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.
[Illustration: 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.