Single-handed exploits, where a man must depend upon his own strength and daring and coolness, rank high among brave deeds. Occasionally a man has confidence enough in himself to penetrate alone into the enemy's country and to protect his life and do his endeavor by his own craft and courage. Of such was Hereward, the Last of the English, who, like Robin Hood, many centuries later, led his little band of free men through fen and forest and refused to yield even to the vast resources of William the Conqueror. Once disguised as a swineherd he entered the very court of the king and sat with the other strangers and wanderers at the foot of the table in the great banquet-hall and saw in the distance the man who was first to conquer and then to make unconquerable all England. To this day we love to read of his adventures on that scouting trip. How the servants who sat at meat with him played rough jokes on him until, forgetful of his enormous strength, he dealt one of them a buffet which laid him lifeless across the table with a broken neck. How he was taken up to the head of the table and stood before William on an instant trial for his life. His loose jerkin had been torn during the struggle and showed his vast chest and arms covered with scars of old wounds which no swineherd would ever have received. The old chronicle goes on to tell how they imprisoned him for the night and when his jailer came to fetter his legs with heavy irons, he stunned him with a kick, unlocked the doors and gates, broke open the stable door, selected the best horse in the king's stable and, armed with an old scythe blade which he had picked up in the barn, cut his way through the guard and rode all night by the stars back to his band.

In 1862 Corporal Pike of the Fourth Ohio Regiment led an expedition for a hundred miles through the enemy's country, which was worthy of Hereward himself. The expedition consisted of Corporal James Pike, who held all positions from general to private and who also had charge of the commissary department and was head of the board of strategy. The corporal was a descendant of Captain Zebulon Pike the great Indian fighter and inherited his ancestor's coolness and daring. Old Zebulon used to say that he never really knew what happiness was until he was in danger of his life and that when he started into a fight, it was as if all the music in the world was playing in his ears and that a battle to him was like a good dinner, a game of ball and a picnic all rolled into one. The corporal was very much this way. He had taken such particular pleasure in foolhardy exploits that his officers decided to try him on scout duty. There he did so well that General Mitchel's attention was attracted to him.

In April, 1862, it was of great importance for the general's plans to obtain information in regard to the strength of the Confederates in Alabama, and to have a certain railroad bridge destroyed so as to cut off the line of communications with the forces farther south. Out of the whole regiment the general picked Corporal Pike. The corporal's plan of procedure was characteristic of the man. He wore his regular full blue uniform and throughout the first part of his trip made no attempt at disguise or concealment. This was not as reckless as it sounds. The country was filled with Confederate spies and messengers who almost invariably adopted the Union uniform and it had this advantage – if captured, he could claim that he was in his regular uniform and was entitled to be treated as a soldier captured on the field of battle and not hung as a spy. The corporal, however, did not attach any very great weight to the protection of this uniform, as he figured out that if he were caught burning bridges and obtaining reports of Confederate forces, they would hang him whatever the color of his uniform. He had no adventures until he drew near Fayetteville in Tennessee. He spent the night in the woods and bright and early the next morning rode into the village and up to the hotel and ordered breakfast for himself and a similar attention for his horse. The sight of a Union soldier assembled all the unoccupied part of the population and in a few minutes there were three hundred men on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. As the corporal came back from looking after his horse, for he would never eat until he had seen that old Bill was properly cared for, a man stepped up and inquired his name.

"My name, sir," said the corporal, "is James Pike of the Fourth Ohio Cavalry, which is located at Shelbyville. What can I do for you?"

There was a few moments' silence and then a great laugh went up as the crowd decided that this was some Confederate scout, probably one of Morgan's rangers in disguise.

"What are you doing down here?" asked another.

"I am down here," said Pike coolly, "to demand the surrender of this town just as soon as I can get my breakfast and find the mayor."

The crowd laughed loudly again and the corporal went in to breakfast, where he sat at a table with a number of Confederate officers with whom he talked so mysteriously that they were fully convinced that he must be one of Morgan's right-hand men. After breakfast he ordered his horse and started out, first saying good-bye to the crowd who were still waiting for him.

"If you're from the North," said one, "why don't you show us a Yankee trick before you go?" for the Southerners were thoroughly convinced that all Yankees were sly foxes full of sudden schemes and stratagems.

"Well, I will before long," said Pike, as he waved good-bye and galloped off.

Five miles out of the village he came to a fork in the road where one road led to Decatur, which was where the main Confederate forces were located, and the other to Huntsville. Just as he was turning into the Decatur road, he saw a wagon-train coming in from Huntsville and decided that here was a chance for his promised Yankee trick. He rode up to the first wagon.

"Drive that wagon up close to the fence and halt," he said.

"How long since you've been wagon-master?" said the driver, cracking his whip.

"Ever since you left your musket lying in the bottom of the wagon," said Pike, leveling his revolver at the man's head. He drove his wagon up and halted it without a word and stood with his arms over his head as ordered by Pike.

One by one the other wagons came up and the drivers assumed the same attitude. Last of all there was a rattle of hoofs and the wagon-master, who had been lingering in the rear, galloped up.

"What the devil are you fellows stopping for?" he shouted, but as he came around the last wagon, he almost ran his head into Pike's revolver and immediately assumed the same graceful attitude as the others. Pike rode up to each wagon, collected all the muskets, not forgetting to remove a couple of revolvers from the belt of the wagon-master and then inquired from the latter what the wagons had in them.

"Provender," said the wagon-master, surlily.

"What else?" said the corporal, squinting along the barrel of his revolver.

"Bacon," yelled the wagon-master much alarmed; "four thousand pounds in each wagon."

"Well," said the corporal, "I've always been told that raw bacon is an unhealthy thing to eat and so you just unhitch your mules and set fire to these wagons and be mighty blamed quick about it too, because I have a number of engagements down the road." The men grumbled, but there was no help for them and in a few minutes every wagon was burning and crackling and giving out dense black smoke. Waiting until it was impossible to put them out, the corporal lined the men up across the road.

"Now you fellows get on your marks and when I count three you start back to Fayetteville and if you are in reach by the time I have counted one hundred, there's going to be some nice round holes in the backs of your uniforms. When you get back to the village tell them that this is the Yankee trick that I promised them."

Before Pike had counted twenty-five there was not a man in sight. He at once turned back and raced down the road toward Decatur. He had gone about ten miles when he came to a small country church and as it was Sunday, it was open and nearly filled. Fearing that there might be a number of armed Confederate soldiers in the church who would start out in pursuit as soon as the word came back from Fayetteville, the corporal decided to investigate. Not wishing to dismount he rode Bill up the steps and through the open door and down the main aisle, just as the minister was announcing a hymn.

"Excuse this interruption," said Pike, as the minister's voice quavered off into silence, "but I notice a number of soldierly-looking men here and I will take it as a great favor if they will hold their hands as high above their heads as possible and come down here and have a talk with me."

As this simple request was accompanied by a revolver aimed at the audience, one by one six soldiers who had been attending the service came sheepishly down the aisle. They looked so funny straining their arms over their heads that some of the girls in the audience unkindly burst out laughing. Pike removed a revolver from each one and dumped his captured arms into one of his saddle-bags.

"Now, parson," he said, "I want to hear a good, fervent prayer from you for the President of the United States." The minister hesitated. "Quick and loud," said Pike, "because I'm going in a minute."

There was no help for it and the minister prayed for President Lincoln by name, while Pike reverently removed his cap. Then backing his horse out of the door, he started on toward Decatur. Not a half mile from the church he met two Confederate soldiers who were leisurely riding to the church. There was no reason at all why the corporal should meddle with these men. They were two to one and he had no way of disposing of them even if he made them captives. However, the sight of the Confederate parson praying for Abe Lincoln had tickled Pike and he made up his mind to have some fun with these soldiers. As he came abreast of them he whipped out his revolver, ordered them to halt and to give their names, regiments and companies. They did so with great alacrity.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "you are my prisoners and I am very sorry for I am so far outside of my lines that I am afraid there is only one way to safely dispose of you."

"Great heavens, man," said one, "you don't mean to shoot us down."

"I'm sorry," said Pike, "but you can see for yourself that that's the only thing to do. You are Rebel soldiers and to leave you alive would mean that you will keep on doing harm to the Union forces."

"Don't shoot, captain," both of them chorused; "we'll take the oath of allegiance."

Pike seemed to hesitate.

"Well," he said finally, "I hate to kill men on Sunday. I suppose I ought not to do this, but if you'll solemnly swear allegiance to the United States of America and that you'll never hereafter serve against the Union or be late to church again, I'll let you go."

With much solemnity, the Confederates took the oath in the form dictated, delivered up their revolvers and rode away.

The next man that Pike encountered was an old gentleman on his way to Fayetteville, who admitted that he was a judge and the next day was intending to serve in a number of political cases involving the property of certain Union sympathizers. Pike made him also take the oath of allegiance, and promise not to enter judgment contrary to the interests of the Union. He then left the road and rode along a shallow creek through the woods. About sunset he suddenly came upon an old man under the trees. He questioned him and found that he was a Union sympathizer and was told by him that there were twelve Tennessee cavalrymen and fifteen mounted citizens on the lookout for him.

"That is," said the old man, "if you're the chap that has been going around capturing wagon-trains and churches and soldiers and judges."

"That's me," said Pike.

The old man took him home and fed him and with him he left his horse and started out on foot, feeling that the hue and cry would now be out all over the country against a mounted man in Union uniform. Leaving his friend, he followed the path through the woods toward Decatur until it was dark and then wrapped himself up in a blanket and slept all night in the pouring rain. In the morning he made his way toward the railway and followed it until about ten o'clock when he stopped at a house and bought a breakfast. He had not been there long before he was joined by several Confederate cavalrymen.

"What's your business," said one, "and what are you doing in that uniform?"

"Well," said Pike, "I was told to wear it and not to tell any one my business until it was done and if you fellows don't like it, you had better take it up with the general."

Once again the Confederates concluded that he was on some secret mission. They insisted, however, on taking him to camp with them and there he stayed two days and nights, incidentally obtaining all the information possible as to the forces and the guard about the bridge. Just before dawn on the second morning, he managed to give them the slip and started across country, wading and swimming and toiling through one swamp after another until he finally reached the river bank, traveling only by night and sleeping by day. Along this bank he went for miles until finally he found concealed in a little creek a small rowboat which was tied to a tree and in which were two oars. He spent the better part of the day in loading this up with pine knots and bits of dry driftwood which he planned to use in firing the bridge. Just at evening he pushed off into the middle of the river and started again down for the bridge. He had found by his inquiries that the Confederate camp was located on a bank some distance from the bridge, as no one expected any attack there so far within the Confederate lines. All night long he tugged at the oars and aided by the current reached the bridge about three o'clock in the morning. The bridge was an old-fashioned one erected on three piers. Pike made a careful survey of the whole length of the bridge from the river and found it absolutely unguarded although he could hear the sentry call on the hill a quarter of a mile away where the troops were encamped by the town. Concealing his skiff under an overhanging tree, he toiled up to the bridge with armful after armful of fire-wood. At each end and in the middle he made a little heap of fat-wood and pine knots with a strip of birch-bark, which burns like oiled paper, underneath each. Starting from the far end, he lit the first two piles and by the time he had crossed and was working on the last, he could hear the flames roaring behind him as they caught the dry weather-beaten planking of the bridge. And now he made a mistake which was to prove well-nigh fatal to him. As soon as the fire had obtained a headway, he should have instantly stolen back up the river in his skiff. In his anxiety to make a thorough job of it he stayed too long, forgetting that in the bright light of the fire every motion he made would be plainly visible from the hilltop. Suddenly he heard the alarm given from the camp and almost instantly it was followed by the wail of a minie ball as the sentry above fired down upon him. By this time the river was as bright as day for a quarter of a mile on both sides of the bridge. Near the Confederate camp were a number of boats and Pike was already nearly exhausted by his long row and his work in firing the bridge. He heard the shouts of men as they dashed down for their boats. If he attempted to escape by water he was certain to be overtaken. Another bullet close to his head decided him and he dashed down from the bridge into the road, and plunged into the thick woods on the farther side. All the rest of that night and through the first part of the next day he traveled, following one path after another and keeping his general direction by a pocket compass. By noon he was so tired that if it had been to save his life he could not have gone any farther. The little stock of provisions which he had carried with him had been exhausted the night before and he threw himself on a bed of dry pine-needles under a long-leafed pine which stood on the top of a little knoll and lay there for nearly an hour until part of his strength came back. The first thing to do was to find something to eat. Pike did not dare shoot anything with his revolver, even if there had been anything to shoot, for fear of attracting the attention of Confederate pursuers or bushwhackers. It was now that the corporal's wood-craft proved to be as valuable as his scout-craft. If he were to go further, he must have food and he commenced to wander back and forth through the woods, his quick eye taking in everything on the ground or among the trees. On the other side of the knoll where he had been lying, he noticed a rotten log where the dry, punky wood had been scattered as if a hen had been scratching there. Pike commenced to look carefully all along the ground and finally just on the edge of the slope where the thick underbrush began, he nearly stepped on a large brown speckled bird so much the color of the leaves that if he had not been looking for it, he never would have discovered the nest. The bird slipped into the underbrush like a shadow, leaving behind fifteen brown, mottled partridge eggs. The corporal sat down over the nest and gulped down, one after the other, those eggs, warm from the breast of the brooding bird. As he said afterward, never had he tasted anything half so good. This was a step in the right direction, but even fifteen partridge eggs are not enough for a man who hadn't eaten for nearly thirty hours. Once again he began to prowl restlessly through the woods and this time his attention was attracted by something growing on the side of a dead maple stub. It was dark red and looked like a great tongue sticking out from the bark. To his great joy, Pike recognized it at once as the beefsteak mushroom. It was a magnificent specimen which must have weighed nearly two pounds and as he pulled it off from the tree, red drops oozed out and it looked and smelled like a big, fresh beefsteak. The corporal went down the hollow into the thickest part of the swamp and there picked an armful of perfectly dry cedar and scrub-oak twigs which burn with a clear, smokeless flame. Out of these he built a little Indian cooking fire by arranging the twigs into the form of a little tepee so that a jet of clear flame came up with hardly a sign of any smoke. It was the work of only a moment to whittle and set up a forked stick and to fasten a slab of that meaty-looking fungus on a spit fixed in the fork. Fortunately he had left in his haversack a little salt and pepper with which he seasoned the broiling, hissing steak. In about ten minutes it was done to a turn. Cutting a long strip of bark from off one of the red river-birches which grew near, Pike squatted down on the ground and in fifteen minutes more there was nothing left of that savory, two-pound, broiled vegetable steak. With fifteen eggs and two pounds of beefsteak mushroom under his belt, the corporal felt like another man. He coiled himself up on the dry pine-needles in a little hollow which he found under the low-hanging boughs of a long-leaf pine and resolved to take a sleep to make up for what he had lost during the last two nights. It was early afternoon and everything was still and hot and the drowsy scent of the pine mingled with puffs of spicy fragrance from the great white blossoms of the magnolia with which the woods were starred. As he fell asleep the last thing the corporal heard was the drowsy call of flocks of golden-winged warblers on their way north. How long he slept he could not tell. He only knew that he awoke with a sudden consciousness of danger, that strange sixth sense which most Indians and a few white hunters sometimes develop. Perhaps he inherited it from old Zebulon Pike who, like Daniel Boone and Kit Carson, had the power of hearing and sensing the approach of an enemy even in their soundest sleep. The corporal was alert the second he opened his eyes, but made not a movement or a rustle. The sun was well down in the sky and there was nothing in sight, but the birds had stopped singing. Finally way down through the little tunnel which a near-by flowing stream had made through the hillocks came a sound which brought him to his feet in an instant. It was a ringing note that chimed like a distant bell. Three times it sounded and there was silence, then again three times, but a little nearer and louder, then again silence. A third time it came and this time it seemed around the bend of the bayou not half a mile away. Pike knew in a minute what it was. It was the bay of the dreaded bloodhounds, those man-hunters who had learned to trail their prey through forest and fen, no matter how much he doubled nor how fast he ran. There was but one thing to do if there was time. Springing up, the corporal ran down to the little stream and leaped in. It was hardly up to his knees, but he splashed along for a hundred yards, now and then plunging in up to his waist. It ran a hundred yards or so through the swamp and then emptied into a larger bayou. Along this Pike swam for his life as silently as a muskrat, for now he could hear the baying of the dogs close at hand and suddenly there was a chorus of deep raging barks followed by shouts and he knew that his pursuers had found his lair under the pine trees. Soon the stream ran into another one and then another until Pike had swam and waded and plunged through half a score of brooks which made a regular network through the middle of the swamp. By this time the sound of the dogs had died far away in the distance and he had every reason to believe that he had thrown them off the track. Down the last stream there was a deep, sluggish creek nearly fifty feet wide. He swam until he could go no farther. It opened out into a series of swampy meadows and to his joy he saw in the very midst of the swamp through which it ran a pile of newly-split rails. Swimming over to this he found that they had been piled on a little island about five feet above the level of the swamp and surrounded on all sides by masses of underbrush and deep sluggish water. By this time it was nearly sunset and he resolved to crawl up here and find a dry place and spend the night on this island, which could not be approached except by boat. As he climbed up to the top of the mass of rails, he heard a low, thick hiss close to his face and outstretched hand. He had never heard the sound before, but no man born needs to be taught the voice of the serpent. He started back just in time. Coiled on one of the rails was a great cotton-mouth moccasin whose bloated swollen body must have been nearly five feet in length and as big around as his arm. The great creature slowly opened its mouth, showing the pure white lining which has given it the name and hissed again menacingly. The corporal was in a predicament. Behind him was the cold, dark river in which he no longer had the strength to swim. In the approaching darkness, he might not be able to find any other island of refuge on which to pass the night. There was nothing for him but to fight the grim snake for the possession of the rails. He dropped back and twisted off the thick branch of a near-by willow-tree and began again to climb up toward the snake cautiously, but as rapidly as possible, for the light was beginning to die out in the sky and Pike preferred not to do his fighting in the dark in this case if possible. As he reached the top of the pile, the king of the island was ready for him and struck viciously at him as he approached. The movable poison fangs protruded like poisoned spear-heads from the wide-open mouth and from them could be seen oozing the yellow drops of the fatal venom which makes the cotton-mouth more dreaded even than the rattler or the copperhead. The fatal head flashed out not six inches from Corporal Pike's face, but it had miscalculated the distance and before it could again coil, he had struck with all his might at the monstrous body just where it joined the heart-shaped head. Fortunately for him, his aim was good and the crippled snake writhed and hissed and struck in vain in a horrible mass at Pike's feet. Two more blows made it harmless and inserting the stick under the heavy body, the corporal heaved it far over into the water and it floated away. Pike then made a careful examination of the rails and the island on which he stood so as to make sure that the moccasin had not left any of his family behind. He found no others, however, and before it was dark the corporal moved the rails and piled them around him in a kind of barricade which shut him off from view from the water and shore and which he sincerely hoped would discourage the visits of any more moccasins. Inside of this he laid three rails lengthwise and wrung out his sodden coat and coiled up for the night on his hard bed. He woke up surrounded by the gleaming mist of the early morning and shaking with the cold after sleeping all night in his soaked clothing. As he was too cold to sleep and it was light enough now to see, he decided to start off for dry land again. For over two hours he swam and waded along big and little bayous until, just as the sun was getting up, he came out through the morass and found himself at the rear of a lonely plantation. Just in front of him an old negro was at work hoeing in a field. The corporal crept up near him through the bushes and looked all around cautiously to see whether there were any white men in sight. Seeing none, he decided to take a chance on the negro being friendly.

"Hi, there, uncle!" he called cautiously from behind a little bush.

The old man jumped a foot in the air.

"That settles it," he observed emphatically to himself, "I'se gwine home. This old nigger ain't gwine to work in any swamp whar he hears hants callin' him 'uncle.'"

At this point the corporal came out of his hiding place and finally managed to convince the old man that he was nothing worse than very hungry flesh and blood. The old darkey turned out to be a friend indeed and going to his cabin in less than fifteen minutes he was back with a big pan full of bacon and corn bread which the corporal emptied in record-breaking time. Moreover, he brought his son with him who promised to guide Pike by safe paths to the road which led to Huntsville where General Mitchel had located his headquarters. Hour after hour the two wound in and out of swamps which would have been impassable to any one who did not know the hidden trails which crossed them. Twice they heard Confederate soldiers, evidently still hunting for the Union soldier who had been making them so much trouble. Toward noon they came to a broad bayou which went in and out through the swamp. At one point where it approached the bend it became very narrow and Pike's guide showed him a fallen tree half hidden in the brush.

"Cross that, boss," he said, "and at the other end you'll find a little hard path. Follow that and you'll come out clear down on the Huntsville road, only a few miles from the Union soldiers."

Pike said good-bye to his faithful guide and gave him one of the numerous Confederate revolvers which he had captured on his trip as the only payment he could make for his kindness.

The corporal found the path all right and was soon wearily trudging along the Huntsville road. He had not gone far before he was overtaken by another negro dressed in a style which would have made the lilies of the field take to the woods. With his panama hat, red tie and checked suit, he made a brave show. What impressed the corporal, however, more than his clothes was the fact that he was driving a magnificent horse attached to a brand-new buggy.

"Stop a minute," said Pike, stepping out into the road.

"No," said the negro, pompously, "I'se in a great hurry."

The corporal whipped out a revolver and cocked it.

"Come to think of it, Massa," said the darkey in quite a different tone, "I'se got plenty of time after all."

"Whose horse is this?" said the corporal, climbing into the buggy.

"This is Mistah Pomeroy's property," said the negro with much dignity.

"Well," said the corporal, "you turn right around and drive me to General Mitchel's camp just as fast as the law will let you."

"But, boss," objected the other, "Massa will whip me if I do."

"And I'll shoot you if you don't," returned the corporal.

This last argument was a convincing one and half an hour later General Mitchel and his forces were enormously impressed by seeing Corporal Pike, who had been reported shot, drive up back of a magnificent horse in a new buggy and beside a wonderfully-dressed coachman. The general was even more impressed when the corporal reported that the bridge was gone and gave him an accurate statement as to the Confederate forces.

Corporal Pike found Mr. Pomeroy's horse a very good substitute for his faithful Bill and, to his surprise, the coachman went with the horse, since he was afraid to go back, and became a cook in General Mitchel's mess.