General Nelson's Scout 31

General Nelson's Scout 31

Just as the gray shadows in the east betokened the ushering in of the

short January day, the crack! crack! of guns in front told that the

Federal pickets had been alarmed. The sharp reports of those guns as

they echoed back along the mud-stained ranks caused the weary soldier to

forget his weariness. The cold was no longer felt, the excitement of the

coming battle sent the blood tingling through the veins.

 

It is time to turn now to General Thomas and his little army that lay

encamped at Logan's Cross Roads in the darkness and shadows of that

gloomy night. Couriers had been sent back to hurry up the rear brigade;

orders had been sent to General Schoepf to at once forward three

regiments, but General Thomas well knew if he was attacked in the

morning none of these reinforcements would reach him.

 

The general sat in his tent, listening to Fred giving an account of what

had happened at Somerset during the three weeks he had been there. He

was especially interested in the account Fred gave of his picket fight.

 

"That, Shackelford," said the general, "was strategy worthy of a much

older head. Your little fight was also admirably managed."

 

"I had rather it had been against any one than my cousin," answered

Fred.

 

"Such things cannot be avoided," answered Thomas, with a sigh. "This is

an unhappy war. I am a Virginian, and must fight against those who are

near and dear to me."

 

Fred did not answer; he was thinking of his father.

 

The general sat as if buried in deep thought for a moment, and then

suddenly looking up, said:

 

"Shackelford, you know when we were going into camp this evening that

you said you feared an attack in the morning."

 

"I am almost positive of it, General," was Fred's reply.

 

"Will you give me your reasons?"

 

"Because the enemy is well posted and must know that you mean to attack

them when your forces are consolidated, and your army will be so strong

they cannot hope to stand before it. I am also of the opinion that they

are well informed of your isolated position here; that one of your

brigades is two days' march in the rear, also that owing to the high

stage of water in Fishing Creek it will be impossible for General

Schoepf to reinforce you for a day or two. I also believe that the enemy

has a fair estimate of your exact strength."

 

During this speech of Fred's the general listened intently, and then

said: "You have a better idea of my actual position than I trust most of

my officers have, but you said some things which need explaining. On

what grounds do you base your belief that the enemy are so well

acquainted with my situation and strength?"

 

"No positive proof, General, but an intuition which I cannot explain.

But this impression is also based on more solid ground than intuition.

Yesterday, just before I met your advance, I met a man in our uniform.

When he saw me he jumped his horse over a fence and disappeared in a

wood. I am almost certain he was a spy. To-day I caught a glimpse of

that same man in the woods yonder on our right."

 

Thomas mused a moment, and then said: "If the Confederate general fully

knows our situation and strength, he is foolish if he does not attack

me. But if he does, I shall try and be ready for him."

 

The general then once more carefully examined his maps of the country,

gave orders that a very strong picket should be posted, and that well in

advance of the infantry pickets cavalry videttes should be placed, and

that the utmost vigilance should be exercised.

 

Then turning to Fred, he said: "If your expectations are realized in the

morning, you may act as one of my aids. And now, gentlemen," said he,

turning to his staff, "for some sleep; we must be astir early in the

morning."

 

In the gray light of the early morning, from away out in front, there

came the faint report of rifles. Nearer and more rapid grew the firing.

Early as it was, General Thomas and staff had had their breakfast, and

every soldier was prepared.

 

General Manson, in command of the advance regiments, came galloping back

to headquarters.

 

"General," he said, "we are attacked in force."

 

"Go back," replied General Thomas, without betraying any more excitement

than if he were ordering his men out on review, "form your men in the

most advantageous position, and hold the enemy until I can bring up the

rest of the troops."

 

In a trice aids were galloping in every direction. Fred found enough to

do. The fitful reports of guns in front had become a steady roll of

musketry. The loud mouth of the cannon joined in, and the heavy

reverberations rolled over field and through forest. In an incredibly

short time every regiment was in motion towards where the heavy smoke of

battle was already hanging over the field.

 

Of all the thousands, the general commanding seemed the most

unconcerned. He leisurely mounted his horse and trotted toward the

conflict. His eye swept the field, and as the regiments came up they

were placed just where they were needed. His manner inspired every one

who saw him with confidence.

 

To Fred the scene was inexpressibly grand. This, then, was a battle. The

wild cheering of men, the steady roll of musketry, the deep bass of

cannon, thrilled him with an excitement never felt before. The singing

of the balls made strange music in his ears. Now and then a shell or

solid shot would crash through the forest and shatter the trees as with

a thunderbolt. Soon a thin line of men came staggering back, some

holding up an arm streaming with blood, others hobbling along using

their guns as crutches. A few, wild with fear, had thrown away their

guns, and were rushing back, lost to shame, lost to honor, lost to

everything but an insane desire to get out of that hell of fire.

 

Fred was a born soldier. At first there was a lump in the throat, as if

the heart was trying to get away, a slight trembling of the limbs, a

momentary desire to get out of danger, and then he was as cool and

collected as if on parade. Through the storm of balls he rode,

delivering his orders with a smiling face, and a word of cheer. General

Thomas noticed the coolness of his aid, and congratulated him on his

soldierly qualities.

 

On the left, in front of the Fourth Kentucky Regiment, the battle was

being waged with obstinate fury. Colonel Fry, seeing Fred, rode up to

him, and said: "Tell General Thomas I must have reinforcements at once;

the enemy is flanking me."

 

Away went Fred to deliver the order.

 

"Say to Colonel Fry," said Thomas, "that I will at once forward the aid

required. Until the reinforcements come, tell him to hold his position

at all hazards."

 

The message was delivered. Fry compressed his lips, glanced along his

line, saw the point of greatest danger, and quickly ordered two of his

left companies to the right, leading them in person, Fred going with

him.

 

An officer enveloped in a large gray coat suddenly rode out of the wood,

and galloping up to them shouted: "For God's sake, stop firing! You are

firing on your own men."

 

Just then two other officers rode up to the one in a gray cloak. Seeing

Colonel Fry and Fred, they at once fired on them. Colonel Fry was

slightly wounded, but Fred was untouched. As quick as thought both

returned the fire. The officer at whom Fred fired reeled in his saddle,

then straightened up and galloped to the rear. Colonel Fry fired at the

officer in the gray cloak. He threw up his arms, and then plunged

headlong to the ground.

 

The bullet from Colonel Fry's pistol had pierced the heart of General

Zollicoffer.

 

The battle now raged along the entire line with great fury. The lowering

clouds grew darker, and the pitiless rain, cold and icy, fell on the

upturned faces of the dead. The cruel storm beat upon the wounded, and

they shivered and moaned as their life's blood ebbed away. The smoke

settled down over the field and hid the combatants from view, but

through the gloom the flashes of the guns shone like fitful tongues of

flame. Then the Federal line began to press forward, and soon the whole

Confederate army was in full retreat.

 

[Illustration: The Battle now raged along the entire line with great

fury.]

 

It was at this time that Fred's attention was attracted to a young

Confederate officer, who was trying to rally his men. Bravely did he

strive to stay the panic, but suddenly Fred saw him falter, sway to and

fro, and then fall. Once more did the Confederates try to rally under

the leadership of a young mounted officer, but they were swept aside,

and the battle was over.

 

Fred's first thought was for the young Confederate officer whom he saw

fall while trying to rally his men. There was something about him that

seemed familiar. Could it be Calhoun? Fred's heart stood still at the

thought. Fred soon found the object of his search. He was lying on his

side, his head resting on his left arm, his right hand still grasping

his sword, a smile on his face. As Fred looked on the placid face of the

dead, a groan burst from him, and the tears gushed from his eyes. With

his handkerchief he wiped away the grime of battle, and there, in all

his manly beauty, Bailie Peyton lay before him. Fred's thoughts flew

back to that day at Gallatin. No more would those eloquent lips hold

entranced a spellbound audience. No more would his fiery words stir the

hearts of his countrymen, even as the wind stirs the leaves of the

forest.

 

Tenderly did Fred have him carried back and laid by the side of his

fallen chieftain. Both were given the honor due them. As soon as

possible the remains of both were forwarded through the lines to Nashville.