THE BATTLE OF MILL SPRINGS.
Fred was right in his surmise that Calhoun had been acting the part of a
spy. He had been playing a very dangerous game, and had been successful.
Disguised as a country boy, he had boldly entered Columbia, and in a
great measure had fathomed the plans of General Thomas. It was a matter
of common report that as soon as the army could be concentrated, General
Zollicoffer would be attacked. Calhoun had made a careful estimate of
the strength of Thomas' army, and when met by Fred he was taking an
observation of his order of march, and how long it would take the rear
brigade to reinforce the advance brigade, if it should be attacked.
The sudden meeting with Fred was a surprise to him. But when he heard
Fred's voice he knew his life was in no danger; yet he dare not tarry,
even for a moment, and so escaped as we have seen.
No sooner was he out of sight of Fred than he checked his horse. "That
was a lucky escape," he said to himself. "If I had to meet any one, it
was fortunate I met Fred. Poor fellow! I wonder what he thought of me!
I would so much like to have a talk with him, but it would have been
madness to have stopped, and then it would have placed him in a very
awkward predicament. Selim, old boy," continued he, patting his horse's
neck, "we have work yet before us; we must see where General Thomas
camps."
It was early on the morning of January 18th that Calhoun rode into the
Confederate camp at Beech Grove. Without changing his mud-bespattered
garments, he at once sought the quarters of Major-General G. B.
Crittenden, who had been placed in chief command of the army.
"Ah, Lieutenant," exclaimed the general, "I am glad to see you. I have
been thinking of you, and blaming myself for permitting you to go on
your hazardous adventure. He who acts as a spy takes his life in his
hands."
"It is an old saying that 'all is well that ends well,'" Calhoun
answered, smiling. "You ought to have seen what a splendid country
bumpkin I made; and I have succeeded beyond my most sanguine
expectations. I have very important news for you, General. General
Thomas is now encamped at Logan's Cross Roads, only ten miles away. He
will wait there for his rear brigade, and also for reinforcements from
Somerset. He has only one brigade with him, numbering not much over
4,000 men."
Calhoun then went on and gave General Crittenden the full details of the
strength of the Federal army, saying that he thought the rear brigade
of Thomas' army could not reach Logan's Cross Roads for at least two
days, and that owing to the height of water in Fishing Creek he believed
it impossible for Thomas to receive reinforcements from Somerset.
"If these forces all combine, General," continued Calhoun, "they will so
far outnumber us that it would be madness to risk a battle. To-morrow
Thomas will be isolated; his force is inferior to yours. I believe he
can be crushed."
"You think that your information as to numbers and position is
absolutely correct, do you?" asked the general.
"I do, General," answered Calhoun. "If you attack General Thomas in the
morning I am confident you will attack with a superior force."
"It is either that or a disastrous retreat," said the general, gravely.
"I will call a council of my officers at once. I wish you to appear
before them."
"As soon as I can get off some of this mud I will be ready," answered
Calhoun.
The council was called, and General Crittenden laid the facts before his
officers. Calhoun was asked a great many questions, to all of which he
gave full and sufficient answers. The council, without a dissenting
voice, voted to attack Thomas the next morning.
It was nearly midnight when the Confederates marched out of their
entrenchments, General Zollicoffer's brigade having the advance.
Calhoun acted as aid on the staff of General Crittenden. The distance,
ten miles, made a fearful night march, considering the roads. Calhoun
afterwards said that it was one of the worst marches he ever made. The
night was dark and gloomy. A cold drizzling rain fell that chilled the
soldiers to the very bone. Through the rain and the mud for hour after
hour the brave men of the Confederacy toiled on, animated by the hope
that they would soon meet and hurl back in inglorious defeat the men
whom they considered ruthless invaders of their soil. It took nearly
seven hours to march that ten miles, every step being taken through mud
and water, sometimes nearly knee deep.
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.
It was not the city that Fred saw in August. Then it was wild and
hilarious with joy, carried away with the pomp and glory of war.
Zollicoffer was the idol of the people of Tennessee; Bailie Peyton of
its young men. That both should fall in the same battle plunged
Nashville in deepest mourning.
When the bodies arrived, it was a city of tears. Flags floated at
half-mast; women walked the streets wringing their hands and weeping
bitter tears. Their idols lay dead. Poor Nashville! She was to drink
still deeper of the bitter cup of war.