The general appointed to succeed Sherman was Don Carlos Buell, a thorough soldier, and, like McClellan, a splendid organizer; but, like that general, he was unsuccessful in the field, and during what is known as the "Bragg-Buell campaign" in Kentucky in the fall of 1862, he entirely lost the confidence of his soldiers.

Buell's first attention was given to the organization of his army and the drilling of his soldiers. His labors in this direction were very successful, and the "Army of the Cumberland" became famous for its esprit de corps.

General Nelson, according to his predictions, was ordered back with his command to Louisville. Fred, now entirely well, was greatly rejoiced to once more see his old commander. But there was little prospect of active service, for the division was ordered into camp for the purpose of drilling and being perfected in military duties. Idleness was irksome to Fred, so he asked and obtained permission to join General Thomas, and remain until such time as Nelson might need his services.

General Thomas gave Fred a most cordial reception. There was something about the handsome, dashing boy that greatly endeared him to the staid, quiet general. Just now, Fred's presence was very desirable, for Zollicoffer was proving very troublesome, threatening first one point and then another, and it was almost impossible to tell which place was in the most danger. General Thomas' forces were greatly scattered, guarding different points, and he feared that at some of these places his troops might be attacked and overpowered. He had asked permission of Buell time and again to be allowed to concentrate his forces and strike Zollicoffer a telling blow, but each and every time had met with a refusal. Instead of being allowed to concentrate his force, he was ordered to move portions of his command here and there, and the orders of one day might be countermanded the next. Being December, the roads were in a horrible condition, and it was almost impossible to move trains, so that his army was being reduced by hard service which did no good. Fred could see that the general was worried. He would sit for hours buried in thought or poring over maps.

All this time, Zollicoffer was ravaging the middle southern counties of Kentucky, threatening first London, then Somerset, then Columbia, then some intermediate point. The outposts of the army were often attacked, and frequent skirmishes took place. In the midst of this activity, Fred found congenial employment. He was kept busy carrying dispatches from one post to another, or on scouting expeditions, trying to gain information of the movements of the enemy. He frequently met squads of the enemy, and had many narrow escapes from capture; but the fleetness of his horse always saved him.

Of all General Thomas' scouts, Fred obtained the most valuable information. While not venturing into the enemy's lines, he had a way of getting information out of the inhabitants friendly to the South that surprised even the general. Fred hardly ever made a mistake as to the movements of the opposing army.

If there was one thing that he loved more than another it was his horse. He had trained him to do anything that a horse could do. At a word he would lie down and remain as motionless as if dead. He would go anywhere he was told without hesitating, and his keen ear would detect the presence of an enemy quicker than the ear of his master. Fred had also perfected himself in the use of a revolver until he was one of the best shots in the army. He could ride by a tree at full gallop, and put three balls in a three-inch circle without checking his speed.

"My life," he would say, "may depend on my being able to shoot quickly and accurately."

On some of his scouts Fred would take a party with him, and there was not a soldier who did not consider it one of the greatest honors to be thus chosen.

One day near the close of the year Fred was scouting with a picked force of five men a few miles to the east and south of Somerset. As they were riding through a piece of wood, Prince suddenly stopped, pricked up his ears, listened a moment, and then turned and looked at his master, as if to say, "Danger ahead!"

"To cover, boys," said Fred, in a low tone. "Prince scents trouble."

The party turned aside into the wood, and was soon completely hidden from view.

"Steady now," said Fred; "no noise."

"Are you sure your horse is as wise as you think?" asked one of the men.

"Perfectly sure; Prince never makes a mistake. Hark!"

The trampling of horses, and the jingling of sabers could plainly be heard, and soon a party of nine Confederate cavalrymen came riding by. They had no thought of danger, and were laughing and talking, thinking not that death lurked so near them.

"The old traitor lives right ahead," they heard one say.

"We will learn him to harbor East Tennessee bridge-burners," said the leader with a coarse laugh.

"Will it be hanging or shooting, Sergeant?" asked a third. "I hope it will be hanging. It's such fun to see a Lincolnite hanging by the neck and dancing on air. Never shoot a man if you can hang him, is my motto."

Fred's men heard this conversation with lowering brows, and the muttered curses were deep if not loud, and five carbines were raised, but with a gesture Fred motioned them down. His men looked at him in astonishment, and there was disappointment on every face.

As soon as the Confederates were out of hearing, so it was safe to speak, one of the men said with a sigh:

"Capt'in,"—the soldiers always called Fred captain when they were out with him—"I would hev give five dollars for a shot. I would hev fetched that feller that loved to see hangin', sure."

"I have strict orders," replied Fred, "to avoid fighting when I am out on these scouting expeditions. It is the part of a good scout never to get into a fight except to avoid capture. A scout is sent out to get information, not to fight; a conflict defeats the very object he has in view."

"That's so, capt'in, but it goes agin the grain to let them fellers off."

"I may have made a mistake," replied Fred, "in letting those fellows off. Come to think about it, I do not like what they said. It sounded like mischief."

"Worse than that, capt'in."

"We will follow them up," said Fred, "as far as we can unobserved. You remember we passed a pretty farmhouse some half a mile back; that may be the place they were talking about. We can ride within three hundred yards of it under cover of the forest."

Riding carefully through the wood, they soon came in sight of the place. Surely enough, the Confederates had stopped in front of the house. Four of them were holding the horses, while the other five were not to be seen. As they sat looking the muffled sound of two shots were heard, and then the shrieking of women.

"Boys," said Fred, in a strained voice, "I made a mistake in not letting you shoot. Hear those shrieks? There is devil's work there. There are nine of them; we are six. Shall we attack them?"

"Aye! aye!" shouted every one, their eyes blazing with excitement.

"Look well to your weapons, then. Are you ready?"

"We are ready. Hurrah for the young capt'in!" they all shouted.

"Then for God's sake, forward, or we will be too late!" for the frenzied shrieks of women could still be heard.

They no sooner broke cover, than the men holding the horses discovered them, and gave the alarm. The five miscreants who were in the house came rushing out, and all hastily mounting their horses, rode swiftly away. The Federals, with yells of vengeance, followed in swift pursuit; yet in all probability the Confederates would have escaped if it had not been for the fleetness of Prince. Fred soon distanced all of his companions, and so was comparatively alone and close on the heels of the enemy. They noticed this, and conceived the idea that they could kill or capture him. This was their undoing. Fred was watching for this very thing, and as they stopped he fired, just as the leader's horse was broadside to him. Then at the word, Prince turned as quick as a flash, and was running back. The movement was so unexpected to the Confederates that the volley they fired went wild.

As for the horse of the Confederate leader, it reared and plunged, and then fell heavily, pinning its rider to the ground. Two of his men dismounted to help him. When he got to his feet, he saw that Fred's companions had joined him and that they all were coming on a charge.

"Here, Simmons!" he yelled. "Let me have your horse. You take to cover. Now, boys, stand firm; there are only six of them. Here is for old Tennessee!"

But it takes men of iron nerve to stand still and receive a charge, and the Federals were coming like a whirlwind.

The Confederates emptied their revolvers at close range, and then half of them turned to flee. It was too late; the Federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down. The fight was short and fierce. When it was over, eight Confederates lay dead or desperately wounded. Of the six Federals, two were dead and two were wounded. Only one Confederate had escaped to carry back the story of the disaster.

The Federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down.

One of the wounded Confederates lay groaning and crying with pain, and Fred going up to him, asked if he could do anything for him.

The man looked up, and then a scowl of hate came over his face.

"It's you, is it?" he groaned, and then with an oath said: "I will have you if I die for it," and attempted to raise his revolver, which he still clutched.

As quick as a flash Fred knocked it out of his hand, and as quick one of Fred's men had a revolver at the breast of the desperate Confederate. Fred knocked the weapon up, and the shot passed harmlessly over the head of the wounded man.

"None of that, Williams," said Fred. "We cannot afford to kill wounded men in cold blood."

"But the wretch would have murdered you, capt'in," said Williams, and then a cry went up from all the men. "Kill him! kill him!"

"Mercy! mercy!" gasped the wretch.

Fred looked at the man closely, and then said: "You are Bill Pearson, the man I struck with my riding-whip at Gallatin."

"Yes; mercy! mercy!"

"You miserable wretch," said Fred, contemptuously. "By good rights I ought to blow your brains out, but your carcass is not worth the powder. Live, if you can."

Just then Fred noticed a countryman who had been attracted by the sound of the firing, and motioned to him to approach. He came up trembling, and looked with wonder on the dead men and horses.

"My good man," said Fred, "here are some wounded men that should be looked after. Can you not do it, or get word to their command?"

"I reckon I kin," slowly replied the countryman. "Must had quite a fought."

"Yes," replied Fred; "and this reminds me, boys, we had better get away from here. We do not know how many of the enemy may be near."

The wounds of the two Federals who had been hurt were bound up, and they were helped on their horses. The bodies of the two dead were then tenderly placed on two of the Confederate horses which were unhurt, and the mournful cavalcade slowly moved away.

Going back to the house which the Confederates had entered, a distressing sight met their view.

On a bed, the master of the house lay dead, shot to death by the murderers. By the bedside stood the wife and two daughters, weeping and wringing their hands. The face of the widow was covered with blood, and there was a deep gash on her head where one of the wretches had struck her with the butt of his revolver, as she clung to him imploring him not to murder her husband.

The pitiful sight drove Fred's men wild, and he had all that he could do to prevent them from going back and finishing the wounded murderers.

"You did wrong, capt'in, in not letting me finish that red-handed villain who tried to shoot you," said Williams.

With broken sobs the woman told her story. Her husband had a brother in East Tennessee, who had been accused by the Confederate authorities of helping burn railroad bridges. He escaped with a number of Union men, and was now a captain in one of the Tennessee regiments.

"They came here," said the woman, "and found my husband sick in bed, so sick he could not raise a finger to help himself. They accused him of harboring his brother, and of furnishing information, and said that they had come to hang him, but as he was sick they would shoot him. And then," sobbed the woman, "notwithstanding our prayers, they shot him before our eyes. Oh, it was dreadful!" and the stricken wife broke completely down, and the daughters hung over the body of their murdered father, weeping as if their hearts would break.

Fred was deeply moved. He told the sobbing women that he would at once report the case, and have her husband's brother come out with his company. "We will also," said Fred, "leave the bodies of our two dead comrades here. If you wish, I will send a chaplain, that all may have Christian burial. And, my poor woman, your wrongs have been fearfully avenged. Of the nine men in the party that murdered your husband, but one escaped. The rest are dead or terribly wounded."

"Thank God! thank God!" said the women, raising their streaming eyes to heaven. Even the presence of death did not take away their desire for revenge. Such is poor human nature, even in gentle woman.

"War makes demons of us all," thought Fred.

The story of that fight was long a theme around the camp fire, and the three soldiers who survived never tired of telling it. As for Fred, he spoke of it with reluctance, and could not think of it without a shudder. Fifteen men never engaged in a bloodier conflict, even on the "dark and bloody ground" of Kentucky.