Captain Bascom had been stabbed through the heart.
The whole turmoil in camp was heard by Fred and Robert Ferror, as they stood panting for breath. Fred shuddered as the horrified cry of the officer of the day was borne to his ears when he stumbled on the dead body of the guard. The boys were bruised and bleeding, and their clothing was torn in shreds from their flight through the forest.
"It is all right now," said Ferror. "They can never find us in the darkness, but some of the frightened fools may come as far as this; so we had better be moving."
The boys slowly and painfully worked their way up the mountain, and at last the roar of the camp was no longer heard. They came to a place where the jutting rocks formed a sort of a cave, keeping out the rain, and the ground and leaves were comparatively dry. The place was also sheltered from the wind.
"Let us stay here," said Fred, "until it gets a little light. We can then more easily make our way. We are entirely out of danger for to-night."
To this Ferror assented, and the two boys crept as far back as they could and snuggled down close together. Fred noticed that Ferror still trembled, and that his hands were still as cold as ice.
The storm had ceased, but the wind sobbed and moaned through the trees like a thing of life, sighing one moment like a person in anguish, and then wailing like a lost soul. An owl near by added its solemn hootings to the already dismal night. Fred felt Ferror shudder and try to creep still closer to him. Both boys remained silent for a long time, but at length Fred said:
"Ferror, shooting that sentinel was awful. I had almost rather have remained a prisoner. It was too much like murder."
"I did not know the sentinel was there," answered Ferror, "or I could have avoided him. As it was, it had to be done. It was a case of life or death. Fred, do you know who the sentinel was?"
"No."
"It was Drake; I saw his face by the flash of my pistol, just for a second, but it was enough. God! I can see it now," and he shuddered.
"Fred, do you despise me? You know I helped you to escape."
"No, Ferror; if I had been in your place, I might have done the same, but that would have made it none the less horrible."
"Fred, you will despise me; but I must tell you."
"Tell what?"
"Drake is not the first man I have killed to-night."
Fred sprang up and involuntarily drew awayfrom him. "Ferror! Ferror! What do you mean?"
"After I was relieved from guard, and before I joined you, I stabbed Captain Bascom through the heart."
A low cry of horror escaped Fred's lips.
"Listen to my story, Fred, and then despise me as a murderer if you will. You saw how Captain Bascom treated me. No slave was ever treated worse. My mother is a widow, residing in Tazewell county, Virginia. I am an only son, but I have two lovely sisters. I was always headstrong, liking my own way. Of course, I was humored and petted. When the war broke out I was determined to enlist. My mother and sisters wept and prayed, and at last I promised to wait. But about two months ago I was down at Abingdon, and was asked to take a glass of wine. I think it was drugged, for when I came to myself I found that I was an enlisted soldier. Worse than all, I found that this man Bascom was an officer in the company to which I belonged. Bascom is a low-lived, drunken brute. He used to live in our neighborhood. Mother had him arrested for theft and sent to jail. When he got out, he left the neighborhood, but swore he would have revenge on every one of the name. He surely has had it on me. I think he was in hopes that by brutal treatment he could make me desert, so he could have me shot if captured. When he struck me the other day, when I spoke to you, I resolved then and there to kill him."
"I know," replied Fred, in a low tone. "I saw it in your face."
"God only knows what I have suffered from the hands of that man during the last two months. I have had provocation enough to kill him a thousand times."
"I know, I know," replied Fred; "but to kill him in his sleep. I would not have blamed you if you had shot him down when he gave you that blow. I should have done so."
"It would have been best," sobbed Ferror, for the first time giving way to his feelings. "Oh, mother, what will you think of your boy!" Then he said, chokingly: "Fred, don't desert me, don't despise me; I can't bear it. I believe if you turn from me now, I shall become one of the most desperate of criminals."
"No, Ferror," said Fred; "I will neither desert nor judge you. You have done something I had rather lose my life than do. But for the present our fortunes are linked together. If we are captured, both will suffer an ignominious death. Therefore, much as I abhor your act, I cannot divorce myself from the consequences. Then let us resolve, come what may, we will never be taken alive."
Ferror grasped Fred's hand, and pressing it fervently, replied: "If we are captured, it will only be my dead body which will be taken, even if I have to send a bullet through my own heart."
After this the boys said little, and silently waitedfor the light. With the first gleam of the morning, they started on their way, thinking only of getting as far as possible from the scene of that night of horror.
As the sun arose, the mountains and then the valleys were flooded with its golden light. At any other time the glorious landscape spread out before them would have filled Fred's soul with delight; but as it was, he only eagerly scanned the road which ran through the valley, hoping to catch sight of Nelson's advancing columns. But no such sight greeted him.
"They will surely come before long," said Fred. "By ten o'clock we should be inside of the Federal lines and safe."
But if Fred had heard what was passing in the Rebel camp he would not have been so sanguine.
Lieutenant Davis, officer of the guard, and Colonel Williams were in close consultation.
"Colonel," said the lieutenant, "I do not believe the Yankees are pursuing us. Those boys will take it for granted that we will continue our retreat, and will soon come down off the mountains into the road. Let me take a couple of companies of cavalry, and I will station men in ambush along the road as far back as it is safe to go. In this way I believe we stand a chance to catch them."
The colonel consented, and, therefore, before the sun had lighted up the valley, pickets had been placed along the road for several miles back.
The boys trailed along the mountain side untilnearly noon, but the sides of the mountain were so seamed and gashed they made slow progress. Gaining a high point, they looked towards Piketon, and in the far distance saw an advancing column of cavalry. The sight filled them with delight.
"There is nothing to be seen to the south," said Fred. "I think we can descend to the road in safety." So they cautiously made their way down to the road.
"Let us look well to our arms," said Fred. "We must be prepared for any emergency."
So their revolvers were carefully examined, fresh caps put in, and every precaution taken. They came out on the road close to a little valley farm. In front of the cabin stood a couple of horses hitched. After carefully looking at the horses, Ferror said: "Fred, one of those horses belongs to Lieutenant Davis. He has ridden back to see if he could not catch sight of us. Nelson's men will soon send him back flying."
Then a wild idea took possession of the boys. It was no less than to try and get possession of the horses. Wouldn't it be grand to enter the Federal lines in triumph, riding the horses of their would-be captors! Without stopping to think of the danger, they at once acted on the idea.
From the cabin came sounds of laughter mingled with the music of women's voices. The men inside were being pleasantly entertained.
Getting near the horses, the boys made a dash, were on their backs in a twinkling, and with a yellof triumph were away. The astonished officers rushed to the door, only to see them disappear down the road. Then they raged like madmen, cursing their fortunes, and calling down all sorts of anathemas on the boys.
"Never mind," at last said Sergeant Jones, who was the lieutenant's companion in misfortune, "the squad down the road will catch them."
"Poor consolation for the disgrace of having our horses stolen," snapped the lieutenant.
The elation of the boys came to a sudden ending. In the road ahead of them stood a squad of four horsemen. Involuntarily the boys checked the speed of their horses. They looked into each other's faces, they read each other's thoughts.
"It can only be death," said Fred.
"It can only be death," echoed Ferror, "and I welcome it. I know, Fred, you look on me as a murderer. I want to show you how I can die in a fair fight."
Fred hardly realized what Ferror was saying; he was debating a plan of attack.
"Ferror," he said, "let us ride leisurely forward until we get within about fifty yards of them. No doubt they know the horses, and will be nonplused as to who we are. When we are close we will charge. It will be all over in a moment—safety or death."
Ferror nodded. He was as pale as his victims of the night before, but his eyes blazed, his teeth were set hard, every muscle was strained.
Just as Fred turned to say, "Now!" Ferror shouted, "Good-bye, Fred," and dashed straight for the horsemen. The movement was so sudden it left Fred slightly behind. The revolvers of the four Confederates blazed, but like a thunderbolt Ferror was on them. The first man and horse went down like a tenpin before the ball of the bowler; the second, and boy and man and both horses went down in an indistinguishable mass together.
As for Fred, not for a second did he lose command of himself or his horse. He saw what was coming, and swerved to the right. Here a single Confederate confronted him. This man's attention had been attracted for a moment to the fate of his comrades in the road, and before he knew it Fred was on him. He raised his smoking revolver to fire, but Fred's revolver spoke first, and the soldier reeled and fell from his saddle.
The road was now open for Fred to escape, but he wheeled his horse and rode back to see what had become of his comrade. One Confederate still sat on his horse unhurt. Seeing Fred, he raised his pistol and fired. Fred felt his left arm grow numb, and then a sensation like that of hot water running down the limb. Before the soldier could fire the second time, a ball from Fred's pistol crashed through his brain, and he fell, an inert mass, in the road. The fight was over.
Of the two Confederates overthrown in the wild charge of Ferror, one was dead, the other wasuntouched by bullets, but lay groaning with a broken leg and arm. Fred turned his attention to Ferror. He lay partly under his horse, his eyes closed, his bosom stained with blood.
Fred raised his head. "Ferror! Ferror!" he cried, with burning tears.
Fred raised his Head, Ferror! Ferror! he cried
Fred raised his Head, "Ferror! Ferror!" he cried.
The boy opened his eyes and smiled. "It's all right, Fred—all right," he gasped. "That was no murder—that was a fair fight, wasn't it?"
"Oh, Ferror! Ferror!" moaned Fred. "You must not die."
"It is better as it is, Fred. I will not have that to think of."
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again it was with a far-away look. He tried to raise himself. "Yes, mother," he whispered, and then his eyes closed forever.
The clatter of horses' hoofs, and the clang of sabers were now heard. Fred looked up; a party of Federal cavalry was bearing down upon him. They looked on the bloody scene in astonishment. A dashing young captain rode up. Fred pointed to young Ferror's lifeless body, and said: "Bring his body back to Piketon with you. He gave his life for me. I am one of General Nelson's scouts."
Then everything grew black before him, and he knew no more. He had fainted from the loss of blood.
The rough troopers bound up his arm, staunched the flow of blood, and soon Fred was able to ride to Piketon. General Nelson received him withastonishment; yet he would not let him talk, but at once ordered him to the hospital. As for Robert Ferror, he was given a soldier's burial.
A year after the war closed, Frederic Shackelford, a stalwart young man, sought out the home of Mrs. Ferror. He found a gray-haired, brokenhearted mother and two lovely young ladies, her daughters. They had mourned the son and brother, not only as dead, but as forever disgraced, for they had been told that Robert had been shot for desertion.
Fred gave them the little mementoes he had kept through the years for them. He told them how Robert had given his life to try and save him, and that the last word that trembled on his lips was "Mother."
The gray-haired mother lifted her trembling hands, and thanked God that her son had at least died the death of a soldier.
Learning that the family had been impoverished by the war, when Fred left, he slipped $1,000 in Mrs. Ferror's hand, and whispered, "For Robert's sake;" and the stricken mother, through tear-dimmed eyes, watched his retreating form, and murmured: "And Robert would have been just such a man if he had lived."
Fred's wound was not a dangerous one. The ball had gone through the fleshy part of the arm, causing a great loss of blood; but no bones were broken, and it was only a question of a few weeks before he would be as well as ever.
The story of the two boys charging four Confederate cavalrymen, killing three, and disabling the fourth was the wonder of the army. But Fred modestly disclaimed any particular bravery in the affair.
"It is to poor Bob Ferror that the honor should be given," he would say; "the boy that knowingly rode to his death that I might be saved."
Fred gave General Nelson the particulars of his capture and escape, and the general looked grave and said:
"If I had known I was going to place you in such extreme danger, I should not have sent for you. On account of the crime of young Ferror, you would have met with a most ignominious death if you had been recaptured; yet the charging on those four cavalrymen was one of the pluckiest things I have heard of during the war. Youdeserve and shall have a good rest. I have just finished making up some dispatches for General Sherman, and you shall be my messenger. A dispatch boat leaves in the morning, and you shall go with it. When you get to Catlettsburg, you can take an Ohio river steamer for Louisville. The trip being all by water, will be an easy one, and as a number of sick and wounded will be sent away on the same boat, you will have good surgical attendance for your wounded arm. Here is a paper that will admit you to the officers' hospital when you get to Louisville. Take a good rest, you need it. I do not think it will be long before I, with my command, will be ordered back to Louisville. The enemy has retreated through Pound Gap into Virginia, and there is nothing more for me to do here. Stay in Louisville until you hear from me."
The next morning found Fred on his way down the Big Sandy. The whole voyage was uneventful, and after a quick trip Fred once more found himself in Louisville. The rest and quiet of the voyage had almost cured the ill-effects of his experience, and with the exception of his wounded arm, which he was compelled to carry in a sling, he was feeling about as well as ever.
Once in Louisville, he lost no time in turning over his dispatches to General Sherman. He found the general surrounded by a delegation of the prominent Union men of the city. They seemed to be arguing with Sherman about something, andas for the general, he was in a towering rage, and was swearing in a manner equal to General Nelson in one of his outbreaks of anger.
Fred was surprised to find the usually mild and gentlemanly officer in such a passion, but there was no mistake, he was angry clear through.
"There is no use talking, gentlemen," he was saying, as he paced the room with quick nervous tread, "I am not only going to resign, but I have already sent in my resignation. I will not remain in command of the Department of Kentucky another day; the command of the armies of the United States would not induce me to remain and be insulted and outraged as I have been."
"We are very sorry to hear it, General," replied the spokesman of the delegation. "We had great hopes of what you would accomplish when you were appointed to the command of the department, and our confidence in you is still unabated."
"I am thankful," replied the general, "for that confidence, but what can you expect of a man bound hand and foot. They seem to know a great deal better in Washington what we need here than we do who are on the ground. This, in a measure, is to be expected; but to be reviled and insulted is more than I can stand. But if I had not resigned, I should be removed, I know that. Just let the newspapers begin howling at a general, and denouncing him, and every official at Washington begins shaking in his boots. What can be expected of a general with every newspaper in the landyelping at his heels like a pack of curs? If I wanted to end this war quickly, I would begin by hanging every editor who would publish a word on how the war should be conducted. It would be a glorious beginning."
"Are you not a little too severe on the newspaper fraternity, General?" mildly put in one of the citizen delegates.
"Severe! severe! not half as severe as the idiots deserve. They think they know more about war, and how to conduct campaigns than all the military men of the country combined. Not satisfied with telling me how and when to conduct a campaign, they attack me most unjustly and cruelly, attack me in such a manner I cannot reply. Just listen to this," and the general turned and took up a scrapbook in which numerous newspaper clippings had been pasted. "Here is an editorial from that esteemed and influential paper,The Cincinnati Commerce," and the general read:
"'It is a lamentable fact that many of our generals are grossly incompetent, but when incipient insanity is added to incompetency, it is time to cry a halt. Right here at home, the general who commands the Department of Kentucky and therefore has the safety of our city in his hands, is W. T. Sherman. We have it on the most reliable evidence that he is of unsound mind. Not only do many of his sayings excite the pity of his friends and ridicule of his enemies, but they are positively dangerous to the success of our cause. TheGovernment should at least put the department in charge of a general of sound mind.'
"Now, if that is not enough," continued the general, with a touch of irony in his tones, "I will give you a choice clipping from the greatNew York Tricate.
"'It is with sorrow that we learn that General W. T. Sherman, who is in command of the Department of Kentucky, is not in his right mind. It is said that the authorities at Washington have been aware of this for some time, but for political reasons fear to remove him. He is a brother of John Sherman, one of the influential politicians of Ohio, and United States Senator-elect. While the affair is to be regretted, the Government should not hesitate on account of political influence. General Sherman should be at once removed. That he is mentally unsound is admitted, even by his best friends. Let the administration act at once.'"
The whole company was smiling at the absurdity of the affair. Even the general had to laugh.
"I will read once more," said the general. "It is from theChicago Timer, and hits others as well as myself. Here it is:
"'General Bill Sherman, in command of the Department of Kentucky, is said to be insane. We don't doubt it. In our mind the whole Lincoln Government, from President down, is insane—insane over the idea that they can coerce the South back into the Union. The only difference that wecan see is that Bill Sherman may be a little crazier than the rest; that's all.'
"There," continued the general, "are only a few of the scores of extracts which I have from the most influential papers in the land. Of course the smaller papers have taken their cue from the larger ones, and now the whole pack of little whiffets are after me, snapping at my heels; and the good people believe the story because it is published. Hundreds of letters are being received at Washington, asking for my removal. My brother writes that he is overwhelmed with inquiries concerning me. I believe the War Department more than half believes I am of unsound mind. They are only waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, and I know that my resignation will be received with joy."
"General," asked one of the citizens present, "have you any idea of how the story of your insanity started?"
"Oh, yes!" replied the general. "When Secretary of War Cameron was here, I laid before him the wants of Kentucky, and among other things said that I needed 60,000 men for defensive work, but for offensive operations I should need 200,000. The Secretary spoke of it as an 'insane request.' Some reporter got hold of it, and then it went. The Secretary has never taken the pains to correct the impressions."
"Were you not a little extravagant in your demands?" asked another citizen.
"Not at all. The politicians at Washington have never yet recognized the magnitude of the war in which we are engaged. Then their whole life is office, and they are afraid of doing something that will lose them a vote. As for the newspapers, they would rather print a sensation than have us win a victory. My God! They have called me crazy so much they have alarmed my wife," and the general again indulged in another burst of anger. When he became calmer, he said: "Gentlemen, I thank you for your expressions of sympathy and confidence. I trust my successor will be more worthy than I," and he bowed the delegation out.
Fred remained standing. The general noticed him, and asked: "Well, my boy, what is it? Why, bless my soul, it's Fred Shackelford! Just from General Nelson, Fred?"
"Yes, General, with dispatches," and he handed them to him.
"I will read them when I cool off a little; I have been rather warm. I see your arm is in a sling; been in a skirmish?"
"Yes, General, a small one. The wound didn't amount to much; it is nearly well."
"You should be thankful it is no worse. Come in in the morning, Fred; I will have the dispatches read by that time."
Fred called, as requested, the next morning, and found the general calm and courteous as ever. The storm had passed away.
"General Nelson writes good news," said Sherman. "He reports he has entirely driven the Rebels out of the valley of the Big Sandy. He also tells me in a private letter of your capture and escape. He speaks of the desperate conflict that you and your comrade had with four Rebel cavalrymen. It was a most remarkable adventure. My boy, I shall keep my eye on you. I surely should ask for your services myself if I were going to remain in command of the department."
"General, I am sorry to have you resign," answered Fred, hardly knowing what to say.
The general's face darkened, and then he answered lightly: "I do not think they will be sorry at Washington."
And they were not; his resignation was gladly accepted, and the general who afterward led his victorious army to Atlanta, and then made his famous march to the sea, and whose fame filled the world, retired under a cloud. And the injustice of it rankled in his breast and imbittered his heart for months.
The general appointed to succeed Sherman was Don Carlos Buell, a thorough soldier, and, like McClellan, a splendid organizer; but, like that general, he was unsuccessful in the field, and during what is known as the "Bragg-Buell campaign" in Kentucky in the fall of 1862, he entirely lost the confidence of his soldiers.
Buell's first attention was given to the organization of his army and the drilling of his soldiers. His labors in this direction were very successful, and the "Army of the Cumberland" became famous for itsesprit de corps.
General Nelson, according to his predictions, was ordered back with his command to Louisville. Fred, now entirely well, was greatly rejoiced to once more see his old commander. But there was little prospect of active service, for the division was ordered into camp for the purpose of drilling and being perfected in military duties. Idleness was irksome to Fred, so he asked and obtained permission to join General Thomas, and remain until such time as Nelson might need his services.
General Thomas gave Fred a most cordialreception. There was something about the handsome, dashing boy that greatly endeared him to the staid, quiet general. Just now, Fred's presence was very desirable, for Zollicoffer was proving very troublesome, threatening first one point and then another, and it was almost impossible to tell which place was in the most danger. General Thomas' forces were greatly scattered, guarding different points, and he feared that at some of these places his troops might be attacked and overpowered. He had asked permission of Buell time and again to be allowed to concentrate his forces and strike Zollicoffer a telling blow, but each and every time had met with a refusal. Instead of being allowed to concentrate his force, he was ordered to move portions of his command here and there, and the orders of one day might be countermanded the next. Being December, the roads were in a horrible condition, and it was almost impossible to move trains, so that his army was being reduced by hard service which did no good. Fred could see that the general was worried. He would sit for hours buried in thought or poring over maps.
All this time, Zollicoffer was ravaging the middle southern counties of Kentucky, threatening first London, then Somerset, then Columbia, then some intermediate point. The outposts of the army were often attacked, and frequent skirmishes took place. In the midst of this activity, Fred found congenial employment. He was kept busy carrying dispatches from one post to another, or onscouting expeditions, trying to gain information of the movements of the enemy. He frequently met squads of the enemy, and had many narrow escapes from capture; but the fleetness of his horse always saved him.
Of all General Thomas' scouts, Fred obtained the most valuable information. While not venturing into the enemy's lines, he had a way of getting information out of the inhabitants friendly to the South that surprised even the general. Fred hardly ever made a mistake as to the movements of the opposing army.
If there was one thing that he loved more than another it was his horse. He had trained him to do anything that a horse could do. At a word he would lie down and remain as motionless as if dead. He would go anywhere he was told without hesitating, and his keen ear would detect the presence of an enemy quicker than the ear of his master. Fred had also perfected himself in the use of a revolver until he was one of the best shots in the army. He could ride by a tree at full gallop, and put three balls in a three-inch circle without checking his speed.
"My life," he would say, "may depend on my being able to shoot quickly and accurately."
On some of his scouts Fred would take a party with him, and there was not a soldier who did not consider it one of the greatest honors to be thus chosen.
One day near the close of the year Fred wasscouting with a picked force of five men a few miles to the east and south of Somerset. As they were riding through a piece of wood, Prince suddenly stopped, pricked up his ears, listened a moment, and then turned and looked at his master, as if to say, "Danger ahead!"
"To cover, boys," said Fred, in a low tone. "Prince scents trouble."
The party turned aside into the wood, and was soon completely hidden from view.
"Steady now," said Fred; "no noise."
"Are you sure your horse is as wise as you think?" asked one of the men.
"Perfectly sure; Prince never makes a mistake. Hark!"
The trampling of horses, and the jingling of sabers could plainly be heard, and soon a party of nine Confederate cavalrymen came riding by. They had no thought of danger, and were laughing and talking, thinking not that death lurked so near them.
"The old traitor lives right ahead," they heard one say.
"We will learn him to harbor East Tennessee bridge-burners," said the leader with a coarse laugh.
"Will it be hanging or shooting, Sergeant?" asked a third. "I hope it will be hanging. It's such fun to see a Lincolnite hanging by the neck and dancing on air. Never shoot a man if you can hang him, is my motto."
Fred's men heard this conversation with lowering brows, and the muttered curses were deep if not loud, and five carbines were raised, but with a gesture Fred motioned them down. His men looked at him in astonishment, and there was disappointment on every face.
As soon as the Confederates were out of hearing, so it was safe to speak, one of the men said with a sigh:
"Capt'in,"—the soldiers always called Fred captain when they were out with him—"I would hev give five dollars for a shot. I would hev fetched that feller that loved to see hangin', sure."
"I have strict orders," replied Fred, "to avoid fighting when I am out on these scouting expeditions. It is the part of a good scout never to get into a fight except to avoid capture. A scout is sent out to get information, not to fight; a conflict defeats the very object he has in view."
"That's so, capt'in, but it goes agin the grain to let them fellers off."
"I may have made a mistake," replied Fred, "in letting those fellows off. Come to think about it, I do not like what they said. It sounded like mischief."
"Worse than that, capt'in."
"We will follow them up," said Fred, "as far as we can unobserved. You remember we passed a pretty farmhouse some half a mile back; that may be the place they were talking about. We can ride within three hundred yards of it under cover of the forest."
Riding carefully through the wood, they soon came in sight of the place. Surely enough, the Confederates had stopped in front of the house. Four of them were holding the horses, while the other five were not to be seen. As they sat looking the muffled sound of two shots were heard, and then the shrieking of women.
"Boys," said Fred, in a strained voice, "I made a mistake in not letting you shoot. Hear those shrieks? There is devil's work there. There are nine of them; we are six. Shall we attack them?"
"Aye! aye!" shouted every one, their eyes blazing with excitement.
"Look well to your weapons, then. Are you ready?"
"We are ready. Hurrah for the young capt'in!" they all shouted.
"Then for God's sake, forward, or we will be too late!" for the frenzied shrieks of women could still be heard.
They no sooner broke cover, than the men holding the horses discovered them, and gave the alarm. The five miscreants who were in the house came rushing out, and all hastily mounting their horses, rode swiftly away. The Federals, with yells of vengeance, followed in swift pursuit; yet in all probability the Confederates would have escaped if it had not been for the fleetness of Prince. Fred soon distanced all of his companions, and so was comparatively alone and close on the heels of theenemy. They noticed this, and conceived the idea that they could kill or capture him. This was their undoing. Fred was watching for this very thing, and as they stopped he fired, just as the leader's horse was broadside to him. Then at the word, Prince turned as quick as a flash, and was running back. The movement was so unexpected to the Confederates that the volley they fired went wild.
As for the horse of the Confederate leader, it reared and plunged, and then fell heavily, pinning its rider to the ground. Two of his men dismounted to help him. When he got to his feet, he saw that Fred's companions had joined him and that they all were coming on a charge.
"Here, Simmons!" he yelled. "Let me have your horse. You take to cover. Now, boys, stand firm; there are only six of them. Here is for old Tennessee!"
But it takes men of iron nerve to stand still and receive a charge, and the Federals were coming like a whirlwind.
The Confederates emptied their revolvers at close range, and then half of them turned to flee. It was too late; the Federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down. The fight was short and fierce. When it was over, eight Confederates lay dead or desperately wounded. Of the six Federals, two were dead and two were wounded. Only one Confederate had escaped to carry back the story of the disaster.
The Federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down
The Federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down.
One of the wounded Confederates lay groaning and crying with pain, and Fred going up to him, asked if he could do anything for him.
The man looked up, and then a scowl of hate came over his face.
"It's you, is it?" he groaned, and then with an oath said: "I will have you if I die for it," and attempted to raise his revolver, which he still clutched.
As quick as a flash Fred knocked it out of his hand, and as quick one of Fred's men had a revolver at the breast of the desperate Confederate. Fred knocked the weapon up, and the shot passed harmlessly over the head of the wounded man.
"None of that, Williams," said Fred. "We cannot afford to kill wounded men in cold blood."
"But the wretch would have murdered you, capt'in," said Williams, and then a cry went up from all the men. "Kill him! kill him!"
"Mercy! mercy!" gasped the wretch.
Fred looked at the man closely, and then said: "You are Bill Pearson, the man I struck with my riding-whip at Gallatin."
"Yes; mercy! mercy!"
"You miserable wretch," said Fred, contemptuously. "By good rights I ought to blow your brains out, but your carcass is not worth the powder. Live, if you can."
Just then Fred noticed a countryman who had been attracted by the sound of the firing, and motioned to him to approach. He came up trembling,and looked with wonder on the dead men and horses.
"My good man," said Fred, "here are some wounded men that should be looked after. Can you not do it, or get word to their command?"
"I reckon I kin," slowly replied the countryman. "Must had quite a fought."
"Yes," replied Fred; "and this reminds me, boys, we had better get away from here. We do not know how many of the enemy may be near."
The wounds of the two Federals who had been hurt were bound up, and they were helped on their horses. The bodies of the two dead were then tenderly placed on two of the Confederate horses which were unhurt, and the mournful cavalcade slowly moved away.
Going back to the house which the Confederates had entered, a distressing sight met their view.
On a bed, the master of the house lay dead, shot to death by the murderers. By the bedside stood the wife and two daughters, weeping and wringing their hands. The face of the widow was covered with blood, and there was a deep gash on her head where one of the wretches had struck her with the butt of his revolver, as she clung to him imploring him not to murder her husband.
The pitiful sight drove Fred's men wild, and he had all that he could do to prevent them from going back and finishing the wounded murderers.
"You did wrong, capt'in, in not letting mefinish that red-handed villain who tried to shoot you," said Williams.
With broken sobs the woman told her story. Her husband had a brother in East Tennessee, who had been accused by the Confederate authorities of helping burn railroad bridges. He escaped with a number of Union men, and was now a captain in one of the Tennessee regiments.
"They came here," said the woman, "and found my husband sick in bed, so sick he could not raise a finger to help himself. They accused him of harboring his brother, and of furnishing information, and said that they had come to hang him, but as he was sick they would shoot him. And then," sobbed the woman, "notwithstanding our prayers, they shot him before our eyes. Oh, it was dreadful!" and the stricken wife broke completely down, and the daughters hung over the body of their murdered father, weeping as if their hearts would break.
Fred was deeply moved. He told the sobbing women that he would at once report the case, and have her husband's brother come out with his company. "We will also," said Fred, "leave the bodies of our two dead comrades here. If you wish, I will send a chaplain, that all may have Christian burial. And, my poor woman, your wrongs have been fearfully avenged. Of the nine men in the party that murdered your husband, but one escaped. The rest are dead or terribly wounded."
"Thank God! thank God!" said the women, raising their streaming eyes to heaven. Even the presence of death did not take away their desire for revenge. Such is poor human nature, even in gentle woman.
"War makes demons of us all," thought Fred.
The story of that fight was long a theme around the camp fire, and the three soldiers who survived never tired of telling it. As for Fred, he spoke of it with reluctance, and could not think of it without a shudder. Fifteen men never engaged in a bloodier conflict, even on the "dark and bloody ground" of Kentucky.
General Thomas sat in his headquarters at Lebanon looking over some dispatches which Fred had just brought from General Schoepf at Somerset. His face wore a look of anxiety as he read, for the dispatches told him that General Zollicoffer had crossed to the north side of the Cumberland river and was fortifying his camp at Beech Grove.
"I may be attacked at any moment," wrote General Schoepf, "and you know how small my force is. For the love of heaven, send me reinforcements."
The general sat with his head bowed in his hands thinking of what could be done, when an orderly entered with dispatches from Louisville. Thomas opened them languidly, for he expected nothing but the old story of keeping still and doing nothing. Suddenly his face lighted up; his whole countenance beamed with satisfaction, and turning to Fred he said:
"My boy, here is news for us, indeed. General Buell has at last consented to advance. He has given orders for me to concentrate my armyand attack Zollicoffer at the earliest possible moment."
Fred could not suppress a hurrah.
"General," he exclaimed, "I already see Zollicoffer defeated, and hurled back across the Cumberland."
General Thomas smiled. "Don't be too sanguine, Fred," he said; "none of us know what the fortune of war may be; we can only hope for the best. But this means more work for you, my boy. You will at once have to return with dispatches to General Schoepf. Everything depends on his holding his position. Somerset must be held at all hazards."
"I am ready to start this minute with such tidings," gayly responded Fred. "Prince, poor fellow, will have it the hardest, for the roads are awful."
"That is what I am afraid of," replied the general. "I hope to be with Schoepf within a week, but, owing to the condition of the roads, it may take me much longer."
Within an hour Fred was on his way back to Somerset. It was a terrible journey over almost impassable roads; streams, icy cold, had to be forded; but boy and horse were equal to the occasion, and in three days reached Somerset.
How was it with General Thomas? His week lengthened into three. He commenced his march from Lebanon on December 31st; it was January 18th before he reached his destination. The roadsseemed bottomless. The rain poured in torrents, and small streams were turned into raging rivers. Bridges were swept away, and had to be rebuilt. The soldiers, benumbed with chilling rain, toiled on over the sodden roads, cheerful in the thought that they were soon to meet the enemies of their country.
General Schoepf received the news of General Thomas' advance with great satisfaction.
"If I can only hold on," he said, "until Thomas comes, everything will be all right."
"We must show a bold front, General," replied Fred, "and make the enemy believe we have a large force."
"It's the enemy that is showing a bold front nowadays," replied General Schoepf, with a faint smile. "They have been particularly saucy lately. They have in the last few days, cut off two or three small scouting parties. But what worries me the most is that there is hardly a night but that every man on some one of our picket posts is missing. There is no firing, not the least alarm of any kind, but the men in the morning are gone. It is a mystery we have tried to solve in vain. At first we thought the men had deserted, but we have given that idea up. The men are getting superstitious over the disappearance of so many of their comrades, and are actually becoming demoralized."
"General, will you turn this picket business over to me?" asked Fred, quietly.
"Gladly," replied the general. "I have heardmuch of your ability in ferreting out secret matters. Your success as a scout I am well acquainted with, as you know. I hope you will serve me as well in this matter of the pickets, for I am at my wits' end."
"Well, General, to-morrow I will be at your service, and I trust you will lose no more pickets before that time," and so saying Fred took his leave, for he needed rest badly.
The next morning, when Fred went to pay his respects to the general, he found him with a very long face. "Another post of four men disappeared last night," he said.
Fred gave a low whistle. "Well, General, if possible, I will try and solve the problem, but it may be too hard for me."
"Have you any idea yet how they are captured?" asked the general.
"None at all. I must first look over the ground carefully, see how the men are posted, talk with them, and then I may be able to form an idea."
Fred's first business was to ride out to where the post had been captured during the night. This he did, noting the lay of the ground, carefully looking for footprints not only in front, but in the rear of where the men had been stationed. He then visited all the picket posts, talked with the men, learned their habits on picket, whether they were as watchful as they should be—in fact, not the slightest thing of importance escaped his notice.
On his return from his tour of inspection, Fredsaid to General Schoepf, "Well, General, I have my idea."
"What is it?" asked the general, greatly interested.
"Your pickets have been captured from the rear, not the front."
"What do you mean?" excitedly asked the general.
"I mean that some of the pickets are so placed that a wary foe could creep in between the posts and come up in the rear, completely surprising the men. I think I found evidence that the men captured last night were taken in that way. I found, at least, six posts of which I believe an enemy could get in the rear without detection, especially if the land had been spied out."
"You astonish me," said the general. "But even if this is so, why does not the sentinel give the alarm?"
"He may be in such a position that he dare not," answered Fred.
"What do you propose?"
"That a double force be put on the posts, half to watch the rear. It will be my business to-night to see to that."
"Very well," replied General Schoepf. "I shall be very curious to see how the plan works, and whether your idea is the correct one or not."
"I will not warrant it, General," replied Fred, "but there will be no harm in trying."
Just before night Fred made a second round ofthe picket posts, and made careful inquiry whether any one of the posts had been visited during the day by any one from the outside.
All of the posts answered in the negative save one. The corporal of that post said: "Why, a country boy was here to sell us some vegetables and eggs."
"Ah!" replied Fred. "Was he a bright boy, and did he seem to notice things closely?"
"On the contrary," said the corporal, "he appeared to be remarkably dull and ignorant."
"Has the same boy been in the habit of selling vegetables to the pickets?" asked Fred.
Come to think about it, the corporal believed he had heard such a boy spoken of.
Then one of the men spoke up and said:
"You know Rankin was on the post that was taken in last night. He had a letter come yesterday, and I took it out to him, and he told me of what a fine supper they were going to have, saying they had bought some eggs and a chicken of a boy."
"Jerusalem!" suddenly exclaimed the corporal, "that boy to-day walked to the rear some little distance—made an excuse for going; he might not have been such a fool as he looked."
"Thank you," replied Fred. "Corporal, I will be here a little after dark with a squad of men to help you keep watch. In the mean time keep a sharp lookout."
"That I will," answered the corporal. "Doyou think that boy was a spy?" he then asked, with much concern.
"I don't know," answered Fred. "But such a thing is possible. But if any trouble occurs on the picket line to-night, it will be at this post."
That night Fred doubled the pickets on six posts which he considered the most exposed. But the extra men were to guard the rear instead of the front. The most explicit instructions were given, and they were cautioned that they were to let no alarm at the front make them relax their vigilance in the rear. Thirty yards in the rear of the post where he was to watch Fred had noticed a small ravine which led down into a wood. It was through this ravine that he concluded the enemy would creep if they should try to gain the rear of the post. Fred posted his men so as to watch this ravine. To the corporal who had charge of the post, he said:
"My theory is, that some one comes up to your sentinel, and attracts his attention by pretending to be a friend, or perhaps a deserter. This, of course, will necessitate the sentinel's calling for you, and naturally attract the attention of every man awake. While this is going on, a party that has gained the rear unobserved will rush on you and be in your midst before you know it, and you will be taken without a single gun being fired."
The corporal and his men looked astonished.
"Zounds!" said one, "I believe it could be done."
"Now," continued Fred, "if you are hailed from the front to-night act just as if you had not heard of this. I will take care of the rear."
When everything was prepared the soldiers, wrapped in their blankets, sat down to wait for what might come. So intently did they listen that the falling of a leaf would startle them. The hours passed slowly away. There was a half-moon, but dark clouds swept across the sky, and only now and then she looked forth, hiding her face again in a moment. Once in a while a dash of cold rain would cause the sentinels to shiver and sink their chins deeper into the collars of their great coats.
Midnight came, and still all was quiet. The soldiers not on guard lay wrapped in their blankets, some of them in the land of dreams.
Off in the woods the hoot of an owl was heard. Instantly Fred was all attention. A few minutes passed, and again the dismal "Whoo! whoo!" this time much nearer. Fred aroused his men. Instantly they were all attention, and every sense alert.
"Have you heard anything?" whispered the sergeant, next to him.
"Nothing but the suspicious hooting of an owl," whispered back Fred. Then to the soldiers, "Perfectly still, men; not a sound."
So still were they that the beatings of their hearts could be heard. Again the dismal hoot was heard, this time so near that it startled them.
Then from the sentinel out in front came the short, sharp challenge, "Who comes there?"
He was answered immediately. "A deserter who wishes to come into the lines and give himself up."
"Stand! Corporal of the guard!"
The corporal went forward to receive the deserter. Now there came the sound of swiftly advancing footsteps in front of the rear post, and dim figures were seen through the darkness.
"Fire!" shouted Fred.
Seven rifles belched forth their contents, and for a moment the flashes of the guns lighted up the scene, and then all was dark.
There were cries of pain, hoarse yells of surprise and anger, and then a scattering volley returned.
"Use your revolvers," shouted Fred, and a rapid fire was opened.
"Fall back!" shouted a voice from the darkness. There were a few more scattering shots, and all was still.
The deserter, who was so anxious to give himself up, the moment the alarm was given fired at the sentinel and vanished in the darkness.
The sound of the firing created the wildest commotion in camp. The long roll was beaten; the half-dressed, frightened soldiers came rolling out of their tents, some without their guns, others without their cartridge boxes; excited officers in their night clothes ran through the camp, waving their bare swords and shouting: "Fall in, men, for God's sake, fall in."
It was some minutes before the excitementabated, and every one was asking, "What is it? what is it?"
The officer of the day, with a strong escort, came riding out to where the firing was heard. Being challenged, he gave the countersign, and then hurriedly asked what occasioned the firing.
"Oh," cheerfully responded Fred, "they tried to take us in, and got taken in themselves."
An examination of the ground in front of where Fred's squad was stationed revealed two Confederates still in death, and trails of blood showed that others had been wounded.
"You can go to your quarters," said Fred to his men. "You will not be needed again to-night; and, Lieutenant," said he, turning to the officer of the day, "each and every one of these men deserves thanks for his steadiness and bravery."
"I hardly think, General," said Fred, the next morning, as he made his report, "that your pickets will be disturbed any more."
As for General Schoepf, he was delighted, and could not thank Fred enough.
For three or four days things were comparatively quiet. Then a small scouting party was attacked and two men captured. The next day a larger party was attacked and driven in, with a loss of one killed and three wounded. The stories were the same; the leader of the Confederates was a young lieutenant, who showed the utmost bravery and handled his men with consummate skill.
"I wish," said General Schoepf to Fred, "thatyou would teach this young lieutenant the same kind of a lesson that you taught those fellows who were capturing our pickets."
"I can try, General, but I am afraid the job will not only be harder, but much more dangerous than that one," answered Fred.
"This same young lieutenant," continued the general, "may have had a hand in that picket business, and since he received his lesson there has turned his attention to scouting parties."
"In that case," replied Fred, "it will take the second lesson to teach him good manners. Well, General, I will give it to him, if I can."
The next morning, with eight picked men from Wolford's cavalry, Fred started out in search of adventure.
"Don't be alarmed, General," said Fred, as he rode away, "if we do not come back to-night. We may take a notion to camp out."
Many of their comrades, with longing eyes, looked after them, and wished they were of the number; yet they did not know but that every one was riding to death or captivity. Yet such is the love of adventure in the human breast that the most dangerous undertakings will be gladly risked.
After riding west about three miles Fred turned south and went about the same distance. He then halted, and after a careful survey of the country ahead, said: "I think, boys, it will be as well for us to leave the road and take to the woods; we must be getting dangerously near the enemy's country."
The party turned from the road and entered a wood. Working their way through this, skirting around fields, and dashing across open places, after making a careful observation of the front, they managed to proceed about two miles further, when they came near the crossing of two main roads. Here they stopped and fed their horses, while the men ate their scanty fare of hard bread and bacon.
They had not been there long before a squadron of at least 200 Confederate cavalry came from the south, and turning west were soon out of sight.
"I hardly think, boys," said Fred, "it would have paid us to try to take those fellows into camp; we will let them go this time," and there was a twinkle in his eye, although he kept his face straight.
"Just as you say, capt'in," replied one of the troopers, as he took a chew of tobacco. "We would have gobbled them in if you had said the word."
A little while after this a troop of ten horsemen came up the same road, but instead of turning west they kept on north. At the head of the troop rode a youthful officer.
One of the soldiers with Fred was one of the number that had been attacked and defeated two days before by the squad of which they were in search.
"That's he, that's the fellow!" exclaimed the soldier, excitedly.
Fred's breath came thick and fast. What he had come for, fate had thrown in his way.
"They are only one more than we!" he exclaimed.
"If they were double, we would fight them," cried the men all together.
"Let them pass out of sight before we pursue," said Fred. "The farther we get them from their lines the better."
"Now," said Fred, after they had waited about five minutes. A ride of a few minutes more brought them into the road. Halting a moment, Fred turned to his men and said:
"Men, I know every one of you will do your duty. All I have to say is obey orders, keep cool, and make every shot count. Forward!"
With a cheer they followed their gallant young leader. After riding about two miles, Fred reined up and said: "They have not dodged us, have they, boys? We ought to have sighted them before this. Here is where we turned off of the road. By heavens! I believe they noticed that a squad of horsemen had turned off into the woods, and are following the tracks. Let's see," and Fred jumped from his horse, and examined the tracks leading into the woods.
"That's what they did, boys," said he, looking up. "I will give that lieutenant credit for having sharp eyes. Now, boys, we will give him a surprise by following."
They did not go more than half a mile before they caught sight of the Confederates. Evidently they had concluded not to follow the tracks anyfarther, for they had turned and were coming back, and the two parties must have sighted each other at nearly the same moment.
There was the sharp crack of a carbine, and a ball whistled over the Federals' heads.
"Steady, men," said Fred. "They are coming."
But he was mistaken. The young lieutenant who led the Confederates was far too careful a leader to charge an unknown number of men. Instead of charging the Confederates dismounted, and leaving their horses in charge of two of their number the rest deployed and advanced, dodging from tree to tree, and the bullets began to whistle uncomfortably close, one horse being hit.
"Dismount, and take the horses back," was Fred's order. "We must meet them with their own game." The two men who were detailed to take the horses back went away grumbling because they were not allowed to stay in the fight.
Telling them to keep well covered, Fred advanced his men slightly, and soon the carbines were cracking at a lively rate.
But the fight was more noisy than dangerous, every man being careful to keep a tree between himself and his foe.
"This can be kept up all day," muttered Fred, "and only trees and ammunition will suffer. I must try something else."
Orders were given to fall back to the horses, and the men obeyed sullenly. A word from Fred, andtheir faces brightened. Mounting their horses, they rode back as if in disorderly retreat.
As soon as the Confederates discovered the movement, they rushed back for their horses, mounted, and with wild hurrahs started in swift pursuit of what they thought was a demoralized and retreating foe.
Coming to favorable ground, Fred ordered his men to wheel and charge. So sudden was the movement that the Confederates faltered, then halted.
"Forward!" cried their young leader, spurring his horse on, but at that moment a chance shot cut one of his bridle reins. The horse became unmanageable, and running under the overhanging branches of a tree, the gallant lieutenant was hurled to the ground. His men, dismayed by his fall, and unable to withstand the impetuous onslaught of the Federals, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving their commander and two of their number prisoners in the hands of their foes. Two more of their men were grievously wounded. Three of the Federals had been wounded in the mêlée.
Fred dismounted and bent over the young lieutenant, and then started back uttering an exclamation of surprise and grief. He had looked into the face of his cousin, Calhoun Pennington. Hurriedly Fred placed his hand on the fallen boy's heart. It was beating. There was no sign of a wound on his body.
"Thank God! He has only been stunned by the fall," exclaimed Fred.
In the mean time the five remaining Confederates had halted about a quarter of a mile away, and were listening to what a sergeant, now in command, was saying.
"Boys," he exclaimed, "it will be to our everlasting shame and disgrace if we run away and leave the lieutenant in the hands of those cursed Yankees. Some of them must be disabled, as well as some of us. Let us charge and retake the lieutenant, or die to a man in the attempt."
"Here is our hand on that, Sergeant," said each one of the four, and one after the other placed his hand in that of the grim old sergeant.
But just as they were about to start on their desperate attempt, they were surprised to see Fred riding towards them, waving a white handkerchief. When he came in hailing distance, he cried:
"Men, your gallant young leader lies over here grievously hurt. We are going to withdraw," and wheeling his horse, he rode swiftly back.
Fred hastily made preparations to withdraw. One of his men was so badly wounded that he had to be supported on his horse; therefore their progress was slow, and it was night before they reached camp. Fred made his report to General Schoepf and turned over his two prisoners. The general was well pleased, and extended to Fred and the soldiers with him his warmest congratulations.
"If you had only brought in that daring young lieutenant with you your victory would have been complete," said the general.
"I hardly think, General," said Fred, "that you will be troubled with him any more. He was still insensible when we left, and with my three wounded men and the two prisoners it was well-nigh an impossibility for us to bring him in."
"I know," replied the General, "and as you say, I think we have had the last of him."
"I sincerely hope so," was Fred's answer as he turned away, and it meant more than the general thought. Fred had a horror of meeting his cousin in conflict, and devoutly prayed he might never do so again. He slept little that night. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the pale face of his cousin lying there in the wood, and the thought that he might be dangerously hurt, perhaps dead, filled him with terror. "Why," he asked himself over and over again, "did the fortune of war bring us together?"
Let us return to the scene of the conflict, and see how Calhoun is getting along. The Confederates received Fred's message with surprise.
"That lets us out of a mighty tough scrape," remarked the sergeant. "We must have hurt them worse than we thought."
"Don't know about that," answered one of his men who was watching the Federals as they retired. "There is only one of them who appears to be badly hurt; and they have poor Moon and Hunt in limbo, sure."
"Better be prisoners than dead," answered the sergeant. "But, boys, let us to the lieutenant.It's strange the Yanks didn't try to take him back."
When they reached Calhoun, he was already showing signs of returning consciousness, and in a few minutes he was able to sit up and converse.
"Where are the Yankees?" was his first question.
"Gone."
"Then we whipped them after all," and his face lighted up with joy.
"Can't say that we did, Lieutenant," answered the sergeant; "but they left mighty sudden for some reason."
Calhoun looked around on his men with a troubled countenance. "I see only five of you," he said; "where are the rest?"
"Two are back nursing wounds," answered the sergeant. "Sheldon is hit, so hard hit I am afraid he is done for. As for Moon and Hunt, they have gone off with the Yanks."
"Prisoners?"
The sergeant nodded.
The tears rolled down the cheeks of the young officer. "Boys," he said, chokingly, "I believe I have lost my grip. There was that last picket affair that went against us, and now we are all broken up in a fair combat."
"Don't take on, Lieutenant," said the sergeant, soothingly. "It was that chance bullet that cut your bridle rein that did the business. If it hadn't been for that we would have wiped them out, sure.As it is, we are thankful they didn't take a notion to lug you off."
"Perhaps they thought I was dead."
"No, they didn't," replied the sergeant, and then he told Calhoun what had happened.
"What kind of a looking man was the leader of the Yanks?" asked Calhoun.
"He was a boy, no older than yourself. He was mounted on a magnificent bay horse with a star in the forehead.
"I see it all," sighed Calhoun. "The leader of that party was my cousin, Fred Shackelford. He knew me, and he spared me. Boys, help me on my horse. I am badly shaken up, but not seriously hurt. We will square accounts with those fellows one of these days."
And the little party, bearing their wounded, sadly wended their way back to the Confederate camp.