his adventures in his
journey toward his destination in Kentucky. Suffice it to say, he met with
numerous perils and made some narrow escapes, but at last found himself
near Danville. There resided a few miles from Danville a rich planter
named Ormsby. Calhoun knew him as an ardent friend of the South, one well
versed in all secret attempts to take Kentucky out of the Union, and one
who kept well posted in everything which pertained to the welfare of the
Confederacy; and at Ormsby's he resolved to stop and lay his plans for the
future.

He was received with open arms. "So you are from John Morgan," said Mr.
Ormsby, "and wish to recruit for his command. You have come at an
opportune time. To-morrow there is a secret meeting of prominent
Confederates near Harrodsburg. I am to attend. You will meet a number
there for whom you have letters. Of course you will go with me?"

Tired as he was, Calhoun rode that night with Mr. Ormsby to be present at
the meeting. If he was to meet Morgan at Glasgow during the first days of
May, his time was short, very short, and what he should do had to be done
quickly.

When he was introduced to those present as from Morgan, and just from
Corinth, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. He had to tell the story of
Shiloh, of the tragic death of Governor Johnson, of the retreat, but how
the spirit of the Southern army was unbroken, and that the South would
not, and could not, be conquered.

To his delight, Calhoun found that two companies of cavalry were nearly
ready to take the field, and it was unanimously agreed that they should
cast their fortune with Morgan.

"I believe that Morgan with a thousand men can ride clear to the Ohio
River," declared Calhoun. "It only remains for Kentuckians to rally to his
standard, and give him the support that he desires."

It was agreed that the companies should be filled as soon as possible, and
should go whenever Calhoun said the word.

Calhoun returned with Mr. Ormsby, as he wished to enter Danville to visit
his parents. Disguised as a country boy with produce to sell, he had no
trouble in passing the pickets into town. With a basket of eggs on his
arm, he knocked at the back door of his father's residence. It was opened
by Chloe, the cook.

"Want eny good fresh eggs?" asked Calhoun.

"No; go way wid ye, yo' po' white trash," snapped the old negro woman, as
she attempted to shut the door in his face.

"Chloe!"

The dish which she held in her hand w