orest, down the line to
Wallace's men.

"We have carried the works!" "We are inside!" shouts an officer bearing
the welcome news.

The men toss their caps in the air. They shake hands, they shout, and
break into singing. They forget all their hardships and sufferings, the
hungry days, the horrible nights, the wounded and the dead. The success
is worth all the sacrifice.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SURRENDER.

All through the night the brave men held the ground they had so nobly
won. They rested on snowy beds. They had no supper. They could kindle no
fires to warm the wintry air. The cannon above them hurled down shells,
and sent volleys of grape, which screamed above and around them like the
voices of demons in the darkness. The branches of the trees were torn
from their trunks by the solid shot, and the trunks were splintered from
top to bottom, but they did not falter or retire from that slope where
the snow was crimsoned with the life-blood of hundreds of their
comrades. Nearly four hundred had fallen in that attack. The hill had
cost a great deal of blood, but it was worth all it cost, and they would
not give it up. So they braved the leaden rain and iron hail through the
weary hours of that winter night. They only waited for daybreak to storm
the inner works and take the fort. Their ardor and enthusiasm was
unbounded.

As the morning approached they heard a bugle-call. They looked across
the narrow ravine, and saw, in the dim light of the dawn, a man waving a
white flag upon the intrenchments. It was a sign for a parley. He jumped
down from the embankment, and descended the hill.

"Halt! Who comes there?" shouted the picket.

"Flag of truce with a letter for General Grant."

An officer took the letter, and hastened down the slope, across the
meadow, up to the house on the Dover road, where General Grant had his
head-quarters.

During the night there had been a council of war at General Floyd's
head-quarters. Nearly all the Rebel officers commanding brigades and
regiments were there. They were down-hearted. They had fought bravely,
won a victory, as they thought, but had lost it. A Rebel officer who was
there told me what they said. General Floyd and General Pillow blamed
General Buckner for not advancing earlier in the morning, and for making
what they thought a feeble attack. They could have escaped after they
drove McClernand across the brook, but now they were hemmed in. The
prospect was gloomy. The