HUGH M'NEIL'S HEN.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXI, Issue 4751, 16 March 1899, Page 1

HUGH M'NEIL'S HEN.

By ALFBEDE. OALHOTTN,

OHAPTEK t

General O. M. Mitchell, although past middle age m 1862, was one of the most romantic soldiers of the war. He was an able, patriotic man, and if he had any^f ailing aa a commander it was m perfecting more plans than a dozen armies could execute. Among these plans was ona for the capture of Chattanooga by ad* vancing a, force rapidly along the right; bank of the river, the feasibility of which was subsequently demonstrated by the brilliant expedition under Q-en-eral Negley. To learn the nature of the country between MacMinnville and Chattanooga a mounted force of sixty men, made up of detachments from the Seventh Pennsylvania, First Tenness.ee and Fifth Ken- j tucky, with a number of men from the hills of north Alabama, recently mustered into our service, all young, eager and well mounted, left Stevenson for the Cumberland mountains to the north of the Tennessee. Having just made m perfect safety a trip down the mountains from Kentucky with six men, all m uniform, I was sent with this expedition. Lin Moore was the man on whose knowledge of the mountains we relied chiefly during this scout. Before starting out he assured General Mitchell that . he "knew the Cumberland mountains ; from end to end aa well as if he had built 'em by days' work," and the result showed that he was not a braggart. On this scout six of us, under Lin's guidance, cut loose from the main body and pushed toward the east, till one midnight we dismounted on the crest of [ a hill from which we looked down on Moccasin point, subsequently to become famous, and could see the white tents of the Confederates gleaming like opals m the moonlight from Lookout mountain to Chattanooga. Satisfied with the outlook, we moved back from this elevation to a little stream at the base, where we threw ourselves on the ground to rest while our weary horses w«ce-gzazing. As I had planned to examine, so far as I could do so with a field glass, the position and extent of the Confederate defenses on the following morning, it was understood that we should remain where we were for the night; and as the little ravine was out of the way and as much ' secluded as if we had been m a cave, Lin Moore thought it would be perfectly safe to lie down, and he showed his confidence by wrapping up his boots m his coat, putting the bundle under his head and dropping off to sleep m no time. The rest of the party followed Lin's example. All the men were asleep, and I was about to pull off my boots to ease my feet, when up on the hill I heard the notes of the whippoorwill. I had known this bird from my childhood, and I had heard it many a time before m the mountains, but never after midnight and but seldom after dark; yet the sound was too accurate and distinct to be an immitation. While I was wondering at this an owl, seemingly perched m the graylimestone rocks directly above where we lay, began: "Hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-ool" ending with the shrill whistle peculiar to the white owl. This seemed more m keeping with the time and place, and I was again about to pull off my boots, when suddenly a rivalry started between the whippoorwill and the owl, and'they dashed along "neck and neck," the hooting and the whistling increasing m rapidity till the rocks rang again, and very much perplexed I rose to my feet and walked back to try and get a view of the cliff, but as the full moon was sloping westward it was m shadow, Gradually the contest died out, as if the feathered rivals had become exhausted, but there was still an occasional faint "hoo-hoo" and "whippoorwill," when suddenly a dog—a dog with the voice of Cerberus—began baying up the hill. Then the baying changed to the angry barking of two dogs—one a savage monster and the other a pugnacious "fice." I crept over to Lin's side, and bending down so as not to break m needlessly on the sleep of my near by companions, 1 whispered for him to get up and step back with me. ' Drawing Lin back, so as not to disturb the others, I told him of what I'had heard, but before he could frame a reply the noise began again. This time it was the bellowing of a distant and evidently a belligerent bull. / "Doggone hit, who'd 'a* thought hit?" was the guide's comment. "Thought what?" I aslced m surprise. "Why, that he'd 'a' come ovah liar." "Who'd 'a' come?" I asked, unconsciously dropping into the mountain vernacular. "W'y, Hugh McNeil's Hen. Nevah heah of him?" "No, I don't think I ever have, and if that's a hen it is the most extraordinary bird I ever heard." "Oh, Hen ain't a bird; he's a nat'ral," said Lin Moore with the manner of a man who, m his own opinion, has given a full and satisfactory explanation. But I wati more perplexed than ever.