The Guns of Bull Run: A Story of the Civil War's Eve

There were piazzas on both sides of the house, and a porch in the rear. Colonel Kenton disposed his men deftly in order to meet the foe at any point. The stone pillars would afford protection for the riflemen. He, his son and old Judge Kendrick, held the portico in front.

Harry crouched behind a pillar, his fingers on the trigger of a rifle, and his holster containing the big double-barreled pistols lying at his feet. Impressionable, and with a horror of injustice, his heart was filled with rage. It was merely a band of outlaws who were coming to plunder and destroy his beautiful home and to kill any who resisted. He had respected those who held Sumter so long, but these fought only for their own hand.

A slight sound came from the road, a little distance to the south. He waited until it was repeated and then he was sure.

"They're out there," he whispered to his father at the next pillar.

"I heard them," replied the colonel. "They'll come upon the lawn, hiding behind the pines, and hoping to surprise the house. I fancy the surprise will be theirs, not ours. When you shoot, Harry, shoot to kill, or they will surely kill us. Keep as much as you can behind the pillar, and don't get excited."

Colonel Kenton was quite calm. The old soldier had returned to his work. Wary and prepared, he was not loath to meet the enemy. Harry, keeping his father's orders well in mind, crouched a little lower and waited. Presently he heard a slight rustling, and he knew that Skelly's men were among the dwarf pines on the lawn. The rustling continued and came nearer. Harry glanced at his father, who was behind a pillar not ten feet away.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" called Colonel Kenton into the darkness.

There was no answer and the rustling ceased. Harry heard nothing but the gentle fall of the rain.

"Speak up!" called the colonel once more. "Who are you?"

The answer came. Forty or fifty rifles cracked among the pines. Harry saw little flashes of fire, and he heard bullets hiss so venomously that a chill ran along his spine. There was a patter of lead on every side of the house, but most of the shots came from the front lawn. It was well that the colonel, Harry and the judge, were sheltered by the big pillars, or two or three shots out of so many would have found a mark.

Harry's rage, which had cooled somewhat while he was waiting, returned. He began to peer around the edge of the pillar, and seek a target, but the colonel whispered to him to hold his fire.

"Getting no reply, they'll creep a little closer presently and fire a second volley," he said.

Harry pressed closer to the pillar, kneeling low, as he had learned already that nine out of ten men fire too high in battle. He heard once more the rustling among the pines, and he knew that Skelly's men were advancing. Doubtless they believed that the defenders had fled within the house at the first volley.

He heard suddenly the clicking of gun locks, and the rifles crashed together again, but now the fire was given at much closer range. Harry saw a dusky figure beside a pine not thirty feet away, and he instantly pulled trigger upon it. His father's own rifle cracked at the same time, and two cries of pain came from the lawn. The boy, hot with the fire of battle, snatched the pistols out of the holsters and sent in four more shots.

Rapid reports from the other side of the house showed that the defenders there were also repelling attacks.

But Skelly's men, finding that they could not rush the house, kept up a siege from the ambush of the pines. Bullets rattled like hailstones against the thick brick walls of the house, and several times the smashing of glass told that windows had been shot in. Harry's blood now grew feverishly hot and his anger mounted with it. It was intolerable that these outlaws should attack people in their own homes. Lying almost flat on the floor of the portico he reloaded his rifle and pistols. As he raised his head to seek a new shot, a bullet tipped his ear, burning it like a streak of fire, and flattened against the wall behind him. He fired instantly at the base of the flash and a cry of pain showed that the bullet had struck a human target.

Harry, in his excitement, raised himself a little for another shot, and a second bullet cut dangerously near. A warning command came from his father, veteran warrior of the plains, to keep down, and he obeyed promptly. Then followed a period of long and intensely anxious waiting. Harry thought that if the night would only lighten they could get a clean sweep of the lawn and drive away the mountaineers, but it grew darker instead and the wind rose. He heard the boughs of the clipped pines rustle as they were whipped together, and the cold drops lashed him in the face. He had become soaking wet, lying on the floor of the portico, but he did not notice it.

Harry saw far to his left a single dim light in the dip beyond the forest, and he knew that it shone through a window in one of the houses of Pendleton.

It seemed amazing that so bitter a combat should be going on here, while the people slept peacefully in the town below. But there was not one chance in a thousand that they would hear of the battle on such a night. Then an idea came to him, and creeping to his father he made his proposition. Colonel Kenton opposed it vigorously, but Harry insisted. He knew every inch of the grounds. Why should he not? He had played over them all his life, and he could be in the fields and away in less than two minutes.

Colonel Kenton finally consulted Judge Kendrick, and the judge agreed with Harry. Besieged by so many, they needed help and the boy was the one to bring it. Then Colonel Kenton consented that Harry should go, but pressed his hand and told him to be very careful.

The boy went back into the house, passing through the dark rooms to the rear. As he went, he heard the sound of sobbing. It was the colored servants crying with terror. He found the constable and Senator Culver on watch on the back porch and whispered to them his errand.

"For God's sake, be careful, Harry," the Senator whispered back. "Bad blood is boiling now. Some of Skelly's men have been hit hard, and if they caught you they'd shoot you without mercy."

"But they won't catch me," replied the boy with confidence. Thinking it would be in the way in his rapid flight, he gave his rifle to the senator, and taking the heavy pistols from the holsters, thrust them in the pockets of his coat. Then he dropped lightly from the porch and lay for a few moments in the darkness and on the wet ground, absolutely still.

A strange thrill ran through Harry Kenton when his body touched the damp earth. The contact seemed to bring to him strength and courage. Doubts fled away. He would succeed in the trial. He could not possibly fail. His great-grandfather, Henry Ware, had been a renowned borderer and Indian fighter, one of the most famous in all the annals of Kentucky, gifted with almost preternatural power, surpassing the Indians themselves in the lore and craft of forest and trail. It was said too, that the girl, Lucy Upton, who became Henry Ware's wife and who was Harry's great-grandmother, had received this same gift of forest divination. His own first name had been given to him in honor of that redoubtable great-grandfather.

Now all the instincts of Harry's famous ancestors became intensely alive in him. The blood of those who had been compelled for so many years to watch and fight poured in a full tide through his veins. His bearing became sharper, his eyes saw through the darkness like those of a cat, and a certain sixth sense, hitherto a dormant instinct which would warn of danger, came suddenly to life.

Two parallel rows of honeysuckle bushes ran back some distance to a vegetable garden. He reckoned that the mountaineers would be hiding behind these, and therefore he turned away to the right, where dwarf pines, clipped into cones, grew as on the front lawn. The grass, helped by a wet spring, had grown already to a height of several inches, and Harry was surprised at the ease with which he drew his body through it. Every inch of garment upon him was soaked with rain, but he took no thought of the fact. He felt a certain fierce joy in the wildness of night and storm, and he was ready to defy any number of mountaineers.

The sixth and new sense suddenly gave warning and he lay flat in the wet grass just under one of the pines. Then he saw three men rise from their shelter behind a honeysuckle bush, walk forward, and stand in a group talking about ten feet behind him. Although they were not visible from the house he saw them clearly enough. One of them was Skelly himself, and all three were of villainous face. Straining his ear he could hear what they said and now he was very glad indeed that he had come.

It was the plan of Skelly to wait in silence and patience a long time. The defenders would conclude that he and his men had gone away, and then the mountaineers could either rush the house or set it on fire. If the final resort was fire, they could easily shoot Colonel Kenton and his friends as they ran out. It was Skelly who spoke of this hideous plan, laughing as he spoke, and Harry's hand went instinctively toward the butt of one of the pistols. But his will made him draw it away again, and, motionless in the grass, lying flat upon his face, he continued to listen.

Skelly's plan was accepted and they moved away to tell the others. Harry rose a little, and crept rapidly through the grass toward the vegetable garden.

Again he was surprised at his own skill. Acute of ear as he had become he could scarcely hear the brushing of the grass as he passed. As he approached the garden he saw two more men, rifles in hand, walking about, but paying little heed to them he kept on until he lay against the fence enclosing the garden.

It was a fence of palings, spiked at the top, and climbing it was a problem. Studying the question for a moment or two he decided that it was too dangerous to be risked, and moving cautiously along he began to feel of the palings. At last he came to one that was loose, and he pulled it entirely free at the bottom. Then he slipped through and into the garden. Here were long rows of grapevines, fastened on sticks, and, for a few moments, he lay flat behind one of the rows. He knew that he was not yet entirely safe, as the mountaineers were keen of eye and ear, and an outer guard of skirmishers might be lying in the garden itself. But he was now even keener of eye and hearing than they, and he could detect nothing living near him. The house also, and all about it, was silent. Evidently Skelly's men had settled down to a long siege, and Harry rejoiced in the amount of time they gave him.

He rose to his feet, but, stooped to only half his height, he ran swiftly behind the row of grapevines to the far end of the garden, leaped over the fence and continued his rapid flight toward Pendleton, where the single light still burned. He surmised that his father had received the warning too late to gather more than a few friends, and that the rest of the town was yet in deep ignorance.

The first house he reached, the one in which the light burned, was that of Gardner, the editor, and he beat heavily upon the door. Gardner himself opened it, and he started back in astonishment at the wild figure covered with mud, a heavy pistol clutched in the right hand.

"In Heaven's name, who are you?" he cried.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Gardner? I'm Harry Kenton, come back from Charleston! Bill Skelly and fifty of his men have ridden down from the mountains and are besieging us in our house, intending to rob and kill! The constable is there and so are Judge Kendrick, Senator Culver, and a few others, but we need help and I've come for it!"

He spoke in such a rapid, tense manner that every word carried conviction.

"Excuse me for not knowing you, Harry," Gardner said, "but you're calling at a rather unusual time in a rather unusual manner, and you have the most thorough mask of mud I ever saw on anybody. Wait a minute and I'll be with you."

He returned in half the time, and the two of them soon had the town up and stirring. Pendleton was largely Southern in sympathy, and even those who held other views did not wholly relish an attack upon one of its prominent men by a band of unclassified mountaineers. Lights sprang up all over the town. Men poured from the houses and there was no house then that did not contain at least one rifle.

In a half hour sixty or seventy men, well armed with rifles and pistols, were on their way to Colonel Kenton's house. Only a few drops of rain were falling now, and the thin edge of the moon appeared between clouds. There was a little light. The relieving party advanced swiftly and without noise. They were all accustomed to outdoor life and the use of weapons, and they needed few commands. Gardner came nearer than anyone else to being the leader, although Harry kept by his side.

They went on Harry's own trail, passing through the garden and hurrying toward the house. Three or four dim figures fled before them, running between the rows of vines. The Pendleton men fired at them, and then raised a great shout, as they rushed for the lawn. The mountaineers took to instant flight, making for the woods, where they had left their horses.

Colonel Kenton and his friends came from the house, shaking hands joyfully with their deliverers. Lanterns were produced, and they searched the lawn. Three men lay stiff and cold behind the dwarf pines. Harry shuddered. He was seeing for the first time the terrible fruits of civil war. It was not merely the pitched battles of armies, but often neighbor against neighbor, and sometimes the cloak of North or South would be used as a disguise for the basest of motives.

They also found two sanguinary trails leading to the wood in which the mountaineers had hitched their horses, indicating that the defenders of the Kenton house had shot well. But by the next morning Skelly's men had made good their flight far into the hills where no one could follow them. They sent no request for their own dead who were buried by the Pendleton people.

But the town raised a home guard to defend itself against raiders of any kind, and Colonel Kenton and Harry promptly made ready for their journey to Frankfort, where the choice of the state must soon be made, and whither Raymond Bertrand, the South Carolinian, had gone already. Colonel Kenton feared no charge because of the fight with Skelly's men. He was but defending his own home and here, as in the motherland, a man's house was his castle.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FIGHT FOR A STATE

Colonel Kenton and Harry avoided Louisville, which was now in the hands of Northern sympathizers, and, travelling partly by rail and partly by stage, reached Frankfort early in May to attend the special session of the Legislature called by Governor Magoffin. Although the skirmishing had taken place already along the edge of highland and lowland, the state still sought to maintain its position of neutrality. There was war within its borders, and yet no war. In feeling, it was Southern, and yet its judgment was with the Union. Thousands of ardent young men had drifted southward to join the armies forming there, and thousands of others, equally ardent, had turned northward to join forces that would oppose those below. Harry, young as he was, recognized that his own state would be more fiercely divided than any other by the great strife.

But Federal and Confederate alike preserved the semblance of peace as they gathered at Frankfort for the political struggle over the state. Colonel Kenton and his son took the train at a point about forty miles from the capital, and they found it crowded with public men going from Louisville to Frankfort. It was the oldest railroad west of the Alleghanies, and among the first ever built. The coaches swung around curves, and dust and particles flew in at the windows, but the speed was a relief after the crawling of the stage and Harry stretched himself luxuriously on the plush seat.

A tall man in civilian attire, holding himself very stiffly, despite the swinging and swaying of the train, rose from his seat, and came forward to greet Colonel Kenton.

"George," he said, his voice quivering slightly, "you and I have fought together in many battles in Mexico and the West, but it is likely now that we shall fight other battles on this own soil of ours against each other. But, George, let us be friends always, and let us pledge it here and now."

The words might have seemed a little dramatic elsewhere, but not so under the circumstances of time and place. Colonel Kenton's quick response came from the depths of a generous soul.

"John," he said as their two hands met in the grip of brothers of the camp and field, "you and I may be on opposing sides, but we can never be enemies. John, this is my son, Harry. Harry, this is Major John Warren of Mason County and the regular army of the United States; he does not think as we do, but even at West Point he was a stubborn idiot. He and I were continually arguing, and he would never admit that he was always wrong. I never knew him to be right in anything except mathematics, and then he was never wrong."

Major Warren smiled and sat down by his old comrade.

"You've a fine boy there, George," he said, "and I suppose he probably takes his opinions from his father, which is a great mistake. I think if I were to talk to him I could show him his, or rather your, error."

"Not by your system of mathematical reasoning, John. Your method is well enough for the building of a fortress or calculating the range of a gun. But it won't do for the actions of men. You allow nothing for feeling, sentiment, association, propinquity, heredity, climate and, and—"

"Get a dictionary or a book of synonyms, George."

"Perhaps I should. I understand how we happen to differ. But I can't explain it well. Well, maybe it will all blow over. The worries of today are often the jokes of tomorrow."

Major Warren shook his head.

"It may blow over," he said, "but it will be a mighty wind; it will blow a long time, and many things for which you and I care, George, will be blown away by it. When that great and terrible wind stops blowing, our country will be changed forever."

"Don't be so downcast, John, you are not dead yet," said Colonel Kenton, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "You've often seen big clouds go by without either wind or rain."

"How about that attack upon your house and you and your friends? The clouds had something in them then."

"Merely mountain outlaws taking advantage of unsettled conditions."

Harry had listened closely and he knew that his father was only giving voice to his hopes, not to his beliefs. But as they ceased to talk of the great question, his attention wandered to the country through which they were passing. Spring was now deep and green in Kentucky. They were running through a land of deep, rich soil, with an outcrop of white limestone showing here and there above the heavy green grass. A peaceful country and prosperous. It seemed impossible that it should be torn by war, by war between those who lived upon it.

Then the train left the grass lands, cut through a narrow but rough range of hills, entered a gorge and stopped in Frankfort, the little capital, beside the deep and blue Kentucky.

Frankfort had only a few thousand inhabitants, but Harry found here much of the feeling that he had seen in Nashville and Charleston, with an important difference. There it was all Southern, or nearly so, but here North struggled with South on terms that certainly were not worse than equal.

Although the place was crowded, he and his father were lucky enough to secure a room at the chief hotel, which was also the only one of any importance. The hotel itself swarmed with the opposing factions. Senator Culver and Judge Kendrick had a room together across the hall from theirs, and next to them four red hot sympathizers with the Union slept on cots in one apartment. Further down the hall Harvey Whitridge, a state senator, huge of stature, much whiskered, and the proud possessor of a voice that could be heard nearly a mile, occupied a room with Samuel Fowler, a tall, thin, quiet member of the Lower House. The two were staunch Unionists.

Everybody knew everybody else in this dissevered gathering. Nearly everybody was kin by blood to everybody else. In a state affected little by immigration families were more or less related. If there was to be a war it would be, so far as they were concerned, a war of cousins against cousins.

Colonel Kenton and Harry had scarcely bathed their faces and set their clothing to rights, when there was a sharp knock at the door and the Colonel admitted Raymond Bertrand, the South Carolinian, dark of complexion, volatile and wonderfully neat in apparel. He seemed at once to Harry to be a messenger from that Charleston which he had liked, and in the life of which he had had a share. Bertrand shook hands with both with great enthusiasm, but his eyes sparkled when he spoke to Harry.

"And you were there when they fired on Sumter!" he exclaimed. "And you had a part in it! What a glorious day! What a glorious deed! And I had to be here in your cold state, trying to make these descendants of stubborn Scotch and English see the right, and follow gladly in the path of our beautiful star, South Carolina!"

"How goes the cause here, Bertrand?" asked Colonel Kenton, breaking in on his prose epic.

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and his face expressed discontent.

"Not well," he replied, "not as well as I had hoped. There is still something in the name of the Union that stirs the hearts of the Kentuckians. They hesitate. I have worked, I have talked, I have used all the arguments of our illustrious President, Mr. Davis, and of the other great men who have charge of Southern fortunes, and they still hesitate. Their blood is not hot enough. They do not have the vision. They lack the fire and splendor of the South Carolinians!"

Harry felt a little heat, but Colonel Kenton was not disturbed at all by the criticism.

"Perhaps you are right, Bertrand," he said thoughtfully. "We Kentuckians have the reputation of being very quick on the trigger, but we are conservative in big things. This is going to be a great war, a mighty great war, and I suppose our people feel like taking a good long look, and then another, equally as long, before they leap."

Bertrand, hot-blooded and impatient, bit his lip.

"It will not do! It will not do!" he exclaimed. "We must have this state. Virginia has gone out! Kentucky is her daughter! Then why does not she do the same?"

"You must give us time, Bertrand," said Colonel Kenton, still speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "We are not starting upon any summer holiday, and I can understand how the people here feel. I'm going with my people and I'm going to fire on the old flag, under which I've fought so often, but you needn't think it comes so easy. This thing of choosing between the sections is the hardest task that was ever set for a man."

Harry had never heard his father speak with more solemnity. Bertrand was silent, overawed by the older man, but to the boy the words were extremely impressive. His youthful temperament was sensitive to atmosphere. In Charleston he shared the fire, zeal and enthusiasm of an impressionable people. They saw only one side and, for a while, he saw only one side, too. Here in Frankfort the atmosphere was changed. They saw two sides and he saw two sides with them.

"But you need have no fear about us, Bertrand," continued Colonel Kenton. "My heart is with the South, and so is my boy's. I thought that Kentucky would go out of the Union without a fight, but since there is to be a struggle we'll go through with it, and win it. Don't be afraid, the state will be with you yet."

They talked a little longer and then Bertrand left. Harry politely held the door open for him, and, as he went down the hall, he saw him pass Whitridge and Fowler. Contrary to the custom which still preserved the amenities they did not speak. Bertrand gave them a look of defiance. It seemed to Harry that he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips firmly together, and, looking straight ahead of him, walked to the stairway, down which he disappeared. As Harry still stood in the open doorway, Whitridge and Fowler approached.

"Can we come in?" Whitridge asked.

"Yes, Harvey," said Colonel Kenton over the boy's shoulder. "Both of you are welcome here at any time."