General Nelson's Scout

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.

"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.

"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.