IN the late summer of 1862 Halsey and Palo'mine were with the Buckeye Raiders in the Tennessee mountains. The Raiders were acting like the rest of the cavalry, as the advance guard of the army feeling out the enemies' position. They were advancing in three columns, marching parallel.
Just as the cavalry was the advance guard of the army, so the scouts were the forerunners of the cavalry. They went ahead to spy out the country, to locate small bodies of the enemies' cavalry and make maps of the country. Halsey and Palo'mine were always included in these scouting parties. It was the most dangerous service in the army. Not only were they liable to be ambushed, but some of the Tennesseeans in the remote districts did not fully conform to the non-combatant regulations of the army, so they would take a shot at a soldier either in a blue or gray uniform whenever a good opportunity offered. So the danger was twofold.
It was most fatiguing work to ride for hours with the nerves keyed to the highest pitch, with ears and eyes and even the sense of smell straining for a sight or sound of the enemy. They must make no campfires and often carried no provisions.
It was a beautiful country of deep slumberous valleys and majestic mountains. The valleys were very fertile and crops and fruit abounded, especially peaches. The mountain sides were usually heavily timbered with winding wagon roads leading half way up their sides, and bridle paths nearly to the top when it was not too precipitous.
The Raiders had been camped in a deep valley, with another valley just over the mountains ahead. Word had come to them that the enemies' cavalry was in the valley on the opposite side of the mountain. Halsey and Palo'mine and several other scouts set out to discover what they could about this force. Halsey went in company with another scout named Hank Hawkings. He was a tall lank Hoosier State boy of about Halsey's own age. A superb horseman and a great shot. They had done much scouting together.
This day they ascended the mountain cautiously until they were about half a mile from the crest. There they left their horses hidden in a thicket and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. They took advantage of every bit of cover and went forward like Indians on the war path. There was no telling when they might meet a belligerent mountaineer, or some of the enemy. They had reached the top of the mountain and were creeping along to get a more sightly spot from which to see over into the valley on the other side, when Halsey who was slightly ahead stopped short in his tracks, and pulled his companion's sleeve. Both peered out of the bushes and along the top of the mountain.
About fifty yards away on the very crest of the mountain, and close to the edge of a precipitous cliff, a solitary horseman sat upon a black horse. He was peering intently into the valley from which they had just come. He was dressed in the unmistakable gray uniform of the Confederacy. He was in a position admirably screened by some small bushes from the valley below, but very conspicuous from where the Union scouts were concealed. His horse was black, a beautiful animal with a proud chest and sleek limbs. The man sat upon him like a centaur.
For five seconds the scouts in blue looked at him, then Halsey realized the fact that this Confederate scout had probably seen their camp and knew all about the Union cavalry. He would report to his comrades in the valley opposite. Instinctively Halsey's soldier's training asserted itself. There was a way to stop that. He raised his carbine to his shoulder and took a hasty aim. His finger was feeling for the trigger and had almost pressed it when a wild cry broke from his lips and his rifle fell clattering to among the rocks. He staggered as though he would fall and became deadly pale. He tried to speak to his companion, but his lips only uttered strange sounds and he fell to his knees and began groping blindly for his carbine. At the same moment Hank's carbine cracked. This sinister sound brought back all of Halsey's alertness and initiative. He sprang up, clutching madly at his comrade's arm and pushing up his carbine.
"For God's sake, don't," he cried. "You might kill him. What have you done? Did you kill him?"
Hank gazed at him in mute astonishment. What was the matter with his comrade? Had he been wounded, or had he gone mad? The other continued to clutch for his carbine. Finally Hank found his tongue.
"Gol darn it, Halsey. What is the matter with you? That's the first time I ever see you object to a man's getting a Johnnie. Did a bullet hit your head? I hain't heered any shot."
"Did you kill Trim?" repeated Halsey, his voice hoarse with excitement, and trembling like an aspen.
"Wol," said his companion, still eyeing him curiously, "ef you mean the man, I didn't. I got the hoss instead."
"Thank God," cried Halsey fervently, but Hank continued to stare. "It was my Uncle Hillery, the only father I ever knew," said Halsey when the suspense had become unbearable. "Are you sure you didn't hit him?"
"Perfectly sure," said Hank solemnly. "Gosh all hemlock, it was your uncle! Gosh a'mighty! When I plugged the hoss he wavered for a minute on the edge of the cliff and the old man slipped from his back and ran into the bushes, but the hoss he went over the cliff."
"Poor Sultan," said Halsey. "But I am not sure about Uncle Hillery."
The words were barely out of his lips when a hunting rifle cracked in the bushes along the side of the mountain and a bullet cut a twig from the tree just above Halsey's head. Hank laughed under his breath.
"There is your dear uncle trying to shoot us. You see he is all right."
"Let's get out of this," said Halsey. So they hastened along the top of the mountain and made their reconnaissance of the enemy from that position. As it turned out this gave them the best view of the enemies' force and they secured a good report.
But Halsey continued to mutter to himself. "Uncle Hillery, I might have shot you. I might have shot you."
"But you didn't," put in Hank each time when he was seized with one of these strange spells of trembling and muttering.
"No, thank God, I didn't, but you don't know how near I came to pulling that trigger. It was only God that saved me."
It was days before Halsey shook off the horror of that experience and he never really fully out-grew it, for it haunted his dreams for years.
When they returned to camp they reported seeing a Confederate scout on the mountain top. They had fired at him and had killed his horse, but he had escaped. This was all it was necessary to tell and it served its purpose. Halsey was much relieved when they finally moved out of that country and went with the army on a distant campaign.
Early in the spring of 1863 the Union army with which Halsey and Palo'mine were fighting was spread out along a narrow plain at the foot of a long high mountain. The Confederates were posted upon the mountain in an almost unassailable position. Their rifle pits extended for an eighth of a mile out on the plain, their small artillery was at the foot of the mountain, their mediiun weight artillery part way up the mountain side, while the heavy artillery was on the top of the mountain. They had dragged it there with great toil. Their position was considered almost impregnable. But at the same time the Union General had decided to attack. He had set his army in battle array. His left was in a thick woods in a strong position, and this position was the key to the situation. The center was parallel with the mountain, while the right was at the other end of the mountain.
Finally when the Confederates saw that the Federals were going to attack shortly they launched a crushing blow at the left end, hoping to drive it back upon the center.
The vital left resisted stubbornly, yet rod by rod it was driven back, and the Union General saw his chances for launching a successful battle waning. If the left gave way even the center must be abandoned as it could not be defended from a lateral position. The left must be held at any cost, so the general sent orderly after orderly across the plains in an endeavor to get word to the left wing to hold on. But the Confederates saw the messengers and guessed what the message was, so sharpshooters and artillery opened fire upon the unfortunate messengers. All had perished in the attempt. Finally the general summoned his chief of cavalry and said.
"I want another messenger to send across to the left. We must get word to General Blank to hold on. I want the best horse and the best rider that you have. A man who isn't afraid to go on a sure death errand for Uncle Sam. Have you such a man?"
"Yes, I know of one such. He is the best rider in the United States cavalry and he rides the best horse in the army."
"Is he lucky?" asked the General.
"He has come through more tight places than any other man in the service."
"What is his name?"
"Lieut. Halsey Eaton. Somehow he always gets through."
"All right. Send him to me."
Five minutes later Halsey was saluting the General.
"Lieut. Eaton," said the general, speaking in his quick, incisive manner, "I have got to get word to General Blank on our left, to hold the woods at any cost. If that fails we will be beaten before the battle begins. The Confederates have seen this and have struck first. I have sent three orderlies and they have all fallen by the way. Do you want to see if you can get through?"
Halsey looked grave at the implied command, but said simply, "I am not looking for such a job, General, but I will go anywhere you send me and do my best. If it is possible to get through Palo'mine and I ought to be able to do it."
"Good!" cried the General. "Spoken like a man. I will order the rifle pits cleared and that will help a little. That will be the first phase of the battle anyhow. You can go under the cover of that attack. Be ready in five minutes, and good luck to you. Remember that the entire battle is at stake. God keep you, my boy."
Five minutes later Halsey sat upon Palo'mine at the extreme right, watching the Union infantry come scurrying out of their own rifle pits half a mile out on the plain and start running across the fields as though for their lives, towards the Confederate rifle pits. Each man bent as low as he could and run. In this way they offered the smallest target the hurricane bullets which greeted them. Three regiments were in the charge. Comrades fell at every rod. They fell by the scores, but the rest kept right on.
As soon as the attack was well under way Halsey and Palo'mine started on their terrible ride. They went at a slow trot at first so as not to attract attention. But soon the sharpshooters sighted them and guessed their mission and the bullets began spitting all about them. The large minie balls hummed like tops, while the smaller bullets from the hunting rifle sang a peculiar whining song of death which was all their own. The bullets kicked up little spurts of dust about the brave trooper and his noble horse until the ground looked like a lake with a smart shower falling upon it.
Halsey soon saw that it was suicide to dally along so slowly when the bullets were coming so thick, so he slapped Palo'mine's side with his sabre and he broke into a wild gallop. This strategy succeeded for a minute or two. As Halsey had judged, the sharpshooters greatly under-estimated Palo'mine's speed, so for a little while the bullets fell behind them. But soon the riflemen readjusted their fire and again the missiles of death were striking all about them. So there was nothing to do but to ride for all they were worth. It was another desperate race. Not the great sweepstake but a race for life, and for the success of the Union army.
Finally the bullets came so thick and they struck so closely that Halsey resorted to an old ruse of his, one that he had learned when he had plenty of time for trick riding. He slipped to the side of his horse, just keeping his left foot in the stirrup, and holding with his right arm over the horse's neck, while with his right foot he held on to the cantle of the saddle. This nearly hid his body from the riflemen.
Far up on the mountain side two Confederate officers were watching the gallantrider through their glasses. When Halsey suddenly disappeared from the horse's back, the younger cried out, "There he goes. They have got him. I thought he could not live in that storm."
"No," said the older man quietly, although the hand in which he held the field glass trembled, "He is riding on the side of his horse. I have seen it done before."
Presently the Confederate artillery which had not been directed at the flying trooper opened up. The two watchers on the mountain side could see the shrapnel spattering all about them.
"What a hell that must be," said the younger man. "I don't see how they can keep going. That shrapnel will get them presently."
"Most of it falls behind them," said his companion. "You see our gunners underestimate the speed of that horse."
Presently as they watched with straining eyes the horse was seen to pause in his flight. For a second he almost stopped and then he gave a great leap of twenty feet.
"There we have got him," cried the young man.
"I think not." said other officer. "He was leaping a rifle pit. I think you will see his rider again now. If they are in the rifle pits it will take some good driving as well as nerve."
Almost as he spoke the rider whose body had been hidden for the past two or three minutes came up in his saddle like a jack-in-the-box.
"There," said the senior officer. "What did I tell you? Now we will see some real riding. If I am not mistaken that horse is a Kentucky hunter. It is nothing for him to jump twenty-foot ditches. He can go almost anywhere. Cross country riding is second nature to him."
With the reappearance of the rider the riflemen who had been driven out of their rifle pits and had taken refuge at the foot of the mountain redoubled their efforts. The bullets could be seen kicking up dirt all about the horseman, who was now riding like the wind, his horse occasionally stopping to make a great leap of a rifle pit, or making a short detour to avoid others.
Soon the mortars at the top of the mountain opened fire. Then great shells went curving into the sky and fell far out on the plain. All fired at the unfortunate horseman.
Presently a mighty shell fell almost in their path. The rider struck the horse sharply with his sabre and guided him skillfully to one side just as the shell exploded. Both man and horse were hidden in a cloud of dust and smoke.
"There, now we have got him," cried the Captain. His companion said nothing, but his face was intense and he watched as though his life depended on the fate of the trooper.
Presently both man and horse emerged from the cloud of dust and galloped on.
"He is still going," said the other Confederate.
Shell after shell was hurled at them. The shrapnel spattered the ground about them and the bullets kicked up clouds of dust.
"I don't see why we don't hit him," said the young officer again.
"Well," said his companion, "he is a rapidly moving target and perhaps something that is greater than we are is shielding him."
His companion looked at him sharply. "I should almost think you wanted him to get through," said he.
"I do," said the older man quickly. "Of course I am for our cause. But that trooper is my nephew, Halsey Eaton, and that horse is Palo'mine, who won the sweepstake as King Crescent in 1860. Now you know why I am so interested."
"God," said the other officer, "What a hell war is! What a pity it is to offer such a horse as that for cannon fodder."
"And such a boy," said Uncle Hillery. "Listen, they have stopped firing."
It was true. The firing all along the line had ceased.
"Our gunners recognize his gallant deed. This silence means that the Confederate army is taking off its hat to my nephew. Thank God!" choked the Colonel.
Five minutes later the trooper and his splendid horse disappeared in the woods at the left and the General's message was delivered.
All know the story of the left wing that held on, while the army formed its battle lines, making one of the greatest victories of the Union troops possible. But few know the story of the brave trooper and his Kentucky thoroughbred who carried the word to hold on, across three miles of maelstrom of shot and shell through a veritable mouth of hell.
The following morning at the Colonel's command Halsey and Palo'mine rode out in front of the regiment and Halsey received the insignia of a Major, while Palo'mine was patted on the nose by the Colonel and told that he was the finest old nag in the Union cavalry, which pleased his master even more than the promotion.