GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT

As lightly as a Bird he cleared the Fence.

General Nelson's Scout

BY

Byron A. Dunn

Chicago
A. C. McClurg and Company
1898

Copyright
By A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY
A. D. 1898
———
All rights reserved

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

INTRODUCTION.

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

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

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

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

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

"On his bold visage middle age

Had slightly pressed its signet sage,

Yet had not quenched the open truth

And fiery vehemence of youth;

Forward and frolic glee was there,

The will to do, the soul to dare."

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

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

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

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

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

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

B. A. D.

Waukegan, Ill., June, 1898.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS.

GENERAL NELSON'S SCOUT.

CHAPTER I. THE QUARREL AND THE OATH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II. THE MEETING WITH NELSON.

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

He plunged forward, and passed the Goal half-a-length ahead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nelson chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you think so?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cincinnati, July 21, 6 P. M.

Lieutenant Wm. Nelson:

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

Anderson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is your home?"

"A few miles out on the Richmond road."

"Your name?"

"Frederic Shackelford."

"Frederic, you have a good horse?"

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

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

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

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

"What is it, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER III. THE DAY AFTER BULL RUN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but what of that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He had no time."

"I shall not give you the letter."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sah."

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

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

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

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

"I have."

"When did you leave Nelson?"

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

"Where?"

"At Danville."

"Impossible; you are an impostor."

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

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

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

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

Danville, Ky., July 21, 7:00 P. M.

To the Union Men of Louisville:

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

Nelson.

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

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

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

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

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

Lexington, Ky., July 21st, 10 P. M.

J. T. Tompkins, Louisville, Ky.

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

Signed: Major C. S. Hockoday,
State Guards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV. THE TRIP TO NASHVILLE.

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

"Hardly that," replied Fred, blushing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That I will not," replied Miss Vaughn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In reply to his eager questioners, Fred said:

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

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

"From Danville," answered Fred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

CHAPTER V. FATHER AND SON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my son."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I shall not go to Europe."

"What!"

"I shall not go to Europe."

"Do you dare to disobey me?"

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

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

"The Union army."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned and went out.

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

The father groped blindly, as if about to fall.

"Fred, Fred, come back!"

The outer door closed; his boy was gone.

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

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

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

The judge went into a fearful passion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am firmly resolved," answered Fred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI. THE FIGHT FOR THE ARMS.

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

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

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

The orderly reported to Fred Nelson's kind wish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"F. Carrington.... Louisville."

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

All of this time Fred was riding swiftly towards Lexington.

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

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

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

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

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

Fred modestly related what had occurred at Georgetown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is the next move?" asked Fred.

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

Fred looked his disgust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The general smiled; he understood.

"May I accompany the colonel?" asked Fred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then read the following laconic note from Colonel Bramlette:

Lexington, Aug. —, 1861.

To Hon. John C. Breckinridge, John H. Morgan and Others.

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

Thomas E. Bramlette,
Colonel Commanding.

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

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

To Fred Shackelford:

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

Capt. P. C. Conway.

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

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

CHAPTER VII. THE FOILING OF A PLOT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Executive Mansion, Aug. 17th, 1861.

Hon. Secretary of War.

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

A. Lincoln.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And for human slavery," added Fred.

The judge's cheeks flamed with anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lieutenant sniffed and walked off.

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

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

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

"Not for five dollars?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girl's eyes opened wide with terror.

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

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

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

"Dat so, massa?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a bold, but admirably conceived plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quite sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next morning Morgan received the following telegram from Nicholasville:

John H. Morgan:

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

Smith.

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

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

John H. Morgan:

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

Smith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII. A DARING DEED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The car was turned and started for Louisville.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what did you find?"

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

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

"Yes, uncle."

"What did they fire on you for?"

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

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

"What! not father, surely!"

"No, John H. Morgan."

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

"Why not, Fred?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

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

CHAPTER IX. A LEAP FOR LIFE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Massa Johnson, sah."

"Is he at home?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Blamed if I know," answered the corporal. "The sight of that young chap seemed to make the captain kinder crazy. The moment he caught sight of him, he called him by name, and banged away at him."

"You say the captain called him by name?"

"Yes."

"Well, he said he knew the captain, and that he was one of his best friends. I can't understand it."

The corporal had no explanation to offer, so went and took a look at the captain's horse. "Bang up shot," he remarked. "Right between the eyes."

In the meantime the pursued and the pursuers had passed out of sight up the road, enveloped in a cloud of dust.

"Remember, boys," shouted Conway, "a hundred dollars to the one who brings him down. Don't attempt to take him alive. Shoot him! shoot him!"

But it was nothing but play for Fred to distance them, and he laughed to think that they expected to catch him. But the laugh suddenly died on his lips; he turned pale, and glanced hurriedly to the right and left. A high rail fence ran on each side of the road. The scouting party of which the negroes spoke was returning. Fred was between the two parties.

Captain Conway saw the other party, and shouted in triumph.

"Now, boys, we have him," and he spurred his horse forward, revolver in hand. There was a look of malignant hatred on his face, and he muttered: "Now, my boy, I will settle scores with you. I shall never take you back to camp. 'Captured a spy, killed while trying to escape.' Ha! ha! how will that sound!"

As for Fred, even in his extremity, his courage or his presence of mind never deserted him. He felt that to be captured by Conway was death, for had not the captain sworn to kill him on sight? His mind was made up; he would wheel and charge the captain's party. He would at least die fighting. Just as he was about to do this, he espied an opening in the fence on the left. As quick as thought he dashed through it, thinking it might afford a chance of escape. Too late he saw his mistake. The field was a perfect cul-de-sac, bounded on all sides by a high rail fence, the only opening the one he had come through.

Through this opening the enemy poured, and when they saw the trap which Fred had entered, their shouts made the welkin ring. They were sure of their prey. Their shouts rang in Fred's ears like the tolling of a funeral bell. So must the bay of hounds sound in the ears of the hunted quarry.

Fred looked at the fence ahead of him. It was built of heavy rails, and full seven feet high. He rode straight for it. Bending over his horse's neck, Fred said: "Prince, it is a question of life or death. Do your best, old fellow; we can but fail."

The horse seemed to understand. He never faltered, never swerved. With distended nostrils, eyes flashing with excitement, and every muscle quivering, he gathered himself for the mighty spring. As lightly as a bird he cleared the fence, staggered as he struck the ground on the other side, then on again like the wind.

Fred turned in his saddle, and uttered a yell of defiance.

"Fire!" shrieked Conway. But the hands of his troopers were unsteady, and the shots went wild. Before his men could dismount and throw down the fence, Fred was beyond pursuit. Captain Conway fairly foamed at the mouth. He raved and swore like a madman.

"It's no use swearing, Captain," said a grizzled lieutenant. "I thought I knew something about horses, but that beat any leap I ever saw. Gad! I would rather have the horse than the boy."

"Howly Virgin! it's the divil's own lape," said an Irishman in the company, and he crossed himself.

The baffled troopers returned crestfallen and cross. Captain Conway was so out of temper that even when the ladies asked him if his fall hurt him, he answered angrily.

"Captain," said Alice, somewhat ruffled by his manner, "what is it between that boy and you? He said he knew you, was in fact a dear friend of yours, but you no sooner saw him than you shot at him; and Corporal Smith says you called him by name, so you did know him."

"Alice," replied the captain, "I do not intend to be rude, but I am all put out. That boy is a spy, a mean, sneaking spy. He should be hanged. It was he that discovered our plot at Lexington."

The girl held up her hands in dismay. "And I told him——" She stopped suddenly.

"Told him what?" demanded Conway.

"Oh! nothing, nothing; only what a good fellow you were."

The captain looked at her sharply, and said: "It is well you gave away no secrets."

Fred made his way back to camp with a thankful heart. He told Colonel Garrard of the intended attack, and then started back for the headquarters of General Thomas. It was a long and hard ride, and it was well in the small hours of the night when he arrived. The general was aroused and the news of the expected attack told. He quietly wrote a couple of orders, and went back to his bed. One order was to General Schoepf to at once march his brigade to the relief of Colonel Garrard at Rock Castle. The other was sent to Colonel Connell at Big Hill to move his regiment to Rock Castle, instead of advancing toward London as ordered.

Both orders were obeyed, and both commands were in position on the 20th. General Zollicoffer made his expected attack on the 21st, and was easily repulsed. The battle was a small one; nothing but a skirmish it would have been called afterwards; but to the soldiers engaged at that time, it looked like a big thing. It greatly encouraged the Federal soldiers, and correspondingly depressed the soldiers of Zollicoffer's army.

Fred got back to Rock Castle in time to see the battle. It was his first sight of dead and wounded soldiers. And as he looked on the faces of the dead, their sightless eyes upturned to heaven, and the groans of the wounded sounding in his ears, he turned sick at heart, and wondered why men created in the image of God would try to kill and maim each other. And yet, a few moments before, he himself was wild with the excitement of battle, and could scarcely be restrained from rushing into it.

The next day the army advanced, and passed the place where Fred met with his adventure, and he thought he would make another visit to Miss Alice Johnson. But that young lady gave him a cold reception. She called him a "miserable, sneaking Yankee," and turned her back on him in disgust. He didn't hear the last of his call on Miss Johnson.

Fred pointed out the place where his horse had leaped the fence, and officers and men were astonished, and Prince became as much a subject of praise as his rider. It was a common saying among the soldiers as he rode by, "There goes the smartest boy and best horse in Kentucky."

When Fred returned to Camp Dick Robinson, he found a letter awaiting him from General Nelson. The general was making a campaign against a portion of the command of General Humphrey Marshall in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, and wrote that if Fred could possibly come to him to do so.