Chapter X. Before Donelson

The Guns of Shiloh

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Dick was the first in Colonel Winchester's troop to see the
white flag floating over Fort Henry and he uttered a shout of
joy.

"Look! look!" he cried, "the fleet has taken the fort!"

"So it has," said Colonel Winchester, "and the army is not
here. Now I wonder what General Grant will say when he learns that
Foote has done the work before he could come."

But Dick believed that General Grant would find no fault, that
he would approve instead. The feeling was already spreading among
the soldiers that this man, whose name was recently so new among
them, cared only for results. He was not one to fight over
precedence and to feel petty jealousies.

The smoke of battle was beginning to clear away. Officers
were landing from the boats to receive the surrender of the fort,
and Colonel Winchester and his troops galloped rapidly back toward
the army, which they soon met, toiling through swamps and even
through shallow overflow toward the Tennessee. The men had been
hearing for more than an hour the steady booming of the cannon, and
every face was eager.

Colonel Winchester rode straight toward a short, thickset
figure on a stout bay horse near the head of one of the columns.
This man, like all the others, was plastered with mud, but Colonel
Winchester gave him a salute of deep respect.

"What does the cessation of firing mean, Colonel?" asked
General Grant.

"It means that Fort Henry has surrendered to the fleet. The
Southern force, which was drawn up outside, retreated southward, but
the fort, its guns and immediate defenders, are ours."

Dick saw the faintest smile of satisfaction pass over the face
of the General, who said:

"Commodore Foote has done well. Ride back and tell him that
the army is coming up as fast as the nature of the ground will
allow."

In a short time the army was in the fort which had been taken
so gallantly by the navy, and Grant, his generals, and Commodore
Foote, were in anxious consultation. Most of the troops were soon
camped on the height, where the Southern force had stood, and there
was great exultation, but Dick, who had now seen so much, knew that
the high officers considered this only a beginning.

Across the narrow stretch of land on the parallel river, the
Cumberland, stood the great fort of Donelson. Henry was a small
affair compared with it. It was likely that men who had been
stationed at Henry had retreated there, and other formidable forces
were marching to the same place. The Confederate commander,
Johnston, after the destruction of his eastern wing at Mill Spring
by Thomas, was drawing in his forces and concentrating. The news of
the loss of Fort Henry would cause him to hasten his operations. He
was rapidly falling back from his position at Bowling Green in
Kentucky. Buckner, with his division, was about to march from that
place to join the garrison in Donelson, and Floyd, with another
division, would soon be on the way to the same point. Floyd had been
the United States Secretary of War before secession, and the Union
men hated him. It was said that the great partisan leader, Forrest,
with his cavalry, was also at the fort.

Much of this news was brought in by farmers, Union
sympathizers, and Dick and his comrades, as they sat before the
fires at the close of the short winter day, understood the situation
almost as well as the generals.

"Donelson is ninety per cent and Henry only ten per cent,"
said Warner. "So long as the Johnnies hold Donelson on the
Cumberland, they can build another fort anywhere they please along
the Tennessee, and stop our fleet. This general of ours has a good
notion of the value of time and a swift blow, and, although I'm
neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, I predict that he will
attack Donelson at once by both land and water."

"How can he attack it by water?" asked Pennington. "The
distance between them is not great, but our ships can't steam
overland from the Tennessee to the Cumberland."

"No, but they can steam back up the Tennessee into the Ohio,
thence to the mouth of the Cumberland, and down the Cumberland to
Donelson. It would require only four or five days, and it will take
that long for the army to invade from the land side."

Dick had his doubts about the ability of the army and the
fleet to co-operate. Accustomed to the energy of the Southern
commanders in the east he did not believe that Grant would be
allowed to arrange things as he chose. But several days passed and
they heard nothing from the Confederates, although Donelson was only
about twenty miles away. Johnston himself, brilliant and sagacious,
was not there, nor was his lieutenant, Beauregard, who had won such
a great reputation by his victory at the first Bull Run.

Dick was just beginning to suspect a truth that later on was
to be confirmed fully in his mind. Fortune had placed the great
generals of the Confederacy, with the exception of Albert Sidney
Johnston, in the east, but it had been the good luck of the North to
open in the west with its best men.

Now he saw the energy of Grant, the short man of rather
insignificant appearance. Boats were sent down the Tennessee to
meet any reinforcements that might be coming, take them back to the
Ohio, and thence into the Cumberland. Fresh supplies of ammunition
and food were brought up, and it became obvious to Dick that the
daring commander meant to attack Donelson, even should its garrison
outnumber his own besieging force.

Along a long line from Western Tennessee to Eastern Kentucky
there was a mighty stir. Johnston had perceived the energy and
courage of his opponent. He had shared the deep disappointment of
all the Southern leaders when Kentucky failed to secede, but instead
furnished so many thousands of fine troops to the Union army.

Johnston, too, had noticed with alarm the tremendous
outpouring of rugged men from the states beyond the Ohio and from
the far northwest. The lumbermen who came down in scores of
thousands from Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota, were a stalwart
crowd. War, save for the bullets and shell, offered to them no
hardships to which they were not used. They had often worked for
days at a time up to their waists in icy water. They had endured
thirty degrees below zero without a murmur, they had breasted
blizzard and cyclone, they could live on anything, and they could
sleep either in forest or on prairie, under the open sky.

It was such men as these, including men of his own state, and
men of the Tennessee mountains, whom Johnston, who had all the
qualities of a great commander, had to face. The forces against him
were greatly superior in number. The eastern end of his line had
been crushed already at Mill Spring, the extreme western end had
suffered a severe blow at Fort Henry, but Jefferson Davis and the
Government at Richmond expected everything of him. And he manfully
strove to do everything.

There was a mighty marching of men, some news of which came
through to Dick and his comrades with Grant. Johnston with his main
army, the very flower of the western South, fell back from Bowling
Green, in Kentucky, toward Nashville, the capital of Tennessee. But
Buckner, with his division, was sent from Bowling Green to help
defend Donelson against the threatened attack by Grant, and he
arrived there six days after the fall of Henry. On the way were the
troops of Floyd, defeated in West Virginia, but afterwards sent
westward. Floyd was at the head of them. Forrest, the great cavalry
leader, was also there with his horsemen. The fort was crowded with
defenders, but the slack Pillow did not yet send forward anybody to
see what Grant was doing, although he was only twenty miles away.

All eyes were now turned upon the west. The center of action
had suddenly shifted from Kentucky to Tennessee. The telegraph was
young yet, but it was busy. It carried many varying reports to the
cities North and South. The name of this new man, Grant, spelled
trouble. People were beginning to talk much about him, and already
some suspected that there was more in the back of his head than in
those of far better known and far more pretentious northern generals
in the east. None at least could dispute the fact that he was now
the one whom everybody was watching.

But the Southern people, few of whom knew the disparity of
numbers, had the fullest confidence in the brilliant Johnston. He
was more than twenty years older than his antagonist, but his years
had brought only experience and many triumphs, not weakness of
either mind or body. At his right hand was the swarthy and confident
Beauregard, great with the prestige of Bull Run, and Hardee, Bragg,
Breckinridge and Polk. And there were many brilliant colonels, too,
foremost among whom was George Kenton.

A tremor passed through the North when it was learned that
Grant intended to plunge into the winter forest, cross the
Cumberland, and lay siege to Donelson. He was going beyond the
plans of his superior, Halleck, at St. Louis. He was too daring, he
would lose his army, away down there in the Confederacy. But others
remembered his successes, particularly at Belmont and Fort Henry.
They said that nothing could be won in war without risk, and they
spoke of his daring and decision. They recalled, too, that he was
master upon the waters, that there was no Southern fleet to face
his, as it sailed up the Southern rivers. The telegraph was already
announcing that the gunboats, which had been handled with such skill
and courage, would be in the Cumberland ready to co-operate with
Grant when he should move on Donelson.

Buell was moving also to form another link in the steel chain
that was intended to bind the Confederacy in the west. Here again
the mastery of the rivers was of supreme value to the North. Buell
embarked his army on boats on Green River in the very heart of
Kentucky, descended that river to the Ohio, passing down the latter
to Smithland, where the Cumberland, coming up from the south,
entered it, and met another convoy destined for the huge
invasion.

But the first convoy had come, also by boat, from another
direction, and from points far distant. There were fresh regiments
of farmers and pioneers from Iowa, Nebraska, and Minnesota. They
were all eager, full of enthusiasm, anxious to be led against the
enemy, and confident of triumph.

Grant and his army, meanwhile, lying in the bleak forest
beside the Tennessee, knew little of what was being said of them in
the great world without. All their thoughts were of Donelson,
across there on the other river, and the men asked to be led against
it. Inured to the hardships of border life, there was little
sickness among them, despite the winter and the overflow of the
flooded streams. They gathered the dead wood that littered the
forest, built numerous fires, and waited as patiently as they could
for the word to march.

The Pennsylvanians were still camped with the Kentucky
regiment to which Dick now belonged, and the fifth evening after the
capture of Henry he and his friends sat by one of the big fires.

"We'll advance either tomorrow or the next day," said Warner.
"The chances are at least ninety per cent in favor of my statement.
What do you say, sergeant?"

"I'd raise the ninety per cent to one hundred," replied
Whitley. "We are all ready an' as you've observed, gentlemen,
General Grant is a man who acts."

"The Johnnies evidently expect us," said Pennington. "Our
scouts have seen their cavalry in the woods watching us, but only in
the last day or two. It's strange that they didn't begin it
earlier."

"They say that General Pillow, who commands them, isn't of
much force," said Dick.

"Well, it looks like it," said Warner, "but from what we hear
he'll have quite an army at Donelson. General Grant will have his
work cut out for him. The Johnnies, besides having their fort, can
go into battle with just about as many men as we have, unless he
waits for reinforcements, which I am quite certain he isn't going to
do."

That evening several bags of mail were brought to the camp on
a small steamer, which had come on three rivers, the Green, the
Ohio, and the Tennessee, and Dick, to his great surprise and
delight, received a letter from his mother. He had written several
letters himself, but he had no way of knowing until now that any of
them had reached her. Only one had succeeded in getting through, and
that had been written from Cairo.

"My dearest son," she wrote, "I am full of joy to know that
you have reached Cairo in safety and in health, though I dread the
great expedition upon which you say you are going. I hear in
Pendleton many reports about General Grant. They say that he does
not spare his men. The Southern sympathizers here say that he is
pitiless and cares not how many thousands of his own soldiers he may
sacrifice, if he only gains his aim. But of that I know not. I
know it is a characteristic of our poor human nature to absolve
one's own side and to accuse those on the other side.

"I was in Pendleton this morning, and the reports are thick;
thick from both Northerners and Southerners, that the armies are
moving forward to a great battle. They have all marched south of
us, and I do not know either whether these reports are true or
false, though I fear that they are true. Your uncle, Colonel
Kenton, is with General Johnston, and I hear is one of his most
trusted officers. Colonel Kenton is a good man, and it would be one
of the terrible tragedies of war if you and he were to meet on the
field in this great battle, which so many hear is coming.

"I am very glad that you are now in the regiment of Colonel
Winchester, and that you are an aide on his staff. It is best to be
with one's own people. I have known Colonel Winchester a long time,
and he has all the qualities that make a man, brave and gentle. I
hope that you and he will become the best of friends."

There was much more in the letter, but it was only the little
details that concern mother and son. Dick was sitting by the fire
when he read it. Then he read it a second time and a third time,
folded it very carefully and put it in the pocket in which he had
carried the dispatch from General Thomas.

Colonel Winchester was sitting near him, and Dick noticed
again what a fine, trim man he was. Although a little over forty,
his figure was still slender, and he had an abundant head of thick,
vital hair. His whole effect was that of youth. His glance met
Dick's and he smiled.

"A letter from home?" he said.

"Yes, sir, from mother. She writes to me that she is glad I
am in your command. She speaks very highly of you, sir, and my
mother is a woman of uncommon penetration."

A faint red tinted the tanned cheeks of the colonel. Dick
thought it was merely the reflection of the fire.

"Would you care for me to read what she says about you?" asked
Dick.

"If you don't mind."

Dick drew out the letter again and read the paragraph.

"Your mother is a very fine woman," said Colonel
Winchester.

"You're right, sir," said Dick with enthusiasm.

Colonel Winchester said no more, but rose presently and went
to the tent of General Grant, where a conference of officers was to
be held. Dick remained by the fire, where Warner and Pennington soon
joined him.

"Our scouts have exchanged some shots with the enemy," said
Pennington, "and they have taken one or two prisoners, bold fellows
who say they're going to lick the spots off us. They say they have
a big army at Donelson, and they're afraid of nothing except that
Grant won't come on. Between ourselves, the Johnny Rebs are getting
ready for us."

It was Dick's opinion, too, that the Southern troops were
making great preparations to meet them, but, like the others, he was
feeling the strong hand on the reins. He did not notice here the
doubt and uncertainty that had reigned at Washington before the
advance on Bull Run; in Grant's army were order and precision, and
with perfect confidence in his commander he rolled himself in his
blankets that night and went to sleep.

The order to advance did not come the next morning, and Dick,
for a few moments, thought it might not come at all. The reports
from Donelson were of a formidable nature, and Grant's own army was
not provided for a winter campaign. It had few wagons for food and
ammunition, and some of the regiments from the northwest, cherishing
the delusion that winter in Tennessee was not cold, were not
provided with warm clothing and sufficient blankets.

But Warner abated his confidence not one jot.

"The chance of our moving against Donelson is one hundred per
cent," he said. "I passed the General today and his lips were shut
tight together, which means a resolve to do at all costs what one
has intended to do. I still admit that the prophets and the sons of
prophets live no more, but I predict with absolute certainty that we
will move in the morning."

The Vermonter's faith was justified. The army, being put in
thorough trim, started at dawn upon its momentous march. Wintry
fogs were rising from the great river and the submerged lowlands,
and the air was full of raw, penetrating chill. An abundant
breakfast was served to everybody, and then with warmth and courage
the lads of the west and northwest marched forward with eagerness to
an undertaking which they knew would be far greater than the capture
of Fort Henry.

Dick and Pennington, as staff officers, were mounted, although
the horses that had been furnished to them were not much more than
ponies. Warner rode with Colonel Newcomb and Major Hertford, who led
the slender Pennsylvania detachment beside the Kentucky regiment.
Thus the army emerged from its camp and began the march toward the
Cumberland. It was now about fifteen thousand strong, but it
expected reinforcements, and its fleet held the command of the
rivers.

As they entered the leafless forest Dick saw ahead of them,
perhaps a quarter of a mile away, a numerous band of horsemen
wearing faded Confederate gray. They were the cavalry of Forrest,
but they were too few to stay the Union advances. There was a
scattered firing of rifles, but the heavy brigades of Grant moved
steadily on, and pushed them out of the way. Forrest could do no
more than gallop back to the fort with his men and report that the
enemy was coming at last.

"Those fellows ride well," said Pennington, as the last of
Forrest's cavalrymen passed out of sight, "and if we were not in
such strong force I fancy they would sting us pretty hard."

"We'll see more of 'em," said Dick. "This is the enemy's
country, and we needn't think that we're going to march as easy as
you please from one victory to another."

"Maybe not," said Pennington, "but I'll be glad when we get
Donelson. I've been hearing so much about that place that I'm
growing real curious."

Their march across the woods suffered no further interruption.
Sometimes they saw Confederate cavalrymen at a distance in front,
but they did not try to impede Grant's advance. When the sun was
well down in the west, the vanguard of the army came within sight of
the fortress that stood by the Cumberland. At that very moment the
troops under Floyd, just arrived, were crossing the river to join
the garrison in the fortress.

Dick looked upon extensive fortifications, a large fort, a
redoubt upon slightly higher ground, other batteries at the water's
edge, powerful batteries upon a semi-circular hill which could
command the river for a long distance, and around all of these
extensive works, several miles in length, including a deep creek on
the north. Inside the works was the little town of Dover, and they
were defended by fifteen thousand men, as many as Grant had
without.

When Dick beheld this formidable position bristling with
cannon, rifles and bayonets, his heart sank within him. How could
one army defeat another, as numerous as itself, inside powerful
intrenchments, and in its own country? Nor could they prevent
Southern reinforcements from reaching the other side of the river
and crossing to the fort under the shelter of its numerous great
guns. He was yet to learn the truth, or at least the partial truth,
of Napoleon's famous saying, that in war an army is nothing, a man
is everything. The army to which he belonged was led by a man of
clear vision and undaunted resolution. The chief commander inside
the fort had neither, and his men were shaken already by the news of
Fort Henry, exaggerated in the telling.

But after the first sinking of the heart Dick felt an
extraordinary thrill. Sensitive and imaginative, he was conscious
even at the moment that he looked in the face of mighty events. The
things of the minute did not always appeal to him with the greatest
force. He had, instead, the foreseeing mind, and the meaning of
that vast panorama of fortress, hills, river and forest did not
escape him.

"Well, Dick, what do you think of it?" asked Pennington.

"We've got our work cut out for us, and if I didn't know
General Grant I'd say that we're engaged in a mighty rash
undertaking."

"Just what I'd say, also. And we need that fleet bad, too,
Dick. I'd like to see the smoke of its funnels as the boats come
steaming up the Cumberland."

Dick knew that the fleet was needed, not alone for
encouragement and fighting help, but to supply an even greater want.
Grant's army was short of both food and ammunition. The afternoon
had turned warm, and many of the northwestern lads, still clinging
to their illusions about the climate of the lower Mississippi
Valley, had dropped their blankets. Now, with the setting sun, the
raw, penetrating chill was coming back, and they shivered in every
bone.

But the Union army, in spite of everything, gradually spread
out and enfolded the whole fortress, save on the northern side where
Hickman Creek flowed, deep and impassable. The general's own
headquarters were due west of Fort Donelson, and Colonel
Winchester's Kentucky regiment was stationed close by.

Low campfires burned along the long line of the Northern army,
and Dick and others who sat beside him saw many lights inside the
great enclosure held by the South. An occasional report was heard,
but it was only the pickets exchanging shots at long range and
without hurt. Dick and Pennington wrapped their blankets about them
and sat with their backs against a log, ready for any command from
Colonel Winchester. Now and then they were sent with orders,
because there was much moving to and fro, the placing of men in
position and the bringing up of cannon.

Thus the night moved slowly on, raw, cold and dark. Mists and
fogs rose from the Cumberland as they had risen from the Tennessee.
This, too, was a great river. Dick was glad when the last of his
errands was done, and he could come back to the fire, and rest his
back once more against the log. The fire was only a bed of coals
now, but they gave out much grateful heat.

Dick could see General Grant's tent from where he sat.
Officers of high rank were still entering it or leaving it, and he
was quite sure that they were planning an attack on the morrow.

But the idea of an assault did not greatly move him now. He
was too tired and sleepy to have more than a vague impression of
anything. He saw the coals glowing before him, and then he did not
see them. He had gone sound asleep in an instant.

The next morning was gray and troubled, with heavy clouds,
rolling across the sky. The rising sun was blurred by them, and as
the men ate their breakfasts some of the great guns from the fort
began to fire at the presumptuous besieger. The heavy reports
rolled sullenly over the desolate forests, but the Northern cannon
did not yet reply. The Southern fire was doing no damage. It was
merely a threat, a menace to those who should dare the assault.

Colonel Winchester signalled to Dick and Pennington, and
mounting their horses they rode with him to the crest of the highest
adjacent hill. Presently General Grant came and with him were the
generals, McClernand and Smith. Colonel Newcomb also arrived,
attended by Warner. The high officers examined the fort a long time
through their glasses, but Dick noticed that at times they watched
the river. He knew they were looking there for the black plumes of
smoke which should mark the coming of the steamers out of the
Ohio.

But nothing showed on the surface of the Cumberland. The
river, dark gray under lowering clouds, flowed placidly on, washing
the base of Fort Donelson. At intervals of a minute or two there
was a flash of fire from the fort, and the menacing boom of the
cannon rolled through the desolate forest. Now and then, a gun from
one of the Northern batteries replied. But it was as yet a
desultory battle, with much noise and little danger, merely a threat
of what was to come.

After a while Colonel Winchester wrote something on a slip of
paper:

"Take this to our lieutenant-colonel," he said. "It is an
order for the regiment to hold itself in complete readiness,
although no action may come for some time. Then return here at
once."

Dick rode back swiftly, but on his way he suddenly bent over
his saddle bow. A shell from the fort screamed over his head in
such a menacing fashion that it seemed to be only a few inches from
him. But it passed on, leaving him unharmed, and burst three
hundred yards away.

Dick instantly straightened up in the saddle, looked around,
breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one had noticed his
sudden bow, and galloped on with the order. The lieutenant-colonel
read it and nodded. Then Dick rode back to the hill where the
generals were yet watching in vain for those black plumes of smoke
on the Cumberland.

They left the hill at last and the generals went to their
brigades. General Grant was smoking a cigar and his face was
impassive.

"We're to open soon with the artillery," said Colonel
Winchester to Dick. "General Grant means to push things."

The desultory firing, those warning guns, ceased entirely, and
for a while both armies stood in almost complete silence. Then a
Northern battery on the right opened with a tremendous crash and the
battle for Donelson had begun. A Southern battery replied at once
and the firing spread along the whole vast curve. Shells and solid
shot whistled through the air, but the troops back of the guns
crouched in hasty entrenchments, and waited.

The great artillery combat went on for some time. To many of
the lads on either side it seemed for hours. Then the guns on the
Northern side ceased suddenly, bugles sounded, and the regiments,
drawn up in line, rushed at the outer fortifications.

Colonel Winchester and his staff had dismounted, but Dick and
Pennington, keeping by the colonel's side, drew their swords and
rushed on shouting. The Southerners inside the fort fired their
cannon as fast as they could now, and at closer range opened with
the rifles. Dick heard once again that terrible shrieking of metal
so close to his ears, and then he heard, too, cries of pain. Many
of the young soldiers behind him were falling.

The fire now grew so hot and deadly that the Union regiments
were forced to give ground. It was evident that they could not
carry the formidable earthworks, but on the right, where Dick's
regiment charged, and just above the little town of Dover, they
pressed in far enough to secure some hills that protected them from
the fire of the enemy, and from which Southern cannon and rifles
could not drive them. Then, at the order of Grant, his troops
withdrew elsewhere and the battle of the day ceased. But on the low
hills above Dover, which they had taken, the Union regiments held
their ground, and from their position the Northern cannon could
threaten the interior of the Southern lines.

Dick's regiment stood here, and beside them were the few
companies of Pennsylvanians so far from their native state. Neither
Dick nor Pennington was wounded. Warner had a bandaged arm, but the
wound was so slight that it would not incapacitate him. The
officers were unhurt.

"They've driven our army back," said Pennington, "and it was
not so hard for them to do it either. How can we ever defeat an
army as large as our own inside powerful works?"

But Dick was learning fast and he had a keen eye.

"We have not failed utterly," he said. "Don't you see that we
have here a projection into the enemy's lines, and if those
reinforcements come it will be thrust further and further? I tell
you that general of ours is a bull dog. He will never let go."

Yet there was little but gloom in the Union camp. The short
winter day, somber and heavy with clouds, was drawing to a close.
The field upon which the assault had taken place was within the
sweep of the Southern guns. Some of the Northern wounded had
crawled away or had been carried to their own camp, but others and
the numerous dead still lay upon the ground.

The cold increased. The Southern winter is subject to violent
changes. The clouds which had floated up without ceasing were
massing heavily. Now the young troops regretted bitterly the
blankets that they had dropped on the way or left at Fort Henry.
Detachments were sent back to regain as many as possible, but long
before they could return a sharp wind with an edge of ice sprang up,
the clouds opened and great flakes poured down, driven into the eyes
of the soldiers by the wind.

The situation was enough to cause the stoutest heart to
weaken, but the unflinching Grant held on. The Confederate army
within the works was sheltered at least in part, but his own,
outside, and with the desolate forest rimming it around, lay exposed
fully to the storm. Dick, at intervals, saw the short, thickset
figure of the commander passing among the men, and giving them
orders or encouragement. Once he saw his face clearly. The lips
were pressed tightly together, and the whole countenance expressed
the grimmest determination. Dick was confirmed anew in his belief
that the chief would never turn back.

The spectacle, nevertheless, was appalling. The snow drove
harder and harder. It was not merely a passing shower of flakes.
It was a storm. The snow soon lay upon the ground an inch deep, then
three inches, then four and still it gained. Through the darkness
and the storm the Southern cannon crashed at intervals, sending
shells at random into the Union camp or over it. There was full
need then for the indomitable spirit of Grant and those around him
to encourage anew the thousands of boys who had so lately left the
farms or the lumber yards.

Dick and his comrades, careless of the risk, searched over the
battlefield for the wounded who were yet there. They carried
lanterns, but the darkness was so great and the snow drove so hard
and lay so deep that they knew many would never be found.

Back beyond the range of the fort's cannon men were building
fires with what wood they could secure from the forest. All the
tents they had were set up, and the men tried to cook food and make
coffee, in order that some degree of warmth and cheer might be
provided for the army beset so sorely.

The snow, after a while, slackening somewhat, was succeeded by
cold much greater than ever. The shivering men bent over the fires
and lamented anew the discarded blankets. Dick did not sleep an
instant that terrible night. He could not. He, Pennington, and
Warner, relieved from staff service, worked all through the cold and
darkness, helping the wounded and seeking wood for the fires. And
with them always was the wise Sergeant Whitley, to whom, although
inferior in rank, they turned often and willingly for guidance and
advice.

"It's an awful situation," said Pennington; "I knew that war
would furnish horrors, but I didn't expect anything like this."

"But General Grant will never retreat," said Dick. "I feel it
in every bone of me. I've seen his face tonight."

"No, he won't," said the experienced sergeant, "because he's
making every preparation to stay. An' remember, Mr. Pennington,
that while this is pretty bad, worse can happen. Remember, too,
that while we can stand this, we can also stand whatever worse may
come. It's goin' to be a fight to a finish."

Far in the night the occasional guns from the Southern
fortress ceased. The snow was falling no longer, but it lay very
deep on the ground, and the cold was at its height. Along a line of
miles the fires burned and the men crowded about them. But Dick,
who had been working on the snowy plain that was the battlefield,
and who had heard many moans there, now heard none. All who lay in
that space were sleeping the common sleep of death, their bodies
frozen stiff and hard under the snow.

Dick, sitting by one of the fires, saw the cold dawn come, and
in those chill hours of nervous exhaustion he lost hope for a moment
or two. How could anybody, no matter how resolute, maintain a siege
without ammunition and without food. But he spoke cheerfully to
Pennington and Warner, who had slept a little and who were just
awakening.

The pale and wintry sun showed the defiant Stars and Bars
floating over Donelson, and Dick from his hill could see men moving
inside the earthworks. Certainly the Southern flags had a right to
wave defiance at the besieging army, which was now slowly and
painfully rising from the snow, and lighting the fires anew.

"Well, what's the program today, Dick?" asked Pennington.

"I don't know, but it's quite certain that we won't attempt
another assault. It's hopeless."

"That's true," said Warner, who was standing by, "but
we--hark, what was that?"

The boom of a cannon echoed over the fort and forest, and then
another and another. To the northward they saw thin black spires of
smoke under the horizon.

"It's the fleet! It's the fleet!" cried Warner joyously,
"coming up the Cumberland to our help! Oh, you men of Donelson,
we're around you now, and you'll never shake us off!"

Again came the crash of great guns from the fleet, and the
crash of the Southern water batteries replying.