General Nelson's Scout 18

General Nelson's Scout 18

CHAPTER VIII.

 

A DARING DEED.

 

 

Fred did not stop in Danville; instead, he avoided the main street, so

as to be seen by as few of his acquaintances as possible. He rode

straight on to Lebanon before he stopped. Here he put up for the night,

giving himself and his horse a good rest. The country was in such a

disturbed condition that every stranger was regarded with suspicion, and

forced to answer a multitude of questions. Fred did not escape, and to

all he gave the same answer, that he was from Danville, and that he was

on his way to Elizabethtown to visit his sick grandfather.

 

One gentleman was exceedingly inquisitive. He was especially interested

in Prince, examining him closely, and remarking he was one of the finest

horses he ever saw. Fred learned that the man's name was Mathews, that

he was a horse dealer, and was also a violent sympathizer with the

South. He was also reputed to be something of a bully. Fred thought some

of his questions rather impertinent, and gave rather short answers,

which did not seem to please Mathews.

 

Leaving Lebanon early the next morning, he rode nearly west, it being

his intention to strike the Louisville and Nashville railroad a little

south of Elizabethtown. It was a beautiful September day, and as Fred

cantered along, he sang snatches of songs, and felt merrier and happier

than at any time since that sad parting with his father. Where was his

father now? Where was his cousin Calhoun? And he thought of that strange

oath which bound Calhoun and himself together, and wondered what would

come of it all. But what was uppermost in his mind was the object of his

present journey. Was there anything in it, or was it a fool's errand?

Time would tell. As he was riding along a country road, pondering these

things, it suddenly occurred to him that the landscape appeared

familiar. He reined up his horse, and looked around. The fields

stretching away before him, the few trees, and above all a tumbled down,

half-ruined log hut. It was all so familiar. Yet he knew he had never

been there before. What did it mean? Could he have seen this in a dream

sometime? The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed; and the more

he was troubled.

 

A countryman came along riding a raw-boned spavined horse; a rope served

for a bridle, and an old coffee sack strapped on the sharp back of the

horse took the place of a saddle. Having no stirrups, the countryman's

huge feet hung dangling down and swung to and fro, like two weights tied

to a string; a dilapidated old hat, through whose holes stuck tufts of

his bleached tow hair, adorned his head.

 

"Stranger, you 'uns 'pears to be interested," he remarked to Fred, as

he reined in his steed, and at the same time ejected about a pint of

tobacco juice from his capacious mouth.

 

"Yes," answered Fred, "this place seems to be very familiar--one that I

have seen many times; yet to my certain knowledge, I have never been

here before. I can't understand it."

 

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

 

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

What do you mean?"

 

"Nothin', stranger, only they do say the picter of that air blamed old

shanty is every whar up No'th. Blast the ole place. I don't see anything

great in it. I wish it war sunk before he war born."

 

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

 

"Mean!" replied the native, expectorating at a stone in the road, and

hitting it fairly. "I mean that the gol-all-fir'-est, meanest cuss that

ever lived war born thar, the man what's making war on the South, and

wants to put the niggers ekal to us. Abe Lincoln, drat him, war born in

that ole house."

 

Fred reverently took off his hat. This then was the lowly birthplace of

the man whose name was in the mouths of millions. How mean, how poor it

looked, and yet to what a master mind it gave birth! The life of

Lincoln had possessed a peculiar fascination for Fred, and during the

presidential campaign of the year before the picture of his birthplace

had been a familiar one to him. He now understood why the place looked

so familiar. It was like looking on the face of one he had carefully

studied in a photograph.

 

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

the countryman.

 

"Yes, I am a stranger," answered Fred. "Then this is the place where the

President of the United States was born?"

 

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

ha' died, the ole Abolitioner."

 

Fred smiled, "Well," he said, "I must be going. I am very much obliged

to you for your information."

 

"Don't mention it, stranger, don't mention it. Say, that's a mighty fine

hoss you air ridin'; look out or some of them fellers scootin' round the

country will get him. Times mighty ticklish, stranger, mighty ticklish.

Have a chaw of terbacker?" and he extended a huge roll of Kentucky

twist.

 

"No, thank you," responded Fred, and bidding the countryman good day, he

rode away leaving him in the road staring after him, and muttering:

"Mighty stuck up! Don't chaw terbacker. Wonder if he aint one of them

Abolitioners!"

 

It was the middle of the afternoon when Fred struck the railroad at a

small station a few miles south of Elizabethtown. There was a crowd

around the little depot, and Fred saw that they were greatly excited.

Hitching his horse, he mingled with the throng, and soon learned that

the train from the south was overdue several hours. To add to the

mystery, all telegraphic communication with the south had been severed.

Strike the instrument as often as he might, the operator could get no

response.

 

"It's mighty queer," said an intelligent looking man. "There is mischief

up the road of some kind. Here Louisville has been telegraphing like mad

for hours, and can't get a reply beyond this place."

 

Here the operator came out and announced that telegraphic communication

had also been severed on the north.

 

"We are entirely cut off," he said. "I can learn nothing. We will have

to wait and see what's the matter, that's all."

 

Just then away to the south a faint tinge of smoke was seen rising, and

the cry was raised that a train was coming. The excitement arose to

fever heat, and necks were craned, and eyes strained to catch the first

glimpse of the train. At length its low rumbling could be heard, and

when at last it hove in sight, it was seen to be a very heavy one.

Slowly it drew up to the station, and to the surprise of the lookers-on

it was loaded down with soldiers.

 

"Hurrah for Louisville!" shouted the soldiers, and the crowd took up

the cry. It was Buckner's army from Bowling Green en route for

Louisville by train, hoping thereby to take the place completely by

surprise. So far, everything had gone well. Telegraphic communications

all along the line had been severed by trusty agents; the Federal

authorities at Louisville were resting in fancied security; the city was

lightly guarded.

 

Already General Buckner's hopes were high. In fancy, he heard his name

on every tongue, and heard himself called the greatest military genius

of the country. When the crowd caught the full meaning of the movement,

cheer after cheer made the welkin ring. They grasped the soldiers'

hands, and bade them wipe the Yankees from the face of the earth.

 

Fred took in the situation at a glance. This was the idea of which he

spoke to General Thomas. He had an impression that General Buckner might

attempt to do just what he was now doing. It was the hope of thwarting

the movement, if made, that had led Fred to make the journey. His

impressions had proven true; he was on the ground, but how to stop the

train was now the question. He had calculated on plenty of time, that he

could find out when the train was due, and plan his work accordingly.

But the train was before him. In a moment or two it would be gone, and

with it all opportunity to stop it. The thought was maddening. If

anything was done, it must be done quickly. The entire population of

the little village was at the depot; there was little danger of his

being noticed. Dashing into a blacksmith shop he secured a sledge; then

mounting his horse, he rode swiftly to the north. About half a mile from

the depot there was a curve in the track which would hide him from

observation. Jumping Prince over the low fence which guarded the

railroad, in a few seconds he was at work with the sledge trying to

batter out the spikes which held a rail in position. His face was pale,

his teeth set. He worked like a demon. Great drops of perspiration stood

out on his forehead, and his blows rang out like the blows of a giant.

The train whistled; it was ready to start. Fred groaned. Would he be too

late? Between his strokes he could hear the clang of the bell, the

parting cheers of the crowd. He struck like a madman. The heads of the

spikes flew off; they were driven in and the plates smashed. One end of

a rail was loosened; it was driven in a few inches. The deed was done,

and none too soon. The train was rounding the curve.

 

So busy was Fred that he had not noticed that two men on horseback had

ridden up to the fence, gazed at him a moment in astonishment, then

shouted in anger, and dismounted. Snatching a revolver from his pocket,

Fred sent a ball whistling by their ears, and yelled: "Back! back, as

you value your lives!"

 

Jumping on their horses quicker than they dismounted, they galloped

toward the approaching train, yelling and wildly gesticulating. The

engineer saw them, but it was before the day of air brakes, and it was

impossible to stop the heavy train. The engine plunged off the track,

tore up the ground and ties for a few yards, and then turned over on its

side, where it lay spouting smoke and steam, and groaning like a thing

of life. It lay partly across the track, thus completely blocking it.

The engineer and fireman had jumped, and so slowly was the train running

that the cars did not leave the track. For this Fred was devoutly

thankful. He had accomplished his object, and no one had been injured.

Jumping on his horse, he gave a shout of triumph and rode away.

 

But the frightened soldiers had been pouring from the cars. The two men

on horseback were pointing at Fred and yelling: "There! there goes the

villain who did it."

 

"Fire! fire!" thundered a colonel who had just sprung out of the

foremost car. A hundred rifles blazed. Fred's horse, was seen to stumble

slightly; the boy swayed, and leaned forward in his seat; but quickly

recovering himself, he turned around and waving his hat shouted

defiance.

 

[Illustration: "Fire! Fire!" thundered a Colonel who had just sprung out

of the foremost car.]

 

"Great heavens!" shouted a boy's voice. "That is Fred Shackelford, and

that horse is Prince." It was Calhoun Pennington who spoke. The colonel

who had given the order to fire turned pale, staggered and would have

fallen if one of his officers had not caught him.

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