guerrillas reeled, and measured his length upon the ground, dead in a
moment.

Fleet as a deer the brave scout pushed on till he got within the
protecting shadows of the friendly woods. There they lost the trail, and
though he saw them from his place of concealment, he was himself unseen.

"Curse him!" said the disappointed leader. "He must have sunk into the
earth, or vanished into the air."

"If he's sunk into the earth, that is where we want him," answered
another, with grim humor.

"You will find I am not dead yet!" said the hidden scout to himself. "I
shall live to trouble you yet."

He passed the remainder of the day in the woods, fearing that his
pursuers might still be lingering about.

"If there were only two or three, I'd come out and face 'em," he said,
"but the odds are too great. I must skulk back in the darkness, and get
back the bullet."

Night came on, and the woman who had saved him, heard a low tapping at
the door. It might be an enemy, and she advanced, and opened it with
caution. A figure, seen indistinctly in the darkness, stood before her.

"Who are you?" she asked doubtfully.

"Don't be afraid, ma'am, it's only me."

"And you--"

"Are the man you saved this morning!"

"God be thanked! Then you were not killed?"

"Do I look like a dead man? No, my time hasn't come yet. I foiled 'em in
the wood, and there I have spent all day. Have you any victuals, for I
am famished?"

"Yes, come in."

"I can not stay. I will take what you have and leave at once, for the
villains may be lurkin' round here somewhere. But first, the bullet!
have you that safe?"

"Here it is."

The scout put it in his pocket, and taking in his hand a paper box of
bread and meat which his loyal hostess brought him, resumed his
hazardous journey.

He knew that there were other perils to encounter, unless he was
particularly fortunate, but he had a heart prepared for any fate. The
perils came, but he escaped them with adroitness, and at midnight of the
following day he was admitted into the presence of Colonel Craven.

Surely this was no common man, and his feat was no common one.

In forty-eight hours, traveling only by night, he had traversed one
hundred miles with a rope round his neck, and without the prospect of
special reward. For he was but a private, and received but a private's
pay--thirteen dollars a month, a shoddy uniform, and hard-tack, when he
could get it.

Colonel Craven opened the bullet, and read the dispatch.

It was dated "Louisa, Kentucky, December 24, midnight"; and directed him
to move at once with his regiment (the Fortieth Ohio, eight hundred
strong) by way of Mount Sterling and McCormick's Gap, to Prestonburg. He
was to encumber his men with as few rations as possible, since the
safety of his command depended on his celerity. He was also requested to
notify Lieutenant-Colonel Woodford, at Stamford, and direct him to join
the march with his three hundred cavalry.

On the following morning Col. Craven's column began to move. The scout
waited till night, and then set out on his return. The reader will be
glad to learn that the brave man rejoined his regiment.




CHAPTER XXIII.

GARFIELD'S BOLD STRATEGY.


Garfield didn't wait for the scout's return. He felt that no time was to
be lost. The expedition which he had planned was fraught with peril, but
it was no time for timid counsels.

On the morning following Jordan's departure he set out up the river,
halting at George's Creek, only twenty miles from Marshall's intrenched
position. As the roads along the Big Sandy were impassable for trains,
and unsafe on account of the nearness of the enemy, he decided to depend
mainly upon water navigation for the transportation of his supplies.

The Big Sandy finds its way to the Ohio through the roughest and wildest
spurs of the Cumberland Mountains, and is a narrow, fickle stream. At
low-water it is not navigable above Louisa, except for small flat-boats
pushed by hand. At high-water small steamers can reach Piketon, one
hundred and twenty miles from the mouth; but when there are heavy
freshets the swift current, filled with floating timber, and the
overhanging trees which almost touch one another from the opposite
banks, render navigation almost impracticable. This was enough to
intimidate a man less in earnest than Garfield. He did not hesitate, but
gathering together ten days' rations, he chartered two small steamers,
and seizing all the flat-boats he could lay hands on, took his army
wagons apart, and loaded them, with his forage and provisions, upon the
flat-boats.

Just as he was ready to start he received an unexpected reinforcement.
Captain Bent, of the Fourteenth Kentucky, entering Garfield's tent, said
to him, "Colonel, there's a man outside who says he knows you. Bradley
Brown, a rebel thief and scoundrel."

"Bradley Brown," repeated Garfield, puzzled. "I don't remember any such
name."

"He has lived near the head of the Blaine, and been a boatman on the
river. He says he knew you on the canal in Ohio."

"Oh, yes, I remember him now; bring him in."

Brown was ushered into the general's tent. He was clad in homespun, and
spattered from head to foot with mud, but he saw in Garfield only the
friend of earlier days, and hurrying up to him, gave him a hearty grasp
of the hand, exclaiming, "Jim, old feller, how are yer?"

Garfield received him cordially, but added, "What is this I hear, Brown?
Are you a rebel?"

"Yes," answered the new-comer, "I belong to Marshall's force, and I've
come straight from his camp to spy out your army."

"Well, you go about it queerly," said Garfield, puzzled.

"Wait till you are alone, colonel. Then I'll tell you about it."

Col. Bent said in an undertone to Garfield, as he left the tent, "Don't
trust him, colonel; I know him as a thief and a rebel."

This was the substance of Brown's communication. As soon as he heard
that James A. Garfield was in command of the Union forces, it instantly
struck him that it must be his old comrade of the canal, for whom he
still cherished a strong attachment. He was in the rebel camp, but in
reality cared little which side was successful, and determined out of
old friendship to help Garfield if he could.

Concealing his design, he sought Marshall, and proposed to visit the
Union camp as a spy, mentioning his former intimacy with Garfield. Gen.
Marshall readily acceded to his plan, not suspecting that it was his
real purpose to tell Garfield all he knew about the rebel force. He
proceeded to give the colonel valuable information on this subject.

When he had finished, Garfield said, "I advise you to go back to
Marshall."

"Go back to him, colonel? Why, he would hang me to the first tree."

"Not if you tell him all about my strength and intended movements."

"But how kin I? I don't know a thing. I was brought into the camp
blindfolded."

"Still you can guess. Suppose you tell him that I shall march to-morrow
straight for his camp, and in ten days be upon him."

"You'd be a fool, colonel, to do that, and he 'trenched so strongly,
unless you had twenty thousand men."

"I haven't got that number. Guess again."

"Well, ten thousand."

"That will do for a guess. Now to-day I shall keep you locked up, and
to-morrow you can go back to Marshall."

At nightfall Brown went back to the rebel camp, and his report was made
in accordance with Garfield's suggestions.

The fact was, that deducting those sick and on garrison duty, Garfield's
little army amounted to but fourteen hundred in place of the ten
thousand reported to the rebel commander. This little army was set in
motion the next day. It was a toilsome and discouraging march, over
roads knee-deep in mire, and the troops necessarily made but slow
progress, being frequently obliged to halt. Some days they succeeded in
making but five or six miles. On the 6th of January, however, they
arrived within seven miles of Paintville. Here while Garfield was trying
to catch a few hours' sleep, in a wretched log hut, he was roused by
Jordan, the scout, who had just managed to reach the camp.

"Have you seen Craven?" asked Garfield eagerly.

"Yes; he can't be more'n two days behind me, nohow."

"God bless you, Jordan! You have done us great service," said Garfield,
warmly, feeling deeply relieved by this important news.

"Thank ye, colonel. That's more pay 'n I expected."

In the morning another horseman rode up to the Union camp. He was a
messenger direct from Gen. Buell. He brought with him an intercepted
letter from Marshall to his wife, revealing the important fact that the
Confederate general had five thousand men--forty-four hundred infantry
and six hundred cavalry--with twelve pieces of artillery, and that he
was daily expecting an attack from a Union force of ten thousand.

It was clear that Brown had been true, and that it was from him Gen.
Marshall had received this trustworthy intelligence of the strength of
the Union army.

Garfield decided not to communicate the contents of this letter, lest
his officers should be alarmed at the prospect of attacking a force so
much superior. He called a council, however, and put this question:

"Shall we march at once, or wait the coming of Craven?"

All but one were in favor of waiting, but Garfield adopted the judgment
of this one.

"Forward it is!" he said. "Give the order."

I will only state the plan of Garfield's attack in a general way. There
were three roads that led to Marshall's position--one to the east, one
to the west, and one between the two. These three roads were held by
strong Confederate pickets.

Now, it was Garfield's policy to keep Marshall deceived as to his
strength. For this reason, he sent a small body to drive in the enemy's
pickets, as if to attack Paintville. Two hours after, a similar force,
with the same orders, were sent on the road to the westward, and two
hours later still, a small force was sent on the middle road. The first
pickets, retreating in confusion, fled to the camp, with the
intelligence that a large body of Union troops were on their way to make
an attack. Similar tidings were brought by the two other bodies of
pickets, and Marshall, in dismay, was led to believe that he was menaced
by superior numbers, and hastily abandoned Paintville, and Garfield,
moving his men rapidly over the central route, occupied the town.

Gen. Marshall would have been intensely mortified had he known that this
large Union army was little more than one-fourth the size of his own.

But his alarm was soon increased. On the evening of the 8th of January,
a spy entered his camp, and reported that Craven, with _thirty-three
hundred men_, was within twelve hours' march at the westward.

The big general (he weighed three hundred pounds) was panic-stricken.
Believing Garfield's force to number ten thousand, this reinforcement
would carry his strength up to over thirteen thousand. Ruin and defeat,
as he fancied, stared him in the face, for how could his five thousand
men encounter nearly three times their number? They would, of course, be
overwhelmed. There was safety only in flight.

So the demoralized commander gave orders to break camp, and retreated
precipitately, abandoning or burning a large portion of his supplies.

Garfield saw the fires, and guessed what had happened, being in the
secret of Marshall's delusion. He mounted his horse, and, with a
thousand men, entered the deserted camp at nine in the evening. The
stores that were yet unconsumed he rescued from destruction for the use
of his own army.

In order to keep up the delusion, he sent off a detachment to harass the
retreat of his ponderous adversary and fill his mind with continued
disquiet.

The whole thing was a huge practical joke, but not one that the rebels
were likely to enjoy. Fancy a big boy of eighteen fleeing in dismay from
a small urchin of eight, and we have a parallel to this flight of Gen.
Marshall from an intrenched position, with five thousand troops, when
his opponent could muster but fourteen hundred men in the open field.

Thus far, I think, it will be agreed that Colonel Garfield was a
strategist of the first order. His plan required a boldness and dash
which, under the circumstances, did him the greatest credit.

The next morning Colonel Craven arrived, and found, to his amazement,
that Garfield, single-handed, had forced his formidable enemy from his
strong position, and was in triumphant possession of the deserted rebel
camp.




CHAPTER XXIV.

THE BATTLE OF MIDDLE CREEK.


Col. Garfield has gained a great advantage, but he knows that it must be
followed up. His ambition is not satisfied. He means to force a fight
with Marshall, despite the odds.

He has been reinforced, but Craven's men are completely exhausted by
their long and toilsome march. They are hardly able to drag one foot
after the other. Garfield knows this, but he explains to his men what he
proposes to do. He orders those who have strength to come forward. Of
the men under his immediate command seven hundred obey the summons. Of
Craven's weary followers four hundred heroic men volunteer to accompany
him.

So at noon of the 9th, with eleven hundred men, Garfield sets out for
Prestonburg, sending all his available cavalry to follow the line of the
enemy's retreat. At nine o'clock that night, after a march of eighteen
miles, he reaches the mouth of Abbott's Creek with his eleven hundred
men. He hears that his opponent is encamped three miles higher up on the
same stream. He sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, who
is left in command at Paintville, to bring up every available man with
all possible dispatch, for he intends to force a battle in the morning.

He requires to know the disposition of Marshall's forces, and here the
gallant scout, John Jordan, again is of service to him. While a dozen
Confederates were grinding at a mill, they were surprised by as many
Union men, who, taking them by surprise, captured their corn, and made
them prisoners. Jordan eyed the miller with a critical eye, and a plan
was instantly formed. The miller was a tall, gaunt man, and his clothes
would fit the scout. He takes a fancy to exchange raiment with the
miller. Then, smearing his face with meal, he goes back to the
Confederate camp in a new character. Even if he is surprised he will
escape suspicion, for the miller is a pronounced disunionist, and he
looks his very image.

His midnight ramble enabled him to learn precisely what it was
important for Garfield to know. He found out their exact position, and
that they had laid an ambuscade for the Union commander. They were
waiting for him, strongly posted on a semicircular hill at the forks of
Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon commanding its
whole length, hidden by the trees and underbrush.

"They think they've got you, general," said Jordan. "They're waitin' for
you as a cat waits for a mouse."

Upon a steep ridge called Abbott's Hill, the Union soldiers, tired and
sleepy, had thrown themselves upon the wet ground. There was a dense
fog, shutting out the moon and stars, and shrouding the lonely mountain
in darkness. The rain was driven in blinding gusts into the faces of the
shivering men, and tired as they were they hailed with joy the coming of
morning. For more than one brave man it was destined to be his last day
upon earth.

At four o'clock they started on their march. About daybreak, while
rounding a hill, their advance guard was charged upon by a body of
Confederate horsemen. In return Garfield gave the Confederates a
volley, that sent them reeling up the valley.

[Illustration: TURNING THE TIDE OF BATTLE AT CHICKAMAUGA]

It was clear that the main body of the enemy was not far away. To
determine this Garfield sent forward a body of skirmishers to draw the
fire of the enemy. He succeeded, for a twelve-pound shell whistled above
the trees, then plowed up the hill, and buried itself in the ground at
the feet of the little band of skirmishers.

Noon came, and Garfield made the necessary preparations for battle. He
could not have been without apprehension, for he knew, though the enemy
did not, that their force was far superior to his. He sent forward his
mounted escort of twelve men to make a charge and draw the enemy's fire.
His plan succeeded. Another shell whistled over their heads, and the
long roll of five thousand muskets was heard.

It was certainly a remarkable battle, when we consider that a small band
of eleven hundred men without cannon had undertaken to attack a force of
five thousand, supported by twelve pieces of artillery, charging up a
rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, over fallen trees, and over high
intrenchments.

"The battle was fought on the margin of Middle Creek, a narrow, rapid
stream, and three miles from where it finds its way into the Big Sandy,
through the sharp spurs of the Cumberland Mountain. A rocky road, not
ten feet in width, winds along this stream, and on its two banks abrupt
ridges, with steep and rocky sides, overgrown with trees and underbrush,
shut closely down upon the road and the little streamlet. At twelve
o'clock Garfield had gained the crest of the ridge at the right of the
road, and the charge of his handful of horsemen had drawn Marshall's
fire, and disclosed his actual position.

"The main force of the Confederates occupied the crests of the two
ridges at the left of the stream, but a strong detachment was posted on
the right, and a battery of twelve pieces held the forks of the creek,
and commanded the approach of the Union army. It was Marshall's plan to
drive Garfield along the road, and then, taking him between two
enfilading fires, to surround and utterly destroy him. But his hasty
fire betrayed his design, and unmasked his entire position.

"Garfield acted with promptness and decision. A hundred undergraduates,
recruited from his own college, were ordered to cross the stream climb
the ridge whence the fire had been hottest, and bring on the battle.
Boldly the little band plunged into the creek, the icy water up to their
waists, and clinging to the trees and underbrush, climbed the rocky
ascent. Half-way up the ridge the fire of at least two thousand rifles
opens upon them; but, springing from tree to tree, they press on, and at
last reach the summit. Then suddenly the hill is gray with Confederates,
who, rising from ambush, pour their deadly volleys into the little band
of only one hundred. In a moment they waver, but their leader calls out,
'Every man to a tree! Give them as good as they send, my boys!'

"The Confederates, behind rocks and a rude intrenchment, are obliged to
expose their heads to take aim at the advancing column; but the Union
troops, posted behind the huge oaks and maples, can stand erect, and
load and fire, fully protected. Though they are outnumbered ten to one,
the contest is therefore, for a time, not so very unequal.

"But soon the Confederates, exhausted with the obstinate resistance,
rush from cover, and charge upon the little handful with the bayonet.
Slowly they are driven down the hill, and two of them fall to the ground
wounded. One never rises; the other, a lad of only eighteen, is shot
through the thigh, and one of his comrades turns back to bear him to a
place of safety. The advancing Confederates are within thirty feet, when
one of them fires, and his bullet strikes a tree directly above the head
of the Union soldier. He turns, levels his musket, and the Confederate
is in eternity. Then the rest are upon him; but, zigzagging from tree to
tree, he is soon with his driven column. But not far are the brave boys
driven. A few rods lower down they hear the voice of the brave Captain
Williams, their leader.

"'To the trees again, my boys!' he cries. 'We may as well die here as in
Ohio!'

"To the trees they go, and in a moment the advancing horde is checked,
and then rolled backward. Up the hill they turn, firing as they go, and
the little band follows. Soon the Confederates reach the spot where the
Hiram boy lies wounded, and one of them says: 'Boy, give me your
musket.'

"'Not the gun, but its contents,' cries the boy, and the Confederate
falls mortally wounded. Another raises his weapon to brain the prostrate
lad, but he too falls, killed with his comrade's own rifle. And all this
is done while the hero-boy is on the ground, bleeding. An hour afterward
his comrades bear the boy to a sheltered spot on the other side of the
streamlet, and then the first word of complaint escapes him. As they are
taking off his leg, he says, in his agony, 'Oh, what will mother do?'"

Poor boy! At that terrible moment, in the throes of his fierce agony, he
thought not of himself, but of the mother at home, who was dependent on
his exertions for a livelihood. For in war it is not alone the men in
the field who are called upon to suffer, but the mothers, the wives, and
the children, left at home, whose hearts are rent with anxiety--to whom,
at any moment, may come the tidings of the death of their loved one.

On a rocky height, commanding the field, Garfield watched the tide of
battle. He saw that it was unequal, and that there was danger that his
troops would be overmatched. He saw that they were being driven, and
that they would lose the hill if not supported.

Instantly he ordered to the rescue five hundred of the Ohio Fortieth and
Forty-second, under Major Pardee and Colonel Craven. They dashed boldly
into the stream, holding their cartridge-boxes above their heads, and
plunged into the fight, shouting:

"Hurrah for Williams and the Hiram boys!"

But their position was most critical, for shot, and shell, and canister,
and the fire of four thousand muskets are now concentrated upon them.

"This will never do!" cries Garfield. "Who will volunteer to carry the
other mountain?"

Colonel Munroe, of the Twenty-second Kentucky, responded quickly, "We
will. We know every inch of the ground."

"Go in, then," cries Garfield, "and give them Columbia!"

I have not space to record the varying fortunes of the day. For five
hours the contest rages. By turns the Union forces are driven back, and
then, with a brave charge, they regain their lost ground, and from
behind rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. The battle began
at noon, and when the sun sets on the brief winter day it is still
unfinished.

Posted on a projecting rock, in full sight of both armies, stands the
Union commander--his head uncovered, his hair streaming in the wind, and
his heart full of alternate hopes and fears. It looks as if the day were
lost--as if the gallant eleven hundred were conquered at last, when, at
a critical moment, the starry banner is seen waving over an advancing
host. It is Sheldon and reinforcements--long and anxiously expected!
Their shouts are taken up by the eleven hundred! The enemy see them and
are panic-stricken.

The day is won!




CHAPTER XXV.

THE PERILOUS TRIP UP THE BIG SANDY.


I have followed Col. Garfield through the Kentucky campaign, not because
it compared in importance with many other military operations of the
war, but because in its conduct he displayed in a remarkable degree some
of the traits by which he was distinguished. From a military point of
view it may be criticised. His attack upon an enemy far his superior in
numbers, and in a more favorable position, would scarcely have been
undertaken by an officer of more military experience. Yet, once
undertaken, it was carried through with remarkable dash and brilliancy,
and the strategy displayed was of a high order.

I must find room for the address issued to his little army on the day
succeeding the battle, for it tells, in brief, the story of the
campaign:

"SOLDIERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH BRIGADE: I am proud of you all! In four
weeks you have marched, some eighty and some a hundred miles, over
almost impassable roads. One night in four you have slept, often in the
storm, with only a wintry sky above your heads. You have marched in the
face of a foe of more than double your number--led on by chiefs who have
won a national reputation under the old flag--intrenched in hills of his
own choosing, and strengthened by all the appliances of military art.
With no experience but the consciousness of your own manhood, you have
driven him from his strongholds, pursued his inglorious flight, and
compelled him to meet you in battle. When forced to fight, he sought the
shelter of rocks and hills. You drove him from his position, leaving
scores of his bloody dead unburied. His artillery thundered against you,
but you compelled him to flee by the light of his burning stores, and to
leave even the banner of his rebellion behind him. I greet you as brave
men. Our common country will not forget you. She will not forget the
sacred dead who fell beside you, nor those of your comrades who won
scars of honor on the field.

"I have recalled you from the pursuit that you may regain vigor for
still greater exertions. Let no one tarnish his well-earned honor by any
act unworthy an American soldier. Remember your duties as American
citizens, and sacredly respect the rights and property of those with
whom you have come in contact. Let it not be said that good men dread
the approach of an American army.

"Officers and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done. For this I thank
you."

The battle had been won, but the victorious army was in jeopardy. They
had less than three days' rations, and there were great difficulties in
the way of procuring a further supply. The rainy season had made the
roads impassable for all but horsemen.

Still there was the river. But the Big Sandy was now swollen beyond its
banks, and the rapid current was filled with floating logs and uptorn
trees. The oldest and most experienced boatmen shook their heads, and
would not attempt the perilous voyage.

What was to be done?

Col. Garfield had with him Brown, the scout and ex-canal-boatman, who
had returned from reconnoitering Marshall's camp, with a bullet through
his hat. Garfield asked his advice.

"It's which and t'other, General Jim," he answered, "starvin' or
drownin'. I'd rather drown nur starve. So gin the word, and, dead or
alive, I'll git down the river!"

Garfield gave the word, but he did not let the brave scout go alone.
Together in a small skiff they "got down the river." It was no light
task. The Big Sandy was now a raging torrent, sixty feet in depth, and,
in many places, above the tops of the tall trees which grew along its
margin. In some deep and narrow gorges, where the steep banks shut down
upon the stream, these trees had been undermined at the roots, and,
falling inward, had locked their arms together, forming a net-work that
well-nigh prevented the passage of the small skiff and its two
navigators. Where a small skiff could scarcely pass, could they run a
large steamboat loaded with provisions?

"Other men might ask that question, but not the backwoods boy who had
learned navigation on the waters of the Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal. He
pushed to the mouth of the river, and there took possession of the
_Sandy Valley_, a small steamer in the quartermaster's service. Loading
her with supplies, he set about starting up the river, but the captain
of the boat declared the thing was impossible. Not stopping to argue the
point, Garfield ordered him and his crew on board, and _himself taking
the helm_, set out up the river.

"Brown he stationed at the bow, where, with a long fending-pole in his
hand, he was to keep one eye on the floating logs and uprooted trees,
the other on the chicken-hearted captain.

"The river surged and boiled and whirled against the boat, tossing her
about as if she were a cockle-shell. With every turn of her wheel she
trembled from stem to stern, and with a full head of steam could only
stagger along at the rate of three miles an hour. When night came the
captain begged to tie up till morning, for breasting that flood in the
dark was sheer madness; but Brown cried out, 'Put her ahead, Gineral
Jim,' and Garfield clutched the helm and drove her on through the
darkness.

"Soon they came to a sudden bend in the stream, where the swift current
formed a furious whirlpool, and this catching the laboring boat,
whirled her suddenly round, and drove her, head on, into the
quicksands. Mattocks were plied, and excavations made round the imbedded
bow, and the bowman uttered oaths loud enough to have raised a small
earthquake; but still the boat was immovable. She was stuck fast in the
mud, and every effort to move her was fruitless. Garfield ordered a
small boat to be lowered, and take a line to the other bank, by which to
warp the steamer free; but the captain and now the crew protested it was
certain death to attempt to cross that foaming torrent at midnight.

"They might as well have repeated to him the Creed and the Ten
Commandments, for Garfield himself sprang into the boat and called to
Brown to follow. He took the helm and laid her bow across the stream,
but the swift current swept them downward. After incredible labor they
made the opposite bank, but far below the steamboat. Closely hugging the
shore, they now crept up the stream, and fastening the line to a tree,
rigged a windlass, and finally warped the vessel again into deep water.

"All that night, and all the next day, and all the following night they
struggled with the furious river, Garfield never but once leaving the
helm, and then for only a few hours' sleep, which he snatched in his
clothes in the day-time. At last they rounded to at the Union camp, and
then went up a cheer that might have been heard all over Kentucky. His
waiting men, frantic with joy, seized their glorious commander, and were
with difficulty prevented from bearing him on their shoulders to his
quarters."

The little army was saved from starvation by the canal-boy, who had not
forgotten his old trade. He had risked his life a dozen times over in
making the perilous trip, which has been so graphically described in the
passages I have quoted. But for his early and humble experience, he
never would have been able to bring the little steamer up the foaming
river. Little did he dream in the days when, as a boy, he guided the
_Evening Star_, that fifteen years hence, an officer holding an
important command he would use the knowledge then acquired to save a
famishing army. We can not wonder that his men should have been
devotedly attached to such a commander.

I have said that the Kentucky campaign was not one of the most
important operations of the civil war, but its successful issue was most
welcome, coming at the time it did. It came after a series of disasters,
which had produced wide-spread despondency, and even dimmed the courage
of President Lincoln. It kindled hope in the despondent, and nerved
patriotic arms to new and vigorous efforts.

"Why did Garfield, in two weeks, do what it would have taken one of you
Regular folks two months to accomplish?" asked the President, of a
distinguished army officer.

"Because he was not educated at West Point," answered the officer,
laughing.

"No," replied Mr. Lincoln; "that wasn't the reason. It was because, when
a boy, he had to work for a living."

This was literally true. To his struggling boyhood and early manhood,
and the valuable experience it brought him, Garfield was indebted for
the strength and practical knowledge which brought him safely through a
campaign conducted against fearful odds.

His country was not ungrateful. He received the thanks of the commanding
general for services which "called into action the highest qualities of
a soldier--fortitude, perseverance, courage," and a few weeks later a
commission as brigadier-general of volunteers, to date from the battle
of Middle Creek.

So Jim Garfield, the canal-boy, has become a general. It is an important
step upward, but where are others to come?

If this were designed to be a complete biography of General Garfield, I