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able man with all possible dispatch, for he shall force the enemy to battle in the morning. He spends the night in learning the character of the surrounding country, and the disposition of Marshall's forces, and makes a hasty dinner of stewed rabbit from a tin-cup, sharing the single spoon and the stew with one of his officers.

Jordan, the scout, now comes into play once. more. A dozen rebels are grinding at a mill; and a dozen honest men come upon them, steal their corn and take them prisoners. The miller is a tall, gaunt man; and his “butternuts" fit Jordan, as if they were made for him. He is a rebel too, and his very raiment bears witness against this feeding of his enemies. It goes back to the rebel camp, and Jordan goes in it. That chameleon-face of his is smeared with meal, and looks the miller so well, that the miller's own wife could not have detected the difference. The night is so dark and rainy, that the danger is lessened. Yet Jordan is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the lion.

Jordan's midnight-ramble in the rebel ranks gave Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semi-circular hill at the forks of Middle Creek, commanding with their cannon the whole length of the road, and hidden by the trees and underbrush, they awaited his coming.

Deeming it unsafe to proceed further in the darkness, Garfield, as has been said, ordered his army into bivouac, at nine o'clock in the evening, and climbed the steep ridge called Abbott's Hill. His tired men threw themselves upon the wet ground to wait till morning. It was a terrible

night, a fit prelude to the terrible day, that followed. A dense fog shut out the moon and stars, and shrouded the lonely mountain in almost Cimmerian darkness. A cold wind swept from the north, driving the rain in blinding gusts into the faces of the shivering men, and stirring the dark fires into the cadences of a mournful music. But the slow and cheerless night at last wore away; and at four in the morning the tired and hungry

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men, with their icy clothing clinging to their halffrozen limbs, were aroused from their cold beds and ordered to move forward. Slowly and cautiously they descended into the valley, which to so many of them seemed the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The enemy was awaiting them; they were awaiting the enemy. The last bivouac had been made; and there was nothing left but to advance and measure their strength with the foe.

CHAPTER XII.

A

THE BATTLE OF MIDDLE CREEK.

S the day breaks in the east, and the gray mists, that have been the blankets of Garfield's little force, are slowly lifted from the inhospitable ground, the advance-guard, rounding a hill, that juts out into the valley, is charged by a body of rebel horsemen. Forming his men in a hollow square, Garfield gives the rebels a volley, that sends them reeling up the valley, one only plunges into the stream, and is captured.

The main body of the enemy, it is now evident, is not far distant; but, whether he has changed his position since the visit of the scout Jordan, is yet uncertain. To determine this, Garfield sends forward a strong corps of skirmishers, who sweep the cavalry from a ridge, which they have occupied, and moving forward, soon draw the fire of the hidden rebels. Suddenly a puff of smoke rises from beyond the hills; and a twelve-pound shell whistles above the trees, and, plowing up the hill, buries itself in the ground at the feet of the adventurous little band of skirmishers.

It is now twelve o'clock. Throwing his whole force upon the ridge, whence the rebel cavalry have been driven, Garfield prepares for the im

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pending battle. It is a trying and perilous moment. He is in the presence of a greatly superior enemy; and how to dispose his little force, and where first to attack, are not easily determined. But he loses no time in idle indecision. Looking

into the faces of his eleven hundred men, he advances to the terrible struggle. His mounted escort of twelve soldiers he sends forward to make a charge, and, if possible, to draw the fire of the enemy. The ruse succeeds admirably. As the little squad sweeps round a curve in the road, another shell whistles through the valley; and the long roll of nearly five thousand muskets chimes in with a fierce salutation. The battle has begun in earnest.

A glance at the ground will best show the real nature of the conflict. It was on the margin of Middle Creek, a narrow and rapid stream, three miles from where it finds its way into the Big Sandy through the sharp spurs of the Cumberland Mountains. A rocky road, not ten feet in width, winds along this stream; and on its two banks steep and rocky ridges, overgrown with trees and underbrush, shut closely down upon the narrow road and little streamlet. At twelve o'clock Garfield gained the crest of the ridge at the right of the road; and the charge of his handful of horsemen drew Marshall's fire and disclosed his actual position. It will be clearly seen from the accompanying diagram.