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I was still busy in
pushing forward the repairs to
the rail roadbridge at Bear Creek, and in patching up the many breaks
between it and Tuscumbia, when on the 27th of October, as I sat
on the porch of a house, I was approached by a dirty, black- haired
individual with mixed dress and strange demeanor, who inquired
for me, and, on being assured that I was in fact the man, he
handed me a letter from General Blair at Tuscumbia, and another short
one, which was a telegraph-message from General Grant at Chattanooga,
addressed to me through General George Crook, commanding
at Huntsville, Alabama, to this effect: Drop
all work on Memphis & Charleston Railroad, cross the Tennessee and
hurry eastward with all possible dispatch toward Bridgeport, till
you meet further orders from me. U.
S. GRANT. The
bearer of this message was Corporal Pike, who described to me, in
his peculiar way, that General Crook had sent him in a canoe; that
he had paddled down the Tennessee River, over Muscle Shoals, was
fired at all the way by guerrillas, but on reaching Tuscumbia he
had providentially found it in possession of our troops. He had reported
to General Blair, who sent him on to me at Iuka. This Pike
proved to be a singular character; his manner attracted my notice
at once, and I got him a horse, and had him travel with us eastward
to about Elkton, whence I sent him back to General Crook at
Huntsville; but told him, if I could ever do him a personal service, he might apply to me.
The next
spring when I was in Chattanooga,
preparing for the Atlanta campaign, Corporal Pike made his
appearance and asked a fulfillment of my promise. I inquired what
he wanted, and he said he wanted to do something bold, something
that would make him a hero. I
explained to him, that we were
getting ready to go for Joe Johnston at Dalton, that I expected
to be in the neighborhood of Atlanta about the 4th of July,
and wanted the bridge across the Savannah River at Augusta, Georgia,
to be burnt about that time, to produce alarm and confusion behind the rebel army.
I explained
to Pike that the chances
were three to one that he would be caught and hanged; but the
greater the danger the greater seemed to be his desire to attempt
it. I told him to select a
companion, to disguise himself as
an East Tennessee refugee, work his way over the mountains into North
Carolina, and at the time appointed to float down the Savannah
River and burn that bridge. In a
few days he had made his preparations
and took his departure. The bridge
was not burnt, and I
supposed that Pike had been caught and hanged. When
we reached Columbia, South Carolina, in February, 1865, just as
we were leaving the town, in passing near the asylum, I heard my name
called, and saw a very dirty fellow followed by a file of men running
toward me, and as they got near I recognized Pike. He called
to me to identify him as one of my men; he was then a prisoner
under guard, and I instructed the guard to bring him that night
to my camp some fifteen miles up the road, which was done.
Pike
gave me a graphic narrative of his adventures, which would have
filled a volume; told me how he had made two attempts to burn the
bridge, and failed; and said that at the time of our entering Columbia
he was a prisoner in the hands of the rebels, under trial for
his life, but in the confusion of their retreat he made his escape
and got into our lines, where he was again made a prisoner by our troops because of his looks.
Pike
got some clothes, cleaned up,
and I used him afterward to communicate with Wilmington, North Carolina.
Some time after the war, he was appointed a lieutenant of
the Regular, Cavalry, and was killed in Oregon, by the accidental
discharge of a pistol. Just before
his death he wrote me,
saying that he was tired of the monotony of garrison-life, and wanted
to turn Indian, join the Cheyennes on the Plains, who were then
giving us great trouble, and, after he had gained their confidence,
he would betray them into our hands. Of
course I wrote him
that he must try and settle down and become a gentleman as well as
an officer, apply himself to his duties, and forget the wild desires
of his nature, which were well enough in time of war, but not
suited to his new condition as an officer; but, poor fellow I he
was killed by an accident, which probably saved him from a slower
but harder fate.
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