that the enemy was massing his forces and bringing up reinforcements.7
Saturday the fifteenth dawned, and many who saw the sun rise on that morning beheld its rising beams for the last time. Ere the rays cast from its western pathway fell upon the slanting hillsides around Dover, the spirits of many had gone up from a field red with carnage to the God of Battles. It was a fearful day, a day of terrible fighting. Dead bodies, here, there and almost everywhere round told how hard and severe had been the contest, how they had fought, and how they had died with their faces to the foe, and their guns to their faces. For two or three miles upon our right the enemy had been driven in great confusion and with immense loss. Outnumbered on our right five to one, a portion of our line at night-fall was in the possession of the enemy. Darkness found us thus situated. We had gained the day; we had driven the enemy, but had not sufficient force to maintain our success. Reinforcements were constantly coming to the enemy, while we were getting no aid.8
No longer could the contest be waged. A vague idea of surrendering passed in the minds of many who banished it in a moment, and, grasping their weapons with a firmer hand, they begged to be again led forth to battle with the enemy. Gloomy indeed were the reflections when it became almost certain that the morrow's sun would arise on a defeated and imprisoned, though by no means a conquered, army.
Tennessee was there in the person of her gallant sons who felt the proud satisfaction that their duty had been heroically performed. The Mississippians, with tearful eyes, looked towards the far-off South, their own home, conscious that the pristine valor of their State had been maintained upon that field, as twenty years before it had been maintained on the plains of Buena Vista. Virginia, too, from the summit of her western ridges, felt that the spirit of George Washington and Patrick Henry were hovering over the hills around Dover. Kentucky, with General Buckner and Colonel Roger Weightman Hanson at the head of the Second Regiment of Infantry, felt a pride akin to that of the ancient Spartans in praising the chivalry of Leonidas and his brave band at the historic pass of Thermopylae. Beating hearts told the deep feeling within, while the compressed lips and defiant eyes spoke louder than words: “Give us one more chance to press our way out upon the left; let us drive back the enemy once more and gain the open country, or find a resting place on the hard fought field.” His eyes streaming with tears, General Buckner bid them be content, saying it was folly to sacrifice so many lives to save a few, and added: “You have crowned yourselves with glory”…“A prison will not, cannot, tear from your brows the laurels entwined here today.”9
A few feet in the rear of our line of works on the crest of a hill was a tent which had been put up by Major Samuel K. Hays, brigade quartermaster. Two or three of us were ordered to report to Hays's tent at about, perhaps, nine or ten o'clock at night. Several officers were assembled there and, from them, we learned the surrender of the fort would soon take place a mile distant. One was sent with pieces of breastworks, a token of surrender, to avoid the firing as soon as it should become light enough in the morning.10
I was sent with a dispatch to an officer in Dover. The dangerous condition of the road, owing to the ice and deep declivities and darkness and also the desultory firing from the enemy's guns which kept up a continual business during the night, rendered the ride extremely hazardous. My horse fell on a bad piece of road and caught my leg and disabled me for more than two weeks. Even with this mishap, I performed my duty and returned in the darkness to my post, after more than once hearing the bullets “zip” by me with the peculiar noise which they make and which is not easily forgotten. The remainder of the night was consumed in similar duties, and morning came, the saddest I had up to that time experienced during my military service, having been only about four or five months in the army.11
Colonel Roger Weightman Hanson. (Library of Congress.)
During the dark hours just preceding the dawn, the shrill sound of “parley” was heard, and the conference between the commanders began. It ended ere long, and Oh! What feelings can be compared to those we experienced when we knew all was done. He who had not slept for four nights lay down by his trusty gun to snatch a moment's well-earned repose to dream of home and the loved ones there, of country, liberty, and the right. The sun rose joyously, but shone upon sad hearts. Soon long lines of gleaming bayonets, borne by the enemy, came on toward our works. One after another of the gallant regiments of the Confederates were marched out and arms were grounded. Murmurs deep, not loud, ran all round.
Our party of “Guides” wended our way to the little village of Dover, about one mile distant. We all met in town, although we had been engaged during the battle on different parts of the field. Dismounting, we tied our trusty horses—and I might say we loved our horses—and threw ourselves by their sides to await the turn of events. Visions of prisons were before our eyes. One soldier prepared to swim the wide and angry river in our rear, but it was given up as too dangerous. Another proposed that we all mount and swim our horses and escape by that means. But the question was: could our horses stem the swift current and carry us safely over? It was thought not. It was finally agreed, after discussing every possibility of escaping, to calmly await the development of affairs.
Just then a sound broke upon our ears. It was the music of the advancing victorious army, and never did music sound to us so much like the wails of the dying. Nearer and still nearer the sound approached, and then up the street a few hundred yards from where we were, we beheld the head of a Yankee regiment with streaming banners, making for the center of the town. We held our place and looked. It was, I think, the Forty-fourth Indiana Infantry Regiment. Then a sound from the river indicated that a boat was coming up. It finally approached and landed, and from it came Flag Officer Andrew Foote, the Federal naval officer. He met in the street the colonel of the Indiana Regiment which had just arrived. A body of horsemen came next, comprising General Grant and his staff. General Buckner had already come to town and was at his headquarters.12
The surrender flag appears on the parapet of Fort Donelson, February 16, 1862. (Editor's collection.)
Flag Officer Foote and General Grant met amid the yells of the enemy's troops. Never during the entire war did the Yankees learn how to utter a decent yell. Their attempts at it were simply ridiculous, not to say hideous. The Confederates, on the other hand, were experts and adept at it; they could not be excelled. Grant and Foote went immediately to the house to meet General Buckner. We saw them meet. It was formal, though after the style of military men. We heard no conversation, and we saw no more of them afterwards.
A large quantity of military stores were thrown open to the Confederates when it was ascertained that a surrender was inevitable, and many soldiers found everything they desired, even whiskey, the soldier's greatest enemy. Sugar was abundant and it was not unusual to see a barrel of whiskey with one head burst out and buckets of the contents taken out, and large quantities of sugar put in. Thus, many soldiers got under the influence of the sweetened dram to a considerable extent. But the sequel can be gathered from what goes before.
About four o'clock in the afternoon of that memorable Sunday, February 16, 1862, we were ordered on board the steamer, Memphis, to be convoyed, we knew not where. From one thousand to twelve hundred weary Confederates, crowded together, composed her passengers, or, rather, I should say, freight, for there was nothing to remind us of being passengers in the sense it is used. The boat dropped down the river a short distance and remained till next morning. We found but a sorry place to rest, and slept in a damp and filthy part of the vessel. It was damp on account of the vapor and steam, and filthy because it had been used in transporting Federal troops. Sleep, however, in any place, is sweet to those who need its refreshing effects, and the night went by without our knowledge.
We went when morning came and moved on down the Cumberland River with many other boats, all bearing prisoners. At Smithland, Kentucky, we entered the Ohio River and then went on down to Paducah, Kentucky, and Cairo, Illinois. It was known that St. Louis was our destination. In due time we ascended the Mississippi and were at St. Louis. There we were anchored in the river opposite the city for some days; I have