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
