He spends the night in learning the character of the
surrounding country and the disposition of Marshall's forces; and now
again John Jordan comes into action.
A dozen Rebels are grinding at a mill, and a dozen honest men come upon
them, steal their corn, and make them prisoners. The miller is a tall,
gaunt man, and his clothes fit the scout as if they were made for him.
He is a Disunionist, too, and his very raiment should bear witness
against this feeding of his enemies. It does. It goes back to the Rebel
camp, and--the scout goes in it. That chameleon face of his is smeared
with meal, and looks the miller so well that the miller's own wife might
not detect the difference. The night is dark and rainy, and that lessens
the danger; but still he is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the
lion,--if he can be called a lion, who does nothing but roar like unto
Marshall.
Space will not permit me to detail this midnight ramble; but it gave
Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and
laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicircular hill, at
the forks of Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon
commanding its whole length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting
his coming.
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