| Frankfort, KY |
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| Editor: B General Fred Arocha Asst. Editor: Ginger Arocha |
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| Robert E. Lee once remarked that without music, there would have been no army. |
| Reporter: Ted Harris |
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| Sunset has come and gone, and darkness rests upon the wild Kentucky woods, shrouding their autumnal glories until the birth of a new day. It is a black, moonless night, threatening rain, and a strong wind has arisen, making melancholy music among the boughs and branches of the forest, driving its foliage fiercely in one direction, as if in emulation of the great wet-looking clouds which are moving rapidly and continuously athwart the face of the heavens. No sound but that of the wind and the occasional startled cry of an owl is audible, the more harmonious night-birds and forest creatures have sought covert in anticipation of the coming storm. And within the house of Jasper Byrne its inmates prepare to meet the scarcely less unreasonable and more harmful tempest of man’s passions. The old soldier has sent away the two negroes forming part of his household, bidding them secure their safety by flight, and in consequence obtained an unexpected auxiliary in the neighbor to whose dwelling he had proposed sending his daughter. Alarmed at the report of the slaves, Dave Brodnax comes to remonstrate with his ancient comrade, hoping to dissuade him for his rash, perhaps suicidal intention, but failing utterly, resolves, with characteristic Kentucky daring and hardihood, to remain and share his fate. He brings confused rumors confirming Dan Byrne’s representations. A roving band of defeated Tennesseeans will, in all probability, pass by the homestead. There remains only the hope that their haste may prove greater than their inclination for mischief and desire for wreaking vengeance upon the isolated home of a known loyalist, or that Dan’s services, wounds, and mutilation may purchase his uncle’s safety, of which he himself is not too sanguine. |
| THE SCOUTS NARATION - PART 3 |
| The generals came outside of the tent and looked about a little before they disappeared. Two of them came close to me and passed almost within a yard of the sentry’s body. But they passed on, and I drew a deep breath of relief. A light still glimmered through the tent, but presently that, too, vanished, and all as still. But occasionally I would hear the voice of a fellow sentry, or perhaps the rattle of a halter in so me distant manger. I looked at my watch. It was two o’clock-would be five before I could fire the signal, and the attack was to be at daybreak. Cautiously as before, I started on my return, reaching my horse without accident. Here I abandoned the gun and overcoat, remounted, and started down the mountain. "Tallahassee" let me through the first picket again, but something was wrong when I cantered down the ravine to the troopers to whom I had been so confidentially dispatched by Colonel Craig. Probably the genuine messenger, or perhaps the gallant Colonel himself had paid them a visit during my absence. At any rate, I saw that something unpleasant was up, but resolved to make the best of it. |
| "Tallahassee!" I cried, as I began to descend the ravine. "Halt, or you’re a dead man!" roared the leading trooper. "He’s a Yank!" "Cut him down!" chimed in the others. "Tallahassee! Tallahassee!" I yelled. And committing my soul to God, I plunged down the gully with sabre and revolver in either hand. Click-bang! Something grazed my cheek like a hot iron. Click-bang again! Something whistled by my ear with an ugly intonation. And then I was in their midst, shooting, stabbing, slashing, and swearing like a fiend. The rim of my hat flopped over my face from a sabre cut, and I felt blood trickling down my neck. But I burst away from them, up the bank of the ravine, and along the bare plateau, all the time yelling "Tallahassee! Tallahassee!" without knowing why. I could hear the alarm spread back over the mountain by halloos and drums, and presently the clatter of pursuing steeds. But I fled onward like a whirlwind, almost fainting from excitement and loss of blood, until I reeled off at the hollow stump. |
| Fiz, fiz! One, two! And my heart leaped with exultation as the rushing rockets followed each other in quick succession to the zenith, and burst on the gloom in glittering showers. Emptying the remaining tubes of my pistol at the nearest pursuer, now but fifty yards off, I was in the saddle and away again, without waiting to see the result of my aim. It was a ride for life for a few moments; but I pressed as noble a steed as ever spurned the footstool, and as we neared the Union lines the pursuit dropped off. When I attained the summit of the first ridge of our position, and saw the day break faintly and rosily beyond the pine-tops and along the crags, the air fluttered violently in my face, the solid earth quivered beneath my feet, as a hundred cannon opened simultaneously above, below, and around me. Serried columns of men were swinging irresistibly down the mountain toward the opposite slope; flying field-pieces were dashing off into position; long lines of cavalry were haunting the gullies, or hovering like vultures on the steep; and the blare of bugles rose above the roar of the artillery with a wild, victorious peal. The two rockets had been answered, and the veterans of the Union were bearing down upon the enemy’s weakened centre like an avalanche of fire. "So that is all," said the scout, rising and yawning. "The battle had begun in earnest. And maybe I didn’t dine with General R. when it was over and the victory gained. Let’s go to bed." |
| Slowly and heavily the night draws on, as, in an upper room, the four inmates of the house wait and listen. Mattresses are placed between the window, the fire-arms stand loaded and ready, and Harry, with a pale, resolute face, is temporarily relieving Dan in the task of casting bullets. The two old soldiers converse together earnestly. Dan, perturbed and expectant, walks to and fro, or seating himself, assumes a calmness which any transient sound discomposes. |
| "If it comes to the worst we kin clear out down the slope at the back of the house," says Brodnax; "for I reckon they won’t risk their necks in attacking us that side. Then there’s the cave not two rods off"—alluding to one of those natural excavations, popularly known in Western vernacular as "sink-holes," which undermine all this portion of Kentucky—"would hold a hundred of us easy." "I’ve thought of that, " Byrne rejoins, "and there’s a ladder handy to its mouth. But, mind, I intend to fight this place just as long as I kin hold it." "Sartain!" replied his comrade, who in ceasing to combat the other’s resolution seemed to have adopted his readiness, if not his eagerness, for the expected fight; "have you left the flag flying?" |
| "It’s thar still. I wish there was a moon that they could see it." "Well, I don’t care so much about that; if they take if for the ‘Stars and Bars’ it’s no matter. You won’t open the ball unless they begin it, I reckon?" "No!" answered Jasper Byrne, relapsing into silence, in which the party remained for perhaps ten minutes, listening to the stormy music of the wind in the forest. "Come to the door; we shall have plenty of time to fix it and get back," suggests Brodnax. And the two men descend the stairs, unfasten the door, and look out from the shelter of the little piazza into the night and the wild landscape. Another pause, and a long one. Then through the blustering and soughing of the wind, the dashing of the leaves, and now the patter of the angry rain, a sound, at first faint and distant, rising and falling, a dull, hollow murmur. Anon only the wind and rain. Then the murmur, increasing or lessening with the atmospheric tumult and the windings of the road. Presently an unmistakable sound, resolving itself into the scrambling, disorderly approach of a body of men. |
| ON THE BORDER - PART 6 |