pture the fort, its fall would have been sure. But
high water delayed him, and Albert Sidney Johnston hastened to pour in
reenforcements. Every available soldier at his command was rushed to the
rescue. He determined to fight for Nashville at Donelson. General
Buckner's command of Kentuckians, General Pillow's Tennesseeans and
General Floyd's brigade of Virginia troops were all poured into the fort
before the thirteenth. This force, approximating twenty thousand men,
properly commanded should hold Donelson indefinitely.

The fortification was magnificently placed on a bluff commanding
the river for two miles. Its batteries consisted of eight
thirty-two-pounders, three thirty-two-pound carronades, one ten-inch
Columbiad and one thirty-two-pounder rifle. A line of entrenchments
stretched 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 eager
enthusiasm for his first real battle. His separation from Jennie had
been a bitter trial. In his eagerness to get to the front he had the
misfortune to serve in the ill fated campaign in West Virginia, which
preceded Bull Run. Beauregard and J. E. Johnston were in easy touch with
Richmond. His unlucky brigade had been transferred to Albert Sidney
Johnston's command.

The men had been in the trenches through the long miserable night
expecting an attack at any moment.

Half waking, half dreaming, he lay on the cold ground wondering what
Jennie was doing--and always with the nightmare of that foreign snake
winding his way into her favor. Well, his chance would come in this
battle. He would lead his men in a charge. He was a corporal now. He
would come out of it with straps on his shoulders, he could see Jennie's
eyes flash with tears of pride as she read the story of his heroism and
his 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 on
his gun. There they were in the gray light of the chill February
morning--the fleet of Federal gunboats under Foote, their big black
funnels pouring clouds of smoke into the sky, darkening the dull red
glow 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 _Caronda