-pounders on the poop. This was a very formidable battery for a river steamer; and as she was very high out of the water, when the river was at a good stage her guns commanded the low banks and could sweep the level country for a great distance.
Captain Pritchett was a very vigilant and active young officer, and he kept the Tyler in a high state of efficiency, and nearly always in motion, so that she had earned from the Confederates the name of the “Black Devil,” from her color and her apparent ubiquity.
Late in October, 1864, Major-General E. R. S. Canby, who was at the time in command of the military division of the West Mississippi, with headquarters at New Orleans, came up to White River on the passenger steamer General Lyon on a tour of inspection of our army in Arkansas. Brigadier-General Maginnis was in command of ten thousand United States troops encamped at the mouth of White River.
This point was also my headquarters with the Tyler; and as I happened to be there at the time, I made an official call upon General Canby, which he returned, and he afterward dined with me on board my ship.
In this way I came to know that a movement of our army up the White River in force was contemplated, with a view of flanking General Dick Taylor and thus retrieving, if possible, the laurels lost in the unfortunate campaign up the Atchafalaya earlier in the season.
General Canby, was very anxious to make a personal reconnaissance of the White River. So, at his request, I dispatched the Hastings up the river with the general and his staff on the morning of November 3, that he might obtain a clear idea of the proposed field of operations.
All went well with the expedition until the following day, when, in passing close in to the bank at a bend in the river, a concealed guerrilla fired at the general, who was seated on a camp-stool on the upper deck of the boat, and wounded him very severely in the thigh.
Our steamer at once opened fire upon the bushwhacker, but he escaped into the adjoining woods, evidently uninjured. As the general was found to be suffering severely from his wound and the surgeon was unable to extract the ball, Captain Rogers very properly decided to return at once to White River station.
Upon the arrival of the Hastings a consultation of army surgeons was held on board, and it was their unanimous opinion that the general could not be moved with safety, and that he must be sent down to New Orleans at once.
Accordingly General Maginnis came to me and expressed an earnest desire to have the Hastings sent down the river.
This was clearly beyond my authority, as the limits of our division only extended to Natchez, and from there to New Orleans the river was in charge of vessels of another squadron. But realizing the exigency, I first obtained an official requisition from General Maginnis, and then, severing the red tape, sent the Hastings off with the sorely wounded officer on my own responsibility.
After several months General Canby recovered and wrote me a very charming note from New Orleans acknowledging what he was pleased to call my courtesy, and in due time the Navy Department, with much less warmth, also acknowledged my official report of what I had done and condoned my unwarranted assumption of authority in consideration of the circumstances. So every one was satisfied excepting Captain Rogers. That gentleman, however, seemed to feel himself personally aggrieved in having had his steamer bushwhacked, and nothing would satisfy him but an attempt at retaliation.
A Union scout, who had been on a mission up the White River lately, came into our camp, and from him we learned that the cowardly shot that wounded General Canby had been fired by a man named Kane, who lived near by the point where he had bushwhacked our steamer. Graves said that Kane boasted of having shot the general, and the scout informed us that his house was the headquarters for all the guerrillas of the neighborhood, who were but little better than robbers, as they were largely Confederate deserters, and preyed upon their own people as well as upon the “Yanks,” as we were called.
After talking the matter over with Rogers and Graves, I consented to join in an effort to capture Kane and his gang, and I detailed my executive officer, Mr. Wilson, with fifty men to accompany me with Captain Rogers in the raid.
As there was no moon, we decided to make the attempt at once; and as we wished to reach Kane’s house late at night, we started at a very early hour in the morning, no information of the projected raid being given out, as such news had a way of traveling overland to the Confederates in a most unaccountable manner.
In fact it was announced carelessly on shore that the Hastings was going up to Cairo for repairs, so when she was missed the next morning it was assumed that she had gone there.
We steamed very quietly up the White River to a point where a bayou made in to the stream, some dozen miles below Kane’s plantation, and, turning the boat, backed her up the bayou about a mile to a bend where she was completely concealed by the overhanging cottonwood trees, draped with their long pendants of moss.
Here we waited for night. At eleven o’clock we cast off from the bank and steamed down the bayou and into the main river, which we ascended with great caution, literally feeling our way, until Graves assured me that we were but a scant mile below Kane’s house. We then ran in to the bank and, securing the boat to the trunk of a great tree, landed our shore party, which altogether numbered one hundred and ten officers and men.
We took up the line of march, Graves ahead, Rogers and I following closely, as indeed was very necessary in the darkness, and the men coming after us in double file and in as close order as was practicable.
The road was abominable, a mere cowpath, in many places grown up and almost impassable, and shortly after leaving the steamer we were compelled to cross a run where the water was knee-deep; but at last we came in sight of the house, a long, low, story and a half structure, part log, part frame, surrounded on two sides by a broad porch. At a short distance and near the woods, which on that side came quite close to the home buildings, were three wretched cabins or negro quarters, a half-ruined ginhouse, a smokehouse, two very large corn cribs, and a high-roofed barn.
No lights were visible, and as it was past midnight it was probable that all the inmates of the house were asleep. Of course it was necessary to surround the house closely, to avoid the escape of our quarry; but the danger in that operation lay in arousing the dogs, always so numerous and so watchful on a Southern plantation, and thus giving the alarm.
Graves suggested to me in a whisper that he and Captain Rogers had better take one portion of the men and, after falling back some little distance, make a détour, so that they could approach the house from the rear and farther side, while I should remain where I was and guard the front and near side.
“When you hear an owl hoot three times and after a pause hoot once, you may know that we are in position and ready to close in. I will then wait five minutes and repeat the same signal. When you hear it, captain, close in with your party, side and front, and we will have them trapped, sure.”
I deferred to Graves’s suggestions, as he was quite a famous scout. “But,” said I, “Mr. Graves, I hope you can make your owl hoots very natural. You know these fellows we are after are quite familiar with woodcraft, and they would only be aroused and made suspicious by a bad imitation of an owl.”
“Don’t you fear for that, captain. I can cheat the owls themselves, let alone these butternuts.”
Graves and Rogers left us with their party, disappearing as silently in the gloomy shadows of the night as wood goblins. I gathered my own men closely together, warned them in low tones against making the least noise, and then waited patiently for the signal.
While on board the boat or during the excitement of the march, I had not felt the cold; but now that we were quiet I found myself chilled to the bone, notwithstanding my thick pea-jacket, which I wore with my sword and pistol belt buckled outside of it. Occasionally I heard the distant baying of a hound; a possum or rabbit rustled through the dead leaves as he crossed the path, and once I heard the hoot of an owl from the woods in the rear of the house we were watching. I listened anxiously, but there was only a single call, evidently not from our companions. Then I heard what boded ill for the success of our venture—the sharp yelp of a foxhound near the barn, and soon it was repeated nearer at hand!
“The brute has scented us, sir,” said Mr. Watson, “and he will have the whole place alarmed if he is not stopped. What shall we do?”
But before he had finished speaking, three distant hoots of an owl were heard. We paused, and in a moment they were followed by a single hoot, and then all was still.
“Five minutes more, Watson, and we will make our rush. Let the cur bark if he will.”
Again the hoot of the owl broke the stillness of the night, this time nearer, and, giving the word, we rushed at double-quick from our cover, deployed, and, as our comrades appeared, we had the house closely surrounded on every side.
“Keep a sharp lookout, Mr. Watson, and do not let a living soul pass your line. Don’t parley with any who may try to escape. If they fail to stop and throw up their hands, shoot! We have shrewd and dangerous men to deal with, sir.”
With Rogers, Graves, and a dozen men I mounted the steps of the porch and knocked loudly at the door. There was no reply, but we could hear movements within.
“Better not wait, captain,” said Graves; “the Lord only knows what trick they may be up to. I would break in the door.” And break it in we did.
Then, turning the slides of our boat lanterns, we flashed the light into the hall, which was bare and empty. Near the foot of the stairs was a rough cedar settle with a row of pegs, from which hung a quantity of feminine wraps of various kinds and colors, with a dozen or more bonnets and worsted head coverings, but not a single masculine garment or hat, save a dilapidated old broad-brimmed straw, which had evidently been left over from the past summer.
I saw Graves gazing at this array of women’s gear with a puzzled look on his face.
“Why, captain, this looks more like a young ladies’ boarding-school than a bushwhacker’s crib. What does it mean, I wonder?”
A feeble light flashed over the banisters from the upper landing, and a tremulous female voice exclaimed, “What is it you want here, gentlemen, at this time of night?”
“Well, madam,” I replied, “we want Mr. Kane for one, and such of his friends—men, I mean, not women—as may be here.”
“Mr. Kane is not here, sir, I assure you.”
“I regret to doubt your word, madam, but it is my painful duty to search this house, and I must do it quickly. Please dress yourself at once, for I can allow you only five minutes for your toilet.”
The lady gave a little scream. “Oh, sir, you mustn’t come up here with all those men. It is quite impossible. There are none here but women. There isn’t a man in the house.”
“Where are the men, then?” I queried.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Cousin Bob and the boys are all away at a dance at Mr. Shriveley’s, five miles up the Greenberry road. They won’t be back until morning.”
Graves drew me aside. “She is fibbing; didn’t you notice how she hesitated? Those men are upstairs, and we shall have to go up for them.”
It was very probable that he was right, so I said: “Madam, much as I regret it, my duty is plain. Your house is surrounded by the forces of the United States, under my command. I must search this house for the persons I have come here to arrest, and I shall do it, disturbing you as little as possible. You can have five minutes undisturbed in which to dress yourself—not a moment more.”
She saw that I was in earnest and hurried away. Sending some men with Mr. Watson to thoroughly search the lower rooms, we went upstairs at the expiration of the five minutes, and found three large chambers with dormer windows giving upon the roof. The first room we entered had two beds, and by the dim light of our lantern four heads could be seen buried beneath the bed clothing.
“Well, sir,” said the lady we had first encountered, as she entered the room wearing a morning wrapper, with a shawl drawn about her shoulders, “are you satisfied that I told you the truth and that there are no men here?”
The smothered giggle that came from beneath the blankets was unmistakably feminine. Our position was certainly becoming embarrassing, not to say ridiculous, and I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable under the gaze of the lady who was acting as spokeswoman.
To tell the honest truth, I would rather have been facing a ten-gun battery just then—and the worst of it was that the woman evidently knew it.
Graves, who was of a coarser temperament, came to the rescue: “Madam,” said he, “Captain Kelson has already told you that we are here on duty and that we must perform it. If the persons in these beds are women, let them put out their hands,—they can keep their faces hid if they choose,—and we will be satisfied,” and he looked at me for my assent.
“That is a fair proposition, madam, and will bring this disagreeable business to an end,” said I.
The lady hesitated, then went to the beds and whispered to the occupants, and out came four white, ringed, and very shapely hands from beneath the coverings.
“I am satisfied, madam,” said I, “and as a matter of form Mr. Graves will accompany you alone to the other chambers and put the occupants to the same test.”
Graves went with the lady, while we waited in the hall, and when he returned he was almost dumb with amazement.
“There are sixteen women in this house, not counting the madam here, and not a ghost of a man! What does it mean? I feel as though I had been raiding a nunnery!”
We went downstairs accompanied by our fair friend, who, strange to say, now that our search was over, seemed uncommonly willing to talk, carefully evading our questions, however, when we endeavored to obtain some clue to this houseful of girls,—for most of them were evidently young women.
While I was apologizing as best I could for our ungallant and untimely visit, there was the report of a musket outside, and as we rushed to the porch a half dozen scattering shots were heard in the direction of the barn, while the hounds set up a dismal howl.
Mr. Watson came toward me in a great state of excitement.
“They have got away, sir!”
“Who have got away?”
“The men! There were a dozen of them in the barn and hearing us they quietly broke a board out at the back and got away in the woods. The last man of them made a noise and attracted our attention, and we tried to catch him; but he had the start of us and got away with the rest of them!”
It was even so; while we were searching the house and were being detained by the fluent young woman, her friends were escaping.
It seems they had had a little dance at the house, and a number of girls had ridden over to take part in it. When it was finished it was too late for them to go to their homes, so their hostess had doubled them up in her beds, and the men had quartered themselves in the barn and thus escaped capture.
We returned to the Hastings and made the best of our way back to our headquarters, with very little to say to the outside world concerning our raid. This episode, however, commencing in comedy, had a tragic ending for at least one of the actors.
Graves, the scout, was soon after sent on a special mission by the general on the other side of the river, not far from Jackson, within the Confederate lines. By an unfortunate chance he there met, face to face, one day, the young woman who had parleyed with us at her cousin’s house on White River. Graves was in Confederate uniform, which he often wore on these scouting expeditions, but the woman recognized him at once and denounced him to the military authorities. He was arrested, tried before a drum-head court martial, and was hanged within twelve hours!