by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER XXI
THE GATHERING CLOUDS
Disaster followed disaster for the South now in swift succession. TheUnited States Navy, not content with the supremacy of the high seas, setto work with determination to build a war fleet on the great rivers ofthe West which could pierce the heart of the lower South.
Before the South could possibly secure arms and ammunition with which toequip the army of Albert Sidney Johnston, these gunboats were steamingdown the Ohio and Mississippi bearing thousands of troops armed, drilledand led by stark, game-fighting generals from the West.
By the end of November the Federal troops threatening Tennessee numberedfifty thousand and they were rapidly reenforced until they aggregated ahundred thousand.
General Albert Sidney Johnston sent the most urgent appeals for arms tothe Governors of Georgia and Alabama, to General Bragg at Pensacola andto the Government at Richmond. He asked for thirty thousand muskets andgot but one thousand. The guns were not in the South. They could not bemanufactured. Fully one-half his men had no arms at all. Whole brigadesremained without weapons for months. The entire force at his commandnever numbered more than twenty-two thousand during this perilous fall.And yet, by the masterly handling of his little army, its frequent andrapid expeditions, he kept his powerful opponents in constantexpectations of an attack and produced the impression that he commandedan enormous force.
In the meantime the sensational newspapers were loud in their demands.
The Richmond yellow Journal shouted:
"Let Johnston muster his forces, advance into Kentucky, captureLouisville, push across the Ohio and carry the war into Africa."
Swift and terrible the blow fell.
And always the navy's smoke on the horizon. From the Ohio, the Tennesseeand Cumberland rivers could be navigated for hundreds of miles intoTennessee and Alabama. But two forts guarded the rivers and protectedthese States.
Early in February, 1862, the gunboats under Admiral Foote slowly steamedup the Tennessee and attacked Fort Henry. The array they covered wascommanded by General Grant. The Federal fleet and army hurled twentythousand men and fifty-four cannon against the little fort of elevenguns. With but forty men General Tilghman fought this host and held themat bay for two hours and ten minutes, until the main body of hisgarrison of twenty-five hundred troops had marched out and were safelyon their way to Fort Donelson, twelve miles across the country on thebanks of the Cumberland. Fort Henry was of small importance. FortDonelson commanded the approach to Nashville.
There was not a moment's delay. Grant telegraphed Halleck that he wouldcapture Fort Donelson two days later. Admiral Foote sent three lightgunboats up the Tennessee to clear the river into Alabama, swept downstream with his heavier craft to the Ohio and turned into theCumberland. Grant pressed directly across the strip of twelve mileswith his army bearing on Fort Donelson.
The commander at Fort Donelson had at first but six thousand menincluding the garrison from Fort Henry which had just arrived. Had Grantbeen able to strike on the eighth of February, the day he had wired toHalleck he would capture the fort, its fall would have been sure. Buthigh water delayed him, and Albert Sidney Johnston hastened to pour inreenforcements. Every available soldier at his command was rushed to therescue. He determined to fight for Nashville at Donelson. GeneralBuckner's command of Kentuckians, General Pillow's Tennesseeans andGeneral Floyd's brigade of Virginia troops were all poured into the fortbefore the thirteenth. This force, approximating twenty thousand men,properly commanded should hold Donelson indefinitely.
The fortification was magnificently placed on a bluff commandingthe river for two miles. Its batteries consisted of eightthirty-two-pounders, three thirty-two-pound carronades, one ten-inchColumbiad and one thirty-two-pounder rifle. A line of entrenchmentsstretched for two miles around the fort enclosing it.
Into these trenches the newly arrived troops were thrown.
Dick Welford, with Floyd's Virginians, gripped his musket with eagerenthusiasm for his first real battle. His separation from Jennie hadbeen a bitter trial. In his eagerness to get to the front he had themisfortune to serve in the ill fated campaign in West Virginia, whichpreceded Bull Run. Beauregard and J. E. Johnston were in easy touch withRichmond. His unlucky brigade had been transferred to Albert SidneyJohnston's command.
The men had been in the trenches through the long miserable nightexpecting an attack at any moment.
Half waking, half dreaming, he lay on the cold ground wondering whatJennie was doing--and always with the nightmare of that foreign snakewinding his way into her favor. Well, his chance would come in thisbattle. He would lead his men in a charge. He was a corporal now. Hewould come out of it with straps on his shoulders, he could see Jennie'seyes flash with tears of pride as she read the story of his heroism andhis promotion.
"I'll show that reptile what a man can do!" he muttered.
The tired body relaxed and his big blond head sank on his arms.
A sudden crash of thunder and he sprang to his feet, his hand tight onhis gun. There they were in the gray light of the chill Februarymorning--the fleet of Federal gunboats under Foote, their big blackfunnels pouring clouds of smoke into the sky, darkening the dull redglow of the rising sun. He counted six of them--_Carondalet_,_Pittsburgh_, _Louisville_, _St. Louis_, _Tyler_ and _Conestoga_.
A white breath of smoke flashed from the _Carondalet's_ bow, and Dickwatched the shell rise with a shriek and fall short of the fort.
The fleet moved closer and another shell screamed through the sky andagain fell short. They moved again, found the range, and for four hoursthe earth trembled beneath the steady roar of their forty-six guns.
At eleven o'clock Dick saw the long lines of men in blue deploy for anassault on the entrenchments. They moved with quick sure step, these menunder Grant. He was sorry for them. They were marching to certain death.
On the blue waves rolled, pouring volley after volley into the heaps ofearth behind which the Southerners lay.
They were close enough now and the quick command rang along thetrenches.
"Fire!"
A storm of death swept the ranks in the open fields. They stood theirground stubbornly, those dogged western fighters. Dazed and cut topieces, they rallied and pressed forward again only to be mowed down inheaps.
They gave it up at last and sullenly withdrew, leaving the dead piledhigh and the wounded slowly freezing to death where they lay.
The artillery kept the earth quivering with the steady roar of theirguns and the Federal sharpshooters harassed the trenches without amoment's respite. It was impossible to move for food or water untilnightfall.
At dawn next day Dick once more gripped his gun and peered over theembankment. The morning passed without attack. What could it mean? Theysaw at last--another fleet. Clouds of black smoke on the river told thestory. Reenforcements had arrived.
At half-past two o'clock the fleet formed in line of battle--threw theirbig flags to the breeze and dashed squarely on the fort.
They swept now within point blank range of three hundred yards, pouringin a storm of shot.
But the Confederate batteries were too heavy and too well manned.Fifty-seven shells struck the flagship and more than a hundred tookeffect on the five boats leading the assault. The fleet was crushed andput out of commission. Every boat was disabled except one and thatwithdrew beyond the range of the batteries.
Dick watched the magnificent spectacle with thrilling pride. He couldhave enjoyed the show but for the bitter cold. It was twenty degreesbelow the freezing point, and while the battle raged between the fleetand fort it began to sleet and snow. When the crippled boats at lastdrifted down the yellow tide and out of range, he found to his amazementthat a thick coat of ice had formed on the hand in which he held hismusket. His clothes were frozen stiff on his body.
He leaped to his feet and beat his arms fiercely, and glanced over theembankment toward those ominous-looking piles of blue. The sleet wassheathing their bodies in crystal shrouds
now. No flag of truce wasallowed and the wounded lay freezing and dying where they fell. He couldhear the stronger ones still crying for help. Their long piteous moansrang above the howl of the wind through the breaking boughs of thetrees.
It was hideous. Why didn't they rescue those men? Why didn't theyproclaim a truce to bury the dead and save the wounded? Grant must be afiend! Far off on the river another black smudge was seen in the sky.More reenforcements were coming.
The three Confederate generals suddenly waked with a shock to realizethat their foe had landed a second army, cutting their communicationswith Nashville.
A council of war was hastily called on the night of the fourteenth. Itwas a discordant aggregation. Floyd, the former Secretary of War inBuchanan's administration, was the senior officer in command. He wasregarded more as a politician than a soldier and his exploits in WestVirginia had not added to his fame. The men around him had littlerespect for his capacity as a commander. Besides quarreling had becomethe fashion in the armies of the victorious South since the affair atBull Run. The example of Joseph E. Johnston and Beauregard wascontagious.
There was but one thing to do. The wrangling generals were unanimous onthat point. They must make a desperate assault next morning on Grant'sright wing and reestablish their communications with Nashville at allhazards.
Under cover of the darkness on the morning of the fifteenth, the menwere marched from their trenches and massed on the Federal right. But ahandful were left to guard the entrenchments on the Confederate right.
At the first streak of dawn, the concentrated lines of the Confederateswere hurled on the division of McClernand. Before two o'clock Grant'sright wing had been crushed into a shapeless mass with the loss of hisartillery. The way was open to Nashville and the discordant commandinggenerals of the Confederacy paused.
Buckner ordered up his artillery and reserves to pursue the enemy orhold his newly-won position. Pillow flatly refused to allow a single gunto be withdrawn from the entrenchments and sent peremptory orders to hisvictorious subordinate to return to the trenches on the right.
As Buckner was reluctantly returning to the old lines he encounteredFloyd.
"Where are you going?" the Commander-in-Chief demanded.
"I am ordered back to the entrenchments--"
"You think it wise to walk back into the trap we've just escaped from?"
"I do not!" was the short answer. "We are outnumbered three to one. Wecan not hold our connections open in the face of such an army backed bygunboats and transports which can bring reenforcements daily. The roadis open, we should save our army by an immediate juncture with AlbertSidney Johnston before Nashville."
"I agree with you," Floyd replied. "Hold your troops until I consultwith Pillow."
While Floyd and Pillow wrangled, Grant dashed on the scene. He had notbeen present during the battle. The wounded Commodore had begged him fora consultation on board his flagship five miles below.
When Grant reached the field he met a sight that should have dismayedhim and sent his shattered army to the shelter of the gunboats and ahasty retreat down the Cumberland to a place of safety.
McClernand had been crushed and his disorganized troops thrown back inconfusion in front of the entrenchments of the Confederate right. Histroops had been on the field for five days and five nights drenched insnow, sleet, mud, ice and water. The field was strewn with the dead andwounded. Great red splotches of frozen blood marked the ground in alldirections. Beneath the sheltering pines where the white, smooth snowlay unbroken by the tramp of heavy feet and the crush of artillery,crimson streams could be seen everywhere. For two miles the ground wascovered with the mangled dead, dying, and freezing. Smashed artilleryand dead horses lay in heaps. In the retreat the heavy wheels of theartillery had rolled over the bodies of the dead and wounded, crushingand mangling many beyond recognition.
No general ever gazed upon a more ghastly scene than that which greetedthe eye of U. S. Grant in this moment of his life's supreme crisis. Thesuffering of his wounded who had fought with the desperation of madnessto save themselves from the cold, had left its mark on their stark,white faces. The ice had pressed a death mask on the convulsed featuresand held them in the moment of agony. They looked up into his face now,the shining eyes, gaping mouths, clenched fists, and crooked twistedlimbs.
McClernand's raw troops retreating over this field of horrors werelargely beyond control. Grant knew the enemy had been reenforced. Hecould reasonably assume from the evidence before him of the terrificslaughter in the open field that his own army was in peril. Thetransports were in sight ready to move his army to a place of safetywhere he might re-form his broken ranks.
His decision was instantaneous and thoroughly characteristic. He turnedto C. F. Smith in command of his left wing whose division had been butslightly engaged.
"General Smith, the enemy does not follow up their advantage.They are probably in a worse condition than I am. Mass your menand charge their entrenchments on the right--never let up for aminute--drive--drive--drive them!"
The charging hosts swept the thin lines of the half abandoned trencheswith the fury of a cyclone. The Confederate right was broken and rolledback in confusion, fresh troops were rushed from the Federal reservesand a new cordon of death thrown round the fort.
On the night of this fatal fifteenth of February Dick Welford wasdetailed for guard duty at the door of General Floyd's tent. He heardtheir council of war with sinking heart.
General Pillow favored a second desperate assault on the enemies' rightto re-open the way to Nashville.
Buckner faced him with rage:
"It was possible to-day, sir, and we did it. Now the enemy has beenreenforced for the third time. If you had sent my guns as I ordered theway would still be open--"
"We can yet cut our way out," Pillow growled.
"Yes, with the sacrifice of three fourths of our brave men to save onefourth. I'll not be a party to such butchery. We're caught now in adeath trap. The only rational thing to do is to surrender."
Floyd rose nervously.
"I'm not going to surrender, gentlemen. The North has accused me oftreachery in Buchanan's Cabinet. I couldn't expect decent treatment fromthem. A steamer with recruits has just arrived from Nashville. I shallmake my escape on it with as many men as can be carried."
"And I'll accompany you," Pillow declared.
"Go if you like, gentlemen," Buckner replied. "I'll stand by my men andshare their fate."
Floyd and Pillow hastily began their preparations to go.
Buckner quietly asked:
"Am I to consider the command turned over to me?"
"Certainly," Floyd answered. "I turn over the command."
"I pass it, too," Pillow quickly added.
General Buckner called for pen, ink and paper and dispatched a courierimmediately to General Grant. The reply was in two words:
"Unconditional surrender."
Pillow crossed the river under cover of the night and made his way intothe country.
Floyd offered to take Dick Welford on board the little steamer.
"No, thank you," the young Virginian answered curtly.
"You prefer to surrender?"
"I'm not going to surrender. I'm going to join Col. Forrest's cavalryand fight my way out."
With a wave of his arm Floyd hurried on board the steamer and fled toNashville.
Dick had seen Forrest lead one of his matchless charges of cavalry intheir fight that day. With a handful of men he had cut his way througha solid mass of struggling infantry and thrown them into confusion.
He had watched this grave, silent, unobtrusive man of humble birth andlittle education with the keenest interest. He felt instinctively thathe was a man of genius. From to-day he knew that as a leader of cavalryhe had few equals. He had pointed out to his superiors in their councilof war a possible path of escape by a road partially overflowed alongthe river banks. It was judged impracticable.
In the darkness of the freezing ni
ght Dick rode behind his silent newcommander along this road with perfect faith. Forrest threw his commandinto Nashville and saved the city from anarchy when the dreaded news ofthe fall of Donelson precipitated a panic.
The South had met her first crushing defeat--a defeat more disastrousthan the North had suffered at Bull Ran. Grant had lost three thousandmen but the Confederate garrisons had been practically wiped out withthe loss of more than fifteen thousand muskets, every big gun andthirteen thousand prisoners of war.
When Grant met Buckner, the victor and vanquished quietly shook hands.They had been friends at West Point.
"Why didn't you attack me on Friday?" the Northerner asked.
"I was not in command."
"If you had, my reenforcements could not possibly have reached me intime."
Buckner smiled grimly.
"In other words a little more promptness on one side, a little lessresolute decision on the other--and the tables would have been turned!"
"That's just it," was the short answer.
It was an ominous day for the South. Bigger than the loss of the capitalof Tennessee which Johnston evacuated the next day, bigger than theloss of fifteen thousand men and their guns loomed the figure of a newFederal commander. Out of the mud, and slush, ice and frozen pools ofblood--out of the storm cloud of sleet and snow and black palls of smokeemerged the stolid, bulldog face of Ulysses S. Grant. Lincoln made him amajor general.
