to protect a crucial point than the North was to assail it, in December, 1861, sent into East Tennessee a force which imprisoned, deported, and hanged the loyal residents there, harried the country without mercy, and held it with the iron hand. The poor mountaineers, with good reason, concluded that the hostility of the South was a terribly serious evil, whereas the friendship of the North was a sadly useless good. The President was bitterly chagrined, although certainly the blame did not rest with him. Then the parallel between Buell and McClellan was continued even one step farther; for Buell at last intimated that he did not approve of the plan of campaign suggested for him, but thought it would be better tactics to move upon Nashville. It so happened, however, that when he expressed these views McClellan was commander-in-chief of all the armies, and that general, being little tolerant of criticism from subordinates when he himself was the superior, responded very tartly and imperiously. Lincoln, on the other hand, according to his wont, wrote modestly: "Your dispatch ... disappoints and distresses me.... I am not competent to criticise your views." Then, in the rest of the letter, he maintained with convincing clearness both the military and the political soundness of his own opinions.
In offset of this disappointment caused by Buell's inaction, the western end of Kentucky became the theatre of gratifying operations. So soon as
policy ceased to compel recognition of the "neutrality" of the State, General Grant, on September 6, 1861, entered Paducah at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers. By this move he checked the water communication hitherto freely used by the rebels, and neutralized the advantage which they had expected to gain by their possession of Columbus. But this was only a first and easy step. Farther to the southward, just within the boundaries of Tennessee, lay Fort Henry on the Tennessee River and Fort Donelson on the Cumberland, presenting a kind of temptation which Grant was less able to resist than were most of the Union generals at this time. Accordingly he arranged with Admiral Foote, who commanded the new gunboats on the Mississippi, for a joint excursion against these places. On February 6, Fort Henry fell, chiefly through the work of the river navy. Ten days later, February 16, Fort Donelson was taken, the laurels on this occasion falling to the land forces. Floyd and Pillow were in the place when the Federals came to it, but when they saw that capture was inevitable they furtively slipped away, and thus shifted upon General Buckner the humiliation of the surrender. This mean behavior excited the bitter resentment of that general, which was not alleviated by what followed. For when he proposed to discuss terms of capitulation, General Grant made that famous reply which gave rise to his popular nickname: "No terms except unconditional and immediate
surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works."
Halleck telegraphed the pleasant news that the capture of Fort Donelson carried with it "12,000 to 15,000 prisoners, including Generals Buckner and Bushrod R. Johnson, also about 20,000 stands of arms, 48 pieces of artillery, 17 heavy guns, from 2000 to 4000 horses, and large quantities of commissary stores." He also advised: "Make Buell, Grant, and Pope major-generals of volunteers, and give me command in the West. I ask this in return for Forts Henry and Donelson." Halleck was one of those who expect to reap where others sow. The achievements of Grant and Foote also led him, by some strange process of reasoning, to conclude that General C.W. Smith was the most able general in his department.
Congress, highly gratified at these cheering events, ordered a grand illumination at Washington for February 22; but the death of the President's little son, at the White House, a day or two before that date, checked a rejoicing which in other respects also would not have been altogether timely.
The Federal possession of these two forts rendered Columbus untenable for the Confederates, and on March 2 they evacuated it. This was followed by the fall of New Madrid on March 13, and of Island No. 10 on April 7. At the latter place between 6000 and 7000 Confederates surrendered.
Thus was the Federal wedge being driven steadily deeper down the channel of the Mississippi.
Soon after this good service of the gunboats on the Western rivers, the salt-water navy came in for its share of glory. On March 8 the ram Virginia, late Merrimac, which had been taking on her mysterious iron raiment at the Norfolk navy yard, issued from her concealment, an ugly and clumsy, but also a novel and terrible monster. Straight she steamed against the frigate Cumberland, and with one fell rush cut the poor wooden vessel in halves and sent her, with all on board, to the bottom of the sea. Turning then, she mercilessly battered the frigate Congress, drove her ashore, and burned her. All this while the shot which had rained upon her iron sides had rolled off harmless, and she returned to her anchorage, having her prow broken by impact with the Cumberland, but otherwise unhurt. Her armor had stood the test, and now the Federal government contemplated with grave anxiety the further possible achievements of this strange and potent destroyer.
But the death of the Merrimac was to follow close upon her birth; she was the portent of a few weeks only. For, during a short time past, there had been also rapidly building in a Connecticut yard the Northern marvel, the famous Monitor. When the ingenious Swede, John Ericsson, proposed his scheme for an impregnable floating battery, his hearers were divided between distrust