Fred's wound was not a dangerous one. The ball had gone through the fleshy part of the arm, causing a great loss of blood; but no bones were broken, and it was only a question of a few weeks before he would be as well as ever.

The story of the two boys charging four Confederate cavalrymen, killing three, and disabling the fourth was the wonder of the army. But Fred modestly disclaimed any particular bravery in the affair.

"It is to poor Bob Ferror that the honor should be given," he would say; "the boy that knowingly rode to his death that I might be saved."

Fred gave General Nelson the particulars of his capture and escape, and the general looked grave and said:

"If I had known I was going to place you in such extreme danger, I should not have sent for you. On account of the crime of young Ferror, you would have met with a most ignominious death if you had been recaptured; yet the charging on those four cavalrymen was one of the pluckiest things I have heard of during the war. You deserve and shall have a good rest. I have just finished making up some dispatches for General Sherman, and you shall be my messenger. A dispatch boat leaves in the morning, and you shall go with it. When you get to Catlettsburg, you can take an Ohio river steamer for Louisville. The trip being all by water, will be an easy one, and as a number of sick and wounded will be sent away on the same boat, you will have good surgical attendance for your wounded arm. Here is a paper that will admit you to the officers' hospital when you get to Louisville. Take a good rest, you need it. I do not think it will be long before I, with my command, will be ordered back to Louisville. The enemy has retreated through Pound Gap into Virginia, and there is nothing more for me to do here. Stay in Louisville until you hear from me."

The next morning found Fred on his way down the Big Sandy. The whole voyage was uneventful, and after a quick trip Fred once more found himself in Louisville. The rest and quiet of the voyage had almost cured the ill-effects of his experience, and with the exception of his wounded arm, which he was compelled to carry in a sling, he was feeling about as well as ever.

Once in Louisville, he lost no time in turning over his dispatches to General Sherman. He found the general surrounded by a delegation of the prominent Union men of the city. They seemed to be arguing with Sherman about something, and as for the general, he was in a towering rage, and was swearing in a manner equal to General Nelson in one of his outbreaks of anger.

Fred was surprised to find the usually mild and gentlemanly officer in such a passion, but there was no mistake, he was angry clear through.

"There is no use talking, gentlemen," he was saying, as he paced the room with quick nervous tread, "I am not only going to resign, but I have already sent in my resignation. I will not remain in command of the Department of Kentucky another day; the command of the armies of the United States would not induce me to remain and be insulted and outraged as I have been."

"We are very sorry to hear it, General," replied the spokesman of the delegation. "We had great hopes of what you would accomplish when you were appointed to the command of the department, and our confidence in you is still unabated."

"I am thankful," replied the general, "for that confidence, but what can you expect of a man bound hand and foot. They seem to know a great deal better in Washington what we need here than we do who are on the ground. This, in a measure, is to be expected; but to be reviled and insulted is more than I can stand. But if I had not resigned, I should be removed, I know that. Just let the newspapers begin howling at a general, and denouncing him, and every official at Washington begins shaking in his boots. What can be expected of a general with every newspaper in the land yelping at his heels like a pack of curs? If I wanted to end this war quickly, I would begin by hanging every editor who would publish a word on how the war should be conducted. It would be a glorious beginning."

"Are you not a little too severe on the newspaper fraternity, General?" mildly put in one of the citizen delegates.

"Severe! severe! not half as severe as the idiots deserve. They think they know more about war, and how to conduct campaigns than all the military men of the country combined. Not satisfied with telling me how and when to conduct a campaign, they attack me most unjustly and cruelly, attack me in such a manner I cannot reply. Just listen to this," and the general turned and took up a scrapbook in which numerous newspaper clippings had been pasted. "Here is an editorial from that esteemed and influential paper, The Cincinnati Commerce," and the general read:

"'It is a lamentable fact that many of our generals are grossly incompetent, but when incipient insanity is added to incompetency, it is time to cry a halt. Right here at home, the general who commands the Department of Kentucky and therefore has the safety of our city in his hands, is W. T. Sherman. We have it on the most reliable evidence that he is of unsound mind. Not only do many of his sayings excite the pity of his friends and ridicule of his enemies, but they are positively dangerous to the success of our cause. The Government should at least put the department in charge of a general of sound mind.'

"Now, if that is not enough," continued the general, with a touch of irony in his tones, "I will give you a choice clipping from the great New York Tricate.

"'It is with sorrow that we learn that General W. T. Sherman, who is in command of the Department of Kentucky, is not in his right mind. It is said that the authorities at Washington have been aware of this for some time, but for political reasons fear to remove him. He is a brother of John Sherman, one of the influential politicians of Ohio, and United States Senator-elect. While the affair is to be regretted, the Government should not hesitate on account of political influence. General Sherman should be at once removed. That he is mentally unsound is admitted, even by his best friends. Let the administration act at once.'"

The whole company was smiling at the absurdity of the affair. Even the general had to laugh.

"I will read once more," said the general. "It is from the Chicago Timer, and hits others as well as myself. Here it is:

"'General Bill Sherman, in command of the Department of Kentucky, is said to be insane. We don't doubt it. In our mind the whole Lincoln Government, from President down, is insane—insane over the idea that they can coerce the South back into the Union. The only difference that we can see is that Bill Sherman may be a little crazier than the rest; that's all.'

"There," continued the general, "are only a few of the scores of extracts which I have from the most influential papers in the land. Of course the smaller papers have taken their cue from the larger ones, and now the whole pack of little whiffets are after me, snapping at my heels; and the good people believe the story because it is published. Hundreds of letters are being received at Washington, asking for my removal. My brother writes that he is overwhelmed with inquiries concerning me. I believe the War Department more than half believes I am of unsound mind. They are only waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, and I know that my resignation will be received with joy."

"General," asked one of the citizens present, "have you any idea of how the story of your insanity started?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the general. "When Secretary of War Cameron was here, I laid before him the wants of Kentucky, and among other things said that I needed 60,000 men for defensive work, but for offensive operations I should need 200,000. The Secretary spoke of it as an 'insane request.' Some reporter got hold of it, and then it went. The Secretary has never taken the pains to correct the impressions."

"Were you not a little extravagant in your demands?" asked another citizen.

"Not at all. The politicians at Washington have never yet recognized the magnitude of the war in which we are engaged. Then their whole life is office, and they are afraid of doing something that will lose them a vote. As for the newspapers, they would rather print a sensation than have us win a victory. My God! They have called me crazy so much they have alarmed my wife," and the general again indulged in another burst of anger. When he became calmer, he said: "Gentlemen, I thank you for your expressions of sympathy and confidence. I trust my successor will be more worthy than I," and he bowed the delegation out.

Fred remained standing. The general noticed him, and asked: "Well, my boy, what is it? Why, bless my soul, it's Fred Shackelford! Just from General Nelson, Fred?"

"Yes, General, with dispatches," and he handed them to him.

"I will read them when I cool off a little; I have been rather warm. I see your arm is in a sling; been in a skirmish?"

"Yes, General, a small one. The wound didn't amount to much; it is nearly well."

"You should be thankful it is no worse. Come in in the morning, Fred; I will have the dispatches read by that time."

Fred called, as requested, the next morning, and found the general calm and courteous as ever. The storm had passed away.

"General Nelson writes good news," said Sherman. "He reports he has entirely driven the Rebels out of the valley of the Big Sandy. He also tells me in a private letter of your capture and escape. He speaks of the desperate conflict that you and your comrade had with four Rebel cavalrymen. It was a most remarkable adventure. My boy, I shall keep my eye on you. I surely should ask for your services myself if I were going to remain in command of the department."

"General, I am sorry to have you resign," answered Fred, hardly knowing what to say.

The general's face darkened, and then he answered lightly: "I do not think they will be sorry at Washington."

And they were not; his resignation was gladly accepted, and the general who afterward led his victorious army to Atlanta, and then made his famous march to the sea, and whose fame filled the world, retired under a cloud. And the injustice of it rankled in his breast and imbittered his heart for months.