The Scout And Ranger By James Pike SCOUT AND RANGER. CHAPTER I. MY FIRST EFFORT AT SEEING LIFE—A TRIP TO TEXAS. I have not the vanity to suppose the details of my career in life, other than as it has been connected with the public service, would be of the slightest interest to the reader; and, therefore, I shall not dwell upon them. But I can not but believe that my adventures in that most dangerous and romantic of all branches of the service—while acting the part of a scout—during the late long and bloody war against the most gigantic rebellion known to history, will be read with interest, not only by the patriotic people of the loyal states, for whom my life was risked, but by thousands in the South— violent rebels—who will, in these pages first recognize me, in my true character, as a soldier of the Union; though oft I have partaken of their hospitalities, and been their familiar companion; and many a rebel officer will, in the following narrative, for the first time learn that they have communicated much valuable information to one who was in the service of the nation against which they had arrayed the whole power, and chivalry of half a score of powerful and flourishing states, extending from the Gulf of Mexico to the thirty-seventh parallel of north latitude. My career as a scout was commenced under Gen. O. M. Mitchell, who, in 1862, commanded the Third Division of the Cumberland Army; General Mitchell, who united in himself the qualities of a noble man, a thorough scholar, and a dashing officer, and whose death, before the nation could well spare his services, caused a deep despondency to pervade every loyal breast. When he was removed from command in Tennessee, I was turned over to General Rosecrans; who, in turn, on leaving, recommended me to General Thomas. I have also served with Gens. D. S. Stanley, George Crook, Lytle, Sheridan, Grant, and Sherman; so that the reader will not be at a loss to imagine that my term of service has been an eventful one; and that vanity does not inspire me to write an account of those wild and almost incredible adventures, which are naturally incident to the branch of the service to which I was devoted. But why engage in the dangerous vocation, and risk life, amid enemies who, had they known my character, would gladly have suspended me to the nearest limb? Say, like Shylock, it was my nature, and the reader has it all. I had been well trained in such service, having left my home in Ohio, long since, and migrated to Texas, where I was schooled as a "Ranger" and hunter—the latter character being a necessary accompaniment of the former, as the ranger draws little or no subsistence from the government, but obeys the injunction of Scripture, and takes neither brass nor postal currency in his purse, nor hard tack in his haversack, relying almost entirely on his trusty rifle, for subsistence, from the first to the last of his term of enlistment. But why should an Ohioan, and a printer, be induced to migrate to Texas, where civilization has but begun, and where men still fancy that there is something diabolical in the process of producing books and newspapers? In Texas—a land of contrarities, where all is abundance, by the mere act of nature, or sterility beyond the power of art to fertilize; where one only looks up stream for water; where rivers are narrow at their mouths, and wide at their fountains; where the ground is never dusty, though parched with drouth; where grass grows green in winter; where neither the horse nor the cow can be tempted to eat corn; where the widest extremes of heat and cold are often felt in a day; and where the unfortunate immigrant, if he murmurs, or shows surprise, at all he sees and feels, is at once pronounced "green from the states," and looked upon as an object of commiseration? Well, perhaps it is strange that I should find myself there—but it is not more strange than true. I had been working at my trade in Jefferson City, Missouri, during the winter of 1858-9, and in the spring resolved to go to Kansas, which was yet disturbed by factions, and consequently the very place for one fond of adventure; and, as my nature prompted me to ramble, I saw no other section half so inviting; and accordingly, having armed myself, "as the law directs," I started for the territory on foot. I had traveled but half a day, however, when I stopped for dinner at a wayside inn, kept by a plethoric old man, the possessor of a young wife and half a dozen worthless darkies. While at dinner, some one rode up to the gate and inquired of the landlord if there was a young man there, who was traveling on foot. "That's my name," I said, and went to the door, to ascertain: what was wanted. "Say, young man," said the party, "don't you want to go to Texas?" "Don't care if I do," said I. "Well," he replied, "my name is Colonel Johnston; I live twelve miles south of Dallas; I am taking down a drove of horses, and want help; I will furnish you with a horse, saddle, and bridle, and pay your way." In an instant, all desire to visit Kansas, and participate in the partisan turmoils, which were continually agitating the territory, "vanished into thin air," and in their stead arose visions of wild horse chases, buffalo hunts, Indian fights, and a thousand other "manly sports," which I knew to be the chief sources of amusement and excitement, in that wild, celebrated region. "But where were you going?" queried the Colonel. "To Kansas," I replied. "What were you going there for?" he continued. "For fun," was my sententious, but truthful answer. "Well," he responded, "if you want fun, just go to Texas; that is the place to find it; plenty of all sorts of game, fine horses, and clever people. It's just the spot for a young man. If ever you go there, you will like the country so well, that you will never leave it." "Hold on, then, till I get my dinner, and I'll go," was the only reply I stopped to make, till I had satisfied my appetite. Dinner over, I mounted the animal designated, and we proceeded to gather up the horses, which had scattered about to graze, while the Colonel was waiting on me. There were in the drove an unusually fine lot of northern mares, which Johnston stated would be very valuable in Texas, besides a number of magnificent geldings. As soon as we were fairly on our way, my employer took care to remind me that his name was Colonel Johnston, and inquired mine. He then went on to enlighten me, by saying, that, in Texas, every man of any note had some title; was either dubbed General, Colonel, Major, Captain, Judge, or Esquire; that his friends had given him the title of Colonel, though he had never held any military position, the term being merely complimentary. He further informed me, that at one time in his life, he had been a mate on board of a river steamer, and then began to relate various feats of personal prowess, which at once inspired me with a high regard for both his physical and intellectual endowments. He was really a fine looking, robust man, about thirty-five years of age, of a very generous, and manly disposition; and but for a superfluity of vanity and self-importance, was an exceedingly agreeable companion. He had been in Illinois, settling up his wife's estate, and had taken her share of the property in horses; and, by the way, one of the first things he told me was, that he had married a widow. We traveled fast; I thought very fast; and as day after day came and went, and we were in the saddle early and late, I began to imagine something must be wrong about the man and his horses; but I said nothing. On the second day after we had joined fortunes, he began to deprecate the fact that he would have to force a sale of a horse in order to raise money; whereupon I loaned him a sufficient sum (I think about forty dollars in gold), to take him through. The reader will say that this was indiscreet on such a short acquaintance, and that I ought not to have been so free with my money with a stranger. But it was always a fault of mine to confide in strangers, and in this case I did not lose anything, though at one time I believed the chances good to lose all; for Johnston sought a quarrel with me in the Indian Nation, while near Boggy river, and I detected him in the act of drawing his six-shooter on me, at a time when he thought I did not observe him. My rifle was near at hand, and I quickly had him at my mercy, with my piece leveled on his breast, and my finger on the trigger. We had differed the evening before as to which side of the mountain the road went, and I was found to be in the right. But this was such a trifling excuse for a quarrel, that I naturally concluded he entertained the notion of putting me out of the way, and thus get, not only all I had loaned him, but all I had on my person.