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General Nelson's Scout

by Byron A. Dunn · English · Gutenberg #49529 · 422,870 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: General Nelson's Scout

Author: Byron A. Dunn

Illustrator: Louis Braunhold


        
Release date: July 26, 2015 [eBook #49529]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT ***

GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT

[Illustration: As lightly as a Bird he cleared the Fence.]




General Nelson's Scout

BY

Byron A. Dunn

[Illustration: Decoration]

Chicago
A. C. McClurg and Company
1898


COPYRIGHT

BY A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY

A. D. 1898

_All rights reserved_


                     TO
                   Milton,
               MY LITTLE SON,
     WHO WAS GREATLY INTERESTED IN THE STORY
           OF "GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT,"
              WHILE BEING WRITTEN,
       AND WHO GAVE ME MANY VALUABLE HINTS,
               THIS VOLUME IS
           AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.




INTRODUCTION.


Throughout the following pages the threads of history and fiction are
closely interwoven. The plot of the story is laid in the dark and stormy
days of 1861, amid the waving trees and blue grass fields of Central
Kentucky.

No State wept more bitter tears at the commencement of the dreadful
struggle between the North and the South than Kentucky. With loving arms
she tried to encircle both, and when she failed, in the language of one
of her most eloquent sons, "So intense was her agony that her great
heart burst in twain."

Resolutions of neutrality did little good. Sympathies and beliefs are
not controlled by resolutions or laws, and never can be. Kentucky was
divided into two great hostile camps. The Secession element was very
active, and the Union men saw the State slowly but surely drifting into
the arms of the Confederacy.

Then it was that Lieutenant William Nelson of the United States navy, a
well-known and very popular Kentuckian, asked the privilege of raising
ten regiments of Kentucky troops. The request was granted, and Nelson at
once commenced his task. Only a man of iron determination and the
highest courage would have dared to undertake such a work. He became the
object of the fiercest hatred and opposition,--even from many who
professed to love the Union. But he never wavered in his purpose, and
established a camp for his recruits at Dick Robinson, a few miles east
of Danville.

Here it is that the story opens, and Nelson is the chief historic
figure--a figure with many imperfections, yet it can be said of him as
it was of King James V., in "The Lady of the Lake":


     "On his bold visage middle age
     Had slightly pressed its signet sage,
     Yet had not quenched the open truth
     And fiery vehemence of youth;
     Forward and frolic glee was there,
     The will to do, the soul to dare."


All military movements chronicled in the story are historically correct.
The riot in Louisville, the fight for the arms, the foiling of the plot,
the throwing of the train from the track, are all historical incidents.

Every real character in the story is called by his true name. In this
class belong Colonel Peyton and his son Bailie. The high character of
the one and the eloquence of the other are not overdrawn.

The story of Shiloh, as told, may be contradicted, but, the author
believes, cannot be successfully controverted. Had it not been for
General Nelson, Buell's army would never have reached the battlefield of
Shiloh Sunday night.

Fred Shackelford and Calhoun Pennington, the heroes of the story, are
children of the imagination, as well as their relatives and friends.

With this brief introduction, the author sends forth this little volume,
hoping that the rising generation may not only read it, but enjoy it,
and be somewhat enlightened by it.

Through bitter tears and dreadful carnage the Union was preserved; and
through it all there has come a great blessing. Thoroughly united, the
North and the South are vying with each other in upholding the honor of
the flag. Shoulder to shoulder they stand, battling that the last
remnant of tyranny may be driven from the New World.

B. A. D.

WAUKEGAN, ILL., June, 1898.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                               PAGE
    I. THE QUARREL AND THE OATH         15
   II. THE MEETING WITH NELSON          22
  III. THE DAY AFTER BULL RUN           34
   IV. THE TRIP TO NASHVILLE            58
    V. FATHER AND SON                   80
   VI. THE FIGHT FOR THE ARMS           98
  VII. THE FOILING OF A PLOT           115
 VIII. A DARING DEED                   135
   IX. A LEAP FOR LIFE                 153
    X. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY       167
   XI. CRAZY BILL SHERMAN              187
  XII. A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER           195
 XIII. THE MEETING OF THE COUSINS      206
  XIV. THE BATTLE OF MILL SPRINGS      227
   XV. A FIGHT WITH GUERRILLAS         238
  XVI. FORT DONELSON                   253
 XVII. AFTER THE BATTLE                267
XVIII. "WE BOTH MUST DIE"              279
  XIX. SHILOH                          294
   XX. "MY SON! MY SON!"               311




ILLUSTRATIONS.


As lightly as a Bird he cleared the Fence           _Frontispiece._

He plunged forward, and passed the Goal
half-a-length ahead                           _Facing page_      22

He dealt the Ruffian such a Blow that he fell like a log         54

As quick as a flash Fred snatched a Revolver from the holster    78

"You here!" gasped the Major, and he made a grab for
his collar                                                      130

"Fire! Fire!" thundered a Colonel who had just sprung
out of the foremost car                                         142

Fred raised his Head, "Ferror! Ferror!" he cried                186

The Federals were among them, shooting, sabering,
riding them down                                                202

The Battle now raged along the entire line with great fury      236

Fred drew his Revolver, and the Guerrilla dropped
from his horse                                                  246

"Why, Boys, they are trying to get away; we mustn't let them"   266

"For God's Sake, don't shoot! I promise"                        290

Springing from his horse, he bent over the death-like form      316




GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT.




CHAPTER I.

THE QUARREL AND THE OATH.


A short distance from Danville, Kentucky, on the afternoon of July 21,
1861, two boys might have been seen seated by the roadside under the
branches of a wide-spreading oak. Near by, tethered to the stout rail
fence which ran along the side of the road, were two spirited
thoroughbred horses that champed their bits and restlessly stamped their
feet, unnoticed by their young owners, who seemed to be engaged in a
heated discussion.

The two boys were nearly the same age and size, and were cousins.
Calhoun Pennington, who was the more excited of the two, was very dark,
and his black hair, which he wore long, was flung back from a broad and
handsome forehead. His countenance was flushed with anger, and his eyes
fairly blazed with suppressed wrath.

His companion, Frederic Shackelford, was not quite as large as Calhoun,
but his frame was more closely knit, and if it came to a trial of
strength between the two, it would take no prophet to tell which would
prove master.

Frederic was as fair as his cousin was dark. His eyes were deep blue,
and his hair had a decided tinge of red. The firm set lips showed that
he was not only a boy of character, but of decided will. While his tones
expressed earnestness and deep feeling, his countenance did not betray
the excitement under which his cousin labored. Young as Frederic was, he
had learned the valuable lesson of self-control.

So earnest did the discussion between the two boys become, that Calhoun
Pennington sprang to his feet, and raising his clenched hand, exclaimed
in passionate tones: "Do you mean to say that Kentucky is so sunk in
cowardice that she will not enforce her proclamation of neutrality? Then
I blush I am a Kentuckian."

"I mean to say," calmly replied Frederic, "that it will be impossible
for Kentucky to enforce her ideas of neutrality. Kentuckians are no
cowards, that you know, Calhoun; but it is not a question of courage.
The passions aroused are too strong to be controlled. The North and the
South are too thoroughly in earnest; the love of the Union on one side,
the love of the rights of the States on the other, is too sincere. We
could not remain neutral, if we wished. As well try to control the
beating of our hearts, as our sympathies. We are either for the old
flag, or against it."

"I deny it," hotly cried Calhoun; "you fellows who are always preaching
about the old flag are not the only ones who love the country. It is we
who are trying to keep it from becoming an instrument of oppression, of
coercion, who really love the old flag. But I know what is the matter
with you. Owing to the teachings of that Yankee mother of yours, you are
with the Abolitionists, nigger-stealers, the mud-sills of creation,
lower and meaner than our slaves. You had better go back to those
precious Yankee relatives of yours; you have no business in Kentucky
among gentlemen."

Frederic's eyes flashed. He raised his clenched hand convulsively; then,
with a tremendous effort, he controlled himself and slowly replied:
"Calhoun, we have always been friends and companions, more like brothers
than cousins; but if you value my friendship, if you do not wish me to
become your deadliest enemy, never speak disrespectfully of my mother
again. If you do, young as I am, I shall demand of you the satisfaction
one gentleman demands of another. This refused, I shall shoot you like a
dog."

For a moment Calhoun gazed in the countenance of his cousin in silence.
In the stern, set features, the dangerous gleam of the eye, he read the
truth of what he had heard. He was fully as brave as his cousin, and for
a moment a bitter and stinging reply trembled on his lips; then his
better nature conquered, and extending his hand, he said: "There, Fred;
I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, much less reflect on the memory of
your mother. From the North though she was, she was one of the best of
women, and you know I loved her almost as much as you did yourself, for
in many ways she was a mother to me. Forgive me, Fred."

Fred grasped the extended hand, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed, "I
might have known you did not mean it, Cal. You are too noble to say
aught of one who loved you as my mother did. Forgive my hasty words."

"There is nothing to forgive, Fred; you did just right."

For a moment the boys remained silent, and then Fred resumed: "Cal, we
must both try to be charitable. Simply to be for the North or the South
does not make one a gentleman. True manhood is not measured by one's
political belief. Your father is none the less a gentleman because he is
heart and soul with the South. Calhoun, dark and fearful days are
coming--have already come. Father will be against son, brother against
brother. Members of the same family will become the deadliest enemies.
Our beloved Kentucky will be rent and torn with warring factions, and
the whole land will tremble beneath the shock of contending armies.
Ruined homes will be everywhere; little children and women will flee to
the mountains for safety."

"Not if Kentucky enforces her position of neutrality," broke in Calhoun.
"The picture you draw is one you Unionists are trying to bring about.
We, who would enforce neutrality, would avoid it."

"Calhoun, don't be deceived. You know that in many parts of Kentucky it
is dangerous now for a Union man to express his sentiments. Hundreds of
Kentuckians have left to join the Confederate army. They do so boldly
with colors flying and drums beating. On our southern border, armies are
gathering ready to spring over at a moment's notice. Kentucky cannot, if
she would, remain neutral. I feel, I know, evil times are coming--are
now here. Calhoun, a few moments ago we came near having a deadly
quarrel. I shudder as I now think of it. What if we had quarreled! What
if one of us had killed the other, we who are like brothers! Oh,
Calhoun! let us swear eternal friendship to each other. Let us promise
to be careful and not say anything to each other that will rankle and
hurt. We know not what will come, what the future has in store for us,
or whither we shall be led. Let us swear to succor and save each other,
even at the peril of our lives, if necessary. Wherever we may meet, let
us meet as friends--each ready to protect the life and honor of the
other. Let us swear it."

"Fred," slowly replied Calhoun, "it is a very strange compact you ask.
It sounds like some old story of knight-errantry. You must be getting
romantic. But when I think of how near we came to flying at each other's
throats, if you are willing to make such a solemn compact, I am."

And there, on that July evening, under the spreading oak, the boys
clasped hands and took a solemn oath to stand by each other, come what
might; even unto death would they be true to each other.

Little did either think what would be the outcome of that strange
compact. Little did they realize that the day would come when that oath,
if kept, would lead both into the very jaws of death--an ignoble and
terrible death. That oath, under the spreading oak, on that July evening
between two boys, was to become the pivot around which the fate of
contending armies depended.

Calhoun was the first to speak after the making of the solemn compact.
"Fred," he exclaimed, "now that we have sworn eternal friendship, it
will not do for us to quarrel any more. Like the man and his wife they
tell about, 'we agree to disagree.' But see how restless our horses are.
They must be disgusted with our loitering. Let us have a race. See that
tree yonder, nearly a mile away, where the Danville and Nicholasville
roads cross? I can beat you to that tree, and if I do, the South wins."

"Done," cried Fred, for he had all the love of a true Kentucky boy for a
horse race. "Now, Prince," said he, as he unhitched his horse, and
patted his glossy neck, "you hear. This race is for the old flag. Win,
or never hold up your head again."

"Selim," cried Calhoun, "how do you like that? It is the cause of the
Sunny South that is at stake. Win, Selim, or I will sell you to the
meanest Abolitionist in the North."

Both boys vaulted into their saddles, and at the word their steeds were
away like the wind.




CHAPTER II.

THE MEETING WITH NELSON.


Never was there a hotter race run in Kentucky. Neck and neck the horses
ran, neither seemingly able to gain an inch on the other. The goal grew
alarmingly near. Each rider bent over the neck of his flying steed, and
urged him on with word and spur. The tree was scarcely twenty yards
away. "Now, Prince, if ever," cried Fred. The horse seemed to
understand. With a tremendous effort, he plunged forward, and passed the
goal half a length ahead.

[Illustration: He plunged forward, and passed the Goal half-a-length
ahead.]

"Won!" cried Fred, but his huzzah died on his lips. The excitement of
the race had made the boys careless, and they ran into a squad of
horsemen who were passing along the other road. Fred came nearly
unhorsing the leader of the squad, a heavy-set, red-faced man with bushy
hair that stood up all around his large head. He was dressed in the
uniform of an officer of the United States navy. As for Calhoun, he
entirely unhorsed a black groom, who was bringing up the rear of the
squad.

The darky scrambled to his feet unhurt, and forgetting his fright in his
enthusiasm, shouted: "Golly, massa, dat was a race, suah. Dat a hoss
woth habin'." Like a true Kentucky negro, he loved a fine horse, and
gloried in a race.

But with the officer, it was different. As soon as he could quiet his
horse, he let fly such a volley of oaths that the boys sat on their
horses too dumfounded to say a word. The officer swore until he was out
of breath, and had to stop from sheer exhaustion.

At the first opportunity, Fred took off his hat and politely said:

"We beg a thousand pardons, sir, but I was racing for the old flag, and
had to win, even if I had had to run over the commander-in-chief of the
army, instead of a lieutenant of the navy."

"Lieutenant of the navy! lieutenant of the navy!" roared Nelson, for it
was he, "I will show you, young man, I command on dry land, as well as
on the water," and the air once more grew sulphurous.

"Really," dryly remarked Fred, "if you fight as well as you swear,
Kentucky will soon be clear of rebels."

Nelson's companions roared with laughter. As for Nelson, his face
twitched for a moment, and then he, too, commenced to laugh.

"It is a good thing for you, young man," he exclaimed, "that you don't
belong to the army or I would have you tied up by the thumbs. As it is,
will you tell me what you meant by saying that you were racing for the
old flag and had to win?"

"Why, sir, my cousin, here, challenged me for a race, saying if he won
the South would triumph; but if I won, the old flag would be victorious.
So you see, sir, I had to win, even if I had had to run clear over you.
You ought to thank me for winning the race, instead of swearing at me
for jostling your dignity a little."

Nelson chuckled.

All of this time Calhoun, after soothing his horse, had been a quiet
spectator of the scene. He felt nettled over losing the race, and was
not in the best of humor.

"So," said Nelson, turning to Calhoun, "you ran for the South to win,
did you? Might have known you would have been beaten. What have you got
to say for yourself, anyway, you ---- little rebel?"

Calhoun's eyes flashed. Drawing himself proudly up, he said: "I am no
rebel. I am a Kentuckian, and am for the neutrality of Kentucky."

"Neutrality of Kentucky," sneered Nelson; "of whom did you learn that
twaddle, youngster? Neutrality is a plea of cowards to hide their
disloyalty."

Calhoun grew deadly pale. He forgot everything in his passion, as he
fairly hissed:

"And you are Lieutenant Nelson, are you? That recreant son of Kentucky,
who, in spite of her pledge of neutrality, the pledge of a sovereign
State, is violating that pledge by raising troops to subjugate a brave
and heroic people. You are the Benedict Arnold of Kentucky. If I had my
way, you would hang from the nearest tree. Cowards are they who would
keep the pledge of neutrality given by the State? You lie, and boy that
I am, I hurl defiance in your face," and tearing a riding glove from his
hand, he hurled it with all the force he could summon into the face of
the astonished Nelson.

For a moment Nelson was speechless with rage; then mechanically he
reached for the pistol in his holster. With a sharp exclamation, Fred
spurred his horse between the angry man and Calhoun, and striking down
Nelson's arm, cried: "How dare you! For shame, to shoot a boy!" Then
turning to Calhoun, he gave the sharp command, "Go! go at once!"

Calhoun obeyed, and boy and horse were off like a shot; without a word
of apology, Fred followed. Nelson made a movement as if to pursue, but
at once reined up his horse. The look of anger soon passed from his
face; he began to chuckle, and then to laugh.

Turning to one of his staff, he exclaimed: "Gad! Lieutenant, I came
nearly forgetting myself and shooting that boy. It would have been an
outrage. He has the grit, the true Kentucky grit. I am proud of both of
those boys. I shall keep my eye on them. What soldiers they would make!"

Such was General William Nelson, fiery, erratic, and oftentimes cruel,
but at all times ready to acknowledge true courage and manliness in his
worst enemy. To him, more than to any other one man, does the government
owe the fact that Kentucky was saved to the Union. In the face of the
fiercest opposition he never faltered in his purpose of raising troops,
and the most direful threats only nerved him to greater exertion.

The two boys looking back, and seeing that they were not pursued,
brought their horses to a trot and began to talk of their adventure.

"Fred," said Calhoun, "you are the first to get in your work on that
oath. I believe the brute would have shot me if it had not been for
you."

"You certainly gave him great provocation, Cal. It was very
ungentlemanly in him to attack you, a boy, as he did, but these are war
times. My! but you did go for him, Cal; you really looked grand in your
fiery indignation. I could not help admiring you, even if you were
foolish. It is a wonder he did not shoot you, for Nelson is a man of
ungovernable temper when aroused."

"He would have shot me, Fred, if it had not been for your brave
interference. Come to think about it, I could not blame him much, if he
had shot me; for I could not have offered him a greater insult than I
did. I was hasty and excited; you were cool and collected. Fred, I thank
you."

"No more of that, my boy. But, Cal, try and govern your tongue. Your
hasty speech and temper will get you in serious trouble yet."

"I gave the villain no more than he deserved. There is no other man in
Kentucky doing as much as Nelson to overthrow the sovereignty of the
State; there is no other man doing as much to array one portion of our
people against the rest; and if bloodshed comes, no man will be more to
blame than he. He should be arrested and hanged as a traitor to
Kentucky, and I am glad I told him so."

"Calhoun," answered Fred, "you have heard neutrality talked so much you
are blind to the real facts. Nelson was right when he said neutrality
was but a blind for secession. If Kentucky is saved to the Union, it
will be saved by the efforts of such men as he. There can be no middle
ground; you must be for or against the Union."

"I confess," answered Calhoun, "while I have been talking neutrality, my
real sympathy has been with the South. Down with coercion, I say, and
death to all renegades like Nelson."

Fred smiled. "How about renegades like myself, Cal? But I am glad to
hear you expressing your true sentiments; it shows you are honest in
them, at least."

"Fred, why can't you think as I do? You are too honest, too brave, to
side with Abolitionists and mudsills. They are a dirty, low, mischievous
set, to say the least. There can be but one issue to the war. The whole
dirty crew will run like cravens before the chivalric gentlemen of the
South."

"Don't be too sanguine, Cal, about the running. Do you think such men as
Nelson, Fry, Bramlette, Woodford, and a host of others I might name,
are cowards?"

"Oh! I didn't mean the few Kentuckians who are espousing the Union
cause, but the riff-raff and scum of the North."

"You will find the men you call the 'riff-raff and scum of the North,'
are just as earnest, just as brave, as the sons of the South."

"Do you think so?"

"Why not? Are we not of the same blood, the same language? This idea
that the people of the South are a superior race to the people of the
North is one simply born of our pride and arrogance. But you ask me why
I side with the North. Because the North battles for the old flag;
because it loves freedom. Cal, do you think a just God will ever let a
Confederacy be successful whose chief corner-stone is human slavery?"

Calhoun flushed and muttered: "They are nothing but niggers, and the
Bible upholds slavery."

"We will not argue that. My great-grandfather on my mother's side fell
on Bunker Hill. Our great-grandfather fought at Yorktown; our
grandfather was with Jackson at New Orleans. All fought under the old
flag; all fought for freedom, not for slavery. Now, do you think I can
raise my hand to help destroy the Union they helped to found, and then
to perpetuate? I cannot do it. You think differently, but let us
remember our oaths and be friends, even unto death."

"Do you think I can forget it, after what you have just done for me?
But see, the sun is getting low; let us stop this discussion and hurry
up."

Judge Pennington, the father of Calhoun, resided in Danville, and the
two boys soon cantered up to his door. Fred did not put up his horse, as
he was to return home. After tea the boys sauntered down to the hotel to
see what was going on. There they met Nelson and his party. Their first
impulse was to go away, pretending not to notice him, but that would
have been cowardly; so they walked up to him, apparently unconcerned as
to what might happen. To their surprise, Nelson held out his hand, and
laughingly said:

"How are you, my young Hotspurs; and so you want to see me hanged, do
you?" addressing Calhoun. "Well, my boy, better men than I may be hanged
before this trouble is over; and many as brave a boy as you will kiss
mother for the last time. My boy, if it needs be that we must die, would
it not be better to die under the folds of the old flag than under the
bastard stars and bars?"

Calhoun turned away; he dared not trust himself to speak, so Fred, not
to have his cousin appear rude, said: "Lieutenant, let me once more
apologize for running into you. I am very sorry we were so careless."

"No apology is necessary, my son. A boy who runs a race for the Union
and wins need not apologize. I would know you better, lad; Kentucky has
need of all such as you."

Just then an orderly rushed up to Nelson and excitedly said something
in a low tone. Nelson uttered an exclamation of surprise, turned
abruptly, and rapidly walked to the telegraph office, where a dispatch
was placed in his hands. He glanced at it, turned pale, and brave man
though he was, his hand shook as though stricken with palsy. Silently he
handed the dispatch to Colonel Fry, who stood by his side. As the
Colonel read it, great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "Great
God!" was all that he said.

"Fry," said Nelson, huskily, "see Colonel Bramlette, who is fortunately
in Danville; gather up all other Union officers that you may see, and
meet me at once in my room at the hotel."

It was a group of panic-stricken officers who gathered in Nelson's room
at the hotel. Here is the dispatch that had created such consternation:


     CINCINNATI, July 21, 6 P. M.

     LIEUTENANT WM. NELSON:

     Our army has been disastrously beaten at Bull Run, and are in full
     retreat for Washington. That city may be in possession of the enemy
     before morning.

     ANDERSON.


When the dispatch was read, not a word was spoken for a moment, and then
Colonel Fry asked if it was not possible to keep the dispatch secret.

"No use," replied Nelson; "it has already passed through the hands of a
score of disloyal operators."

"I knew," spoke up a young lieutenant, "that those miserable Eastern
Yankees would not stand up before the Southern soldiers. We might as
well disband and go home; all is lost."

"Lost! lost!" thundered Nelson, turning on the young lieutenant like a
tiger. "Go home, you craven, if you want to; all is not lost, and will
not be lost until every loyal son of Kentucky is slain. We have enough
men at Dick Robinson, poorly armed and equipped as they are, to hold
Central Kentucky. With such colonels as Fry, Bramlette, Garrard Wolford,
and the host of gallant officers under them, I defy the devil and all
the Secessionists in the State to wrest Central Kentucky from us."

And with loud huzzahs the officers present swore to stand by Nelson, and
come what might, they would hold Central Kentucky for the Union. How
well that pledge was kept history tells.

"It is not for Central Kentucky, I fear," continued Nelson; "it is for
Louisville. Can we save that city for the Union? It must be saved. The
loyal men there must save it, at all hazards. They must know that we are
standing firm in Central Kentucky. But how? The telegraph is in the
hands of the enemy. Any word I sent would be known at once. Oh! I have
it, Fry; send for that light-haired boy I was talking with at the hotel.
Have him here right away."

Fred Shackelford was found just as he was mounting his horse to return
home. Wondering what Nelson wanted with him, he accompanied the
messenger to that officer's room, where they found him pacing up and
down the apartment like a caged lion.

"Where is your companion?" abruptly asked Nelson of Fred.

"At home; he lives here," answered Fred.

"Where is your home?"

"A few miles out on the Richmond road."

"Your name?"

"Frederic Shackelford."

"Frederic, you have a good horse?"

"Yes, sir; one of the best and fastest in Kentucky."

"Good; now Frederic, you told me that you loved the Union."

"Yes, sir. I promised my mother on her deathbed ever to be faithful to
the old flag."

"Would Kentucky had more such mothers. A boy like you never breaks a
promise to a mother. Frederic, do you want to do your country a great
service, something that may save Kentucky to the Union?"

"What is it, sir?"

"To take some important dispatches to Louisville. Can you make
Nicholasville by ten o'clock? A train leaves there at that hour for
Lexington, thence to Louisville, arriving early in the morning."

Fred looked at his watch. "It is now seven," he said. "Yes, I can make
Nicholasville by ten o'clock, if I have the dispatches right away."

"They will be ready in ten minutes," said Nelson, turning away.

In less than ten minutes the dispatches were given to Fred with
instructions to place them at the earliest possible moment in the hands
of James Speed, Garrett Davis, J. T. Boyle, or any one of a score of
loyal Louisvillians whose names were handed him on a separate sheet of
paper.

Fred mounted his horse and rode away, and soon the swift beating of his
horse's hoofs on the dusty turnpike died away in the distance.




CHAPTER III.

THE DAY AFTER BULL RUN.


Could Frederic Shackelford reach Nicholasville in less than three hours?
"Yes, it can be done, and I will do it," thought he as he urged his
steed onward, and left mile after mile behind him. It was the test of
speed and bottom of the best horse in Kentucky against time.

While Fred is making this desperate ride, our young readers may wish to
be more formally introduced to the brave rider, as well as to the other
characters in the story. Frederic Shackelford was the only son of
Richard Shackelford, a prosperous Kentucky planter and a famous breeder
of horses. Mr. Shackelford was a graduate of Harvard, and while in
college had become acquainted with Laura Carrington, one of the belles
of Boston, and a famous beauty. But Miss Carrington's personal charms
were no greater than her beauty of mind and character. After the
completion of his college course, Mr. Shackelford married Miss
Carrington, and transplanted her to his Kentucky home. The fruits of
this union were two children, Frederic, at the opening of this story a
sturdy boy of sixteen, and Belle, a lovely little girl of twelve. Mrs.
Shackelford was very happy in her Kentucky home. She was idolized by her
husband, who did everything possible for her comfort. Yet, in the midst
of her happiness and the kindness shown her, Mrs. Shackelford could not
help feeling that there was a kind of contempt among native Kentuckians
for New England Yankees. As the strife over slavery grew fiercer, the
feeling against the North, especially New England, grew stronger. Many a
time she felt like retorting when she heard those she loved traduced,
but she hid the wound in her heart, and kept silent. But she could never
accustom herself to the institution of slavery. She was a kind mistress,
and the slaves of the plantation looked upon her as little less than an
angel; but she could never close her eyes to the miseries that slavery
brought in its train.

She died a few days after Fort Sumter was fired upon. A few hours before
she passed away she called Frederic to her bedside, told him how his
great-grandfather had died on Bunker Hill, and asked him to give her a
solemn promise to ever be true to the flag of his country.

"Remember, my son," she said, "that a just God will never prosper a
nation whose chief corner-stone is human slavery."

These words sank deep into Frederic's heart, and were ever with him
during all the dark and terrible days which followed. He readily gave
his mother the promise she requested, and a few hours afterward she sank
peacefully to rest.

As much as Frederic loved his mother, and as deeply as he grieved for
her in the months and years that followed, he thanked God that she had
been spared the misery and agony that would have been hers if she had
lived.

Mr. Shackelford was so prostrated by the death of his wife that for some
weeks he paid no attention to the turmoil going on around him. He was an
old line Whig in politics, but a stout believer in the rights of the
State. He deplored the war, and hoped against hope that some way might
be found to avert it.

Judge Horace Pennington, the father of Calhoun, was one of the most
honored citizens of Danville. He was a veritable Southern fire-eater,
and had nothing but contempt for anything that came from the North. But
his integrity was as sterling as his politics were violent. He was the
soul of honor and truth, and despised anything that looked like
deception. He had no words too strong in which to express his contempt
for the part Kentucky was taking in the great drama that was being
enacted. When the State refused to join the Southern Confederacy his
rage knew no bounds. He would have nothing to do with the plotting that
was going on. "Let us go out like men," he would say, "not creep out
like thieves." When the State declared for neutrality, he said: "The
State is sovereign; she can do as she pleases, but it is a cowardly
makeshift; it will not last."

The mother of Calhoun was a sister of Mr. Shackelford, but she died
when Calhoun was a baby, and for years another Mrs. Pennington had
presided over the Judge's household. For this reason much of the
childhood of Calhoun had been spent at the home of his uncle, and thus
it was that he and Frederic were more like brothers than cousins.

The position of Kentucky, at the beginning of the great Civil War, was
peculiar. She refused to furnish troops for the suppression of the
rebellion; she refused to secede. Her governor was an ardent
Secessionist; the majority of the members of the Legislature were for
the maintenance of the Union. Her people were nearly equally divided. As
a last resort the Legislature passed resolutions of neutrality, and both
the Federal and Confederate governments were warned not to invade her
sacred soil. For a time both governments, in part, respected her
position, and sent no troops from other States into her territory. But
the citizens of Kentucky were not neutral. They violently espoused the
cause of one side or the other. Thousands of Kentuckians left the State
and joined the armies of the Confederacy. All through the State the
secession element was very active, and the Federal government saw it
must take some action or the State would be lost to the Union. So
Lieutenant William Nelson of the United States navy, and a native
Kentuckian, was commissioned to raise ten regiments of Kentucky troops
for service in the Union army. This movement met with the most violent
opposition, even from many professed Union men, who claimed that
Kentucky's position of neutrality should be respected. The militia of
the State, known as "State Guards," was mostly officered and controlled
by the Southern element. In opposition to the "State Guards," companies
were organized throughout the State known as "Home Guards." The "Home
Guards" were Union men. Thus Kentucky was organized into two great
hostile camps. Such was the condition of affairs at the opening of this
story.

It lacked just five minutes of ten o'clock when Fred reined in his
reeking horse before the hotel at Nicholasville. Placing the bridle in
the hands of the black hostler, and handing him a ten-dollar bill, Fred
said: "I must take the train. This horse has been ridden fast and long.
See that he has every attention. You know what to do in such cases."

"Trus' ole Peter fo' dat," answered the darky, bowing and scraping.
"Youn' massa will hab his hoss bac' jes as good as ebber."

Fred just had time to catch the train, as it moved out from the depot.
When Lexington was reached he had to make a change for Louisville. The
news of the defeat of the Federal forces at Bull Run had reached
Lexington, and late as it was the streets were thronged with an excited
crowd. Cheers for Beauregard and the Southern Confederacy seemed to be
on every tongue. If the Union had friends, they were silent. In the
estimation of the excited crowd the South was already victorious; the
North humbled and vanquished. It was now but a step before Washington
would be in the possession of the Southern army, and Lincoln a prisoner
or a fugitive.

That the Union army had been defeated was a surprise to Fred. He now
knew why Nelson was so urgent about the dispatches, and realized as
never before that the nation was engaged in a desperate conflict. The
cries of the mob angered him. "I wonder where the Union men are," he
growled; "are they cowards that they keep silent?" And Fred was about to
let out a good old-fashioned yell for the Union, regardless of
consequences, when he recollected the mission he was on. It must not be;
he must do nothing to endanger the success of his journey, and he bit
his lip and kept silent, but his blood was boiling. Just before the
train started two gentlemen came in and took the seat in front of him.
They were in excellent humor, and exulting over the Confederate victory
in Virginia. One of them Fred knew by sight. He was a prominent
politician, and an officer of the State Guards. The other gentleman was
not so distinguished looking as his companion, but his keen eyes gave
his clear-cut features a kind of dare-devil expression. But beyond this,
there was something about the man that would give one the impression
that he was not only a man of daring, but of cool, calculating judgment,
just the man to lead in a movement that would require both daring and
coolness. As soon as they had seated themselves, the first gentleman,
whom we will call Major Hockoday, turned to his companion and said:

"Well, Morgan, isn't this glorious news? I knew those truckling Yankees
could never stand before the gentlemen of the South. I hardly look for
much war now. Washington will fall, and Lincoln will be on his knees
before a week, begging for peace."

Major Hockoday's companion was no less a personage than John H. Morgan,
afterward one of the most daring raiders and dashing cavalry leaders
produced by the South.

Morgan did not answer for a moment, and then slowly replied:

"Major, I think that you politicians, both North and South, ought to
show more sense than you do. There are those Northern politicians who
have been declaring the war would not last for ninety days. The time is
up, and the war has hardly begun. Now you fellows who have been
associating so long with the dough-faces of the North, think the whole
North is a truckling, pusillanimous set. In my business I have met
another class in the North--thrifty and earnest. They are not only
earnest, but brave; and not only brave, but stubborn. They will hold on
like bulldogs. I fear the effects of this victory will be just opposite
to what you think. It will make our people overconfident; it will tend
to unify the North and nerve her to greater exertion."

"Nonsense, Morgan," replied Major Hockoday, "what ails you? You will
hardly hear a peep from the Union men of Kentucky after to-morrow. The
only thing I regret is that Kentucky has not taken her rightful place in
the Southern Confederacy. We have talked neutrality so much, it is hard
to get away from it."

"Hockoday, like you, I think Kentucky has played the rôle of neutral too
long--so long that she is already lost to the Confederacy, only to be
retaken at the point of the bayonet. Central Kentucky is already in the
hands of that devil, Nelson. Poorly organized as he is, he is much
better organized than we. Gods! how I would like to be at the head of a
cavalry regiment and raid that camp at Dick Robinson; and I would do it,
too, if I had my way. But you politicians, with your neutrality, have
spoiled everything."

"Look here, Morgan," replied Major Hockoday, a little nettled, "be
reasonable. It was neutrality or worse. Look at the Union sentiment we
had to contend with. The State absolutely refused to secede. The
elections all went against us. The Legislature is against us. We had to
take neutrality to keep the State from going bodily over to the
Yankees----"

"That's it," broke in Morgan, "with your twaddle about State rights you
allowed your hands to be tied. The Legislature should have been
dispersed at the point of the bayonet, the election annulled, and
Kentucky declared out of the Union. If we had done this two months ago,
we would have been all right."

"That is what we propose to do now," said the major. "See here, Morgan,"
and he lowered his voice to a whisper. Fred yawned, and leaned his head
forward on the seat apparently for a good sleep, but his ears were never
more alert. He could only now and then catch a word something like this:

"Send message--Tompkins--Louisville--Knights Golden Circle--take
Louisville--Stop at Frankfort--Send Captain Conway--All excitement--Bull
Run--Louisville ours."

Fred leaned back in his seat, shut his eyes, and commenced to think
hard. What did it mean? And this is the conclusion that he reached: That
Major Hockoday was going to send a message from Frankfort to some one in
Louisville; that there was to be an uprising of the Secessionists with
the intention of capturing the city. "Oh!" thought Fred, "if I could
only get hold of that message. Can I?" and again he fell to thinking.

In the rear of the car sat two men, one dressed in the uniform of a
Federal officer; the other a sharp, ferret-looking man who would readily
pass for a detective.

An idea came to Fred. He thought a moment, and then said to himself, "I
don't like the deception, but it is the only way. If I have the
opportunity, I will try it. I must have that message if possible. It may
mean much to the Union cause; it may mean much to Louisville."

The train stopped at Frankfort, and Major Hockoday and Morgan alighted.
On the platform stood a short, stumpy man with a very red face and a
redder nose.

"How do you do, Captain," said Major Hockoday, stepping up to him and
shaking hands, at the same time slipping an envelope into his other
hand, and whispering some hurried instructions into his ear.

"Trust me," said the captain; "I will see that your letter reaches the
right person and in time."

Fred had followed Major Hockoday out of the car, took note of every
movement, and heard every word that could be heard.

The bell rang, and the captain entered the car. There was a little
delay, and Fred, who had got on the rear of the car, said to himself,
"This little delay is a blessed thing for me, for it helps me carry out
my plan." He waited until the train was getting under good headway, and
then entered the car puffing and blowing and dropped into the seat
beside the captain, where he sat panting as if entirely exhausted.

"You seem to have had a hard run for it, my boy," said the captain.

"Y-e-s,--had--to--make--it. Had--to--see--you," panted Fred, speaking in
gasps.

"Had to see me!" exclaimed the startled captain. "I reckon there must be
some mistake."

"No--mis-mistake. Wa-wait--until--I--catch--my--breath," and Fred sat
puffing as if he had run a mile race. His companion eyed him not only
in surprise, but with suspicion.

After Fred had let sufficient time elapse to regain his breath, he said
in a low tone: "You are Captain Conway of the State Guards, are you
not?"

"Yes, but what of that?"

"You have just received an important letter from Major Hockoday to be
delivered in Louisville."

Captain Conway stared at Fred in astonishment; then said in a fierce
whisper, "How do you know that?"

"Don't get excited," whispered Fred; "don't attract attention, or all is
lost. Listen! Hardly had the major placed the letter in your hands
before he received the startling intelligence that he had been watched,
and you spotted. Do you see those two men in the rear of the car, one in
the uniform of a Federal officer, the other a keen looking fellow?"

Captain Conway turned quickly and saw the men, both of whom happened to
be looking at him, and as the captain imagined with sinister designs.

"What of it?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"The gentleman seated by the side of the officer," continued Fred, "is a
noted detective from Danville. The plan is to declare you a celebrated
thief, and arrest you and take you off the cars at Eminence. Once off,
they will search you, get your dispatches, and let you go."

"But there may be some on the train who know me."

"That will make no difference; they will claim they are not mistaken,
and that you must prove you are not the person wanted before some
magistrate."

"What can I do? What did Major Hockoday say for me to do?" asked the now
thoroughly frightened captain.

"He said that you should give me the letter, and for you to leave the
train before it reached Eminence, thus giving them the slip."

"Boy, you are an impostor. It is simply a plot to get hold of the
letter. Why did not Major Hockoday write me this order?"

"He had no time."

"I shall not give you the letter."

"Refuse at your peril. What do you think will happen when you are
arrested and Major Hockoday's letter gets in the hands of his enemies.
He will shoot you at sight for betraying him."

"How do I know you tell the truth?" asked the captain, visibly
weakening.

"How did I know about the letter of Major Hockoday, if he had not sent
me?" retorted Fred.

The captain grasped at the last straw. "To whom am I to deliver this
letter?" he asked. He was in hopes that Fred could not answer.

"Tompkins," answered Fred, trembling, thinking his answer might be
wrong.

The captain was convinced, yet sat silent and undecided. He glanced
back; the men were still looking at him. He shivered, and then slyly
slipped the letter into Fred's hand. The train stopped, and the captain
arose and went forward as for a drink of water. At the door he hesitated
as if still undecided. Fred's heart beat fast. Would he fail after all.
No, he would jump from the train himself first. The bell rang for the
train to start, and the captain turned as if to come back, at the same
time glancing at the two gentlemen in the rear of the car. The
detective-looking individual had arisen to his feet, and was reaching
for his hip pocket.

Captain Conway waited to see no more; he turned, bolted from the car,
and plunged from the now moving train into the darkness.

The detective-looking gentleman drew a handkerchief from his pocket,
wiped his perspiring face, and sat down again. On such little incidents
do great events sometimes depend.

Fred drew a long breath. He had taken desperate chances, and won. For a
moment he felt exultant, and then his face grew serious. He had always
been the soul of truth and honor. "And now," he thought, bitterly, "I
have been lying like a pirate." Had he done right? He hardly knew, and
the wheels of the cars seemed to say, as they rattled along, "You are a
liar, you are a liar," over and over again, until he leaned his head on
the seat in front of him, and his tears fell thick and fast.

Poor Fred! He had yet to learn that deception was one of the least evils
of war.

The dawn of the long summer day was just beginning to brighten the east
when the train rolled into the station at Louisville. Early as it was,
the streets were full of excited men and boys, cheering for Jeff Davis
and the South. Fred at once found his way to the home of one of the best
known Union men of the city, whom we will call Mr. Spear. The household
was already astir, and Fred's ring was at once answered by a servant,
who cautiously opened the door and asked, "Who is dar?"

"Is Mr. Spear at home?" inquired Fred.

"Yes, sah."

"Tell him a messenger from Lieutenant Nelson wishes to see him."

The servant withdrew, and in a moment returned, and throwing open the
door, said, "Massa says, come right in, sah."

Fred was ushered into a large drawing-room, where to his surprise he met
the inquiring gaze of more than a score of serious looking men. They
were the prominent Union men of the city, conferring with a number of
the city officials as to the best method of preserving peace and order
during the day. The danger was great, and how to meet it without
precipitating a conflict was the question which confronted them. Now all
were interested in the message brought by Fred, and his youthful
appearance caused them to wonder why Nelson had chosen so young a
messenger.

"You have a message from Lieutenant Nelson, I understand," said Mr.
Spear.

"I have."

"When did you leave Nelson?"

"Last evening a little after seven," answered Fred.

"Where?"

"At Danville."

"Impossible; you are an impostor."

"You are mistaken. I rode to Nicholasville in time to catch the ten
o'clock train to Lexington, thence to Louisville."

Those present looked at each other in surprise. The feat to them seemed
scarcely possible.

"Your message," said Mr. Spear, "must be important to demand such haste.
Where is it?"

"Here, sir," replied Fred, handing him the letter. Mr. Spear hastily
tore it open and read:


     DANVILLE, KY., July 21, 7:00 P. M.
     TO THE UNION MEN OF LOUISVILLE:

     I have just received news of the defeat of our forces at Bull Run.
     Even if Washington falls, we must not despair. Kentucky must be
     held for the Union. Thank God, I have organized enough troops to
     hold Central Kentucky against any force the disorganized rebels can
     bring against us. Our great danger is your city. Hold Louisville,
     if her streets run red with blood. Do not let the loyal officials
     be driven from power. Call on Indiana troops if necessary. Don't
     hesitate. Dare anything to save the city.

     NELSON.


"Gentlemen," said Mr. Spear, "the advice of Lieutenant Nelson should be
followed to the letter. The city must be saved, peaceably if possible,
by force if necessary."

There had been a few in the assembly who had hesitated on the expediency
of using force, but the ringing words of Nelson had completely won them
over. Louisville was to be held for the Union, come what might.

"And now," said Mr. Spear, "in the name of the loyal citizens of our
city, let us thank this brave boy."

Fred blushed, and then stammered, "This is not all, gentlemen." Then in
a modest way, he told of his overhearing the conversation between Major
Hockoday and Morgan, of his plan to get possession of the letter, and
how well he had succeeded. "And here, gentlemen," he continued, "is the
letter."

There was a murmur of astonishment, and Mr. Spear, taking the letter,
broke it open and read:


     LEXINGTON, KY., July 21st, 10 P. M.
     J. T. TOMPKINS, LOUISVILLE, KY.

     Honored Sir:--The news of the great victory in Virginia will kindle
     a flame from one end of Kentucky to the other. By the time this
     reaches you, I trust Washington will be in the hands of the
     Confederate army, and Lincoln a prisoner or a fugitive. Now is the
     time to strike. The State Guards are eager, but owing to the stand
     of the State regarding neutrality, it would not be wise for them to
     begin a revolution in favor of the South, as that action would
     bring the Federal troops down on us, and we are not strong enough
     yet to resist them. With you it is different. You are at the head
     of a powerful secret order known as "The Knights of the Golden
     Circle." The State is not responsible for your acts or those of
     your organization. During the excitement of to-morrow organize your
     order, and hurl the cowardly and traitorous city officials of
     Louisville from power. The State Guards will not do anything to
     prevent you, and many, as individuals, will help you. Act promptly
     fearing nothing. See that not a single Union rag is left waving in
     Louisville by to-morrow night.

     Signed: MAJOR C. S. HOCKODAY,
     _State Guards_.


For a moment the men looked into each other's faces without a word;
then there came a storm of indignation.

"The cowardly, traitorous wretch!" was the exclamation heard on all
sides. "Forewarned is forearmed," said Mr. Spear, grimly. "Gentlemen, I
think we shall be fully prepared for Mr. Tompkins and his 'Knights of
the Golden Circle,' What say you?"

"That we will!" was the cry of all. "Mr. Tompkins will get a warm
reception."

Then they crowded around Fred and nearly shook his hand off. But he sat
silent, and at last looking up with burning cheeks, stammered:
"But--but, I lied--to Conway."

He said this so earnestly, and looked so dejected that the company at
first did not know what to say; then they all burst out laughing.

This hurt Fred worse than a reprimand, and the tears came into his eyes.
Mr. Spear seeing how it was, at once commanded attention, and said:
"Gentlemen, our levity is ill-advised. This boy is as truthful as he is
brave. As he looks at it, he has been guilty of an untruth." Then
turning to Fred, he took him gently by the hand, and said: "Your action
is but a fitting testimonial to your truthful nature. But be comforted.
What you have done, instead of being wrong, was an act of the greatest
heroism, and you deserve and will receive the thanks of every Union
man."

"Do you think so?" asked Fred, faintly.

"I know so, and not only this, but your action may save hundreds of
lives and our city from destruction. Let the good that you have done
atone for the deception you practiced towards Captain Conway."

Fred felt relieved. Then he was told he must have some rest after his
terrible ride and the exciting events of the night. He was ushered into
a darkened chamber, and not until after he had lain down, and the
excitement under which he had labored began to pass away did he realize
how utterly exhausted he was. Tired nature soon asserted itself, and he
slept the peaceful sleep of the young.

When Fred awoke, the house was very still. He looked at his watch, and
to his surprise found it was after ten o'clock. Hurriedly dressing, he
went downstairs, where he met Mrs. Spear, and when he apologized for
sleeping so late, she told him she had orders not to awake him, but to
let him sleep as long as he would. "But come," she said, "you must be
nearly famished," and she led him into the dining-room where a tempting
meal was spread.

What puzzled Fred was, that although it was so near midday, the house
was darkened and the gas burning. Every shutter was closed tight. Mrs.
Spear appeared nervous and excited, and the servants looked as though
frightened out of their wits. Although everything was so still in the
house, from out-of-doors there arose a confused noise as of the tramping
of many feet, the mingling of many voices, and now and then the sound of
wild cheering as of an excited mob. Fred looked inquiringly at Mrs.
Spear. She smiled sadly and said:

"This promises to be a terrible day for Louisville. But for the
forbearance of the Union men, there would have been bloody fighting
before this. The news of the Confederate victory in Virginia has crazed
the rebel element. It is thought an effort will be made to overthrow the
city government. If there is, there will be bloody work, for the Union
element is prepared. Companies of men are in readiness all over the city
to spring to arms at a moment's notice. I fear for my husband, I fear
for all of our lives, for Mr. Spear is a marked Union man." She stopped,
choked back a sob, and drawing herself proudly up, continued with
flashing eyes: "But Louisville will be saved, if husband, house and
everything go."

Of such metal were the loyal women of Kentucky. Fred hastily swallowed a
cup of coffee, ate enough to appease his hunger, and announced his
intention of going out on the street.

"You must not," said Mrs. Spear; "my husband left special word for you
to remain indoors. There is danger out."

Fred smiled. "That is just the reason I shall go out," he answered,
quietly.

"Then, if you must go," replied Mrs. Spear, "here is a weapon," and she
handed him a superb revolver. "You may need it, but do not use it except
to protect your own life, or the life of a Union man. This is the order
given to all loyal citizens. Do nothing to provoke a quarrel; keep
silent even if insulted, but if a conflict comes, protect yourself."

Fred thanked her, promised to be careful, and went forth into the city.
Through the principal streets, vast throngs were sweeping, acting as if
bereft of reason. Everywhere the Confederate flag was waving. Union
flags were being trailed in the dust and stamped in the mire. Cries for
Jeff Davis, and groans for Lincoln were heard on every hand.

As time went on, the mob grew more violent. "Down with the Yankees!"
"Kill the nigger-stealers!" "Kentucky is no abolition State!" "Death to
the Lincoln hirelings!" were the cries which echoed and re-echoed
through the streets. Soon stories of outrages, of private grounds being
entered and flags torn down, of brutal beatings began to be heard. The
Unionists began to gather in knots and resent insult. Yet each side
seemed to dread the beginning of a real conflict.

Chief among those exciting the people was Tompkins, the head of the
"Knights of the Golden Circle." He raged through the streets, defying
all authority. Fred looked on the growing excitement with the blood
swiftly coursing through his veins. His eyes blazed with fury when he
saw the stars and stripes trailed in the dust of the street. He trembled
with suppressed rage when he saw Union men reviled, insulted.

"It is true," he said, bitterly, to himself, "that Union men are
cowards, miserable cowards, or they would resent these insults." But
Fred was mistaken; braver men never lived than the Union men of
Louisville, who endured the taunts and insults of that day, rather than
provoke a conflict, the end of which no man could tell.

After a time Fred found himself on a residence street where there was a
break in the mob, and the street was comparatively quiet. During this
quiet a young lady came out of a house, and hurriedly passed down the
street. Suddenly a fragment of the mob drifted through the street, and
she was caught in the vortex. On her bosom was pinned a small Union
flag. A burly ruffian in the mob espied it, and rushing up to her,
shouted: "Off with that dirty rag, you she-Lincolnite!"

"Never," she exclaimed, with a pale face but flashing eye.

"Then I will take it," he exclaimed, with a coarse oath, and snatched at
the flag so roughly as to tear her dress, exposing her pure white bosom
to the gaze of the brutal mob.

There was a howl of delight, and the wretch made bolder, cried: "Now for
a kiss, my beauty," and attempted to catch her in his smutty arms. But
the avenger was at hand. Fred had seen the outrage, and picking up a
brick that happened to lie loose on the pavement, he sprang forward and
dealt the ruffian such a blow on the side of the head that he fell like
a log, striking the pavement with such force that the blood gushed from
his nose and mouth.

[Illustration: He dealt the Ruffian such a Blow that he fell like a
log.]

"Kill the young devil of a Lincolnite!" was the cry, and the crowd
surged towards Fred. But those in advance drew back, for they looked
into the muzzle of a revolver held by a hand that did not tremble, and
gazed into young eyes that did not waver.

"The first man that attempts to touch her or me, dies," said Fred, in a
clear, firm voice. The mob shrank back; then a fierce cry arose of "Kill
him! kill him!"

"Take the young lady to a place of safety," said a low voice by Fred's
side; then to the mob, "Back! back! or come on at your peril."

Fred looked, and by his side stood a stalwart policeman, a glistening
revolver in his hand. Near him stood other determined men, ready to
assist.

"Come," said Fred, taking the young lady's arm, and the two quickly made
their way out of the mob, which, balked of its prey, howled in futile
rage.

"I live here," said the young lady, stopping before a palatial
residence. "My name is Mabel Vaughn. You must come in and let my mother
thank you. How brave you were, and Policeman Green, too. How can I thank
you both enough for what you did!"

"You must excuse me now," replied Fred, politely raising his hat; "but
to-morrow, if possible, I will call, and see if you have experienced any
ill effects from the rough treatment you have received. But I must go
now, for I may be of some further use," and with a bow, Fred was gone.

"If he were only older, I would have a mind to throw Bob overboard,"
said the young lady to herself, as she entered the house.

Going back to the scene of his adventure, Fred found that a great crowd
had gathered around the place where he had knocked the ruffian down.

"What is this?" yelled Tompkins, coming up at the head of a multitude of
followers.

"Shure," cried an Irish voice, "Big Jim is kilt intoirely, intoirely."

"Who did it?" demanded Tompkins, with an oath. No one knew. By this time
Big Jim, with the aid of two companions, had staggered to his feet, and
was looking around in a dazed condition.

"He will come around all right," said Tompkins. "To the City Hall, boys.
Down with the rag floating there! Down with the city officials; let's
throw them into the Ohio," and with frightful cries, the mob started for
the city hall.

But the brave, loyal policeman, G. A. Green, the one who had assisted
Fred, was before them. "Stop," he cried, "the first man who tries to
enter this building dies."

With a curse, Tompkins rushed on with the cry, "Down with the
Lincolnites!"

There was the sharp crack of a revolver, and Tompkins staggered and fell
dead. His followers stood dumfounded. Before they could rally there
stood around the brave policeman a company of armed men. This was not
all; as if by magic, armed Home Guards appeared everywhere. The mob
stood amazed. Then a prominent officer of the Home Guard came forward
and said:

"We do not wish to shed more blood, but the first blow struck at the
city government, and these streets will run red with the blood of
Secessionists. We are fully prepared."

Cowed, muttering, cursing, the mob began to melt away. The crisis was
passed. The sun went down on one of the most exciting days Louisville
ever saw--a day that those who were there will never forget.

The city was saved to the Union, and never afterward was it in grave
danger.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TRIP TO NASHVILLE.


"Quite an adventure," said Mrs. Spear, to whom Fred had been relating
his experience. "I am proud of you. Why, you are a regular hero."

"Hardly that," replied Fred, blushing.

"I am so glad it has ended well," continued Mrs. Spear; "you ran a
terrible danger, and I should never have forgiven myself for letting you
go out, if any evil had befallen you."

"I should never have forgiven myself if I had not been there to protect
that brave young lady," answered Fred, firmly.

"Of course, a true knight must protect a fair lady," said Mrs. Spear.
"And you were fortunate, Sir Knight, for Mabel Vaughn is one of the
fairest of Louisville's daughters. It was just like her to brave any
danger rather than conceal her colors. She is loyal to the core."

"She seems to be a very nice young lady," replied Fred, "and she is
extremely pretty, too."

"What a pity you are not older," said Mrs. Spear, "so you could fall in
love with each other and get married, just as they do in well-regulated
novels."

"How do you know that I am not in love with her now?" answered Fred, his
eyes sparkling with merriment; "and as for my youth, I will grow."

"Oh! in that case, I am really sorry," replied Mrs. Spear, "for I think
she is spoken for."

Fred assumed a tragic air, and said in bloodcurdling tones: "Where was
the recreant lover that he did not protect her? Never shall my good
sword rest until it drinks his craven blood."

Mrs. Spear laughed until she cried. "You will call on your lady love
before you return?" she queried.

"Most assuredly, and it must be an early morning call, for I leave for
home at ten o'clock."

The warmth of welcome given Fred by the Vaughns surprised him, and, to
his astonishment, he found himself a hero in their eyes.

Miss Mabel Vaughn was a most charming young lady of eighteen, and when
she grasped Fred's hand, and, with tears in her eyes, poured out her
thanks, he felt a curious sensation about his heart, and as he looked
into her beautiful face, he could not help echoing the wish of Mrs.
Spear, "Oh, that I were older."

But this fancy received a rude shock when a fine looking young man,
introduced as Mr. Robert Marsden, grasped his hand, and thanked him for
what he had done for his betrothed.

"And to think," said Marsden, "that Mabel was in danger, and that you,
instead of me, protected her, makes me insanely envious of you."

"As for that, Bob," archly said Miss Mabel, "I am glad you were not
there. I dare say Mr. Shackelford did far better than you would have
done."

Marsden flushed and said nothing. Seeing he looked hurt, Miss Vaughn
continued: "I mean you would have been so rash you might have been
killed."

"Which would have been far worse than if I had been killed," said Fred,
meekly.

"Oh! I didn't mean that, I didn't mean that!" cried Miss Vaughn,
bursting into tears.

"Which means I ought to be kicked for uttering a silly joke," answered
Fred, greatly distressed. "Please, Miss Vaughn, let us change the
subject. How did you happen to be on the street?"

"I had been calling on a sick friend a few doors away, and I thought I
could reach home in safety during the few moments of quiet. My friend
wanted me to remove the little flag from the bosom of my dress before I
ventured out, but I refused, saying, 'I would never conceal my colors,'
and I was caught in the mob, as you saw."

"And I shall consider it the happiest day of my life I was there,"
gallantly answered Fred. "And we must not forget the brave policeman."

"That I will not," replied Miss Vaughn.

"There is one good thing it has brought about, anyway," said Marsden.
"Mabel has at length consented that I shall enter the army. She would
never give her consent before. I shall wear this little flag that she
wore yesterday on my breast, and it will ever be an incentive to deeds
of glory, and it shall never be disgraced," and the young man's eyes
kindled as he said it.

"Oh! Robert, if you should be killed!" and the girl sobbed piteously.
Had a shadow of the future floated before her? Months afterward that
little flag was returned to her bloodstained and torn.

"Come, come!" said Mrs. Vaughn, "this will never do, rather let us
rejoice that we are all alive and happy this morning. Mabel, give us
some music."

Two or three lively airs dispelled all the clouds, and Fred took his
leave with the promise that he would never come to Louisville without
calling.

Fred's return to Nicholasville was without adventure. He wondered what
had become of Captain Conway, and laughed when he imagined the meeting
between the captain and Major Hockoday. He found Prince none the worse
for his fast riding, and jumping gaily on his back, started for home,
returning by way of Camp Dick Robinson. Here he met Lieutenant Nelson,
who warmly grasped his hand, and thanked him for his services in
delivering his message.

"But," continued Nelson, "I have heard rumors of your performing a still
more important part, and securing papers of the greatest value to us.
Tell me about it."

When Fred related his meeting with Major Hockoday and Morgan, and how
he had wrung the dispatch from Captain Conway, Nelson nearly went into
an apoplectic fit from laughter. Then he stood up and looked at the boy
admiringly.

"Fred," he said, "you have done what one man in a hundred thousand could
not have done. The government shall know of this. Not only this; but if
you will enter my service, not as a spy, but as a special messenger and
scout, I will see that you are enrolled as such with good pay."

Fred shook his head. "You must remember, sir, I am but a boy still under
the control of my father. I accepted the mission from you, which I did,
on the impulse of the moment; and I fear when I return home, I shall
find my father very much offended."

"Is your father a Union man?" asked Nelson.

"I do not know. My mother died but a few weeks ago, and since her death
father has taken no interest in the events going on around him. I have
never heard him express any opinion since the war really began. Before
that he was in hopes it could be settled peaceably."

"Well, my boy, whatever happens, remember you have a friend in me. Not
only this, but if you can arrange it amicably with your father, I may
call on you, if at any time I have a very delicate mission I wish to
have performed."

Fred thanked him, and rode on to his home. He found his father in very
earnest conversation with his uncle, Judge Pennington, and Colonel
Humphrey Marshall, a well-known Kentuckian. The trio were earnestly
discussing the war, Judge Pennington and Colonel Marshall trying to
convince Mr. Shackelford that it was his duty to come out boldly for the
South, instead of occupying his position of indifference.

When Mr. Shackelford saw Fred, he excused himself a moment, and calling
him, said: "Where in the world have you been, Fred? I thought you were
with your Cousin Calhoun, and therefore borrowed no trouble on account
of your absence. But when your uncle came a few moments ago, and
informed me you had not been there for three days, I became greatly
alarmed, and as soon as I could dismiss my visitors I was going to
institute a search for you."

"I am all right, father," answered Fred. "I have been to Louisville. I
will tell you all about it when you are at leisure."

"Very well," replied Mr. Shackelford, and went back and resumed the
conversation with his guests.

In the evening, when father and son were alone, Fred told where he had
been, and who sent him. Mr. Shackelford looked grave, and said:

"Fred, this is a bad business. Since the death of your mother, I have
taken but little interest in passing events. I have just awakened to the
fact that there is a great war in progress."

"Yes, father," said Fred in a low tone, "war on the old flag. Which side
should one be on?"

Mr. Shackelford did not answer for a moment, and then he said, with a
troubled countenance: "I had almost as soon lose my right arm as to
raise it against the flag for which my fathers fought. On the other
side, how can I, a man Southern born, raise my hand against my kindred?
Kentucky is a sovereign State; as such she has resolved to be neutral.
The South is observing this neutrality, the North is not. Even now the
Federal government is raising and arming troops right in our midst. This
Lieutenant Nelson, to whom you have rendered such valuable services, is
foremost in this defiance of the wishes of Kentucky. The raising and
arming of Federal troops must be stopped, or the whole State will be in
the throes of a fratricidal strife. Your uncle and Colonel Marshall are
for Kentucky's seceding and joining the South. For this I am not
prepared, for it would make the State the battleground of the contending
armies. But the neutrality of Kentucky must be respected. Let me hear no
more of your aiding Nelson, or you are no son of mine."

"Father, you say Kentucky is a sovereign State. Is it right then for
those who favor the South to try and force Kentucky into the Southern
Confederacy against the will of a majority of her people?"

Mr. Shackelford hesitated, and then said: "As much right as the
Unionists have to force her to stay in. But I do not ask you to aid the
South, neither must you aid Nelson."

Mr. Shackelford drew a deep sigh, and then continued: "Your mother
being a Northern woman, I suppose you have imbibed some of her peculiar
ideas. This war is a terrible thing, Fred. Oh, God! why must the two
sections fight?" And he turned away to hide his feelings.

Under the circumstances, Fred thought it best not to say anything about
his adventure with Captain Conway, or what happened in Louisville. But
he readily promised his father he would do nothing to aid either side
without consulting him.

"Now, Fred," said Mr. Shackelford, "this business being settled, I have
another matter I wish to talk about. My business is in such shape it is
of the utmost importance that I get some papers to your Uncle Charles in
Nashville for him to sign. Mail, you know, is now prohibited between the
two sections. To travel between the two States is becoming nearly
impossible. It will soon become entirely so. Even now, the journey may
be attended with great danger; and I would not think of asking you if it
was not so important for your Uncle Charles to sign the papers. But as
much as I would like to have you make the journey, I shall not command
you, but let you exercise your own pleasure."

"Just the thing!" shouted Fred, his boyish enthusiasm and love of
adventure aroused. "I shall enjoy it. You know a spice of danger adds
enjoyment to one's journey."

"Well," said his father, "it is all settled, then, but be very careful,
for they tell me the whole country is in a state of fearful ferment.
One thing more, Fred; if you have any Union sentiment, suppress it
entirely while you are gone. It will not do in Middle Tennessee; there
are no Union men there."

The next morning, after kissing his little sister good-bye, and
promising his father to be very careful, Fred started on his journey.
Nashville was about one hundred and sixty miles away, and he calculated
he could reach it in three days. From Danville he took the main road to
Liberty, thence to Columbia, where he stopped for the night. His next
day's ride took him to Glasgow, then south to Scottsville. He found the
whole country in a state of the greatest excitement; and passed numerous
companies of Kentuckians going south to join the Confederate army. After
leaving Columbia, he saw nothing but the Confederate flag displayed. If
there were any Unionists, they did not let the fact be known.

Just over on the Tennessee side, as he passed into that State, was a
large encampment of Confederate troops; and Fred was repeatedly asked to
enlist, while many a covetous eye was cast on his horse. It was
afternoon before he reached Gallatin, where he stopped for refreshments
for himself and horse.

He found the little city a perfect hotbed of excitement. The people were
still rejoicing over the victory at Bull Run, and looking every day for
Washington to fall. To them the war was nearly over, and there was joy
on every countenance. When it became known at the hotel that Fred was
from Kentucky, he was surrounded by an eager crowd to learn the news
from that State.

In reply to his eager questioners, Fred said:

"Gentlemen, I do not know that I can give you anything new. You know
that Kentucky has voted to remain neutral, but that does not prevent our
people from being pretty evenly divided. Many of our most prominent men
are advocating the cause of the South, but as yet they have failed to
overcome the Union sentiment. The day after the battle of Bull Run there
was a riot in Louisville, and it was thought that the friends of the
South might be able to seize the city government, but the movement
failed."

"Where did you say you were from?" asked one of the bystanders.

"From Danville," answered Fred.

"You are all right in that section of the country, are you not?"

"On the contrary," replied Fred, "a Lieutenant Nelson has organized a
camp at Dick Robinson, but a few miles from where I live, and is engaged
in raising ten regiments of Kentucky troops for the Federal army."

The news was astounding, and a murmur of surprise ran through the crowd,
which became a burst of indignation, and a big red-faced man shouted:

"It's a lie, youngster; Kentuckians are not all cowards and
Abolitionists. You are nothing but a Lincolnite in disguise. Hang him,
boys! hang him!"

"You are right," said Fred, advancing on the man, "when you say all
Kentuckians are not cowards. Some of them still have courage to resent
an insult, especially when it is offered by a cur," and he dealt the man
a blow across the face with his riding-whip with such force as to leave
an angry, red mark.

The man howled with pain and rage, and attempted to draw a revolver, but
stout hands laid hold of him, and he was dragged blaspheming away.

Meanwhile it looked as if there might be a riot. Some were hurrahing for
the boy; others were shaking their heads and demanding that Fred further
give an account of himself. He had been called a Lincolnite, and that
was enough to damn him in the eyes of many.

"What is all this fuss about?" cried a commanding looking young man,
dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the Confederate army, pushing
his way through the crowd.

"Oh, this hyear young feller struck Bill Pearson across the face with
his ridin'-whip for callin' him a Lincolnite and a liah," volunteered a
seedy, lank looking individual.

"Which seems full enough provocation for a blow. Bill is fortunate he
hasn't got a hole through him," responded the young lieutenant.

"But maybe he is a Lincolnite," persisted the seedy individual. "He
said Kentuck wouldn't 'cede, and that they was raisin' sogers to help
whip we 'uns."

"How is it, my boy?" asked the lieutenant, turning to Fred. "Who are
you, and where did you come from?"

Fred explained what had happened; how he had been asked for news from
Kentucky, and that he had told them only the truth. He then gave his
name, and said he was on his way to Nashville to visit his uncle,
Charles Shackelford.

"Fellow-citizens," said the young officer in a voice that at once
commanded attention, "this young man informs me that he is a nephew of
Major Charles Shackelford of Nashville, who is now engaged in raising a
regiment for the Confederate service. No nephew of his can be a
Lincolnite. (Here Fred winced.) As for the news he told, unfortunately
it's true. Kentucky, although thousands of her gallant sons have joined
us, still clings to her neutrality, or is openly hostile to us. It is
true, that a renegade Kentuckian by the name of Nelson is enlisting
troops for the Yankees right in the heart of Kentucky. But I believe,
almost know, the day is not distant, when the brave men of Kentucky who
are true to their traditions and the South will arise in their might,
and place Kentucky where she belongs, as one of the brightest stars in
the galaxy of Confederate States. In your name, fellow-citizens, I want
to apologize to this gallant young Kentuckian for the insult offered
him."

The young lieutenant ceased speaking, but as with one voice, the
multitude began to cry, "Go on! go on! A speech, Bailie, a speech!"

Thus abjured, Lieutenant Bailie Peyton, for it was he, mounted a
dry-goods box, and for half an hour poured forth such a torrent of
eloquence that he swayed the vast audience, which had gathered, as the
leaves of the forest are swayed by the winds of heaven.

He first spoke of the glorious Southland; her sunny skies, her sweeping
rivers, her brave people. He pictured to them the home of their
childhood, the old plantation, where slept in peaceful graves the loved
ones gone before.

Strong men stood with tears running down their cheeks; women sobbed
convulsively. "Is there one present that will not die for such a land?"
he cried in a voice as clear as a trumpet, and there went up a mighty
shout of "No, not one!"

He then spoke of the North; how the South would fain live in peace with
her, but had been spurned, reviled, traduced. Faces began to darken,
hands to clench. Then the speaker launched into a terrific philippic
against the North. He told of its strength, its arrogance, its
insolence. Lincoln was now marshaling his hireling hosts to invade their
country, to devastate their land, to desecrate their homes, to let loose
their slaves, to ravish and burn. "Are we men," he cried, "and refuse
to protect our homes, our wives, our mothers, our sisters!"

The effect was indescribable. Men wept and cried like children, then
raved and yelled like madmen. With clenched hands raised towards heaven,
they swore no Yankee invader would ever leave the South alive. Women,
with hysterical cries, beseeched their loved ones to enlist. They
denounced as cowards those who refused. The recruiting officers present
reaped a rich harvest. As for Fred, he stood as one in a trance. Like
the others, he had been carried along, as on a mighty river, by the
fiery stream of eloquence he had heard. He saw the Southland invaded by
a mighty host, leaving wreck and ruin in its wake. He heard helpless
women praying to be delivered from the lust of brutal slaves, and
raising his hand to heaven he swore that such things should never be.

Then came the reaction. His breast was torn with conflicting emotions,
he knew not what to think. In a daze he sought his horse. A pleasant
voice sounded in his ear.

"I think you told me you were going to Nashville." It was Bailie Peyton
who spoke.

"Yes, sir."

"It is getting late. Will you not go with me to my father's and stay all
night, and I will ride with you to Nashville in the morning?"

Fred readily consented, for he was weary, and he also wanted to see more
of this wonderful young orator.

Colonel Peyton, the father of Bailie Peyton, resided some three miles
out of Gallatin on the Nashville pike, and was one of the distinguished
men of Tennessee. He opposed secession to the last, and when the State
seceded he retired to his plantation, and all during the war was a
non-combatant. So grand was his character, such confidence did both
sides have in his integrity, that he was honored and trusted by both. He
never faltered in his love for the Union, yet did everything possible to
save his friends and neighbors from the wrath of the Federal
authorities. It was common report that more than once he saved Gallatin
from being burned to the ground for its many acts of hostility to the
Union forces. War laid a heavy hand on Colonel Peyton; and his son the
apple of his eye was brought home a corpse. Even then Colonel Peyton did
not complain. He bound up his broken heart, and did what he could to
soothe others who had been stricken the same as he.

Fred was given a genuine Southern welcome at the hospitable mansion of
Colonel Peyton. As for Bailie, the younger members of the household went
wild over him, even the servants wore a happier smile now "dat Massa
Bailie had cum."

After supper the family assembled on the old-fashioned porch to enjoy
the cool evening air, and the conversation, as all conversations were in
those days, was on the war. Bailie was overflowing with the exuberance
of his spirits. He believed that the victory at Bull Run was the
beginning of the end, that Washington was destined to fall, and that
President Davis would dictate peace from that city. He saw arise before
him a great nation, the admiration of the whole world; and as he spoke
of the glory that would come to the South, his whole soul seemed to
light up his countenance.

Throughout Bailie's discourse, Colonel Peyton sat silent and listened.
Sometimes a sad smile would come over his features at some of his son's
witty sallies or extravagant expressions.

Bailie seeing his father' dejection, turned to him and said:

"Cheer up, father; I shall soon be back in Nashville practicing my
profession, the war over; and in the greatness and grandeur of the South
you will forget your love for the old Union."

The colonel shook his head, and turning to Fred, began to ask him
questions concerning Kentucky and the situation there. Fred answered him
truthfully and fully to the best of his knowledge. Colonel Peyton then
said to his son:

"Bailie, you know how dear you are to me, and how much I regret the
course you are taking; yet I will not chide you, for it is but natural
for you to go with the people you love. It is not only you, it is the
entire South that has made a terrible mistake. That the South had
grievances, we all know; but secession was not the cure. Bailie, you are
mistaken about the war being nearly over; it has hardly begun. If
Beauregard ever had a chance to capture Washington, that chance is now
lost by his tardiness. The North has men and money; it will spare
neither. You have heard what this young man has said about Kentucky. He
has told the truth. The State is hopelessly divided. Neither side will
keep up the farce of neutrality longer than it thinks it an advantage to
do so. When the time comes, the Federal armies will sweep through
Kentucky and invade Tennessee. Their banners will be seen waving along
this road; Nashville will fall."

"What!" cried Bailie, springing to his feet, "Nashville in the hands of
the Lincolnites. Never! May I die before I see the accursed flag of the
North waving over the proud capitol of my beloved Tennessee."

He looked like a young god, as he stood there, proud, defiant, his eye
flashing, his breast heaving with emotion.

His father gazed on him a moment in silence. A look of pride, love,
tenderness, passed over his face; then his eyes filled with tears, and
he turned away trembling with emotion. Had he a dim realization that the
prayer of his son would be granted, and that he would not live to see
the Union flag floating over Nashville?

That night Frederic Shackelford knelt by his bedside with a trembling
heart. Bailie Peyton's speech, his enthusiasm, his earnestness had had a
powerful influence on him. After all, was the North wrong? Was the South
fighting, as Bailie claimed, for one of the holiest causes for which a
patriotic people ever combated; and that their homes, the honor of their
wives and daughters were at stake?

"Oh, Lord, show me the right way!" was Fred's prayer.

Then there came to him, as if whispered in his ear by the sweetest of
voices, the words of his mother, "_God will never permit a nation to be
founded whose chief corner-stone is human slavery._" He arose, strong,
comforted; the way was clear; there would be no more doubt.

The next morning the young men journeyed to Nashville together. On the
way Bailie poured out his whole soul to his young companion. He saw
nothing in the future but success. In no possible way could the North
subjugate the South. But the silver tones no longer influenced Fred;
there was no more wavering in his heart. But he ever said that Bailie
Peyton was one of the most fascinating young men he ever met, and that
the remembrance of that ride was one of the sweetest of his life.

When a few months afterward, he wept over Peyton's lifeless body
stretched on the battlefield, he breathed a prayer for the noble soul
that had gone so early to its Creator.

Fred found Nashville a seething sea of excitement. Nothing was thought
of, talked of, but the war. There was no thought of the hardships, the
suffering, the agony, the death that it would bring--nothing but vain
boasting, and how soon the North would get enough of it. The people
acted as though they were about to engage in the festivities of some
gala day, instead of one of the most gigantic wars of modern times. It
was the case of not one, but of a whole people gone mad.

Although Fred's uncle and family were greatly surprised to see him, he
was received with open arms. Mr. Shackelford was busily engaged in
raising a regiment for the Confederate service, and as Bailie Peyton had
said, had been commissioned as major. Fred's cousin, George Shackelford,
although but two years older than he, was to be adjutant, and Fred found
the young man a little too conceited for comfort.

Not so with his cousin Kate, a most beautiful girl the same age as
himself, and they were soon the closest of friends. But Kate was a
terrible fire-eater. She fretted and pouted because Fred would not abuse
the Yankees with the same vehemence that she did.

"What if they should come here?" asked Fred.

"Come here!" echoed Kate, with the utmost scorn. "We women would turn
out and beat them back with broomsticks."

Fred laughed, and then little Bess came toddling up to him, with "Tousin
Fed, do 'ankees eat 'ittle girls?"

"Bless you, Bessie, I am afraid they would eat you, you are so sweet,"
cried Fred, catching her in his arms and covering her face with kisses.

"No danger," tartly responded Kate; "they will never reach here to get
a chance."

"Don't be too sure, my pretty cousin; I may yet live to see you flirting
with a Yankee officer."

"You will see me dead first," answered Kate, with flashing eye.

It was a very pleasant visit that Fred had, and he was sorry when the
four days, the limit of his visit, were up. The papers that he had
brought were all signed, and in addition he took numerous letters and
messages back with him.

When leaving, his uncle handed him a pass signed by the Governor of the
State.

"There will be no getting through our lines into Kentucky without this,"
said his uncle. "Tennessee is like a rat-trap; it is much easier to get
in than to get out."

Fred met with no adventure going back, until he approached the Kentucky
line south of Scottsville. Here he found the road strongly guarded by
soldiers.

"Where are you going?" asked the officer in charge.

"To my home near Danville, Kentucky," answered Fred.

"No, you don't," said the officer; "we have orders to let no one pass."

"But I have permission from the Governor," replied Fred, handing out his
pass.

The officer looked at it carefully, then looked Fred over, for he was
fully described in the document, and handed it back with, "I reckon
it's all right; you can go." And Fred was about to ride on, when a man
came running up with a fearful oath, and shouting: "That's you, is it,
my fine gentleman? Now you will settle with Bill Pearson for striking
him like a nigger!" and there stood the man he had struck at Gallatin,
with the fiery red mark still showing across his face.

As quick as a flash Fred snatched a revolver from the holster. "Up with
your hands," said he coolly but firmly. Pearson was taken by surprise,
and his hands went slowly up. The officer looked from one to the other,
and then asked what it meant.

[Illustration: As quick as a flash Fred snatched a Revolver from the
holster.]

Bill, in a whining tone, told him how on the day he had enlisted, Fred
had struck him "just like a nigger." Fred, in a few words, told his side
of the story.

"And Bailie Peyton said ye were all right, and Bill here called ye a
coward and a liah?" asked the officer.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Bill, I reckon you got what you deserved. Let the gentleman
pass."

With a muttered curse, Pearson fell back, and Fred rode on, but had gone
but a few yards when there was the sharp report of a pistol, and a ball
cut through his hat rim. He looked back just in time to see Bill Pearson
felled like an ox by a blow from the butt of a revolver in the hands of
the angry officer.

Once in Kentucky Fred breathed freer, but he was stopped several times
and closely questioned, and once or twice the fleetness of his horse
saved him from unpleasant companions. It was with a glad heart that he
found himself once more at home.




CHAPTER V.

FATHER AND SON.


Fred's journey to Nashville and back had consumed eleven days. It was
now August, a month of intense excitement throughout Kentucky. It was a
month of plot and counterplot. The great question as to whether Kentucky
would be Union or Confederate trembled in the balance. Fred found
conditions changed. Those who had been neutral were becoming outspoken
for one side or the other. Thus it was with Mr. Shackelford. He was fast
becoming a partisan of the South. Letters which Fred brought him from
his brother in Nashville confirmed him in his opinion. In these letters
his brother begged him not to disgrace the name of Shackelford by siding
with the Lincolnites.

He heard from Fred a full account of his journey, commended him for his
bravery, and said that he did what every true Kentuckian should do,
resent an insult; but he should not have sent him had he known he would
have been exposed to such grave dangers.

"Now, Fred," he continued; "you and your horse need rest. Do not leave
home for a few days."

To this Fred readily assented. His cousin Calhoun came to see him, and
when he told him how he had served the fellow in Gallatin who called him
a liar, Calhoun's enthusiasm knew no bounds. He jumped up and down and
yelled, and clapped Fred on the back, and called him a true Kentuckian,
even if he didn't favor the South.

"It seems to me, Fred, you are having all the fun, while I am staying
here humdrumming around home. I can't stand it much longer."

"It isn't all fun, Cal. I might have been killed. Look at that hole
through my hat."

"That's what I envy, Fred; I must be a soldier. I long to hear the
singing of bullets, the wild cheering of men, to be in the headlong
charge," and the boy's face glowed with enthusiasm.

"I reckon, Cal, you will get there, if this racket keeps up much
longer," answered Fred.

"Speed the day," shouted Cal, as he jumped on his horse and rode away,
waving back a farewell.

During these days, Fred noticed that quite a number of gentlemen, all
prominent Southern sympathizers, called on his father. It seemed to him
that his father was drifting away, and that a great gulf was growing
between them; and he resolved to open his whole heart and tell his
father just how he felt. The opportunity came sooner than he expected.

One evening his uncle, Judge Pennington, came out from Danville,
accompanied by no less distinguished gentlemen than John C.
Breckinridge, Humphrey Marshall, John A. Morgan and Major Hockoday.
Breckinridge was the idol of Kentucky, a knightly man in every respect.

They had come to discuss the situation with Mr. Shackelford. Ten
thousand rifles had been shipped to Cincinnati, to be forwarded to Camp
Dick Robinson, for the purpose of arming the troops there; and the
question was should they allow these arms to be sent. The consultation
was held in the room directly below the one Fred occupied, and through a
friendly ventilator he heard the whole conversation.

Morgan and Major Hockoday were for calling out the State Guards,
capturing Camp Dick Robinson, then march on Frankfort, drive out the
Legislature, and declare the State out of the Union.

This was vigorously opposed by Breckinridge. "You must remember," said
he, "that State sovereignty is the underlying principle of the Southern
Confederacy. If the States are not sovereign, the South had no right to
secede, and every man in arms against the Federal government is a
traitor. Kentucky, by more than a two-thirds vote, declined to go out of
the Union. But she has declared for neutrality; let us see that
neutrality is enforced."

"Breckinridge," said Morgan, "your logic is good, but your position is
weak. What about those arms?"

"Their shipment in the State would be a violation of our neutrality; the
whole power of the State should be used to prevent it," answered
Breckinridge.

"Oh! that General Buckner were here!" exclaimed Major Hockoday. "Now
that he is gone, the State Guard is virtually without a head."

"Where is General Buckner?" asked Mr. Shackelford.

"Hobnobbing with President Lincoln in Washington, or with President
Davis in Richmond, I don't know which," answered Marshall, with a laugh.

"Oh! Buckner is all right," responded Breckinridge; "but he ought to be
here now."

It was finally agreed that a meeting should be called at Georgetown, in
Scott county, on the 17th, at which meeting decisive steps should be
taken to prevent the shipment of the arms.

All of this Fred heard, and then, to his consternation, he heard his
father say:

"Gentlemen, before you go, I want to introduce my son to you. I am
afraid he is a little inclined to be for the Union, and I think a
meeting with you gentlemen may serve to make him see things in a
different light."

So Fred was called, and nerving himself for the interview, he went down.
As he entered the room, Major Hockoday stared at him a moment in
surprise, and then exclaimed:

"Great God! Shackelford, that is not your son; that is the young villain
who stole my dispatch from Conway!"

"The very same," said Fred, smiling. "How do you do, Major; I am glad to
see you looking so well. I see that the loss of that dispatch didn't
worry you so much as to make you sick."

"W-h-y why!" stammered the major, choking with rage, "you--you impudent
young----" here the major did choke. He could say no more.

Fred rather enjoyed it, and he continued: "And how is my friend Captain
Conway? I trust that he was not injured in his hurried exit from the
cars the other night."

All the rest of the company looked nonplused, but Morgan, who roared
with laughter.

"What does this mean?" sternly asked Mr. Shackelford of Fred.

"It means," answered Fred, "that I got the major's dispatches away from
Captain Conway, and thus saved Louisville from a scene of bloodshed and
horror. And, Major, you should thank me, for your scheme would have
failed anyway. The Union men were too well prepared. I really saved any
number of your friends from being killed, and there you sit choking with
rage, instead of calling me a good boy."

"Leave the room, Fred," commanded Mr. Shackelford; "that you should
insult a guest here in my own house is more than I can imagine."

Bowing, Fred retired, and the company turned to Major Hockoday for an
explanation of the extraordinary scene. The major told the story and
ended with saying: "I am sorry, Shackelford, that he is your boy. If I
were you, I should get him out of the country as soon as possible; he
will make you trouble."

"I will settle with him, never fear," replied Mr. Shackelford, grimly.

"Look here, Major," spoke up Morgan; "you are sore because that boy
outwitted you, and he did you a good turn, as he said. If your program
had been carried out, Louisville would be occupied by Federal troops
to-day. Thank him because he pulled the wool over Conway's eyes. Ha! ha!
two old duffers fooled by a boy!" and Morgan enjoyed a hearty laugh, in
which all but Major Hockoday and Mr. Shackelford joined.

"And, Shackelford," continued Morgan, after he had enjoyed his laugh, "I
want you to let that boy alone; he is the smartest boy in Kentucky. I
want him with me when I organize my cavalry brigade."

"I am afraid, Morgan," said Breckinridge, "that you will be disappointed
in that, though I hope not for Mr. Shackelford's sake. The boy looks to
me as if he had a will of his own."

"Oh, he will come around all right," responded Morgan.

After making full arrangements for the meeting to be held in Scott
county on the 17th, the company dispersed.

Hours after they had gone Fred heard his father restlessly pacing the
floor.

"Poor father!" thought he, "like me, he cannot sleep. I wonder what he
will say to me in the morning; but come what may, I must and shall be
for the Union."

At the breakfast table Mr. Shackelford was silent until the close of the
meal, when he simply said, "Fred, I would like to see you in the
library."

Fred bowed, and replied, "I will be there in a few moments, father."

When Fred entered the library, his father was seated at the table
writing. There was a look of care on his face, and Fred was startled to
see how pale he was.

Pushing aside his writing, he sat for some moments looking at his son in
silence. At last he said:

"Fred, you can hardly realize how pained I was last night to hear what I
did. I would not have thought it of you. But the past is gone. You are
old enough to realize something of the desperate nature of the struggle
in which the two sections of the country are engaged. For the past two
weeks I have thought much of what was the right thing to do. I love my
country; I love and revere the old flag. As long as the slightest hope
remained of restoring it as it was, I was for the Union. But this is now
hopeless; too much blood has been shed. Neither would the South, if
granted her own terms, now go back to a Union she not only hates, but
loathes. The North has no lawful right to use coercion. Kentucky, in her
sovereign right as a State, has declared for neutrality; and it has been
contemptuously ignored by the North. Nelson, a man to be despised by
every patriot, has not only organized troops in our midst, but now seeks
to have the Federal government arm them. Such true men as Breckinridge,
Marshall, Buckner, Morgan, and a host of other loyal Kentuckians have
sworn that this shall never be. General Buckner is now in Washington. If
he ascertains that the Lincoln government will not respect the
neutrality of the State by withdrawing every Federal officer and
soldier, he is going to proceed to Richmond and offer his services to
the Confederate Government. Once accepted, he will immediately form the
State Guards into an army, and turn them over to the Confederacy.
Regiments must be formed, and I have been offered the colonelcy of one
of these regiments."

Fred was startled, and stammered, "You--father--you?"

"Yes, my son, why not? If your mother had lived, it would have been
different, but now I can go far better than many who have gone. I have
arranged all of my business. I shall place Belle in school in
Cincinnati. John Stimson, who has been our overseer for so many years,
will remain and conduct the plantation. My only trouble has been to
dispose of you satisfactorily. My wish is to send you to college, but
knowing your adventurous disposition, and how fond you are of exciting
and, I might add, desperate deeds, I am afraid you would do no good in
your studies."

"You are right, father," said Fred, in a low voice.

"This being the case," continued Mr. Shackelford, "I was going to offer
to take you with me in the army, not as an enlisted soldier, but rather
as company and aid to me. But from what I heard last night, I do not see
how this is possible, unless what you have done has been a mere boyish
freak, which I do not think."

"It was no freak," said Fred, with an unsteady voice.

"So I thought. Therefore, the only thing I can do is to send you
away--to Europe. What do you say, an English or a German university?"

"And you are really going into the Confederate army, father?"

"Yes, my son."

"And you want me to play the coward and flee my country in this her hour
of greatest peril? Oh, father!"

Mr. Shackelford looked astonished, and then a smile of joy passed over
his features; could it be that Fred was going with him?

"Not if you wish to go with me, my son."

Fred arose and tottered to his father, sank beside his knee, and looking
up with a tear-stained face, said in a pleading voice:

"Don't go into the Confederate army, father; don't turn against the old
flag." And the boy laid his head on his father's knee and sobbed as if
his heart would break.

Mr. Shackelford was deeply moved. He tried to speak, but a lump arose
in his throat and choked him; so he sat in silence smoothing the hair of
his son with his hand as gently as his mother would have done.

"What would mother say," at length sobbed the boy.

Mr. Shackelford shivered as with a chill; then said brokenly: "If your
mother had lived, child, my first duty would have been to her. Now it is
to my country. Neither would your mother, it mattered not what she
thought herself, ever have asked me to violate my own conscience."

"Father, let us both stay at home. We can do that, you thinking as you
do, and I thinking as I do. We can love each other just the same. We can
do good by comforting those who will be stricken; and mother will look
down from heaven, and bless us. We cannot control our sympathies, but we
can our actions. We can both be truly non-combatants."

"Don't, Fred, don't tempt me," gasped Mr. Shackelford. "My word is
given, and a Shackelford never breaks his word. Then I cannot stand idly
by, and see my kindred made slaves. I must draw my sword for the right,
and the South has the right. Fred, the die is cast. I go in the
Confederate army--you to Europe. So say no more."

Fred arose, his face as pale as death, but with a look so determined, so
fixed that it seemed as if in a moment the boy had been transformed into
a man.

"Father," he asked, "I have always been a good son, obeying you, and
never intentionally grieving you, have I not?"

"You have, Fred, been a good, obedient son, God bless you!"

"Just before mother died," continued Fred, "she called me to her
bedside. She told me how my great-grandfather had died on Bunker Hill,
and asked me to always be true to my country. She asked me to promise
never to raise my hand against the flag. I gave her the promise. You
would not have me break that promise, father?"

"No, no, my son! Go to Europe, stay there until the trouble is over."

"She said more, father. Listen, for I believe her words to be prophetic:
'God will never prosper a nation whose chief corner-stone is human
slavery.'"

"Stop, Fred, stop, I can't bear it. Your mother did not understand. This
war is not waged to perpetuate slavery; it is waged to preserve the
rights of the States guaranteed to them by the Constitution."

"Do not deceive yourself, father; slavery has everything to do with it.
No State would have thought of seceding if it had not been for slavery.
Slavery is the sole, the only cause of the war. It is a poor cause for
noble men to give up their lives."

"We will not argue the question," said Mr. Shackelford, pettishly; "you
will forget your foolishness in Europe."

"I shall not go to Europe."

"What!"

"I shall not go to Europe."

"Do you dare to disobey me?"

"I shall not only not go to Europe, but I shall enter the army."

"The army! the army! What army?" asked Mr. Shackelford, dismayed.

"The Union army."

The father staggered as if a knife had pierced his heart. He threw out
his hands wildly, and then pressed them to his breast and gasped: "Fred,
Fred, you don't mean it!"

"I was never more in earnest in my life."

Mr. Shackelford's feelings underwent a sudden change. His face became
purple with rage; love for his son was forgotten.

"Do that," he thundered, "do that, and you are no son of mine. I will
disown you, I will cast you out, I will curse you."

"Father," said Fred, in a low tremulous voice, "if part we must, do not
let us part in anger. Never have I loved you better than now; you do
what you believe to be right; I do what I believe to be right. We both
perform our duty as we see it. God will hold the one who blunders
blameless. Let us then part in peace."

Mr. Shackelford, with white, drawn face, pointed to the door, and
uttered the one word, "Go!"

"Oh, father, father, do not send me away with a curse. See, father,"
and he turned to his mother's portrait which hung on the wall, "mother
is looking down on us; mother, who loved us both so well. How can you
account to her that you have turned away her only son with a curse, and
for no crime, but the one of loving his country."

"Boy, boy, have you no mercy that you will not only break my heart, but
tear it out by the roots."

"I am the one who asks for mercy, who pleads that you send me not away
with a curse."

"Fred, for the sake of your mother, I will not curse you, but I will, if
you remain in my sight. Here," and he went to his safe, opened it, and
took out a package of money. "Here is $1,000, take it and Prince, and
begone. Go to that man, Nelson, who has seduced you. It is a heavy
account I have to settle with him. Go before I forget myself and curse
you."

For a moment Fred gazed in his father's face; there was no wrath,
nothing but love in his look. Then he took the money and said: "Father,
I thank you; I not only thank you, but bless you. May God protect you in
the midst of dangers. Not a day shall pass but I shall pray for your
safety. Good-bye, father."

He turned and went out.

Mr. Shackelford staggered towards the door. "Fred!" It was the cry of a
repentant soul. The boy's footstep echoed outside along the hall,
fainter and fainter.

The father groped blindly, as if about to fall.

"Fred, Fred, come back!"

The outer door closed; his boy was gone.

Mr. Shackelford staggered backward and groaned, as if in mortal agony.
Then his eye caught the portrait of his wife looking down on him.
Raising his arms beseechingly, he cried: "Oh, Laura! Laura! What have I
done? Don't look at me so; I didn't curse him. I would have called him
back. My boy! my boy! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

It was with a heavy heart that Fred left the house. As he shut the door,
he thought he heard his father call. He stopped and listened, but
hearing nothing, he went on. Getting his horse, he rode to Danville. His
little sister was visiting at Judge Pennington's, and he wanted to see
her, as well as to bid farewell to his uncle, and see Calhoun. He had no
idea but that his uncle would forbid him the house when he heard of his
being cast off by his father.

He found Judge Pennington at home, and frankly told him what had
happened, shielding his father as much as possible, and not sparing
himself.

The judge went into a fearful passion.

"Why, why, you young jackanapes," he roared; "it's a horse-whipping you
want, and you would get it if you were a boy of mine! Disowned you, did
he? And drove you away? Well, he is a fool, too. A good tanning is what
you need, and, by Jove! I have a mind to give it to you," and he shook
his cane threateningly. "Going to join the Yankee army, are you? Join
and be hanged, you idiot! A Shackelford in the Yankee army! I'll,
I'll--" but the judge was too angry to say more.

"Now, uncle, don't get in a rage; it's no use. My mind is fully made up.
I shall join the Union army in some capacity."

"Get out of my sight, you young idiot, you!" thundered the judge.

Just then Calhoun came in. "What's the row?" he asked, looking from one
to the other.

"Row, row!" sputtered the judge. "If you were as big a fool as your
cousin there, I would skin you alive."

"Glad you have at last come to a full appreciation of my worth," coolly
replied Calhoun. "For years I have had the virtues of my cousin held up
to me as a shining mark to follow. Now, I find I am saving my skin by
surpassing him in the wisdom of this world. Congratulate me, dear
father."

"Why, this fool says he is going to enlist in the Yankee army," foamed
the Judge, pointing at Fred.

"And this fool says he is going to enlist in the Southern army,"
answered Calhoun, pointing to himself.

The judge was sobered instantly. "Calhoun, you don't mean it?" he asked.

"Yes, I do mean it," stoutly replied the boy. "Why not? Haven't you been
talking for years of the rights of the South? Are you not doing
everything possible to take Kentucky out of the Union? Haven't you
encouraged the enlistment of soldiers for the South? Then why not I? Why
am I better than others? Father, I don't want to quarrel with you as
Fred has with his father, but I am going into the Southern army, and I
hope with your blessing."

The judge was completely sobered. Having his son go to war was so much
different from having some one else's son go.

"Do not do anything rash, my son," he said to Calhoun. "When the time
comes if you must go, I will see what can be done for you. As for you,
Fred," he said, "you stay here with Calhoun until I return. I am going
to see your father," and calling for his horse, the judge rode away.

It was afternoon before the judge came back. Calling the boys into a
room for a private interview, he said: "Fred, I have been to see your
father, and he is very much chagrined over your disobedience. His fierce
anger is gone, and in its place a deep sorrow. He does not ask you to
give up your principle, but he does ask that you do not enter the
Federal army. You are much too young, to say nothing of other
considerations. You should accept his proposition and go to Europe. We
have come to this conclusion, that if you will go I will send Calhoun
with you. That will be an even stand off. Calhoun wants to enter the
Southern army, you the Northern, so neither section loses anything. You
have both done your duty to your section, and both will have the
pleasure and advantage of a university course in Europe. What do you
say, boys?"

"That it is a mean underhanded way to prevent me from entering the
army," flared up Calhoun. "I hope Fred will not accept."

"Be careful, boy," said the judge, getting red in the face. "You will
not find me as lenient as Mr. Shackelford has been with Fred. You will
go where I say."

Calhoun's temper was up, and there would have been a scene right then
and there if Fred had not interfered.

"Uncle," said he, "there is no use of Calhoun and you disagreeing over
this matter. I shall not go to Europe; so far as I am concerned, it is
settled. As for Calhoun entering the army, you must settle that between
you."

Calhoun pressed Fred's hand, and whispered, "Good for you, Fred; you
have got me out of a bad scrape. I think father will consent to my going
in the army now."

The judge stared at the boys, and then sputtered: "Both of you ought to
be soundly thrashed. But if Fred's mind is made up, it is no use
pursuing the matter further."

"I am firmly resolved," answered Fred.

"Then," answered the judge, "I will say no more, only, Fred, my house is
open to you. When you get sick of your foolish experiment you can have
a home here. Your father refuses to see you unless you consent to obey."

"I thank you, uncle," said Fred, in a low voice, "but I do not think I
shall trouble you much."

In justice to Mr. Shackelford, it must be said it was by his request
that Judge Pennington made this offer to Fred. Mr. Shackelford's heart
had softened towards his son, and he did not wish to cast him off
entirely. But the destiny of father and son was to be more closely
interwoven than either thought.

Fred remained at his uncle's until the next day. He and Calhoun slept
together or rather occupied the same bed, for they had too much talking
to do to sleep. Both boys were romantic and fond of adventure. Both
longed for the fierce excitement of war. They did not talk as enemies.
They did not realize that they might face each other on the field of
battle. They talked of their oath, and again promised to keep it to the
letter.

They were like two brothers, each going on a long journey in different
directions.

Their parting the next morning was most affectionate, and when Fred rode
away he turned his horse's head in the direction of Camp Dick Robinson.




CHAPTER VI.

THE FIGHT FOR THE ARMS.


The soldiers that Nelson had gathered at Camp Dick Robinson were a
nondescript set, not only in clothing, but in arms. Squirrel rifles and
shotguns were the principal weapons. When he first began organizing his
troops, Nelson had ordered guns and ammunition from the Federal
government, and his impetuous spirit chafed at their non-arrival.
Consequently he was not in the best of humor, and was mentally cursing
the government for its exceeding slowness when Fred rode up to his
headquarters.

Fred's ride had been anything but a pleasant one. That he had taken a
desperate step for a boy of his age, he well knew. He passionately loved
his father, and the thought that he had been disowned for disobedience
was a bitter one. He strove to fight back the lump that would rise in
his throat; and in spite of all his efforts to keep them back, the tears
would well up in his eyes. But he never faltered in his determination.
He had given himself, heart and soul, to the cause of the Union, and had
no thought of turning back. Even if Nelson did not receive him, if it
came to the worst he would enlist as a private soldier. Serve the Union
he would.

"A boy to see me," snapped Nelson, when an orderly reported that a boy
was outside and wished to see him. "Tell him to go to the ----."

The orderly reported to Fred Nelson's kind wish.

"Tell him," replied Fred, rather indignantly, "that Fred Shackelford
wishes to see him."

The orderly soon returned, and ushered Fred into the presence of the
irate officer.

"It is you, Fred, is it?" said Nelson, as our hero entered and saluted
him. "I am sorry I told you to go where I did, but the truth is I am out
of sorts. Have you any news to cheer me up?"

"News, General, yes; and quite important, if you do not already know it.
But first," continued Fred, glancing at the star which glistened on
Nelson's shoulder, "let me congratulate you. I see you are no longer
Lieutenant Nelson of the navy, but General Nelson of the army."

"Yes," replied Nelson, with a twinkle in his eye, "I now command on
land; so, young man, be careful how you try to ride over me."

Fred laughed as he thought of his first meeting with Nelson, and
replied: "I shall never so forget myself again, General."

"Now," continued Nelson, "give me the news. You said you had something
important to communicate."

"So I have if you are not already informed. You are expecting arms for
your men, are you not?"

"I am, and I am all out of patience because I do not receive them. They
should have been here days ago. But what do you know about this?"

"I know that you will never receive them, if the friends of the South
can prevent it; and that they are taking active measures to do."

"Tell me all about it," said Nelson, manifesting the greatest interest.

Fred then related all that he had heard at the meeting which took place
at his father's house. Nelson's face grew very grave. Then he asked,
"Where did you learn of all this?"

"Please do not ask me," replied Fred, in a low voice. "I can only say
the information is absolutely correct."

"Never mind," said Nelson, kindly. "I think I understand. Your news is,
indeed, important. The enemy must have spies watching every movement.
You have again rendered me important service, Fred. How I wish you could
take up with that offer I made you."

"That is what I have come for, General, if you will accept my poor
services."

"What! has your father consented?" asked Nelson, in surprise.

Fred colored, and then replied: "I have no home; my father has cast me
out."

"For what?"

"I had my choice to accompany him in the Confederate army or to go to
Europe to attend some university. I refused to do either."

Nelson knitted his brows a moment as if in thought, and then replied:
"You were certainly right in refusing the first; I wonder at your father
making you the proposition. The last was a very reasonable proposition,
and a wise one. You should have accepted it. I am afraid I am to blame
for your folly--for such it is. The offer I made you appealed to your
boyish imagination and love of adventure, and caused you to go against
the wishes of your father. Four or five years at some foreign university
is a chance not to be idly thrown away, to say nothing about obeying the
wishes of your father. As much as I would like your services, Fred, be
reconciled to your father; go to Europe, and keep out of this infernal
war. It will cost the lives of thousands of just such noble youths as
you before it ends; and," he continued, with a tinge of sadness in his
tone, "I sometimes think I shall never live to see it end. I am
surrounded by hundreds of enemies who are hungering for my life."

"Your advice, General, is most kindly given," answered Fred, "and I
sincerely thank you for what you have said; but it is impossible for me
to accept it. It is all over between father and myself. He gave me
$1,000 and my horse, and told me to go my way. I love my father, but if
I should now go back after what has passed, he would despise me, as I
would despise myself. Father is the soul of honor; if I should play the
craven after all that I have said, he would not only despise, but loathe
me. Now I can hope that time may once more unite us. Be assured that
though his heart may be filled with anger towards me now, if I prove
myself worthy, he will yet be proud of his son."

Nelson's heart was touched. He grasped Fred's hand, and exclaimed with
much feeling: "You must have a noble father, or he could not have such a
son. Yes, Fred, I will take you. Consider yourself attached to my staff
as confidential scout and messenger. I do not wish you to enlist; you
will be more free to act if you are not an enlisted soldier."

Fred warmly thanked the general for his expression of confidence, and
announced himself as ready for orders.

Nelson smiled at his ardor, and then said: "I believe you stated that
that meeting is to take place in Scott county the 17th?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is the 14th. You can make it all right. How would you like to go
there, and see what you can learn?"

Fred's eyes kindled. "I can make it all right, but I am afraid some of
them may know me."

"We will fix that all right," responded Nelson.

The next morning, a boy with jet black hair and hands and face stained
brown rode away from General Nelson's headquarters. It would have been
a close observer indeed that would have taken that boy for Fred
Shackelford.

It was on the evening of the 16th that Fred reached Georgetown. He found
the little city full of excited partisans of the South. At the meeting
the next day many fierce speeches were made. The extremists were for at
once calling out the State Guards, and marching on Camp Dick Robinson,
and capturing it at the point of the bayonet. But more pacific advice
prevailed. Governor Magoffin was instructed to protest in the strongest
language to President Lincoln, and to call on him at once to disband the
troops at Dick Robinson. As for allowing the arms to be shipped, it was
resolved that it should be prevented at all hazards.

When Fred arrived at Georgetown, he found at the hotel that he could
procure a room next to the one occupied by Major Hockoday, and believing
that the major's room might be used for secret consultations of the more
violent partisans of the South, he engaged it, hoping that in some
manner he might become possessed of some of their secrets. While the
room engaged by Major Hockoday was unoccupied he deftly made a hole
through the plastering in his room, and then with the aid of a sharpened
stick made a very small opening through the plastering into the next
room. He then rolled up a sheet of paper in the shape of a trumpet. By
placing the small end of the paper in the small opening, and putting his
ear to the larger end, he was enabled to hear much that was said,
especially if everything was still and the conversation was animated.
The result exceeded his most sanguine expectations. After the close of
the public meeting, a number of the more prominent actors gathered in
Major Hockoday's room.

A heated discussion arose as to how Kentucky could the most quickly
throw off her neutrality, and join her fortune to that of the
Confederacy.

"Gentlemen," said Major Hockoday, "I believe every one present is a true
son of the South, therefore I can speak to you freely. The first thing,
as we all agree, is to prevent the shipment of these arms. Then if
Lincoln refuses to disband the troops at Dick Robinson, the program is
this: You all know that General Buckner has been in Washington for some
time talking neutrality. In a measure he has gained the confidence of
Lincoln, and has nearly received the promise that no Federal troops from
other States will be ordered into the State as long as the Confederate
troops keep out. Buckner has secretly gone to Richmond, where he will
accept a commission from the Confederate government. He will then come
back by way of the South, and issue a proclamation to loyal Kentuckians
to join his standard. The State Guards should join him to a man. Then,
if Lincoln refuses to disband the soldiers at Dick Robinson, the
Confederate government will occupy the State with troops, claiming and
justly, too, that the Federal government has not respected the
neutrality of the State. The coming of the Confederate troops will fire
the heart of every true Kentuckian, and all over the State Confederates
will spring to arms, and the half-armed ragamuffins of Nelson will be
scattered like a flock of sheep. By a dash Louisville can be occupied,
and Kentucky will be where she belongs--in the Southern Confederacy.
What think you, gentlemen, of the program?"

A wild cheer burst from those present. Strong men embraced each other
with tears streaming down their cheeks. They believed with their whole
hearts and souls that the South was right, and that Kentucky's place was
with her Southern sisters, and now that there seemed to be a possibility
of this, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.

As for Fred, he drew a long breath. He knew that he had gained
information of the greatest value to the Federal cause.

"It is time for me to be going," he said to himself. "Nelson must know
of this as soon as possible."

As he passed out of the room, he came face to face with Major Hockoday.

The major stared at him a moment, and then roughly asked: "What is your
name, and what are you doing here?"

"I see no reason why I should report to you," replied Fred. "I am a
guest at this hotel, and am minding my own business. I wish I could say
as much for you," and he walked away.

The major looked after him, his face red with anger, and muttered:
"Strange! but if that boy didn't have black hair and was not dark, I
should swear it was Fred Shackelford. I must find out more about him."

But a gentleman came along just then and engaged him in conversation. As
soon as he could disengage himself, the major examined the hotel
register to find who occupied room 13. Opposite that number he found
written in a bold, boyish hand:

"F. Carrington.... Louisville."

Fred's full name was Fred Carrington Shackelford, and he had registered
his given names only. Major Hockoday made careful inquiry about the boy,
but no one knew him. He had paid his bill, called for his horse, and
rode away. More the people could not tell. Major Hockoday was troubled,
why he hardly knew; but somehow he felt as if the presence of that
black-haired boy boded no good to their cause.

All of this time Fred was riding swiftly towards Lexington.

General Nelson listened to his report not only with attention, but with
astonishment.

"Fred," said he, "you are a marvel; you are worth a brigade of soldiers.
I have been reporting all the time to the authorities at Washington that
Buckner was heart and soul with the South; but they wouldn't believe me.
Neither will they believe me now, but I can act on your information."

"Fred," continued the general, walking rapidly up and down the room, "I
sometimes think there is a set of dunderheads at Washington. They think
they know everything, and don't know anything. If Kentucky is saved, it
will be saved by the loyal men of the State. Just think of their
listening to Buckner instead of me," and the general worked himself into
a violent rage, and it took him some time to cool off. Then he said: "I
will try once more to hurry up those arms. I will send you to-morrow to
Cincinnati as a special messenger. I will write what you have told me,
and I want you to impress it on General Anderson's mind. Tell him to
hurry, hurry, or it will be too late."

The next morning Fred was on his way back to Nicholasville. From there
he took the train for Cincinnati, at which place he arrived in due time.
He delivered his dispatches to General Anderson, who, after reading
them, looked at him kindly and said:

"General Nelson sends a young messenger, but he tells me of the great
service you have performed and the valuable information you have
gathered. It is certainly wonderful for so young a boy. Tell me more
about it."

Fred modestly related what had occurred at Georgetown.

General Anderson listened attentively, and when Fred had finished, said:
"You certainly deserve the credit General Nelson has given you. The
information you received is of the greatest importance, and will be at
once forwarded to Washington. In the mean time, we must do the best we
can. General Nelson may think I am slow, but there is so much to do--so
much to do, and so little to do with," and the general sighed. Fred
observed him with interest, for he realized that he was talking to the
hero who had defended Fort Sumter to the last.

The general was broken in health, and looked sick and careworn, and not
the man to assume the great burden he was bearing. It was with joy that
Fred heard that the arms would be shipped in a day or two. But when the
train carrying them was ready to start, Fred saw, to his amazement, that
it was not to be guarded.

"That train will never get through," he thought. "It is funny how they
do things."

Fred was right; the enemies of the government were not idle. Spies were
all around, and they knew when the train was to start to a minute, and
the news was flashed ahead. At a small station in Harrison county the
train was stopped by a large mob, who tore up the track in front, making
it impossible for it to proceed. There was nothing to do but to take the
train back to Cincinnati, and with it a communication to the officials
of the road that if they attempted to run the train again the whole
track would be torn up from Covington to Lexington.

The railway officials, thoroughly frightened, begged General Anderson
not to attempt to run the train again. The Southern sympathizers were
jubilant over their success, and boldly declared the arms would never be
shipped.

As for Fred, he was completely disgusted, and expressed himself so.

"Well, my boy, what would you do?" asked General Anderson, smiling.

"Do! do!" answered Fred, excitedly. "I would send a regiment and a
battery on a train ahead of the one carrying the arms, and if the mob
interfered I would sweep them from the face of the earth."

"Well said, my lad," replied Anderson, his face lighting up and his eyes
kindling. "I feel that way myself, but a soldier must obey orders, and
unfortunately I have different orders."

"What is the next move?" asked Fred.

"I have orders to load them on a steamboat, and send them up the
Kentucky River to Hickman Bridge."

Fred looked his disgust.

"You don't seem pleased," said the general.

"Pleased!" blurted out Fred; "excuse me, General, but it is all
foolishness. Have I not heard those fellows plotting? The boat will be
stopped the same as the train."

The general turned away, but Fred heard him say, as if to himself: "I am
afraid it will be so, but the government persists in tying our hands as
far as Kentucky is concerned."

General Anderson's position was certainly an anomalous one--the
commander of a department, and yet not allowed to move troops into it.

According to his orders, Fred took passage on the boat with the arms,
but he felt it would never be permitted to reach its destination. His
fears proved only too true. When the boat reached the confines of Owen
county they found a great mob congregated on the banks of the river.

"Turn back! turn back!" was the cry, "or we will burn the boat." The
captain tried to parley, but he was met with curses and jeers.

Fred went on shore, and mingling with the mob, soon learned there was a
conspiracy on the part of the more daring to burn the boat, even if it
did turn back. Hurrying on board, Fred told the captain his only
salvation was to turn back at once, and to put on all steam. He did so,
and the boat and cargo were saved.

Once more the Confederate sympathizers went wild with rejoicing, and the
Union men were correspondingly depressed.

But the boat made an unexpected move, as far as the enemy were
concerned. Instead of proceeding back to Cincinnati, it turned down the
Ohio to Louisville. Here the arms were hastily loaded on the cars, and
started for Lexington. Fred was hurried on ahead to apprise General
Nelson of their coming. Fred delivered his message to the general, and
then said: "The train will never get through; it will be stopped at
Lexington, if not before."

"If the train ever reaches Lexington I will have the arms," grimly
replied Nelson. "Lexington is in my jurisdiction; there will be no
fooling, no parleying with traitors, if the train reaches that city."

Then he turned to Colonel Thomas E. Bramlette, and said: "Colonel, take
a squadron of cavalry, proceed to Lexington, and when that train comes,
take charge of it and guard it to Nicholasville. I will have wagons
there to transport the arms here."

Colonel Bramlette saluted, and replied: "General, I will return with
those arms or not at all."

The general smiled; he understood.

"May I accompany the colonel?" asked Fred.

"Certainly, if you wish," answered Nelson. "You have stayed by the arms
so far, and it is no more than right that you should be in at the
finish."

The enemy was alert, and the news reached Lexington that the train
loaded with the arms and ammunition for the soldiers at Dick Robinson
was coming.

Instantly the little city was aflame with excitement. The State Guards
under the command of John H. Morgan gathered at their armory with the
avowed intention of seizing the train by force. John C. Breckinridge
made a speech to the excited citizens, saying the train must be stopped,
if blood flowed.

In the midst of this excitement Colonel Bramlette with his cavalry
arrived. This added fuel to the already intense excitement.

"Drive the Lincoln hirelings from the city!" shouted Breckinridge, and
the excited crowd took up the cry.

A demand was at once drawn up, signed by Breckinridge, Morgan and many
others, and sent to Colonel Bramlette, requesting him to at once
withdraw from the city, or blood would be shed.

Colonel Bramlette's lips curled in scorn as he read the demand, and
turning to the messenger who brought it, said: "Go tell the gentlemen
they shall have my answer shortly."

Writing an answer, he turned to Fred, saying: "Here, my boy, for what
you have done, you richly deserve the honor of delivering this message."

Right proudly did Fred bear himself as he delivered his message to
Breckinridge. Major Hockoday, who was standing by Breckinridge, scowled
and muttered, "It's that ---- Shackelford boy."

Captain Conway heard him, and seeing Fred, with a fearful oath, sprang
towards him with uplifted hand. He had not seen Fred since that night he
plunged from the train. His adventure had become known, and he had to
submit to any amount of chaffing at being outwitted by a boy; and his
brother officers took great delight in calling out: "Look out, Conway,
here comes that detective from Danville!"

This made Captain Conway hate Fred with all the ardor of his small soul,
and seeing the boy, made him so forget himself as to attack him.

But a revolver flashed in his face, and a firm voice said: "Not so fast,
Captain."

The irate captain was seized and dragged away, and when the tumult had
subsided Breckinridge said: "I am sorry to see the son of my friend,
Colonel Shackelford, engaged in such business; but it is the message
that he brings that concerns us."

He then read the following laconic note from Colonel Bramlette:


     LEXINGTON, Aug. --, 1861.

     TO HON. JOHN C. BRECKINRIDGE, JOHN H. MORGAN AND OTHERS.

     Gentlemen:--I shall take those arms, and if a drop of Union blood
     be shed, I will not leave a single Secessionist alive in Lexington.

     THOMAS E. BRAMLETTE,
     _Colonel Commanding_.


There was a breathless silence; faces of brave men grew pale. There were
oaths and muttered curses, but the mob began to melt away. The victory
was won.

The train arrived, and Colonel Bramlette took charge of it without
trouble. Just as the troop of cavalry was leaving Lexington, a boy came
out and thrust a note into Fred's hand. He opened it and read:


     TO FRED SHACKELFORD:

     Boy as you are, I propose to shoot you on sight, so be on your
     guard.

     CAPT. P. C. CONWAY.


Fred smiled, and handed the note to Colonel Bramlette, who read it and
said: "Fred, you will have to look out for that fellow."

The journey back to Dick Robinson was without incident. The long looked
for arms and ammunition had come. What rejoicing there was! What wild
hurrahs! Plenty of arms and ammunition! It meant everything to those men
surrounded as they were with enemies on every side. In the midst of the
rejoicing, Fred was not forgotten. He and Colonel Bramlette were the
heroes of the hour. The fight for the possession of the arms was over.
General Nelson had won.




CHAPTER VII.

THE FOILING OF A PLOT.


Camp Dick Robinson was all excitement. General Nelson, the man of iron
nerve, who, in the face of opposition from friends, the most direful
threats from foes, saved Central Kentucky to the Union, had been
relieved of his command and assigned to another field of labor. The new
commander to take his place was General George H. Thomas.

To Fred the news that _his_ general, as he had come to look upon Nelson,
had been assigned to another command, was anything but pleasing. "But
where Nelson goes, there will I go," was his thought. "After all," he
said, bitterly, "what does it matter where I go. I am homeless and an
outcast."

General Thomas, like Nelson, was a heavy, thickset man, but there the
likeness ended. Thomas never lost his temper, he never swore, he never
complained, he never got excited. He was always cool and collected, even
under the most trying circumstances. He afterwards became known to his
soldiers as "Pap Thomas," and was sometimes called "Slow-Trot Thomas,"
for the reason he was never known to ride his horse off a trot, even in
the most desperate battle.

When General Thomas reported to Camp Dick Robinson he and Nelson held a
long consultation. Finally Fred was called into their presence.

"This, General, is Fred Shackelford, the boy of whom I spoke," said
Nelson.

Fred saluted the new commander, and then respectfully remained standing,
awaiting orders.

"Fred," continued General Nelson, "General Thomas and I have been
discussing you, and I have been telling him how valuable your services
have been. I fully expected to take you with me to my new command, but
both General Thomas and myself feel that just at present your services
are very much needed here. This camp is very important, and it is
surrounded with so many dangers that we need to take every precaution.
You are not only well acquainted with the country, but you seem to have
a peculiar way of getting at the enemy's secrets no other one possesses.
There is no doubt but you are needed here more than at Maysville, where
I am going. But we have concluded to leave it to you, whether you go or
stay. You may be sure I shall be pleased to have you go with me. What do
you say, Fred?"

Fred looked at General Thomas, and thought he had never seen a finer,
grander face; but he had grown very fond of the fiery Nelson, so he
replied:

"General Nelson, you know my feelings towards you. I appreciate your
kindness. If I consulted simply my own wishes I should go with you. But
you have pointed out to me my duty. I am very grateful to General Thomas
for his feelings towards me. I shall stay as long as I am needed here,
and serve the general to the best of my ability."

"Bravely said, Fred, bravely said," responded Nelson. "You will find
General Thomas a more agreeable commander than myself."

"There, General, that will do," said Thomas quietly.

So it was settled that Fred was to stay for the present with General
Thomas.

The next day Generals Thomas and Nelson went to Cincinnati to confer
with General Anderson, and Fred was invited to accompany them.

Once more he was asked to lay before General Anderson the full text of
the conversation he had overheard at Georgetown. This he did.

"What do you think, General?" asked Thomas, who had listened very
closely to the recital.

"I am afraid," replied General Anderson, "that the authorities at
Washington do not fully realize the condition of affairs in Kentucky.
Neither have they any conception of the intrigue going on to take the
State out of the Union. No doubt, General Buckner has been playing a
sharp game at Washington. He seems to have completely won the confidence
of the President. It is for this reason so many of our requests pass
unheeded. If what young Shackelford has heard is true, General Buckner
is now in Richmond. He is there to accept a command from the
Confederate government, and is to return here to organize the disloyal
forces of Kentucky to force the State out of the Union. Now, in the face
of these facts, what do you think of this," and the general read the
following:


     EXECUTIVE MANSION, Aug. 17th, 1861.

     HON. SECRETARY OF WAR.

     My Dear Sir:--Unless there be reason to the contrary, not known to
     me, make out a commission for Simon B. Buckner as a
     Brigadier-General of volunteers. It is to be put in the hands of
     General Anderson, and delivered to General Buckner, or not, at the
     discretion of General Anderson. Of course, it is to remain a secret
     unless and until the commission is delivered.

     A. LINCOLN.


During the reading, General Thomas sat with immovable countenance,
betraying neither approbation nor disgust. But Nelson exploded like a
volcano.

"Great God!" he roared, "are they all idiots at Washington? Buckner a
Federal general! Oh! the fools, the fools! Give him his commission,
Anderson, give him his commission, and then let Lincoln invite Jeff
Davis to a seat in the cabinet. It would be as sensible," and then he
poured forth such a volley of oaths that what he really meant to say
became obscure.

When he had blown himself out, General Thomas quietly said: "Now,
General, that you have relieved yourself, let us again talk business."

"I don't believe you would change countenance, Thomas, if Beauregard was
placed in command of the Federal armies," replied Nelson, pettishly.

"Perhaps not," calmly replied Thomas. "But Central Kentucky needed just
such fire and enthusiasm as you possess to save it from the clutches of
the rebels, and if I can only complete the grand work you have begun I
shall be content, and not worry over whom the President recommends for
office."

"You will complete it, General; my work could not be left in better
hands," replied Nelson, completely mollified.

In a few moments Nelson excused himself, as he had other duties to
perform.

Looking after him, General Anderson said: "I am afraid Nelson's temper
and unruly tongue will get him into serious trouble yet. But he has done
what I believe no other man could have done as well. To his efforts,
more than to any other one man, do we owe our hold on Kentucky."

"His lion-like courage and indomitable energy will cover a multitude of
faults," was the reply of General Thomas.

Fred returned to Camp Dick Robinson with General Thomas, and he soon
found that the general was fully as energetic as Nelson, though in a
more quiet way. The amount of work that General Thomas dispatched was
prodigious. Every little detail was looked after, but there was no
hurry, no confusion. The camp began to assume a more military aspect,
and the men were brought under more thorough discipline.

September saw great changes in affairs in Kentucky. According to the
program which Fred had heard outlined at Georgetown, the Confederates
began their aggressive movements. Hickman, on the Mississippi River, was
occupied by the Confederate army under General Polk on the 5th. As swift
as a stroke of lightning, General Grant, who was in command at Cairo,
Illinois, retaliated by occupying Paducah on the 6th. General Polk then
seized the important post of Columbus on the 7th. A few days afterward
General Buckner moved north from Tennessee, and occupied Bowling Green.
At the same time General Zollicoffer invaded the State from Cumberland
Gap. All three of these Confederate generals issued stirring addresses
to all true Kentuckians to rally to their support. It was confidently
expected by the Confederate authorities that there would be a general
uprising throughout the State in favor of the South. But they were
grievously disappointed; the effect was just the opposite. The
Legislature, then in session at Frankfort, passed a resolution
commanding the Governor to issue a proclamation ordering the
Confederates at once to evacuate the State. Governor Magoffin, much to
his chagrin, was obliged to issue the proclamation. A few days later the
Legislature voted that the State should raise a force of 40,000 men, and
that this force be tendered the United States for the purpose of putting
down rebellion. An invitation was also extended to General Anderson to
assume command of all these forces. Thus, to their chagrin, the
Confederates saw their brightest hopes perish. Instead of their getting
possession of the State, even neutrality had perished. The State was
irrevocably committed to the Union, but the people were as hopelessly
divided as ever. It was to be a battle to the death between the opposing
factions.

Shortly after his return to Dick Robinson, Fred began to long to hear
from home, to know how those he loved fared; so he asked General Thomas
for a day or two of absence. It was readily granted, and soon he was on
his way to Danville. He found only his Uncle and Aunt Pennington at
home. His father had gone South to accept the colonelcy of a regiment,
and was with Buckner. His cousin Calhoun had accompanied Colonel
Shackelford South, having the promise of a position on the staff of some
general officer. His little sister Bessie had been sent to Cincinnati to
a convent school. The adherents of the opposing factions were more
bitter toward each other than ever, and were ready to spring at each
other's throats at the slightest provocation. Neighbors were estranged,
families were broken, nevermore to be reunited; and over all there
seemed to be hanging the black shadow of coming sorrow. Kentucky was not
only to be deluged in blood, but with the hot burning tears of those
left behind to groan and weep.

Fred was received coldly by his uncle and aunt. "You know," said Judge
Pennington, "my house is open to you, but I cannot help feeling the
keenest sorrow over your conduct."

"I am sorry, very sorry, uncle, if what I have done has grieved you,"
answered Fred.

"No one can be really sorry who persists in his course," answered the
judge. "Fred, rather--yes, a thousand times--had I rather see you dead
than doing as you are. If my brave boy falls," and his voice trembled as
he spoke, "I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that he fell in a
glorious cause. But you, Fred, you----" his voice broke; he could say no
more.

Fred was deeply moved. "Uncle," he softly said, "I admit you are honest
and sincere in your belief. Why can you not admit as much for me? Why is
it a disgrace to fight for the old flag, to defend the Union that
Washington and Jefferson helped form, and that Jackson defended?"

"The wrong," answered Judge Pennington, "consists in trying to coerce
sovereign States. The Constitution gives any State the right to withdraw
from the Union at pleasure. The South is fighting for her constitutional
rights----"

"And for human slavery," added Fred.

The judge's cheeks flamed with anger.

"Look out, Fred," he exclaimed, choking with passion, "lest I drive you
from my door, despite my promise to your father. Don't go too far. You
are not only fighting against the South, but you are becoming a detested
Abolitionist--a nigger worshiper."

Fred felt his manhood aroused, but controlling his passion he calmly
replied:

"Uncle, I will not displease you longer with my presence. The time may
come when you may need my help, instead of my needing yours. If so, do
not hesitate to call on me. I still love my kindred as well as ever;
they are as near to me as ever. There is no dishonor in a man loyally
following what he honestly believes to be right. I believe you and my
father to be wrong--that your sympathies have led you terribly astray;
but in my sight you are none the less true, noble, honest men. As for
me, I answer for myself. I am for the Union, now and forever. Good-bye,
uncle! May God keep all of those we love from harm," and he rode away.

Judge Pennington gazed after him with a troubled look, and then murmured
to himself: "After all, a fine boy, a grand boy! A Kentuckian all over!
Would that he were on the right side!"

Upon Fred's return to headquarters he found General Thomas in deep
consultation with his staff. Circulars had been scattered all over the
State and notices printed in newspapers calling for a meeting of the
State Guards at Lexington on the 20th. Ostensibly the object of the
meeting was to be for a week's drill, and for the purpose of better
preparing the Guards to protect the interests of the State. But General
Thomas believed there was a hidden meaning in the call; that it was
conceived in deceit, and that it meant treachery. What this treachery
was he did not know, and it was this point he was discussing with his
staff when Fred entered. The sight of the boy brought a smile to his
face.

"Ah, my boy!" he exclaimed, "I am glad to see you. We have a hard
problem; it is one rather in your line. I trust you can solve it."

He then laid the circular before Fred, and expressed his opinion that it
contained a hidden meaning. "There is no end to those fellows'
plottings," he said, "and we are still weak, very weak here. With
General Zollicoffer moving this way from Cumberland Gap, it would not
take much of a force in our rear to cause a great disaster. In fact, a
hostile force at Lexington, even if small, would be a serious matter."

Fred read the circular carefully, as if reading between the lines, and
then asked:

"It is the real meaning of this call that you wish?"

"By all means, if it can be obtained," answered the general.

"I will try to obtain it," replied Fred, quietly. "General you may not
hear from me for two or three days."

"May success attend you, my boy," replied the general, kindly, and with
this he dismissed his staff.

"It has come to a pretty pass," said a dapper young lieutenant of the
staff to an older member, "that the general prefers a boy to one of us,"
and he drew himself proudly up, as if to say, "Now, if the general had
detailed me, there might have been some hopes of success."

The older member smiled, and answered: "I think it just as well,
Lieutenant, that he chose the boy. I don't think either you or me fitted
for that kind of work."

The lieutenant sniffed and walked off.

Again a black-haired, dark-skinned boy left headquarters at Dick
Robinson, this time for Lexington. Arriving there, Fred took a room at
the leading hotel, registering as Charles Danford, Cincinnati, thinking
it best to take an entirely fictitious name. He soon learned that the
leading Southern sympathizers of the city were in the habit of meeting
in a certain room at the hotel. He kept very quiet, for there was one
man in Lexington he did not care to meet, and that man was Major
Hockoday. He knew that the major would recognize him as the boy he met
at Georgetown, and that meant the defeat of his whole scheme. Fred's
first step was to make friends with the chamber maid, a comely mulatto
girl. This he did with a bit of flattery and a generous tip. By adroit
questioning, he learned that the girl had charge of the room in which
the meetings of the conspirators were held.

Could she in any manner secrete him in the room during one of the
meetings?

The girl took alarm. "No, youn' massa, no!" she replied, trembling.

"Not for five dollars?"

"Not fo' fiv' 'undred," answered the girl. "Massa kill me, if he foun'
it out."

Fred saw that she could not be bribed; he would have to try a new tack.
"See here, Mary," he asked, "you would like to be free, would you not,
just like a white girl?"

"Yes, massa, I woul' like dat."

"You have heard of President Lincoln, have you not?"

The girl's eyes lit up with a sudden fire. "Yes, Massa Linkun good; he
want to free we 'uns. All de niggers talkin' 'bout dat."

"Mary, I am a friend of Lincoln. One of his great men sent me here. The
men who meet in that room are his enemies. They want to kill him."

The girl's eyes opened wide with terror.

"I am here trying to find out their plans, so we can keep them from
killing Mr. Lincoln. Mary, you must help me, or you will be blamed for
what may happen, and you will never be free."

The girl began to cry. "Massa will whip me to death, if he foun' it
out," she blubbered.

"Your master will never find it out, even if I am discovered, for I will
never tell on you."

"Dat so, massa?"

"Yes; I will swear it on the Bible."

Like most of her race, the girl was very superstitious, and had great
reverence for the Bible. She went and brought one, and with his hand on
the book Fred took a most solemn oath never to betray her--no, not if he
was torn to pieces with red-hot pincers.

Along toward night she came and whispered to Fred that she had been
told to place the room in order. There was, she said, but one place to
hide, and that was behind a large sofa, which stood across one corner of
the room. It was a perilous hiding place, but Fred resolved to risk it.
"They can but kill me," thought he, "and I had almost as soon die as
fail."

It was getting dark when Mary unlocked the door of the room and let Fred
slip in. He found that by lying close to the sofa, he might escape
detection, though one should glance over the top.

The minutes passed like hours to the excited boy. The slightest noise
startled him, and he found himself growing nervous, and in spite of all
his efforts, a slight tremor shook his limbs. At last he heard
foot-falls along the hall, the door was unlocked, and some one entered
the room. It was the landlord, who lit the gas, looked carefully around,
and went out. Soon the room began to fill. Fred's nervousness was all
gone; but his heart beat so loudly that he thought it must be heard. It
was a notable gathering of men distinguished not only in State but
national affairs. Chief among them was John C. Breckinridge, as knightly
and courteous as ever; then there were Colonel Humphrey Marshall, John
H. Morgan, Colonel Preston, and a score of others. These men had
gathered for the purpose of dragging Kentucky out of the Union over the
vote of her citizens, and in spite of her loyal Legislature. In their
zeal they threw to the winds their own beloved doctrine of State
rights, and would force Kentucky into the Southern Confederacy whether
she wanted to go or not. Yet they were men of the highest character.
They believed the South was right, that it was their duty to defend her,
and that any means were lawful to bring about the desired end.

Fred, as he lay in his hiding place, hardly dared to breathe. Once his
heart ceased to beat when he heard Morgan say: "There is room behind
that sofa for one to hide."

Colonel Marshall glanced behind it, and said: "There is no one there."

Then they commenced to talk, and Fred lay and listened to the whole
plot. The State Guards were to assemble, professedly, as the circular
stated, for muster and drill, but really for one of the most daring of
_coups-de-main_.

The State arsenal at Frankfort was to be taken by surprise, and the arms
secured. The loyal Legislature was then to be dispersed at the point of
the bayonet, a provisional Legislature organized, and the State voted
out of the Union. The force was then to attack Camp Dick Robinson, in
conjunction with General Zollicoffer, who was to move up from Cumberland
Gap; and between the two forces it was thought the camp would fall an
easy prey. In the mean time, Buckner was to make a dash for Louisville
from Bowling Green. If he failed to take it by surprise, all the forces
were to join and capture it, thus placing the whole State in the control
of the Confederates.

It was a bold, but admirably conceived plan.

In an eloquent speech, Mr. Breckinridge pointed out that the plan was
feasible. He said the ball once started, thousands of Kentuckians would
spring to arms all over the State. The plan was earnestly discussed and
fully agreed to. The work of each man was carefully mapped out, and
every detail carefully arranged. At last the meeting was over, and the
company began to pass out.

Fred's heart gave a great bound. He had succeeded; the full details of
the plot were in his possession. Waiting until all were well out of the
room, he crawled from his hiding place, and passed out. But he had
exulted too soon in his success. He had scarcely taken three steps from
the door before he came face to face with Major Hockoday, who was
returning for something he had forgotten. The surprise was a mutual one.

"You here!" gasped the major. "Now I have you, you young imp of Satan,"
and he made a grab for his collar. But Fred was as quick and lithe as a
cat, and eluding the major's clutch, he gave him such a blow in the face
that it staggered him against the wall. Before he recovered from the
effects of the blow Fred had disappeared.

[Illustration: "You here!" gasped the Major, and he made a grab for his
collar.]

"Murder! murder!" the major bawled. "Stop the villain!"

From all directions the guests came running. The major's face was
covered with blood, and he truly presented a gory appearance. It was
some time before the excitement subsided so the major could tell his
story. It was that a young villain had assaulted and attempted to murder
him. By his description, the landlord at once identified the boy as the
one who occupied room 45. But a search revealed the fact that the bird
had flown. It was also ascertained that the major had received no
serious injury.

By request of the major the meeting was hastily re-convened. There, in
its privacy, he gave the true history of the attempted murder, as the
guests of the hotel thought it. The major expressed his opinion that the
boy was a spy. He was sure it was the same boy he had met in the hotel
at Georgetown. "You know," he said, "that the landlord at Georgetown
found a hole drilled through the plastering of the room that this boy
occupied, into the one which was occupied by me and in which we held a
meeting. I tell you, the boy is a first-class spy, and I would not be
surprised if he was concealed somewhere in this room during the
meeting."

"Impossible! impossible!" cried several voices, but nevertheless a
number of faces grew pale.

"There is no place he could hide in this room, except behind the sofa,
and I looked there," said Marshall.

"Are you sure you looked well?" asked Morgan.

"Quite sure."

"Gentlemen," said the landlord, "this room is kept locked. No one could
have got into it."

"All I know," said the major, "I met him about three paces from the
door, just as I turned the corner. When I attempted to stop him, he
suddenly struck the blow and disappeared. If it was not for his black
hair, I should be more than ever convinced that the boy was Fred
Shackelford."

"In league with the devil, probably," growled Captain Conway. "For if
there was ever one of his imps on earth, it's that Shackelford boy.
Curse him, I will be even with him yet."

"And so will I," replied the major, gently feeling of his swollen nose.

"Gentlemen," said John H. Morgan, "this is no time for idle regrets.
Whether that boy has heard anything or not, we cannot tell. But from
what Major Hockoday has said, there is no doubt but that he is a spy.
His assault on the major and fleeing show that. So it behooves us to be
careful. I have a trusty agent at Nicholasville, who keeps me fully
informed of all that transpires there. I will telegraph him particulars,
and have him be on the watch for such a boy."

It was an uneasy crowd that separated that night. It looked as if one
boy might bring to naught all their well-laid plans.

The next morning Morgan received the following telegram from
Nicholasville:


     JOHN H. MORGAN:

     Early this morning a black-haired, dark-skinned boy, riding a jaded
     horse, came in on the Lexington pike. Without stopping for
     refreshments he left his horse, and procured a fresh one, which the
     same boy left here a couple of days ago, and rode rapidly away in
     the direction of Camp Dick Robinson.

     SMITH.


"That means trouble," muttered Morgan. "I must put all the boys on their
guard."

Late in the afternoon of the 19th the following telegram was received by
Morgan from Nicholasville:


     JOHN H. MORGAN:

     Colonel Bramlette with his regiment has just forcibly taken
     possession of a train of cars, and will at once start for
     Lexington. You are in danger.

     SMITH.


That night Breckinridge, Marshall, Morgan and half a score of others
fled from Lexington. Their plottings had come to naught; instead of
their bright visions of success, they were fugitives from their homes.
It would have fared ill with that black-haired boy if they could have
got hold of him just then.

When Fred escaped from Major Hockoday, he lost no time in making his way
to the home of one of the most prominent Union men of Lexington. Telling
him he had most important dispatches for General Thomas, a horse was
procured, and through the darkness of the night Fred rode to
Nicholasville, reaching there early in the morning. Leaving his tired
horse, and taking his own, which he had left there, he rode with all
speed to Camp Dick Robinson, and made his report to General Thomas.

The general was both astonished and delighted. He warmly congratulated
Fred, saying it was a wonderful piece of work. "Let's see," said he,
"this is the 16th. I do not want to scare them, as I wish to make a fine
haul, take them right in their treasonable acts. It's the only way I can
make the government believe it. On the 19th I will send Colonel
Bramlette with his regiment with orders to capture the lot. I will also
have to guard against the advance of General Zollicoffer. As for the
advance of General Buckner on Louisville, that is out of my department."

"And there," said Fred, "is where our greatest danger lies. Louisville
is so far north they are careless, forgetting that Buckner has a
railroad in good repair on which to transport his men."

"Do you think he will try that?" asked Thomas.

"Why not?" answered Fred, and then he asked for a map. After studying it
for some time, he turned to Thomas and said:

"General, I have a favor to ask. I would like a leave of absence for a
week. I have an idea I want to work out."

Thomas sat looking at the boy a moment, and then said: "It is nothing
rash, is it, my boy?"

"No more so than what I have done," answered Fred. "In fact, I don't
know that I will do anything. It is only an idea I want to work on; it
may be all wrong. That is the reason I can't explain it to you."

"You are not going to enter the enemy's lines as a spy, are you? If so,
I forbid it. You are too young and too valuable to risk your life that
way."

"No, General, at least I trust not. The rebels will have to get much
farther north than they are now if I enter their lines, even if I carry
out my idea."

"Very well, Fred; you have my consent, but be very careful."

"I shall try to be so, General. I only hope that the suspicions I have
are groundless, and my journey will prove a pleasure trip."

Thus saying, Fred bade the general good day, and early the next morning
he rode away, taking the road to Danville.




CHAPTER VIII.

A DARING DEED.


Fred did not stop in Danville; instead, he avoided the main street, so
as to be seen by as few of his acquaintances as possible. He rode
straight on to Lebanon before he stopped. Here he put up for the night,
giving himself and his horse a good rest. The country was in such a
disturbed condition that every stranger was regarded with suspicion, and
forced to answer a multitude of questions. Fred did not escape, and to
all he gave the same answer, that he was from Danville, and that he was
on his way to Elizabethtown to visit his sick grandfather.

One gentleman was exceedingly inquisitive. He was especially interested
in Prince, examining him closely, and remarking he was one of the finest
horses he ever saw. Fred learned that the man's name was Mathews, that
he was a horse dealer, and was also a violent sympathizer with the
South. He was also reputed to be something of a bully. Fred thought some
of his questions rather impertinent, and gave rather short answers,
which did not seem to please Mathews.

Leaving Lebanon early the next morning, he rode nearly west, it being
his intention to strike the Louisville and Nashville railroad a little
south of Elizabethtown. It was a beautiful September day, and as Fred
cantered along, he sang snatches of songs, and felt merrier and happier
than at any time since that sad parting with his father. Where was his
father now? Where was his cousin Calhoun? And he thought of that strange
oath which bound Calhoun and himself together, and wondered what would
come of it all. But what was uppermost in his mind was the object of his
present journey. Was there anything in it, or was it a fool's errand?
Time would tell. As he was riding along a country road, pondering these
things, it suddenly occurred to him that the landscape appeared
familiar. He reined up his horse, and looked around. The fields
stretching away before him, the few trees, and above all a tumbled down,
half-ruined log hut. It was all so familiar. Yet he knew he had never
been there before. What did it mean? Could he have seen this in a dream
sometime? The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed; and the more
he was troubled.

A countryman came along riding a raw-boned spavined horse; a rope served
for a bridle, and an old coffee sack strapped on the sharp back of the
horse took the place of a saddle. Having no stirrups, the countryman's
huge feet hung dangling down and swung to and fro, like two weights tied
to a string; a dilapidated old hat, through whose holes stuck tufts of
his bleached tow hair, adorned his head.

"Stranger, you 'uns 'pears to be interested," he remarked to Fred, as
he reined in his steed, and at the same time ejected about a pint of
tobacco juice from his capacious mouth.

"Yes," answered Fred, "this place seems to be very familiar--one that I
have seen many times; yet to my certain knowledge, I have never been
here before. I can't understand it."

"Seen it in a picter, I reckon," drawled the countryman.

"What's that?" quickly asked Fred. "I have seen it in a picture? Where?
What do you mean?"

"Nothin', stranger, only they do say the picter of that air blamed old
shanty is every whar up No'th. Blast the ole place. I don't see anything
great in it. I wish it war sunk before he war born."

"Why, man, what do you mean? You talk in riddles."

"Mean!" replied the native, expectorating at a stone in the road, and
hitting it fairly. "I mean that the gol-all-fir'-est, meanest cuss that
ever lived war born thar, the man what's making war on the South, and
wants to put the niggers ekal to us. Abe Lincoln, drat him, war born in
that ole house."

Fred reverently took off his hat. This then was the lowly birthplace of
the man whose name was in the mouths of millions. How mean, how poor it
looked, and yet to what a master mind it gave birth! The life of
Lincoln had possessed a peculiar fascination for Fred, and during the
presidential campaign of the year before the picture of his birthplace
had been a familiar one to him. He now understood why the place looked
so familiar. It was like looking on the face of one he had carefully
studied in a photograph.

"Reckon you are a stranger, or you would have knowed the place?" queried
the countryman.

"Yes, I am a stranger," answered Fred. "Then this is the place where the
President of the United States was born?"

"Yes, an' it war a po' day for ole Kentuck when he war born. Oughter to
ha' died, the ole Abolitioner."

Fred smiled, "Well," he said, "I must be going. I am very much obliged
to you for your information."

"Don't mention it, stranger, don't mention it. Say, that's a mighty fine
hoss you air ridin'; look out or some of them fellers scootin' round the
country will get him. Times mighty ticklish, stranger, mighty ticklish.
Have a chaw of terbacker?" and he extended a huge roll of Kentucky
twist.

"No, thank you," responded Fred, and bidding the countryman good day, he
rode away leaving him in the road staring after him, and muttering:
"Mighty stuck up! Don't chaw terbacker. Wonder if he aint one of them
Abolitioners!"

It was the middle of the afternoon when Fred struck the railroad at a
small station a few miles south of Elizabethtown. There was a crowd
around the little depot, and Fred saw that they were greatly excited.
Hitching his horse, he mingled with the throng, and soon learned that
the train from the south was overdue several hours. To add to the
mystery, all telegraphic communication with the south had been severed.
Strike the instrument as often as he might, the operator could get no
response.

"It's mighty queer," said an intelligent looking man. "There is mischief
up the road of some kind. Here Louisville has been telegraphing like mad
for hours, and can't get a reply beyond this place."

Here the operator came out and announced that telegraphic communication
had also been severed on the north.

"We are entirely cut off," he said. "I can learn nothing. We will have
to wait and see what's the matter, that's all."

Just then away to the south a faint tinge of smoke was seen rising, and
the cry was raised that a train was coming. The excitement arose to
fever heat, and necks were craned, and eyes strained to catch the first
glimpse of the train. At length its low rumbling could be heard, and
when at last it hove in sight, it was seen to be a very heavy one.
Slowly it drew up to the station, and to the surprise of the lookers-on
it was loaded down with soldiers.

"Hurrah for Louisville!" shouted the soldiers, and the crowd took up
the cry. It was Buckner's army from Bowling Green en route for
Louisville by train, hoping thereby to take the place completely by
surprise. So far, everything had gone well. Telegraphic communications
all along the line had been severed by trusty agents; the Federal
authorities at Louisville were resting in fancied security; the city was
lightly guarded.

Already General Buckner's hopes were high. In fancy, he heard his name
on every tongue, and heard himself called the greatest military genius
of the country. When the crowd caught the full meaning of the movement,
cheer after cheer made the welkin ring. They grasped the soldiers'
hands, and bade them wipe the Yankees from the face of the earth.

Fred took in the situation at a glance. This was the idea of which he
spoke to General Thomas. He had an impression that General Buckner might
attempt to do just what he was now doing. It was the hope of thwarting
the movement, if made, that had led Fred to make the journey. His
impressions had proven true; he was on the ground, but how to stop the
train was now the question. He had calculated on plenty of time, that he
could find out when the train was due, and plan his work accordingly.
But the train was before him. In a moment or two it would be gone, and
with it all opportunity to stop it. The thought was maddening. If
anything was done, it must be done quickly. The entire population of
the little village was at the depot; there was little danger of his
being noticed. Dashing into a blacksmith shop he secured a sledge; then
mounting his horse, he rode swiftly to the north. About half a mile from
the depot there was a curve in the track which would hide him from
observation. Jumping Prince over the low fence which guarded the
railroad, in a few seconds he was at work with the sledge trying to
batter out the spikes which held a rail in position. His face was pale,
his teeth set. He worked like a demon. Great drops of perspiration stood
out on his forehead, and his blows rang out like the blows of a giant.
The train whistled; it was ready to start. Fred groaned. Would he be too
late? Between his strokes he could hear the clang of the bell, the
parting cheers of the crowd. He struck like a madman. The heads of the
spikes flew off; they were driven in and the plates smashed. One end of
a rail was loosened; it was driven in a few inches. The deed was done,
and none too soon. The train was rounding the curve.

So busy was Fred that he had not noticed that two men on horseback had
ridden up to the fence, gazed at him a moment in astonishment, then
shouted in anger, and dismounted. Snatching a revolver from his pocket,
Fred sent a ball whistling by their ears, and yelled: "Back! back, as
you value your lives!"

Jumping on their horses quicker than they dismounted, they galloped
toward the approaching train, yelling and wildly gesticulating. The
engineer saw them, but it was before the day of air brakes, and it was
impossible to stop the heavy train. The engine plunged off the track,
tore up the ground and ties for a few yards, and then turned over on its
side, where it lay spouting smoke and steam, and groaning like a thing
of life. It lay partly across the track, thus completely blocking it.
The engineer and fireman had jumped, and so slowly was the train running
that the cars did not leave the track. For this Fred was devoutly
thankful. He had accomplished his object, and no one had been injured.
Jumping on his horse, he gave a shout of triumph and rode away.

But the frightened soldiers had been pouring from the cars. The two men
on horseback were pointing at Fred and yelling: "There! there goes the
villain who did it."

"Fire! fire!" thundered a colonel who had just sprung out of the
foremost car. A hundred rifles blazed. Fred's horse, was seen to stumble
slightly; the boy swayed, and leaned forward in his seat; but quickly
recovering himself, he turned around and waving his hat shouted
defiance.

[Illustration: "Fire! Fire!" thundered a Colonel who had just sprung out
of the foremost car.]

"Great heavens!" shouted a boy's voice. "That is Fred Shackelford, and
that horse is Prince." It was Calhoun Pennington who spoke. The colonel
who had given the order to fire turned pale, staggered and would have
fallen if one of his officers had not caught him.

"Merciful God!" he moaned. "I ordered my men to fire on my own son."

The officers gathered around General Buckner, who stood looking at the
wrecked engine with hopeless despair pictured in every feature. His
visions of glory had vanished, as it were, in a moment. No plaudits from
an admiring world, no "Hail! the conquering hero comes." Utter failure
was the end of the movement for which he had hoped so much. Surprise was
now impossible. It would take hours to clear away the wreck. He groaned
in the agony of his spirit, and turned away. His officers stood by in
silence; his sorrow was too great for words of encouragement.

Then a most pathetic incident occurred. Colonel Shackelford tottered up
to General Buckner, pale as death, and trembling in every limb.
"General," he gasped, "it was my boy, my son who did this. I am unworthy
to stand in your presence for bringing such a son into the world.
Cashier me, shoot me if you will. I resign my command from this moment."

The soul of the man who refused to desert his soldiers at Fort Donelson,
when those in command above him fled, who afterwards helped bear General
Grant to his tomb, with a heart as tender as that of a woman, now
asserted itself. His own terrible disappointment was forgotten in the
sorrow of his friend. Grasping the hand of Colonel Shackelford, he said
with the deepest emotion:

"Colonel, not a soldier will hold you responsible. This is a struggle
in which the noblest families are divided. If this deed had been for the
South instead of the North, you would be the proudest man in the
Confederacy. Can we not see the bravery, the heroism of the deed, even
though it has dashed our fondest hopes to the ground, shattered and
broken? No, Colonel, I shall not accept your resignation. I know you
will be as valiant for the South, as your son has been for the North."

Tears gushed from Colonel Shackelford's eyes; he endeavored to speak,
but his tongue refused to express his feelings. The officers, although
bowed down with disappointment, burst into a cheer, and there was not
one who did not feel prouder of their general in his disappointment than
if he had been successful.

How was it at Louisville during this time? General Thomas had warned
General Anderson, who had moved his headquarters to that city, that
General Buckner was contemplating an advance. But it was thought that he
would come with waving banners and with the tramp of a great army, and
that there would be plenty of time to prepare for him. Little did they
think he would try to storm the city with a train of cars, and be in
their midst before they knew it. When the train was delayed and
telegraphic communications severed, it was thought that some accident
had happened. There was not the slightest idea of the true state of
affairs. As hours passed and nothing was heard of the delayed train, a
train of discovery was sent south to find out what was the matter. This
train ran into Buckner's advance at Elizabethtown, and was seized.

Not hearing anything from this train, an engine was sent after it. Still
there was no idea of what had happened, no preparations to save
Louisville. This engine ran into Buckner's advance at Muldraugh Hill.
The fireman was a loyal man and at once grasped the situation. He leaped
from his engine and ran back. What could this one man do, miles from
Louisville, and on foot! He proved a hero. Meeting some section hands
with a handcar, he shouted: "Back! back! the road above is swarming with
rebels."

The car was turned and started for Louisville.

How those men worked! Great streams of perspiration ran down their
bodies; their breath came in gasps, and still the fireman shouted: "Work
her lively, boys, for God's sake, work her lively!"

At last Louisville was reached, and for the first time the facts known.
At once all was excitement. There was hardly a soldier in the city. Once
more the devoted Home Guards, the men who saved the city from riot and
bloodshed on July 22d, sprang to arms. General Rousseau was ordered from
across the river. He had but 1,200 men. These, with the Home Guards,
made a force of nearly 3,000 men. These men were hurried on board the
cars, and sent forward under the command of General W. T. Sherman.
Through the darkness of the night this train felt its way. On reaching
Rolling Fork of Salt River the bridge was found to be burnt. Despairing
of reaching Louisville, General Buckner had destroyed the bridge to
delay the advance of the Federal troops. The danger was over. Louisville
was once more saved. But how many American boys and girls know the name
of the daring young man who tore up the track, or the brave fireman who
brought back the news?[A]

But how was it with Fred; had he escaped unhurt from that volley?

The stumble of his horse was caused by stepping into a hole, yet slight
as the incident was, it saved Fred's life, for it threw him slightly
forward, and at the same moment a ball tore through the crown of his
hat. Another ball struck the crupper of his saddle, and another one
bored a hole through Prince's right ear.

As soon as he was out of sight Fred stopped, and, ascertaining that no
damage had been done, excepting the perforating of Prince's ear and his
hat, he patted his horse's neck and said: "Ah, Prince, old boy, you are
marked now for life, but it is all right. I shall always know you by
that little hole through your ear."

Fred stopped that night at a planter's house, who at first viewed him
with some suspicion; but when he was told of Buckner's advance, he was
so overjoyed, being an ardent Secessionist, that there was nothing good
enough for his guest.

The next day, when Fred rode into Lebanon, the first man that he saw
was Mathews, who sauntered up to him, and said in a sarcastic tone: "It
seems, young man, that you made a short visit to your poor sick
grandfather. How did you find the old gentleman?"

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "I changed my mind," he replied. "I didn't
see the old gentleman; I concluded to come back. Things are getting a
little too brisk up there for me. Buckner has advanced, and there may be
some skirmishing around Elizabethtown."

"And so you run," exclaimed Mathews in a tone which made Fred's blood
boil. All of this time Mathews had been carefully looking over the boy
and horse, and quite a crowd had collected around them.

"Ah!" continued Mathews; "a round hole through your horse's ear, been
bleeding, too; your saddle torn by a bullet, and a hole through your
hat. Boy, you had better give an account of yourself."

"Not at your command," replied Fred, hotly. "And I deny your right to
question me."

"You do, do you, my fine young fellow? I will show you," and he made a
grab for Prince's bridle.

A sharp, quick word from Fred, and the horse sprang, overthrowing
Mathews, and scattering the crowd right and left. Mathews arose, shaking
the dust from his clothes and swearing like a trooper.

A fine-looking man had just ridden up to the crowd as the incident
occurred. He looked after the flying boy, and nervously fingered the
revolver in his holster. Then a smile came over his face, and he spoke
to Mathews, who was still swearing and loudly calling for a horse to
pursue Fred.

"No use, Jim; you might as well chase a streak of lightning. That is the
fastest horse in Kentucky."

Mathews looked at the man a moment in surprise, and then exclaimed:
"Heavens! Morgan, is that you? How came you here?"

"Made a run for it night before last," replied Morgan with a laugh, "to
keep from being nabbed by old Thomas. But what was the fuss between you
and that boy? I wonder what he was doing out here any way? But, Mathews,
he did upset you nicely; I think you rolled over at least six times."

"I will be even with him yet," growled Mathews.

"Oh! I have heard half a dozen men say that, myself included. But let's
hear what the rumpus was about."

When Morgan heard the story, he said: "So Buckner is at Elizabethtown,
is he? Well, that changes my plan. I was going to Bowling Green, but now
I will change my course to Elizabethtown. But I would like to know what
that boy has been doing. From what you say he must have been in a
skirmish. Trying to throw a train off the track, perhaps; it would be
just like him."

"But, Mathews," he continued, "the boy is gone, so let us talk
business. I am going to raise a regiment of cavalry for the Confederate
service, and I want you to raise a company."

"That I will, John," said Mathews. "There is no other man I had rather
ride under."

Fred laughed heartily as he looked back and saw Mathews shaking the dust
from himself. Finding that he was not pursued he brought Prince down to
a walk. "I could almost swear," he said to himself, "that I caught a
glimpse of Morgan as I dashed through the crowd. Thomas surely ought to
have him before this time. I wonder what it means."

As he was riding through Danville he met his uncle, Judge Pennington,
who, to his surprise, greeted him most cordially, and would insist on
his stopping a while.

"Where have you been, Fred?" asked the judge.

"Over towards Elizabethtown to see my sick grandfather," replied Fred,
gravely.

"Fred, what do you mean?" asked his uncle, somewhat nettled.

"Well, uncle, I have been over towards Elizabethtown ostensibly to see
my grandfather, but really to see what I could find over there."

"And what did you find?"

"I found Buckner's men as thick as hops, and I found a warm reception
besides. Look here," and he showed his uncle the hole through his hat.
"If you will go out and look at Prince, you will find a hole through
his ear, and you will also find the saddle torn with a bullet. Oh, yes,
Buckner's men were glad to see me; they gave me a warm reception."

Judge Pennington looked grave. "Fred, are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, uncle."

"What did they fire on you for?"

"Oh, I side-tracked one of their trains."

The judge looked still graver. "Fred," said he, "you are engaging in
dangerous business. Take care, or you will hang yet. I have heard of
some of your doings. I had a visitor last night."

"What! not father, surely!"

"No, John H. Morgan."

"Then it was he I saw at Lebanon. I could hardly believe it."

"Why not, Fred?"

"Because--because--I thought--I thought he was in Lexington."

"It was because," answered the judge, severely, "that you thought he was
a prisoner at Camp Dick Robinson. Ah, Fred, you were not as sharp as you
thought. You foiled their plans; but, thank God! they have all escaped.
One good has been accomplished. All pretense of neutrality is now at an
end. These men will now be found in the ranks, fighting for the liberty
of the South. As for Morgan, he will be heard from, mark my word."

"I rather like Morgan," said Fred. "He is a daring fellow, and sharp,
too; yes, I believe he will be heard from."

"Fred, Morgan thinks you have had more to do with finding out their
plans than any other one person."

"Morgan does me too much honor," replied Fred, quietly.

The judge remained quiet for a moment, and then said: "My boy, I wish
you could have seen Morgan before you had so thoroughly committed
yourself to the other side. He has taken a great fancy to you. He
believes if he could talk with you, you might be induced to change your
mind. He says in the kind of work in which he expects to engage, you
would be worth a brigade of men. Fred, will you, will you not think of
this? You are breaking our hearts with your course now."

"Dear uncle," replied Fred, "I thank Morgan for his good opinion, and I
reciprocate his opinion; for of all the men I have met, I believe he,
most of all, has the elements of a dashing, successful leader. But as
for his offer, I cannot consider it for a moment."

The judge sighed, and Fred saw that his further presence was not
desirable, so he made his adieus, and rode away.

"So Mr. Morgan wants to win me over," thought Fred, "and that was the
reason uncle was so nice. I think this last scrape has burnt the bridges
between us, and they will trouble me no more."

Fred made his report to General Thomas, who heard it with evident
satisfaction.

"This, then, was your idea, Fred?"

"Yes, General, I in some way conceived the notion that Buckner would try
to surprise Louisville just as he did try to do. I knew that trains were
running regularly between Nashville and Louisville, and thought that a
surprise could be effected. But the idea was so vague I was ashamed to
tell you, for fear of exciting ridicule. So, I got my leave of absence
and stole off, and if nothing had come of it, no one would have been the
wiser."

General Thomas smiled, and said: "It was an idea worthy of a great
general, Fred. General Anderson has much to thank you for, as well as
the people of Louisville. But you must take a good rest now, both you
and your horse. From appearances, I think it will not be many days
before General Zollicoffer will give us plenty to do."

FOOTNOTE:

[A] The name of the gallant young man who tore up the track was
Crutcher; the author does not know the name of the fireman.




CHAPTER IX.

A LEAP FOR LIFE.


On October 7th General Anderson, at his own request, was relieved of the
command of the Department of Kentucky, on account of continued
ill-health. The next day General W. T. Sherman, a man destined to fill
an important place in the history of the war, was appointed to the
position. Both the Federal and the Confederate governments had now
thrown aside all pretense of neutrality. Kentucky echoed to the martial
tread of armed men.

At Maysville under General Nelson, at Camp Dick Robinson under General
Thomas, at Louisville under General Sherman, and at Paducah under
General Grant, the Federal government was gathering its hosts; while the
Confederate government with its troops occupied Columbus, Bowling Green,
Cumberland Gap, and the mountains of eastern Kentucky. General Albert
Sydney Johnston, one of the ablest of the Confederate generals, was in
supreme command, with headquarters at Bowling Green.

General Zollicoffer marched from Cumberland Gap early in the month, and
assumed offensive operations.

When General Sherman took command, Fred was sent by General Thomas to
Louisville with dispatches. General Sherman had heard of some of the
exploits of the young messenger, and he was received very kindly.
Sherman, at that time, was in the prime of life. Straight as an arrow,
of commanding presence, he was every inch a soldier. He was quick and
impulsive in his actions, and to Fred seemed to be a bundle of nerves.
In conversation he was open and frank and expressed his opinion freely,
in this resembling General Nelson. But the rough, overbearing nature of
Nelson he entirely lacked. He was one of the most courteous of men.

He would have Fred tell of some of his exploits, and when he gave an
account of his first journey to Louisville, and his adventure with
Captain Conway, the general was greatly pleased. Fred's account of how
he discovered the details of the plot at Lexington was received with
astonishment, and he was highly complimented. But the climax came when
he told of how he had thrown the train from the track, and thus brought
Buckner's intended surprise to naught. The general jumped up, grasped
Fred's hand, and exclaimed:

"That, young man, calls for a commission, if I can get you one, and I
think I can."

"General," replied Fred, "I thank you very much, but I do not wish a
commission. I am now comparatively free. It is true, I am hired
privately by General Nelson, and if I understand rightly I am getting
the pay of a lieutenant; but I am not bound by oath to serve any length
of time, neither could I have accomplished what I have if I had been a
regular enlisted soldier."

"You are right," said the general. "But remember, if you are ever in
need of any favor, do not hesitate to call on me."

This Fred readily promised, and left the general, highly elated over the
interview.

Before leaving Louisville, Fred did not forget to call on the Vaughns.
He found Miss Mabel well, and he thought her more beautiful than ever. A
sad, pensive look on her face but added to her loveliness. Only the day
before she had bidden her betrothed farewell, and he had marched to the
front to help fight the battles of his country. As she hung weeping
around his neck, he pointed to a little miniature flag pinned on his
breast--it was the same flag that Mabel wore on that day she was beset
by the mob--and said:

"Dearest, it shall be worn there as long as my heart beats. Never shall
it be touched by a traitorous hand as long as I live. Every time I look
upon it, it will be an incentive to prove worthy of the brave girl who
wore it on her breast in the face of a brutal mob."

Then with one fond clasp of the hands, one long lingering kiss, he was
gone; and to Mabel all the light and joy of the world seemed to go with
him.

But the coming of Fred brought new thoughts, and for the time her eyes
grew brighter, her cheeks rosier and laugh happier. The bright, brave
boy who saved her from the mob was very welcome, and to her he was only
a boy, a precious, darling boy.

They made Fred relate his adventures, and one minute Mabel's eyes would
sparkle with fun, and the next melt in tenderness. In spite of himself,
Fred's heart beat very fast, he hardly knew why. But when he told with
trembling voice how he had parted from his father, and how he had been
disowned and driven from home, the sympathy of the impulsive girl
overcame her, and with eyes swimming in tears, she arose, threw her arms
around him, imprinted a kiss on his forehead, and murmured: "Poor boy!
poor boy!" Then turning to her mother, she said, "We will adopt him,
won't we, mother, and I will have a brother."

Then remembering what she had done, she retired blushing and in
confusion to her seat. That kiss finished Fred; it thrilled him through
and through. Yet somehow the thought of being a brother to Mabel didn't
give him any satisfaction. He knew Mabel looked upon him as only a boy,
and the thought made him angry, but the next moment he was ashamed of
himself. He took his leave, promising to call the next time he was in
the city, and went away with conflicting emotions.

Fred was really suffering from an attack of first love, and didn't know
it. It was better for him that he didn't, for it was the sooner
forgotten.

On his return to Camp Dick Robinson Fred found that General Thomas had
advanced some of his troops toward Cumberland Gap. Colonel Garrard was
occupying an exposed position on the Rock Castle Hills, and Fred was
sent to him with dispatches. Fred found the little command in
considerable doubt over the movements of General Zollicoffer. One hour
the rumor would be that he was advancing, and the next hour would bring
the story that he was surely retreating. Colonel Garrard feared that he
would be attacked with a greatly superior force.

Fred resolved that he would do a little scouting on his own account.
Colonel Garrard offered to send a small party with him, but Fred
declined the offer, saying that a squad would only attract attention,
and if he ran into danger he would trust to the fleetness of his horse
to save him.

Riding east, he made a wide detour, and at last came to where he thought
he must be near the enemy's lines. In his front was a fine plantation;
near by, in the woods, some negroes were chopping. These negroes he
resolved to interview. His appearance created great consternation, and
some of them dropped their axes, and looked as if about to run.

"Don't be afraid, boys," said Fred, kindly. "I only want to know who
lives in yonder house."

"Massa Johnson, sah."

"Is he at home?"

"Not now, sah; he down to Zollicoffer camp."

"Oh, then General Zollicoffer is camped near here?"

"Yes, sah; 'bout two mile down de road."

"Do any of the soldiers ever come this way?" queried Fred.

"Yes, sah; 'bout twenty went up de road not mo' than two hours ago. Den
a capin man, he cum to see Missy Alice most ebber day."

"Thank you," said Fred, as he rode away. "I think I will pay a visit to
Missy Alice myself."

Riding boldly up to the house, he dismounted. Before entering the house
he accosted an old negro who was working in the yard, and slipping a
dollar into his hand, said:

"Uncle, if you see any one coming either way, will you cry, 'Massa, your
horse is getting away?'"

"Trus' me fo' dat," said the old man, grinning from ear to ear. "I jess
make dat hoss jump, and den I yell, 'Massa, hoss gittin' way.'"

"That's it, uncle, you are all right," and Fred turned and went into the
house, where he introduced himself as a Mr. Sandford, from Lexington. He
had friends in Zollicoffer's army, and had run the gauntlet of the
Federal lines to visit them. Could they tell him how far it was to
General Zollicoffer's camp.

The ladies received him coldly, but told him the distance. But Fred was
not to be repulsed. He was a good talker, and he tried his best. He told
them the news of the outside world, and what the Yankees were doing, and
how they would soon be driven from the State. This at once endeared him
to the ladies, especially the younger, who was a most pronounced little
rebel. Miss Alice was a comely girl, somewhere between twenty and
twenty-five years of age, and by a little but well directed flattery
Fred completely won her confidence. She inquired after some
acquaintances in Lexington, and by a happy coincidence Fred knew them,
and the conversation became animated.

At length Fred remarked: "I hope it will not be long before General
Zollicoffer will advance. We are getting anxious up at Lexington; we
want to see the Yankees driven into the Ohio."

"You will not have to wait long," replied the girl. "Captain Conway
tells me they are about ready, and will advance on the 20th or 21st----"
she stopped suddenly, bit her lip, and looked scared.

In all probability she had told something that Captain Conway had told
her to keep secret. Fred did not appear to notice her confusion, and at
once said: "Conway, Conway, Captain Conway. Is it Captain P. C. Conway
of whom you speak?"

"Yes, sir," replied the girl, brightening up.

"Why, I know him, know him like a book; in fact, we are old
friends--special friends, I may say. He would rejoice to find me here,"
and then he added mentally, "and cut my throat."

"A brilliant soldier, and a brave one, is Captain Conway," continued
Fred, "and if he is given an opportunity to distinguish himself, it will
not be long before it will be Major or Colonel Conway."

This praise pleased Miss Alice greatly, and she informed Fred that he
would soon have the pleasure of meeting his friend; that she expected
him every moment.

Fred moved somewhat uneasily in his chair. He had no desire to meet
Captain Conway, and he was about to make an excuse of going out to see
how his horse was standing, when they were startled by the old negro
running toward the house and yelling at the top of his voice: "Massa,
massa, yo' hoss is gittin' away."

The sly old fellow had thrown a stone at Prince, and the horse was
rearing and plunging.

Fred dashed out of the house; a party of horsemen was coming up the
road, in fact, was nearly to the house. It was but the work of a moment
for Fred to unhitch his horse and vault into the saddle, but the party
was now not more than fifty yards away. At the head rode Captain Conway.
They had noticed the horse hitched at the gate, and were coming at full
speed to try and surprise the owner. The moment Conway saw Fred he knew
him.

"Gods!" he cried, "Fred Shackelford, what luck!" and snatched a pistol
from the holster and fired. The ball whistled past Fred's head
harmlessly, and he turned in the saddle and returned the fire. It was
the first time he had ever shot at a man, and even in the heat of
excitement he experienced a queer sensation, a sinking of the heart, as
though he were committing a crime.

Fairly and squarely the ball from his revolver struck the horse of
Captain Conway in the forehead, and the animal fell dead, the rider
rolling in the dust.

Immediately all was excitement. His men stopped the pursuit, and,
dismounting, gathered around the captain, thinking he was killed.

But he sprang to his feet, shouting: "A hundred dollars to the one who
will take that young devil, dead or alive. Here, Corporal Smith, you
have a fleet horse, let me take him," and jumping into the saddle, he
was in pursuit, followed by all his men, except Corporal Smith, who
stood in the road looking after them.

"What does it mean? What does it mean?" asked the two ladies, who stood
on the veranda, wringing their hands, and very much excited.

"Blamed if I know," answered the corporal. "The sight of that young chap
seemed to make the captain kinder crazy. The moment he caught sight of
him, he called him by name, and banged away at him."

"You say the captain called him by name?"

"Yes."

"Well, he said he knew the captain, and that he was one of his best
friends. I can't understand it."

The corporal had no explanation to offer, so went and took a look at the
captain's horse. "Bang up shot," he remarked. "Right between the eyes."

In the meantime the pursued and the pursuers had passed out of sight up
the road, enveloped in a cloud of dust.

"Remember, boys," shouted Conway, "a hundred dollars to the one who
brings him down. Don't attempt to take him alive. Shoot him! shoot him!"

But it was n

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