CHAPTER XII
GRANT'S GREAT VICTORY
The night, early and wintry, put an end to the conflict, the fiercest
and greatest yet seen in the West. Thousands of dead and wounded lay
upon the field and the hearts of the Southern leaders were full of
bitterness. They had seen the victory, won by courage and daring,
taken from them at the very last moment. The farmer lads whom they led
had fought with splendid courage and tenacity. Defeat was no fault of
theirs. It belonged rather to the generals, among whom had been a want
of understanding and concert, fatal on the field of action. They saw,
too, that they had lost more than the battle. The Union army had not
only regained all its lost positions, but on the right it had carried
the Southern intrenchments, and from that point Grant's great guns could
dominate Donelson. They foresaw with dismay the effect of these facts
upon their young troops.
When the night fell, and the battle ceased, save for the fitful boom
of cannon along the lines, Dick sank against an earthwork, exhausted.
He panted for breath and was without the power to move. He regarded
vaguely the moving lights that had begun to show in the darkness,
and he heard without comprehension the voices of men and the fitful
fire of the cannon.
"Steady, Dick! Steady!" said a cheerful voice. "Now is the time to
rejoice! We've won a victory, and nothing can break General Grant's
death grip on Donelson!"
Colonel Winchester was speaking, and he put a firm and friendly hand
on the boy's shoulder.
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