Finally they broke and retreated into the forest.
But General Tilghman, the Confederate commander, and the heroic gunners
inside the fort, only sixty in number, made the most heroic resistance.
The armor clad boats were only six hundred yards away now, and were
pouring upon them a perfect storm of fire.
Their intrenchments, placed too low, gave them no advantage over the
vessels. Shells and solid shot rained upon them. Some of the guns were
exploded and others dismounted by this terrible shower, but they did not
yet give up. As fast as they could load and fire the little band sent
back their own fire at the black hulks that showed through the smoke.
"The fleet will win," Dick heard Colonel Winchester murmur. "Look
how magnificently it is handled, and it converges closer and closer.
A fortification located as this one is cannot stand forever a fire like
that."
But the fleet was not escaping unharmed. A shell burst the boiler of
the Essex, killing and wounding twenty-nine men. Nevertheless, the fire
of the boats increased rather than diminished, and Dick saw that Colonel
Winchester's words were bound to come true.
Inside the fort there was only depression. It had been raked through
by shells and solid shot. Most of the devoted band were wounded and
scarcely a gun could be worked. Tilghman, standing amid his dead and
wounded, saw that hope was no longer left, and gave the signal.
Dick and his comrades uttered a great shout as they saw the white flag
go up over Fort Henry, and then the cannonade ceased, like a mighty
crash of thunder that had rolled suddenly across the sky.
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