Observer was reminded of another story of the late George W. Caton. He lived near the old cement mill, east of town, and word having been carried to Harper’s Ferry to the Union forces then there that Caton was at home, a squad was sent up the next night to capture him. They wanted him badly, because as a daring scout he had given the Yanks a great deal of trouble. They reached his house during the night, but were not certain that they were at the right place. Caton himself answered their knock at the door, and when they inquired if George Caton lived there he said no — Caton’s house was just over the hill, and showed them how to get there. “Are you trying to capture Caton?” he asked. And when they replied that they were, he said: “Good! I hope you’ll get the big-footed son-of-a-gun. He’s the d—–dest rascal in this country.” As they quietly made their way to the house he had pointed out, Caton even more quietly slipped off in another direction, and was soon in a safe retreat. When the soldiers found how they had been fooled they returned to the Caton house, but the bird had flown. They threatened to burn the house, but later went away. The next day, as they were returning to Harper’s Ferry, they wanted to hang some old men who had heard the story and chaffed them about Caton’s escape, but they finally had to laugh themselves at his cleverness.
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