Foote sailed up the river with a little fleet
of seven gunboats to assist the army.
The weather was bitterly cold, and as the soldiers lay round the
fort tentless and fireless, a pitiless wind blew, chilling them
to the bone, and making sleep impossible. Foote with his gunboats
had not yet arrived, but in the morning the attack on land was begun.
Up the hill to the fort the Federals swept, only to be driven back
by the fierce Confederate fire. Again and again they charged. Again
and again they were driven back, leaving the hillside strewn with
dead and dying. At length the dry leaves which covered the hillside
took fire. Choked by the smoke, scorched by the flames the men
could advance no more, and they sullenly retreated for the last
time. The attack had failed.
That night the gunboats arrived, and soon the bombardment from the
river began. But the firing from the fort was so fierce and well
placed that before long two of the boats were disabled, and floated
helplessly down the stream, and the others too withdrew till they
were out of range of the Confederate guns.
There was joy that night in Fort Donelson. By land and water the
Federals had been repulsed. The Confederates felt certain of victory.
But the Federals were by no means beaten, and next morning they
renewed the fight as fiercely as ever. Yet again the Confederates
swept all before them, and the right wing of the Federal army was
driven from its position and scattered in flight.
Pages:
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626