THE DUEL.
IN August, 1862, Cumberland Gap, the gateway between Eastern Kentucky and
East Tennessee, was held by a Federal force of over ten thousand,
commanded by General George W. Morgan. It was this force which confronted
General Kirby Smith as he set out to invade Kentucky.
The place being too strong to carry by assault, General Smith left a force
in front of the Gap to menace it, made a flank movement with the rest of
his army, passed through Roger’s Gap unopposed, and without paying any
attention to the force at Cumberland Gap, pushed on with all speed for
Central Kentucky.
At the same time General Bragg made his long-expected advance from
Chattanooga, completely deceiving Buell, who first concentrated his army
at Altamont and then at MacMinnville. Bragg marched unopposed up the
Sequatchie Valley to Sparta. General George H. Thomas had advised Buell to
occupy Sparta, but the advice was rejected. Buell could not, or would not,
see that Kentucky was Bragg’s objective point. He now believed that
Nashville or Murfreesboro was the point of danger, and he concentrated his
army at the latter place.
From Sparta General Bragg had marched to Carthage, crossed the Cumberland
River, and was well on his way to Kentucky before Buell waked up. Bragg
was then three days ahead of him. If Bragg had marched straight for
Louisville, there would have been no troops to oppose him until he reached
that place, and Louisville would have fallen. But he stopped to take
Mumfordsville, and the delay was fatal. It gave Buell the opportunity to
overtake him.
When the forward movement began, Colonel John H. Morgan was ordered to
Eastern Kentucky to watch the force at Cumberland Gap and prevent it from
falling on the rear of the army of General Smith. Smith moved rapidly, and
on August 29 fought the battle of Richmond, where a Federal force of seven
thousand was almost annihilated, only about eight hundred escaping.
By the movements of Smith and Bragg the Federal force at Cumberland Gap
was cut off. For that army the situation was a grave one. In their front
was General Stevenson with a force too small to attack, but large enough
to keep them from advancing. In their rear were the Confederate armies.
They were short of food; starvation stared them in the face. It was either
surrender or a retreat through the mountains of Eastern Kentucky.
General George W. Morgan called a council of his officers, and it was
decided to evacuate the Gap and attempt the retreat. The Gap was evacuated
on the night of the 17th of September. All government property which could
not be carried away was given to the flames. The rough mountain road had
been mined, and the mines were exploded to prevent Stevenson from
following. But as Stevenson’s force was infantry, it would be of little
avail in following the retreating Federals.
A toilsome march of two hundred and twenty miles over rough mountainous
roads lay between the Federals and the Ohio River. To the credit of
General G. W. Morgan be it said, he conducted the retreat with consummate
skill. It was expected that a Confederate force in Eastern Kentucky under
General Humphrey Marshall would try to cut the Federals off; but Marshall
never appeared, and it was left to the brigade of John H. Morgan to do
what they could to oppose the retreat. One cavalry brigade could not stop
the progress of ten thousand well-disciplined troops. Day after day Morgan
hung on the Federal flanks and rear, taking advantage of every opening,
and making their way a weary one. After a toilsome march of sixteen days,
the Federal force, footsore and completely exhausted, reached the Ohio at
Greenupsburg on the Ohio River, and was safe.
During these sixteen days, Calhoun was almost continually in the saddle,
the foremost to strike, the last to retreat. When the pursuit was ended,
his little band of scouts had seventy-five prisoners to their credit.
When Morgan saw that it was useless to follow the retreating army any
longer, without taking any rest he turned the head of his column toward
Central Kentucky, for he knew he would be needed there.
Calhoun could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the change a few weeks
had effected. All Central Kentucky had been swept clear of the Federals.
Panic-stricken they had fled back to Louisville and Cincinnati, and were
cowering in their trenches. Indiana and Ohio were in an agony of fear. The
governors were frantically calling on the people to arise _en masse_ and
save their states from invasion.
When the command reached Danville, Calhoun was nearly beside himself with
joy. Over the courthouse floated the Stars and Bars of the South. It was
the first time Calhoun had ever seen there the flag he loved so well. With
a proud hurrah he dashed up to the door of his father’s residence; there
was no one to molest him or make him afraid. From the house of every
friend of the South hung a Confederate flag.
“Redeemed! Kentucky redeemed at last!” shouted Calhoun, as he dismounted.
But he was disappointed in not finding his father at home. The Judge was
in Frankfort, helping to form a provisional government for the state. Many
of the more sanguine of the Southern element of the state already
considered it safe in the Confederacy.
Although his father was not at home, Calhoun received a most joyful
welcome. “Bress de chile, if he isn’t bac’ again,” cried Aunt Chloe.
“Yes, Chloe,” said Calhoun, as he shook her honest black hand, “and now be
sure and get up one of your best dinners, I can eat it in peace this time.
And, Chloe, cook enough for a dozen; Colonel Morgan, with his staff, will
be here to dine.”
But what Morgan’s command learned was anything but satisfactory. Kirby
Smith had advanced to within six miles of Covington, there halted, and at
last fallen back. Bragg, instead of marching direct to Louisville, had
turned aside to Bardstown, allowing Buell’s army to enter the city of
Louisville unopposed. There Buell had been joined by twenty thousand fresh
troops. Clothing and refitting his men, he had turned, and was now
marching on Bardstown. A great battle might be fought any day. In fact, it
was reported that Bragg had already abandoned Bardstown and was marching
in the direction of Danville or Harrodsburg.
“I don’t like it at all,” said Morgan. “Our generals have already let the
golden opportunity pass. But there is still hope. With the armies of Bragg
and Smith united, they should be strong enough to give battle and crush
Buell.”
So good was the dinner and so animated the discussion, that it was late in
the afternoon when they arose from the table. As they came out Morgan
suddenly stopped and said, “Hark!”
Away in the northwest, in the direction of Perryville, the dull heavy
booming of cannon was heard. They listened and the dull roar, like distant
thunder, was continuous.
“A battle is being fought,” they said, in low tones; “May God favor the
right!”
At Perryville the forces of Buell and Bragg had met, and were engaged in
deadly strife. Until nightfall the heavy dull roar was heard, and then it
died away. Which army had been victorious? They could not tell.
After the battle of Perryville, Buell, fully expecting that Bragg would
fight a decisive battle for the possession of the state, remained inactive
for three days for the purpose of concentrating his army. It was fatal to
all his hopes, for Bragg had already decided to leave the state, and he
utilized the three days in getting away with his immense trains. He had
been grievously disappointed in the hope that his army would be largely
recruited, and that at least twenty thousand Kentuckians would flock to
his standard. But Kentucky had already been well drained of men,
furnishing troops by thousands for both sides.
From one point of view, the invasion of Kentucky by the Confederates had
been a magnificent success. A loss of at least twenty thousand had been
inflicted on the Federal armies, while the loss of the Confederate army
had not been over one-third of that number. In addition to that, the
immense stores gathered and taken South were of inestimable value to the
army. But in the chagrin and disappointment over Bragg’s retreat these
things were lost sight of and the Confederate general was most bitterly
denounced.
Calhoun went wild when he heard that the state was to be given up without
a decisive battle, that all that had been gained was to go for naught; and
his feelings were shared by all Morgan’s men.
“It won’t prevent us from visiting the state once in a while,” said
Morgan, with a grim smile.
As for Judge Pennington, he was so disgusted that although his whole heart
was with the South, he gave up all idea of forming a state government
loyal to the Confederacy, and remained quiet during the rest of the war.
“The armies will have to settle it,” he would say; “we can do nothing
here.”
One of the first things that Calhoun did after he reached Danville was to
see Jennie Freeman and thank her for her timely warning. “It was kind of
you, Jennie,” he said, “for I know that you hate the cause for which I am
fighting.”
“My conscience has hurt me awfully ever since,” replied Jennie, with a
toss of her head; “and then I believe you told me an awful fib.”
“Why, how is that, Jennie?” asked Calhoun.
“You worked on my sympathy, and said if you were caught you would be
hanged. The Union forces don’t hang prisoners. They would only have shut
you up, and that is what you deserve.”
“But, Jennie, I was in disguise; they would have hanged me as a spy.”
“Don’t believe it, but I sometimes think half of you Rebels ought to be
hanged.”
“Oh, Jennie, Jennie! what a bloodthirsty creature you have grown! But
where is your father?”
“Thank the Lord, where the old flag yet floats—in Louisville. He will stay
there until that rag comes down,” and she pointed to the Confederate flag
floating over the courthouse.
“Poor girl, never to see her father again,” exclaimed Calhoun, in tones of
compassion.
“What do you mean?” she asked, turning pale. A sudden fear had come over
her; had anything befallen her father?
Calhoun saw her mistake. Laughing, he said, “I only meant that flag would
never come down.”
“Is that all?” she replied, saucily; “you all will be scurrying south like
so many rabbits in less than a week.”
“Give us ten days.”
“No, not an hour more than a week. And mind, if you get caught, you
needn’t call on me for help.”
“Well, Jennie, don’t let’s quarrel. Perhaps I can return the favor you did
me, by helping you some day.”
The opportunity came sooner than he expected. The next day Jennie ventured
out to visit a sick friend. On her return she had to pass a couple of
Confederate officers, one of whom was intoxicated. The other appeared to
be reasoning with him, and trying to get him to go to his quarters.
As Jennie was hurrying past them, the one who was intoxicated staggered
toward her, and leering at her, exclaimed, “How—how do, pretty one? Give
me a—a kiss!”
Jennie turned to flee, but he caught her roughly by the arm. Just as he
did so, he was struck a terrific blow in the face, which sent him rolling
in the gutter.
“Take my arm, Jennie,” said Calhoun, for it was he who struck the blow, “I
will see you safe home.”
The trembling girl took his arm, saying: “Oh, Calhoun, how glad I am you
came! How can I thank you enough! Do you know that dreadful man?”
“Yes, I am sorry to say he is a captain in Morgan’s command. His name is
Conway. We left him back in Tennessee wounded. But he was able to follow
Bragg’s army, and he joined us only yesterday. By the way, it was Fred
Shackelford who shot him. He shot him when he got Prince back. Conway was
riding Blenheim.”
“Oh, Fred told me all about that. Wasn’t that just splendid in him,
getting his horse back!”
“Where is Fred now?” asked Calhoun.
“I don’t know. Did you know General Nelson was shot?”
“Shot? Nelson shot?” cried Calhoun. “Where? How?”
Jennie had to tell him what little she knew about it. All that she had
heard had come from Confederate sources.
“Well, Jennie, here you are at home. I feel ashamed. It is the first time
I ever knew one of Morgan’s men to insult a woman.”
“I hope that miserable Conway will give you no trouble,” said Jennie, as
they parted.
“No fears on that score,” lightly replied Calhoun, as he bade her
good-bye.
But Calhoun well knew there would be trouble. No Kentucky officer would
forgive a blow, no matter what the provocation was under which it was
given.
The blow which Conway received had the effect of sobering him, but he
presented a pitiable sight. His face was covered with blood, and one eye
was nearly closed. When he knew it was Calhoun that had struck him, his
rage was fearful. Nothing but blood would wipe out the insult. For a
Kentucky gentleman not to resent a blow meant disgrace and dishonor; he
would be looked upon as a contemptible coward. But Conway was no coward.
He knew he was in fault, but that would not wipe out the disgrace of the
blow. There was but one thing for him to do, and that was to challenge
Calhoun.
That night Calhoun was waited upon by Captain Mathews, who in the name of
Conway demanded an abject apology. This, of course, was refused, and a
formal challenge was delivered. Calhoun at once accepted it, and referred
Mathews to his friend Lieutenant Matson.
“Look here, Pennington,” said Mathews, “I do not want you to think I
uphold Conway in what he did. I am no saint, but I never insulted a woman.
Conway would not have done it if he had not been drunk. I was just going
to the lady’s rescue when you struck the blow. There was no need of
knocking Conway down. I understand the girl is a Lincolnite, but that
makes no difference, Conway is right in demanding satisfaction.”
“And I am willing to give it to him,” answered Calhoun. “The only thing I
ask is that the affair be arranged quickly. Let it be to-morrow morning at
sunrise. And, Captain, understand that I bear you no grudge. I consider
your action perfectly honorable.”
Mathews bowed and withdrew. He and Matson quickly arranged the
preliminaries. The meeting was to take place at sunrise, in a secluded
spot near Danville; the weapons were pistols, the distance fifteen paces.
Only one shot was to be allowed. The affair had to be managed with the
utmost secrecy; above all things, it had to be kept from the ears of
Morgan. But it was whispered from one to another until half the officers
knew of it. None blamed Calhoun, yet none could see how Conway could avoid
giving the challenge.
“Both are dead men,” said an officer, with a grave shake of the head.
“Morgan ought to be told; he would stop it.”
“Tell Morgan if you dare!” cried half a dozen voices.
“Oh, I am not going to tell; if they wish to kill each other it’s none of
my business,” replied the officer, turning away.
Calhoun was known as the best pistol shot in the brigade, and Conway was
no mean marksman. Everyone thought it would be a bloody affair. Many were
aware of the enmity which Conway held toward Calhoun, and knew he would
kill him if he could. Meanwhile Jennie slept unconscious of the danger
Calhoun was in for her sake.
It was a beautiful autumn morning when they met. The sun was just rising,
touching woods, and fields, and the spires of the distant town with its
golden light. The meeting was in a place which Calhoun well knew. How
often he had played there when a boy! It was an open glade in the midst of
a grove of mighty forest trees. The trees had taken on the beautiful hues
of autumn, and they flamed with red and gold and orange.
At least twenty had assembled to witness the duel. A surgeon stood near
with an open case of instruments at his feet. Many glanced at it, but
turned their eyes away quickly. It was too suggestive.
The principals were placed in position. A hush came over the little group
of spectators. Even the breeze seemed no longer to whisper lovingly among
the trees, but took upon itself the wail of a dirge, and a shower of
leaves, red as blood, fell around the contestants.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked Mathews.
“Ready!” answered Calhoun.
“Ready!” said Conway.
“One—two—three—fire!”
Conway’s pistol blazed, and Calhoun felt a slight twinge of pain. The ball
had grazed his left side, near the heart, and drawn a few drops of blood.
For a moment Calhoun stood, then coolly raised his pistol and fired in the
air.
The spectators raised a shout of applause; but Conway was white with rage.
“I demand another shot,” he shouted, “Pennington’s action has made a farce
of this meeting.”
“It was the condition that but one shot should be allowed,” remonstrated
Mathews.
“The condition has not been fulfilled,” angrily replied Conway; “I demand
another shot.”
In the mean time Matson had gone up to Calhoun, and seeing the hole
through his clothing, exclaimed. “My God! are you shot, Lieutenant?”
“A mere scratch; it’s nothing,” answered Calhoun.
An examination showed it to be so, but blood had been drawn. This should
have satisfied Conway, but it did not; he still insisted on a second shot.
This the seconds were about to refuse absolutely, when Calhoun asked to be
heard.
“Although Captain Conway richly deserved the blow I gave him,” he said,
“yet as a gentleman and an officer I felt he could do no less than
challenge me. I have given him the satisfaction he demanded. If he insists
on continuing the duel, I shall conclude it is his desire to kill me
through personal malice, not on account of his injured honor, which
according to the code has been satisfied. This time there will be no
firing in the air. Give him the second shot, if he desires it.”
“No! No!” cried a dozen voices.
Mathews went up to Conway, and speaking in a low tone, said: “You fool, do
you want to be killed? Pennington will kill you as sure as fate, if you
insist on the second shot. Now you are out of it honorably.”
Conway mumbled something, and Mathews turning around, said: “Gentlemen, my
principal acknowledges himself satisfied. It is with pleasure that I
compliment both of the principals in this affair. They have conducted
themselves like true Kentucky gentlemen, and I trust they will part as
such.”
“Shake hands, gentlemen, shake hands,” cried their friends, crowding
around them.
Calhoun gave his freely, but Conway extended his coldly. There was a look
in his eye which foreboded future trouble.
Such a meeting could not be kept secret, and it soon came to the ears of
Morgan. Both of the principals, as well as the seconds were summoned into
his presence. He listened to all the details in silence, and then said:
“It is well that this affair resulted as it did. If either one of the
principals had fallen, the other would have been summarily dealt with.
Both of you,” looking at Conway and Calhoun, “were to blame. Lieutenant
Pennington should not have struck the blow: no gentleman will tamely
submit to the indignity of a blow. As for you, Captain Conway, I am
surprised that you, one of my officers, should insult a lady. If this
offence is ever repeated, intoxication will be no plea in its extenuation.
Heretofore it has been our proud boast that where Morgan’s men are there
any lady, be she for North or South, is as safe as in her own home. Let us
see that it will always be so.”
The men who heard burst into a wild cheer. Each of them was a knight to
uphold the honor of woman.
As Captain Conway listened to the reprimand, his red face became redder.
His heart was full of anger, but he was diplomat enough to listen with
becoming humility. To his fellow-officers his plea was intoxication, and
in the stirring times which followed, his offence was forgotten.
Scouts came dashing into the city with the startling intelligence that a
large Federal force was advancing on the place. It was not long before a
battle was being waged through the streets. Before an overwhelming force
of infantry Morgan had to fall back.
Bragg was in full retreat, and to Morgan fell the lot of guarding the
rear. As they were falling back from Camp Dick Robinson, Calhoun met a
Major Hockoday, who to him was the bearer of sad news. The Major said that
that morning his men pursued a Federal scout who had ventured inside their
lines. In his effort to escape he had fallen over the cliff of Dick River,
and been killed. “And I am sorry to say,” added the Major, “that that
scout was your cousin, Captain Fred Shackelford.”
“Are you sure?” asked Calhoun, in a trembling voice.
“Perfectly sure. I knew him too well to be mistaken. For the sake of his
father, I sent word to the overseer of the General’s plantation so that
the body could be found, and given Christian burial.”
“Thank you,” replied Calhoun, as he turned away with swimming eyes. All
his old love for his cousin had returned. There was little heart in
Calhoun for battle that day. It was weeks before he learned that Fred was
not dead.