Soon orders came to General Cruft to at once prepare to join Grant.
It was nearly noon on February the 14th when the fleet on which General Cruft's brigade had embarked arrived at Fort Donelson. The place had already been invested two days, and some severe fighting had taken place. The weather, from being warm and rainy, had suddenly turned cold on the afternoon of the 13th, and Fred shivered as he emerged from the comfortable cabin of the steamboat and stepped out on the cold, desolate bank of the river. The ground was covered with ice and snow, and the scene was dreary in the extreme.
Now and then the heavy reverberation of a cannon came rolling down the river, and echoed and re-echoed among the hills. A fleet of gunboats lay anchored in the river, the mouths of their great guns looking out over the dark sullen water as though watching for their prey. General Cruft's brigade was assigned to the division of General Lew Wallace, which occupied the center of the Federal army. Back in the rear little groups of soldiers stood shivering around small fires, trying to warm their benumbed limbs, or to cook their scanty rations.
The condition of the soldiers was pitiable in the extreme. There were no tents; but few had overcoats, and many on the hard, muddy march from Fort Henry had even thrown away their blankets. In the front lines no fires could be lighted, and there the soldiers stood, exposed to the furious storm of sleet and snow, hungry, benumbed, hardly knowing whether they were dead or alive. Such were the heroes who stood for three days before Donelson.
As Fred looked on all this suffering, he wondered at the fortitude with which it was endured. There were few complaints from the soldiers; they were even cheerful and eager to meet the foe.
About three o'clock the gunboats came steaming up the river and engaged the Confederate batteries.
It was a most sublime spectacle, and held Fred spellbound. The very heavens seemed splitting, and the earth shook and trembled from the heavy concussions. Nearer and nearer the gunboats came to the batteries until it seemed to Fred the great guns were vomiting fire and smoke into each other's throats.
During the fight Fred noticed a small, thickset man sitting on his horse intently watching the fight. His countenance was perfectly impassive, and one could not tell by watching him whether he sympathized with friend or foe.
For two hours the conflict raged. The boilers of the Essex had been blown up, the other boats were bruised and battered and torn by the great shots which had struck them, and were helplessly drifting down the stream. The gunboats had been defeated. From the Federal side there went up a great groan of disappointment, while from the Confederate lines there arose the wild cheers of victory.
The silent man on horseback turned and rode away. Not a sign, not a word that he was disappointed.