For the next few days the weather was so bad and the roads in such a terrible condition that both armies were comparatively quiet. Nothing as yet had been heard from the advance of General Thomas, and General Schoepf began to be very uneasy. At last Fred offered to ride toward Columbia, and see if he could not get some tidings of the missing column. The offer was gladly accepted, and Fred set out. He met with no adventure until about fifteen miles from Somerset, when he suddenly came face to face with a young soldier, and he supposed a Federal, as he wore a blue great coat. But a second look caused a cry of surprise toburst from Fred's lips, and at the same time the supposed Federal soldier snatched a revolver from the holster. The cousins were once more face to face.
"Put up your revolver, Calhoun," cried Fred. "Is that the way you greet your cousin?"
For a moment Calhoun gazed on Fred in silence, then raising his hand in courtly salute, he suddenly turned his horse, and jumping him over a low fence, disappeared in a copse of wood.
Fred was on the point of raising his voice to call him back, when it flashed upon him that Calhoun had been playing the spy, and that he dare not stop, even for a moment.
"He was only stunned after all, when he was hurled from his horse," thought Fred. "I am so glad; a heavy load has been lifted from my mind. I am also glad he has gone now. It would have been extremely awkward for me to have found out he was a spy, and then let him go."
It was with a lighter heart that he pursued his journey, but he had gone but a short distance when he met a courier from General Thomas with dispatches for General Schoepf. He was informed that the advance of General Thomas was but a short distance in the rear. A few moments more and Fred was in the presence of his general.
"Ah, Shackelford!" said Thomas, "I am glad to see you. How is everything at Somerset?"
"All right, General, only General Schoepf has been sorely worried over your non-appearance."
"I do not wonder. The march has been an awful one, and has taken three times as long as I expected. But we will be at Logan's Cross Roads to-night, where I shall halt to concentrate my army. If the enemy does not retreat, we may look for a lively time in about three days."
"The lively time, General, may come before three days," answered Fred, significantly.
"How is that?" asked Thomas, looking surprised.
"The Rebels may conclude," answered Fred, "to attack you before you can bring up the rest of your force, or get aid from Somerset. Fishing Creek is very high; I had to swim it. It will be almost impossible to get infantry or artillery over."
"I have thought of that," replied the general, smiling. "I shall try and be ready for them if they come."
Fred was right in his surmise that Calhoun had been acting the part of a spy. He had been playing a very dangerous game, and had been successful. Disguised as a country boy, he had boldly entered Columbia, and in a great measure had fathomed the plans of General Thomas. It was a matter of common report that as soon as the army could be concentrated, General Zollicoffer would be attacked. Calhoun had made a careful estimate of the strength of Thomas' army, and when met by Fred he was taking an observation of his order of march, and how long it would take the rear brigade to reinforce the advance brigade, if it should be attacked.
The sudden meeting with Fred was a surprise to him. But when he heard Fred's voice he knew his life was in no danger; yet he dare not tarry, even for a moment, and so escaped as we have seen.
No sooner was he out of sight of Fred than he checked his horse. "That was a lucky escape," he said to himself. "If I had to meet any one, it was fortunate I met Fred. Poor fellow! I wonderwhat he thought of me! I would so much like to have a talk with him, but it would have been madness to have stopped, and then it would have placed him in a very awkward predicament. Selim, old boy," continued he, patting his horse's neck, "we have work yet before us; we must see where General Thomas camps."
It was early on the morning of January 18th that Calhoun rode into the Confederate camp at Beech Grove. Without changing his mud-bespattered garments, he at once sought the quarters of Major-General G. B. Crittenden, who had been placed in chief command of the army.
"Ah, Lieutenant," exclaimed the general, "I am glad to see you. I have been thinking of you, and blaming myself for permitting you to go on your hazardous adventure. He who acts as a spy takes his life in his hands."
"It is an old saying that 'all is well that ends well,'" Calhoun answered, smiling. "You ought to have seen what a splendid country bumpkin I made; and I have succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations. I have very important news for you, General. General Thomas is now encamped at Logan's Cross Roads, only ten miles away. He will wait there for his rear brigade, and also for reinforcements from Somerset. He has only one brigade with him, numbering not much over 4,000 men."
Calhoun then went on and gave General Crittenden the full details of the strength of the Federalarmy, saying that he thought the rear brigade of Thomas' army could not reach Logan's Cross Roads for at least two days, and that owing to the height of water in Fishing Creek he believed it impossible for Thomas to receive reinforcements from Somerset.
"If these forces all combine, General," continued Calhoun, "they will so far outnumber us that it would be madness to risk a battle. To-morrow Thomas will be isolated; his force is inferior to yours. I believe he can be crushed."
"You think that your information as to numbers and position is absolutely correct, do you?" asked the general.
"I do, General," answered Calhoun. "If you attack General Thomas in the morning I am confident you will attack with a superior force."
"It is either that or a disastrous retreat," said the general, gravely. "I will call a council of my officers at once. I wish you to appear before them."
"As soon as I can get off some of this mud I will be ready," answered Calhoun.
The council was called, and General Crittenden laid the facts before his officers. Calhoun was asked a great many questions, to all of which he gave full and sufficient answers. The council, without a dissenting voice, voted to attack Thomas the next morning.
It was nearly midnight when the Confederates marched out of their entrenchments, GeneralZollicoffer's brigade having the advance. Calhoun acted as aid on the staff of General Crittenden. The distance, ten miles, made a fearful night march, considering the roads. Calhoun afterwards said that it was one of the worst marches he ever made. The night was dark and gloomy. A cold drizzling rain fell that chilled the soldiers to the very bone. Through the rain and the mud for hour after hour the brave men of the Confederacy toiled on, animated by the hope that they would soon meet and hurl back in inglorious defeat the men whom they considered ruthless invaders of their soil. It took nearly seven hours to march that ten miles, every step being taken through mud and water, sometimes nearly knee deep.
Just as the gray shadows in the east betokened the ushering in of the short January day, the crack! crack! of guns in front told that the Federal pickets had been alarmed. The sharp reports of those guns as they echoed back along the mud-stained ranks caused the weary soldier to forget his weariness. The cold was no longer felt, the excitement of the coming battle sent the blood tingling through the veins.
It is time to turn now to General Thomas and his little army that lay encamped at Logan's Cross Roads in the darkness and shadows of that gloomy night. Couriers had been sent back to hurry up the rear brigade; orders had been sent to General Schoepf to at once forward three regiments, but General Thomas well knew if he was attacked in themorning none of these reinforcements would reach him.
The general sat in his tent, listening to Fred giving an account of what had happened at Somerset during the three weeks he had been there. He was especially interested in the account Fred gave of his picket fight.
"That, Shackelford," said the general, "was strategy worthy of a much older head. Your little fight was also admirably managed."
"I had rather it had been against any one than my cousin," answered Fred.
"Such things cannot be avoided," answered Thomas, with a sigh. "This is an unhappy war. I am a Virginian, and must fight against those who are near and dear to me."
Fred did not answer; he was thinking of his father.
The general sat as if buried in deep thought for a moment, and then suddenly looking up, said:
"Shackelford, you know when we were going into camp this evening that you said you feared an attack in the morning."
"I am almost positive of it, General," was Fred's reply.
"Will you give me your reasons?"
"Because the enemy is well posted and must know that you mean to attack them when your forces are consolidated, and your army will be so strong they cannot hope to stand before it. I am also of the opinion that they are well informed ofyour isolated position here; that one of your brigades is two days' march in the rear, also that owing to the high stage of water in Fishing Creek it will be impossible for General Schoepf to reinforce you for a day or two. I also believe that the enemy has a fair estimate of your exact strength."
During this speech of Fred's the general listened intently, and then said: "You have a better idea of my actual position than I trust most of my officers have, but you said some things which need explaining. On what grounds do you base your belief that the enemy are so well acquainted with my situation and strength?"
"No positive proof, General, but an intuition which I cannot explain. But this impression is also based on more solid ground than intuition. Yesterday, just before I met your advance, I met a man in our uniform. When he saw me he jumped his horse over a fence and disappeared in a wood. I am almost certain he was a spy. To-day I caught a glimpse of that same man in the woods yonder on our right."
Thomas mused a moment, and then said: "If the Confederate general fully knows our situation and strength, he is foolish if he does not attack me. But if he does, I shall try and be ready for him."
The general then once more carefully examined his maps of the country, gave orders that a very strong picket should be posted, and that well in advance of the infantry pickets cavalry videttesshould be placed, and that the utmost vigilance should be exercised.
Then turning to Fred, he said: "If your expectations are realized in the morning, you may act as one of my aids. And now, gentlemen," said he, turning to his staff, "for some sleep; we must be astir early in the morning."
In the gray light of the early morning, from away out in front, there came the faint report of rifles. Nearer and more rapid grew the firing. Early as it was, General Thomas and staff had had their breakfast, and every soldier was prepared.
General Manson, in command of the advance regiments, came galloping back to headquarters.
"General," he said, "we are attacked in force."
"Go back," replied General Thomas, without betraying any more excitement than if he were ordering his men out on review, "form your men in the most advantageous position, and hold the enemy until I can bring up the rest of the troops."
In a trice aids were galloping in every direction. Fred found enough to do. The fitful reports of guns in front had become a steady roll of musketry. The loud mouth of the cannon joined in, and the heavy reverberations rolled over field and through forest. In an incredibly short time every regiment was in motion towards where the heavy smoke of battle was already hanging over the field.
Of all the thousands, the general commanding seemed the most unconcerned. He leisurely mounted his horse and trotted toward the conflict.His eye swept the field, and as the regiments came up they were placed just where they were needed. His manner inspired every one who saw him with confidence.
To Fred the scene was inexpressibly grand. This, then, was a battle. The wild cheering of men, the steady roll of musketry, the deep bass of cannon, thrilled him with an excitement never felt before. The singing of the balls made strange music in his ears. Now and then a shell or solid shot would crash through the forest and shatter the trees as with a thunderbolt. Soon a thin line of men came staggering back, some holding up an arm streaming with blood, others hobbling along using their guns as crutches. A few, wild with fear, had thrown away their guns, and were rushing back, lost to shame, lost to honor, lost to everything but an insane desire to get out of that hell of fire.
Fred was a born soldier. At first there was a lump in the throat, as if the heart was trying to get away, a slight trembling of the limbs, a momentary desire to get out of danger, and then he was as cool and collected as if on parade. Through the storm of balls he rode, delivering his orders with a smiling face, and a word of cheer. General Thomas noticed the coolness of his aid, and congratulated him on his soldierly qualities.
On the left, in front of the Fourth Kentucky Regiment, the battle was being waged with obstinate fury. Colonel Fry, seeing Fred, rode up tohim, and said: "Tell General Thomas I must have reinforcements at once; the enemy is flanking me."
Away went Fred to deliver the order.
"Say to Colonel Fry," said Thomas, "that I will at once forward the aid required. Until the reinforcements come, tell him to hold his position at all hazards."
The message was delivered. Fry compressed his lips, glanced along his line, saw the point of greatest danger, and quickly ordered two of his left companies to the right, leading them in person, Fred going with him.
An officer enveloped in a large gray coat suddenly rode out of the wood, and galloping up to them shouted: "For God's sake, stop firing! You are firing on your own men."
Just then two other officers rode up to the one in a gray cloak. Seeing Colonel Fry and Fred, they at once fired on them. Colonel Fry was slightly wounded, but Fred was untouched. As quick as thought both returned the fire. The officer at whom Fred fired reeled in his saddle, then straightened up and galloped to the rear. Colonel Fry fired at the officer in the gray cloak. He threw up his arms, and then plunged headlong to the ground.
The bullet from Colonel Fry's pistol had pierced the heart of General Zollicoffer.
The battle now raged along the entire line with great fury. The lowering clouds grew darker, and the pitiless rain, cold and icy, fell on theupturned faces of the dead. The cruel storm beat upon the wounded, and they shivered and moaned as their life's blood ebbed away. The smoke settled down over the field and hid the combatants from view, but through the gloom the flashes of the guns shone like fitful tongues of flame. Then the Federal line began to press forward, and soon the whole Confederate army was in full retreat.
The Battle now raged along the entire line with great fury
The Battle now raged along the entire line with great fury.
It was at this time that Fred's attention was attracted to a young Confederate officer, who was trying to rally his men. Bravely did he strive to stay the panic, but suddenly Fred saw him falter, sway to and fro, and then fall. Once more did the Confederates try to rally under the leadership of a young mounted officer, but they were swept aside, and the battle was over.
Fred's first thought was for the young Confederate officer whom he saw fall while trying to rally his men. There was something about him that seemed familiar. Could it be Calhoun? Fred's heart stood still at the thought. Fred soon found the object of his search. He was lying on his side, his head resting on his left arm, his right hand still grasping his sword, a smile on his face. As Fred looked on the placid face of the dead, a groan burst from him, and the tears gushed from his eyes. With his handkerchief he wiped away the grime of battle, and there, in all his manly beauty, Bailie Peyton lay before him. Fred's thoughts flew back to that day at Gallatin. No more would those eloquent lips hold entranced a spellboundaudience. No more would his fiery words stir the hearts of his countrymen, even as the wind stirs the leaves of the forest.
Tenderly did Fred have him carried back and laid by the side of his fallen chieftain. Both were given the honor due them. As soon as possible the remains of both were forwarded through the lines to Nashville.
It was not the city that Fred saw in August. Then it was wild and hilarious with joy, carried away with the pomp and glory of war. Zollicoffer was the idol of the people of Tennessee; Bailie Peyton of its young men. That both should fall in the same battle plunged Nashville in deepest mourning.
When the bodies arrived, it was a city of tears. Flags floated at half-mast; women walked the streets wringing their hands and weeping bitter tears. Their idols lay dead. Poor Nashville! She was to drink still deeper of the bitter cup of war.
Back over the ten miles that they had marched through the darkness and rain, the Confederate army fled in the wildest confusion. Swift in pursuit came the victorious army of Thomas. Before night his cannon were shelling the entrenchments at Beech Grove. There was no rest for the hungry, weary, despondent Confederates. In the darkness of the night they stole across the river, and then fled, a demoralized mob, leaving everything but themselves in the hands of the victors.
The next morning an officer came to Fred and said one of the prisoners would like to see him.
"One of the prisoners would like to see me," asked Fred, in surprise. "What for?"
"I don't know," answered the officer. "But he is a plucky chap; it's the young lieutenant who headed the last rally of the Rebs. He fought until he was entirely deserted by his men and surrounded by us; he then tried to cut his way out, but his horse was shot and he captured."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Fred. "It must be Calhoun," and he rushed to where the prisoners were confined.
"Calhoun!"
"Fred!"
And the boys were in each other's arms.
"Cal, you don't know how glad I am to see you," exclaimed Fred.
"Bonds and all?" answered Calhoun, with a dash of his old spirits.
"No," said Fred; "like St. Paul, I will say 'except these bonds.' But Calhoun, I must have a good long talk with you in private."
"Not much privacy here, Fred," said Calhoun, looking around at the crowd that was staring at them.
Fred went to General Thomas and told him that his cousin was among the prisoners, and asked permission to take him to his quarters. The permission was readily given, and the boys had the day and night to themselves.
How they did talk, and how much they had to tell each other! First Fred had to tell Calhoun all about himself.
When he had finished Calhoun grasped his hand and exclaimed: "Fred, I am proud of you, if you are fighting with the Yanks. How I would like to ride by your side! But of all your adventures, the one with poor Robert Ferror touches me deepest. Poor fellow! he should have lived. He must have had a great deal of pure gold about him, notwithstanding his cowardly crime."
"He did," sighed Fred, "he did; and yet I can never think of the assassination of Captain Bascomwithout a shudder. On the other hand, I can never think of Ferror's death without tears. As I think of him now, I am of the opinion that the indignities heaped upon him had, in a measure, unbalanced his mind, and that the killing of Bascom was the act of an insane person. But, Cal, I hate to talk about it; that night of horrors always gives me the shivers. So tell me all about yourself."
"There is not much to tell," answered Calhoun. "You know I left Danville with your father for Bowling Green. Owing to the influence of my father, I was commissioned a second lieutenant and given a place on the staff of Governor Johnson. You know a provisional State government was organized at Bowling Green, and G. M. Johnson appointed Governor. When General Buckner tried to capture Louisville by surprise, and you objected by throwing the train off the track, I was one of the victims of the outrage. I recognized you, just as your father ordered the volley fired."
"My father!" gasped Fred. "My father! did he order that volley fired at me?"
"Yes; but he did not know it was you when he gave the order. When I called out it was you, he nearly fainted, and would have fallen if one of his officers had not caught him. He wanted to resign then and there, but General Buckner would not hear of it. Really, Fred, I think he would have ordered that volley even if he had known you; but if you had been killed, he would have killed himself afterward."
"Poor father!" sighed Fred. "He loves me even if he has disowned me."
"Well," continued Calhoun, "to make a long story short, I became prodigiously jealous of you. You were covering yourself with glory while I was sitting around doing nothing. It was awful dull at Bowling Green. As Zollicoffer appeared to be the only one of the Confederate generals who was at all active, I asked and received permission to join him, where I was given a roving commission as a scout. If I do say it, I made it rather lively for you fellows. At length I hit upon a nice little plan of capturing your pickets, and was quite successful until you found it out and put an end to my fun."
"Calhoun," exclaimed Fred, in surprise, "was it you with whom I had that night fight?"
"It was, and you came near making an end of your hopeful cousin, I can tell you. Out of seven men, I had two killed and four wounded. Only one man and myself escaped unhurt, and I had three bullet holes through my clothes. That put an end to my raids upon your pickets, and I confined myself to scouting once more. Then came that unlucky fight with you in the woods. Fred, I must congratulate you on the way you managed that. Your retreat showed me your exact strength, and I thought I could wipe you off the face of the earth. Your sudden wheel and charge took us completely by surprise, and disconcerted my men. That shot which cut my bridle rein took me out of the fight, and perhaps it was just as well for methat it did. When I came to and found out what had been done, I at once knew you must have been in command of the squad, and if I could I would have hugged you for your generosity."
"Cal," replied Fred, his voice trembling with emotion, "you can hardly realize my feelings when I saw you lying pale and senseless there before me; it took all the fight out of me."
"I know, I know," answered Calhoun, laying his hand caressingly on Fred's shoulder. "I was badly shaken up by that fall, but not seriously hurt. Now, comes the most dangerous of my adventures. When I met you in the road, I——"
"Stop!" broke in Fred, "not another word. Of course you were on one of your scouting expeditions."
A curious look came over Calhoun's face, and then he said, in a low voice: "You are right, Fred; I was on one of my scouting expeditions," and he shuddered slightly.
"Fred," suddenly asked Calhoun, "is there any possible way for me to keep from going to prison?"
"Sometimes prisoners give their parole," answered Fred. "I will see what can be done."
The next morning General Thomas sent for Fred, and said that he was about to send some dispatches to General Buell at Louisville. "And," continued he, "owing to your splendid conduct and the value of the services you have rendered, I have selected you as the messenger. Then, in all probability, it will be very quiet in my front for sometime, and General Nelson may have more active work for you. You know," he concluded with a smile, "I only have the loan of you."
Fred heartily thanked the general for the honor bestowed, and then said: "General, I have a great boon to ask."
"What is it?" asked the general, kindly. "If possible I will grant it."
"You know my cousin is here a prisoner. He is more like a brother than a cousin—the only brother I ever knew. The boon I ask is that you grant him a parole."
"Bring him here," said the general.
Calhoun was sent for, and soon stood in the presence of the general.
"An officer, I see," said the general, as he glanced Calhoun over.
"Yes, sir; Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Governor Johnson's staff," answered Calhoun, with dignity.
"What were you doing up here if you are one of Johnson's staff?" asked the general.
"I was here on special duty."
"Lieutenant, your cousin has asked as a special favor that you be granted a parole. He says that you reside in Danville, and as he is going to Louisville, he would like to have you accompany him as far as your home."
"General," answered Calhoun, "you would place me under a thousand obligations if you would grant me a parole; but only on one condition, andthat is that you effect my exchange as quickly as possible."
The general smiled. "I see," said he, "that you and Shackelford are alike; never satisfied unless you are in the thickest of the fray. I think I can satisfy you."
The parole was made out, and Fred and Calhoun made preparations to start for Danville. Never did two boys enjoy a ride more than they did.
In spite of bad roads and bad weather, the exuberance of their spirits knew no bounds. They were playmates again, without a word of difference between them. As far as they were concerned, the clouds of war had lifted, and they basked in the sunlight of peace.
"I say, Fred," remarked Calhoun, "this is something like it; seems like old times. Why did this war have to come and separate us?"
Fred sighed. "The war, Calhoun," he answered, "has laid a heavier hand on me than on you, for it has made me an outcast from home."
"Don't worry, Fred; it will come out all right," answered Calhoun, cheerily.
On the morning of the second day the boys met with an adventure for which they were not looking. Even as early in the war as this, those roving bands of guerrillas which afterward proved such a curse to the border States began to appear. It was somewhat of a surprise to the boys when four men suddenly rode out of the woods by the side of theroad, and roughly demanded that they give an account of themselves.
"By whose authority do you stop us?" indignantly demanded Fred.
"By my authority," answered the leader, with a fearful oath.
"And your authority I refuse to acknowledge," was the hot answer.
"See here, young man, you had better keep a civil tongue in your head," and as the leader said this he significantly tapped the butt of his revolver.
Calhoun here interposed. "What is it you wish?" he asked.
"I wish to know who you are, and where you are going, and that —— quick."
"That is easily answered," replied Calhoun. "As you see by my uniform, I am a Confederate officer. I am on parole, and am on my way to my home in Danville, there to wait until I am regularly exchanged."
"A fine story," said the leader. "And I suppose your companion is also in the Confederate service."
"Not at all," replied Fred, quietly. "I am in the service of the United States."
"You are, are you?" sneered the man. "I think both of you are Lincolnites. We will have to search you, and I think in the end shoot you both."
"Here is my parole," said Calhoun, his face growing red with anger.
The man took it, glanced it over, and then coolly tore it in two, and flung it down.
"Any one can carry such a paper as that. Now, climb down in a hurry. We want them horses, and we want you. Boys, it will be fun to try our marksmanship on these youngsters, won't it?" and he turned to his companions with a brutal laugh.
But the guerrillas made a great mistake; they thought they were only dealing with two boys, and were consequently careless and off their guard.
With a sharp, quick look at Calhoun which meant volumes, Fred quickly drew his revolver. There was a flash, a report, and the leader of the guerrillas dropped from his horse. With a startled oath, the others drew their revolvers, but before they could raise them there were two reports so close together as almost to sound as one, and two more of the gang rolled from their horses. The remaining one threw up his hands and began to beg for mercy.
Fred drew his Revolver, and the Guerrilla dropped from his horse
Fred drew his Revolver, and the Guerrilla dropped from his horse.
"You miscreant you," exclaimed Calhoun, covering him with his revolver. "I ought to send a ball through your cowardly carcass, to be even with my cousin here; for he got two of you, while I only got one."
"Oh, mercy! mercy!" begged the trembling wretch. "I have a wife and children."
"You have; then so much the worse for the wife and children."
"I am not fit to die," he blubbered.
"That is plain to be seen," answered Calhoun. "Now off that horse!"
The fellow obeyed with alacrity.
"Now hand me your weapons—butts first, remember."
The pistols were handed over.
"Now pick up that parole your leader tore and threw down, and hand it to me."
This was done.
Calhoun sat eyeing him a moment, and then continued: "I ought to shoot you without mercy, but I believe in giving a dog a chance for his life, and so I will give you a chance. You mount your horse, and when I say 'Go,' you go. After I say 'Go' I shall count five, and then shoot. If I miss you, which I don't think I shall, I shall continue shooting as long as you are in range; so the faster you go, the better for you. Now, mount."
The man looked appealingly at Calhoun, but seeing no mercy, mounted his horse as quick as his trembling limbs would let him. His face was white with fear, and his teeth fairly rattled they chattered so.
Calhoun reined his horse around so he was by the fellow's side. Then he shouted "Go!"
The man gave a yell of terror, bent low over his horse's neck and was off like a shot. Calhoun with a chuckle fired over him, and the fellow seemed to fairly flatten out. Four times did Calhoun fire, and at each report the flying horseman appeared to go the faster.
As for Fred, he was convulsed with merriment, notwithstanding the grewsome surroundings.
"Leave these carrion where they are," said Calhoun in response to a question from Fred as to what disposition they should make of the dead. "That live companion of theirs will be back when we are gone."
They rode along in silence for a while, and then Calhoun suddenly said: "Fred, how I wish I could always fight by your side. It's a pity we have to fight on different sides."
"Just what I was thinking of, Cal," answered Fred; "but we have the satisfaction of knowing we have fought one battle together."
"And won it, too," shouted Calhoun.
They reached Danville in due time and without further adventure. To say that Judge Pennington was surprised to see them riding up together would be to express it mildly; he was astounded. Then he had his arms around his boy, and was sobbing, "My son! my son!"
"And Fred, too," said the judge, at last turning from welcoming his son. "I am truly glad to see you, my boy. But how in the world did you two happen to come together?"
And so the whole story had to be told, and the judge listened and wondered and mourned over the defeat of the Confederates at Mill Springs.
"My boy," said the judge, with tears glistening in his eyes, "at least I am glad to know that you did your duty."
"Aye! he did that, uncle," exclaimed Fred. "If all the Confederates had been like Calhoun, we might not have won the victory."
"Unless all the Federals had been like you," responded Calhoun gallantly.
The judge would have both boys tell him the full particulars of their adventures, and listened to their recital with all the pleasure of a schoolboy. But when they were through, he shook his head sadly, and said: "Boys, you can't keep that pace up. You will both be killed. But I am proud of you, proud of you both, if Fred is fighting for that horrible Lincoln."
It was a happy day Fred spent at his uncle's. It seemed like old times. If bitterness was felt towards him it was not shown.
When it was noised about that both Calhoun and Fred had returned, they were besieged with callers. The story of the battle of Mill Springs had to be told again and again. Colonel Fry was one of the influential citizens of the city, and especially were they eager to hear the particulars of his killing General Zollicoffer.
Fred concluded to ride his horse to Louisville, instead of riding to Nicholasville or Lebanon and taking the cars from one of those places.
"I must have Prince wherever I go after this," he said.
"Hello! my boy, is that you?" asked General Nelson, as Fred rode up to his headquarters after a very prosaic journey of three days.
"It is no one else, General," laughed Fred, as he dismounted. "Here I am, here is my good horse, Prince, and here is a letter to you from General Thomas."
Nelson took the letter, read it, and looking up smiling, said: "I see you still keep up your habit of doing something unusual. Thomas speaks in the highest terms of your work. Then you were at Mill Springs?"
"Yes, General."
"Glorious victory! glorious victory! the first real victory we have gained. Did you bring full dispatches with you?"
"Yes, General; I have voluminous dispatches for General Buell. I was so eager to see you I stopped before delivering them."
"Ah, my boy, I believe you do think something of bluff old Nelson after all, even if he has a devil of a temper," and the general kindly patted the boy on the head.
Fred's eyes filled with tears. "You know, General," he said, brokenly, "that you took me in, when my father cast me out."
"For the good of the country, my boy, for the good of the country," said the general brusquely. "But, come, Fred, I will ride over to General Buell's headquarters with you. I would like to see General Thomas' full report of the battle."
They found General Buell in the highest of spirits, and Fred was given a warm welcome. He looked over General Thomas' report, and his wholeface beamed with satisfaction. He asked Fred a multitude of questions, and was surprised at the knowledge of military affairs which he showed in his answers.
"I think, General," said General Buell, turning to Nelson, after he had dismissed Fred, "that you have not overestimated the abilities of your protégé. In a private note General Thomas speaks in the highest terms of him. I shall do what you asked."
"Thank you, General," said Nelson. "Somehow I have taken wonderfully to the boy."
What it was General Buell was to do for Fred, that individual was in ignorance.
While in Louisville many of Fred's leisure moments were spent at the hospitable home of the Vaughns. Mabel's betrothed was now at the front, and it was astonishing how much note paper that young lady used in writing to him.
"You don't write that often to your brother," said Fred, smiling.
"My brother?" asked Mabel, looking up in surprise.
"Yes, your humble servant; didn't you adopt me as a brother?"
Mabel burst out laughing. "Oh!" she replied, "one doesn't have to write so often to a brother. Lovers are like babies; they have to be petted. But to change the subject, where does my knight-errant expect to go for his next adventure?"
"I don't know," answered Fred. "Things appear to be rather quiet just now."
But events were even then transpiring that were to take Fred to a different theater of action.
Commodore Foote and General U. S. Grant sat conversing in the headquarters of the latter at Cairo, Illinois. The general was puffing a cigar, and answered in monosyllables between puffs.
"You have heard nothing yet, have you, General," the commodore was asking, "of that request we united in sending to General Halleck?"
"Nothing," answered Grant, moodily.
There was silence for some time, the general apparently in deep thought. The commodore broke the silence by asking:
"You went to see him personally once on this matter, did you not?"
"He ungraciously gave me permission to visit St. Louis in order to see him, after I had begged for the privilege at least half a dozen times," Grant answered.
"And you laid the matter before him in all its bearings?"
"I tried to."
"What did he say?"
"Say! he struck me."
"Struck you?" asked the commodore, starting in surprise.
Grant smiled. "I mean," said he, "that he struck me metaphorically. I don't believe he would have hurt me as badly, if he had really struck me. I was never so cut in all my life. I came away feeling that I had committed an unpardonable sin from a military standpoint."
"Then he would not hear to the proposition at all?"
"Hear it! He would not listen to me. I came away resolving never to ask another favor of him. Yet so anxious am I to make this campaign that, as you know, I swallowed my pride and united with you in making the request that we be allowed to make the movement."
"It is strange," replied the commodore, "that he should ignore both our requests, not favoring us even with a reply. Yet it seems that he must see that Fort Henry should be reduced at once. If we delay, both the Cumberland and the Tennessee will be so strongly fortified that it will be almost impossible to force a passage. Everything is to be gained by moving at once. Everything may be lost by delay."
"Even a civilian ought to see that," replied Grant, as he slowly blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth, and watched it as it lazily curled upward.
"The truth of it is," Grant continued slowly, as if weighing every word, "too many of us are afraid that another general may win more honor than we.Then there are altogether too many separate commands. Now, here are Buell and myself; each with a separate command, yet both working for the same object. I should either be subject to the command of Buell, or he should be subject to my orders. We are now like two men trying to lift the same burden, and instead of lifting together, one will lift and then the other. Such a system can but prolong the war indefinitely."
"General," said the commodore, earnestly, "I sincerely wish you had the supreme command here in the West. I believe we would see different results, and that very soon."
Grant blushed like a schoolgirl, fidgeted in his seat, and then said: "Commodore, you do me altogether too much honor. But this I will say, if I had supreme command I should not sit still and see the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers fortified without raising a hand to prevent it. Neither do I believe in letting month after month go by for the purpose of drilling and organizing. The Government seems to forget that time gives the enemy the same privilege. What is wanted is hard blows, and these blows should be delivered as soon as possible. Sherman was right when he asked for 200,000 men to march to the Gulf, yet he was sneered at by the War Department, hounded by every paper in the land, called insane, and now he is occupying a subordinate position. The war could be ended in a year. No one now can tell how long it will last."
Just then a telegram was placed in Grant's hands.He read it, and his whole face lighted up with pleasure.
"You look pleased," said the commodore. "The telegram must bring good news."
Without a word Grant placed the telegram in the hands of the commodore. It was an order from General Halleck to move up the Tennessee as soon as possible and capture Fort Henry.
"At last," said the commodore, his face showing as much pleasure as did Grant's.
"At last," responded Grant; and then, quickly, "Commodore, we may have done an injustice to General Halleck. There may be good reasons we know not of why this order should not have been made before. Commodore, be ready to move with your fleet to-morrow."
"That soon?" asked the commodore.
"That soon," responded Grant.
"General, I shall be ready; and now good-bye, for both of us have much before us. But before I go, let me congratulate you. I believe that success and great honor await you," and with these words the commodore withdrew.
The next day, with 15,000 men, General Grant was steaming up the Tennessee.
General Buell sat in his headquarters at Louisville. General Nelson, accompanied by Fred, had dropped in to see his general, and at the same time to give vent to some of his pent-up feelings.
"It's a shame, a shame!" he fumed, "for us to sit here and let the Rebels fortify Bowling Greenand Dover and Columbus, and build forts to blockade the Tennessee, and we not raise a finger to prevent it."
Buell smiled at his irate general, and asked: "And what would you do, Nelson?"
"Do!" roared Nelson, "do! I would strike, and strike hard. I would give them precious little time to build forts."
Before General Buell could answer, an orderly entered with a telegram. He read it, and turning to Nelson, said:
"Well, General, you can cease your fuming. This telegram is from General Halleck. He tells me he has ordered General Grant up the Tennessee to reduce Fort Henry, and he wants me to co-operate as much as possible in the movement."
Nelson was on his feet in an instant.
"General," he exclaimed, "I have a favor, a great favor to ask of you."
Buell smilingly answered: "I think I know what it is without your asking. You want me to send your division."
Nelson bowed.
"I do not see how I can spare so many men; you know we have Johnston at Bowling Green to look after."
"But General," answered Nelson, "the Tennessee and Cumberland must be defended. In all probability the most of Johnston's army will be transferred there."
"In that case, General," answered Buell, "I willremember you. Your division shall be the first one sent."
"Thank you, General, thank you," replied Nelson. "I only wish I knew I was going."
"As it is now," continued Buell, "I shall order General Crittenden to send Cruft's brigade. That brigade is near the mouth of Green river. There is no force of the enemy, in any number, before them, and the brigade can well be spared. I shall send no more men unless it is absolutely necessary. I shall at once dispatch an officer to General Crittenden with necessary orders."
"General," now spoke up Fred, "like General Nelson, I have a request to make, and by your kindness I hope to meet with better success."
"Ah!" said Buell, "you wish to carry the orders. If Nelson has no objection, I think I can grant that request. The general has told me something of your history, Mr. Shackelford. General Thomas also speaks in the highest terms of you."
"You can go if you wish, Fred," answered Nelson. "I only hope I shall soon be with you."
So it was settled, and before night Fred and his good horse Prince were on their way down the Ohio. Fred not only carried dispatches to General Crittenden, but he had personal letters both from General Buell and General Nelson to General Cruft commending him to the latter officer.
Disembarking at Owensboro, Fred made a swift ride to Calhoun, the headquarters of General Crittenden. He delivered his dispatches to thegeneral, and at once sought the headquarters of General Cruft. The general read Fred's letters, and then said: "You are very welcome, Mr. Shackelford; you may consider yourself as one of my staff until such time as General Nelson may join us."
Soon orders came to General Cruft to at once prepare to join Grant.
It was nearly noon on February the 14th when the fleet on which General Cruft's brigade had embarked arrived at Fort Donelson. The place had already been invested two days, and some severe fighting had taken place. The weather, from being warm and rainy, had suddenly turned cold on the afternoon of the 13th, and Fred shivered as he emerged from the comfortable cabin of the steamboat and stepped out on the cold, desolate bank of the river. The ground was covered with ice and snow, and the scene was dreary in the extreme.
Now and then the heavy reverberation of a cannon came rolling down the river, and echoed and re-echoed among the hills. A fleet of gunboats lay anchored in the river, the mouths of their great guns looking out over the dark sullen water as though watching for their prey. General Cruft's brigade was assigned to the division of General Lew Wallace, which occupied the center of the Federal army. Back in the rear little groups of soldiers stood shivering around small fires, trying to warm their benumbed limbs, or to cook their scanty rations.
The condition of the soldiers was pitiable in theextreme. There were no tents; but few had overcoats, and many on the hard, muddy march from Fort Henry had even thrown away their blankets. In the front lines no fires could be lighted, and there the soldiers stood, exposed to the furious storm of sleet and snow, hungry, benumbed, hardly knowing whether they were dead or alive. Such were the heroes who stood for three days before Donelson.
As Fred looked on all this suffering, he wondered at the fortitude with which it was endured. There were few complaints from the soldiers; they were even cheerful and eager to meet the foe.
About three o'clock the gunboats came steaming up the river and engaged the Confederate batteries.
It was a most sublime spectacle, and held Fred spellbound. The very heavens seemed splitting, and the earth shook and trembled from the heavy concussions. Nearer and nearer the gunboats came to the batteries until it seemed to Fred the great guns were vomiting fire and smoke into each other's throats.
During the fight Fred noticed a small, thickset man sitting on his horse intently watching the fight. His countenance was perfectly impassive, and one could not tell by watching him whether he sympathized with friend or foe.
For two hours the conflict raged. The boilers of the Essex had been blown up, the other boats were bruised and battered and torn by the great shots which had struck them, and were helplesslydrifting down the stream. The gunboats had been defeated. From the Federal side there went up a great groan of disappointment, while from the Confederate lines there arose the wild cheers of victory.
The silent man on horseback turned and rode away. Not a sign, not a word that he was disappointed.
"Who is that man?" asked Fred of an officer standing by him.
"That, young man," was the answer, "is General Grant. He must be awfully cut up, but he does not show it."
Fred turned and looked after Grant as he rode slowly away. "There," thought Fred, "is a man who is going to make his mark in this war. In some of his actions he reminds me of General Thomas. Nothing seems to excite him."
Night and darkness came. On the frozen ground, without tents or fire, the soldiers once more made their beds. The wind sighed and moaned through the bare branches, as if weeping at the suffering it caused. Many, to keep from freezing, never lay down, but kept up a weary march, so that the blood might circulate. The long hours dragged slowly along.
Over in the Confederate lines all was activity. A council of war was held, and it was resolved that in the morning they would cut their way through the lines of steel which Grant had thrown around them. All preparations were made, every ordergiven, and then they waited for the light of morning—the last morning that hundreds would ever see.
It was hardly light when Fred was awakened by the fitful sound of musketry over on the right. In front of Wallace's division only the report of a rifle of a picket was heard now and then. Hurriedly eating a little breakfast, he mounted his horse and reported to General Cruft for duty. The men were all standing at arms, but there was nothing for them to do. But over on the right the rattle of musketry grew more intense, the roll of heavy volleys began to be heard, and then the deep-voiced cannon joined in the chorus. Louder and louder grew the din of the conflict. The smoke of battle began to ascend above the treetops like smoke from a burning coal-pit. The sound of battle came nearer, the roll of musketry was incessant, the thunder of cannon never ceased.
An officer wild with excitement came spurring his foaming horse up to General Wallace.
"General McClernand wants help," he gasped. "The whole Rebel army has attacked his division."
"I have orders from General Grant to hold this position at all hazards," replied Wallace. "I must have orders from him."
To Grant's headquarters the officer rides in frantic haste. The general was away; he had started at five o'clock to see Commodore Foote, who had been wounded in the battle of the night before, and was on board of one of his gunboats, and the boats lay some five or six miles below.
Would not some one of his staff give orders to send reinforcements to McClernand. No; none would take the responsibility. The officer groaned, and rode back to McClernand with the heavy tidings.
Minutes go by, the thunder of battle is terrific. The Federals are being driven. The exultant cheering of the advancing foe is heard above the roar of conflict.
Another officer, with his horse bleeding from wounds, his hat gone, and tears streaming down his face, rides to General Wallace. "For God's sake, help!" he gasps, "or everything is lost; we are flanked, we cannot hold out longer."
Then General Wallace said: "I will take the responsibility; help you shall have." And with his face lighted up with joy the officer dashed back to tell McClernand that help was coming.
An order comes to General Cruft to at once march his brigade to the scene of action. No sooner is the command given than the brigade is on the way. Soon shot and shell are crashing overhead, and singing bullets begin to cut the twigs of the bushes around. Now and then a soldier falters and goes down. A smooth-faced, florid man rides up to General Cruft. "I am Colonel Oglesby," he says; "my brigade is being flanked on the right. Let me lead you in position; my men are nearly out of ammunition." And then as calmly as if on parade Colonel Dick Oglesby leads Cruft's brigade to the relief of his men. Soon thebrigade is in the midst of the conflict. Here and there Fred rides carrying orders. The excitement of battle is on him, and he feels no fear.
Oglesby's brigade is out of ammunition. Sullenly his men fall back, leaving over 800 of their number dead and wounded on the field, but his left regiment refuses to go. The colonel, a large, dark man, with hair as black as midnight, eyes like flaming stars, rages up and down the line like a lion. Fred gazes on him in admiration. He is typical of war incarnate.
"Who is he?" Fred asks of a wounded soldier hobbling back.
"Colonel John A. Logan," is the answer.
At last his men are out of ammunition, and Logan, bleeding from two wounds, is obliged to lead his regiment back. Another regiment takes its place, and after a dreadful conflict, is compelled to fall back, leaving over 300 of their number dead and wounded.
Cruft's brigade was now on the extreme right, cut off from the rest of the army. The enemy pressed upon them; a withering volley sent them reeling back. "Charge!" was the order. Fred spurred forward, and seizing the colors of a Kentucky regiment, shouted: "Now, boys, for the honor of old Kentucky."
The enemy flew before them like frightened sheep. But on either flank the enemy pressed, and the brigade, combating every foot, was forced back.
The enemy had gained the desired end; McClernand's division was out of the way, the road to retreat was open. Why was it not taken advantage of? Because of the imbecility of Generals Floyd and Pillow.
Broken, and with a third of its number dead and wounded, McClernand's division is driven back on Lew Wallace. Officers, stunned with the disaster, come wildly galloping through Wallace's lines, shouting, "All is lost! all is lost!"
Wallace changes front to meet the exultant, advancing foe. Firm as adamant his lines stand. In the faces of the charging Confederates his men pour their crushing volleys. The enemy waver, reel, then go staggering, bleeding back.
Where is Grant all of this time? In conference with Commodore Foote on board of a gunboat six miles down the river. He is too far away to hear the roll of musketry, and the thunder of artillery he thinks but cannonading between the two lines. It is past noon when the conference is ended and he is rowed ashore. There stands a staff officer with bloodless face and shaking limbs. In a few words the story of the disaster is told. Without a word Grant listens, and then mounts his horse. The iron shoes of his steed strike fire on the frozen ground as he gallops back. He arrives just as the foe is repulsed by Wallace's division. His eye sweeps the field.
"Why, boys," he cries, "they are trying to get away; we mustn't let them."