Andrew Pancake’s Close Call
Narrow Escape #16
Ironton Register 3 Mar. 1887
Submitted by Debbie Meinhart
“So you were in the Army, Andrew Pancake?” asked the Register reporter.
“Yes; I enlisted in the 45th Kentucky Cavalry in November 1863. I was only 16 years old then. I guess I got my share of it anyhow. I remember a scout in 1864 on the headwaters of Licking River. It was a bitter and rough experience. We swam streams and galloped our horses for days. One day we got into a valley near an old log barn and were drawn up in line.
“Our Captain then told us we were surrounded by the rebels, with no chance to get out, but if we would abandon our horses and take to the brush, we might escape. The Captain was pretty well scared; he could hardly talk. Then our friend Jack Matney stepped to the front and told the Captain to get to the rear and consider himself under arrest.
“Then Jack ordered the company to follow him in a single file, which they did in a full lope. We went through a sugar camp, across a ditch, into an open field, where we met a body of rebs, which we charged and routed, capturing three horses, a sack of homemade sugar, and a box of jewelry. We divided the spoils, Jack getting the best horse for his share, and he earned it too.”
“Then we started for camp, 90 miles distant. There we found all the troops gone except for a few sick. Then about 20 of us were ordered on picket. Beyond the picket post, four others were posted as sentries. We had hardly got there when the advance of Morgan’s men, 45 of them, were right on us and fired.
“They killed two of my comrades, Bailey and Miller, and captured a third, Conley. I made a breakthrough for an opening in the fence. The rebs shot at me as I ran, a ball cutting the seam between the first and second buttons of my blouse, which was buttoned. I was called on to ‘surrender,’ and at the same time, they shot, the ball taking effect in the left shoulder.
“But I tried to still get away when a reb dashed up and struck me on the left side of the head with his carbine knocking me from my horse. I fell on the pike and was so badly hurt I could not move. The fellow that hit me sprang from his horse and asked, ‘have you any money?’ began feeling for my pocket. Just as he got his fingers in my pocket, someone on the inside of the stone fence fired at him, and the ball cut so close that he jumped up, sprang on his horse, and lit out. Right there was also a “Narrow Escape,” for I had $65 in that pocket.”
“While I lay there, the rebs re-formed again, and it happened they drew up right where I lay, only a few feet from me. Then they were ordered to dismount. Then four or five of them came to where I lay, took hold of me, and carried me to the fence by the side of which they laid me. They put a rock under my head for a pillow.
“One of them gave me a cup of brandy out of his canteen. Another laid his blanket over me; and another took my canteen, filled it with water, and set it by the side of my head; but I was so weak that I could not handle it. One of them said, “If you had known that you were going to be killed, you wouldn’t have come out to fight us, would you?”
“Then they left, and the stars were my only company that long, suffering night. The next morning, as I lay there, two men about seventy-five yards below me shot into the stone fence just above my head. The balls didn’t miss me by three inches. Then I tried to take my head off the rock, but I could not.
“About 10 o’clock that morning, two colored men came and asked me if I didn’t want to be moved to the house, a short distance below, and assenting, they laid me in the rebel blanket and carried me to the porch of the house. Inside were two men badly shot, and they were moaning woefully. All this occurred many years ago when I was but 16 years old, but the recollections of it are as vivid as of it happened yesterday. I got well, but you don’t think it was a close shave?”
“Indeed I do,” said the reporter, “two narrow escapes….one of treasure and the other of life. I am glad it is both, especially the latter. I thank you for the exciting narrative. Good Day.”
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