“Wake up, Dick, and look at the white flag fluttering over Donelson.”
Dick sprang to his feet, sleep gone in an instant, and gazed toward Donelson. Warner had spoken the truth. White flags waved from the walls and earthworks.
“So they’re going to surrender!” said Dick. “What a triumph!”
“They haven’t surrendered yet,” said Colonel Winchester, who stood near. “Those white flags merely indicate a desire to talk it over with us, but such a desire is nearly always a sure indication of yielding, and our lads take it so. Hark to their cheering.”
The whole Union army was on its feet now, joyously welcoming the sight of the white flags. They threw fresh fuel on their fires which blazed along a circling rim of miles, and ate a breakfast sweetened with the savor of triumph.
“Take this big tin cup of coffee, Dick,” said Warner. “It’ll warm you through and through, and we’re entitled to a long, brown drink for our victory. I say victory because the chances are ninety-nine per cent out of a hundred that it is so. Let x equal our army, let y equal victory, and consequently x plus y equals our position at the present time.”
“And I never thought that we could do it,” said young Pennington, who sat with them. “I suppose it all comes of having a general who won’t give up. I reckon the old saying is true, an’ that Hold Fast is the best dog of them all.”
Now came a period of waiting. Colonel Winchester disappeared in the direction of General Grant’s headquarters, but returned after a while and called his favorite aide, young Richard Mason.
“Dick,” he said, “we have summoned the Southerners to surrender, and I want you to go with me to a conference of their generals. You may be needed to carry dispatches.”
Dick went gladly with the group of Union officers, who approached Fort Donelson under the white flag, and who met a group of Confederate officers under a like white flag. He noticed in the very center of the Southern group the figure of General Buckner, a tall, well-built man in his early prime, his face usually ruddy, now pale with fatigue and anxiety. Dick, with his uncle, Colonel Kenton, and his young cousin, Harry Kenton, had once dined at his house.
Nearly all the officers, Northern and Southern, knew one another well. Many of them had been together at West Point. Colonel Winchester and General Buckner were well acquainted and they saluted, each smiling a little grimly.
“I bring General Grant’s demand for the surrender of Fort Donelson, and all its garrison, arms, ammunition, and other supplies,” said Colonel Winchester. “Can I see your chief, General Floyd?”
The lips of Buckner pressed close together in a smile touched with irony.
“No, you cannot see General Floyd,” he said, “because he is now far up the Cumberland.”
“Since he has abdicated the command I wish then to communicate with General Pillow.”
“I regret that you cannot speak to him either. He is as far up the Cumberland as General Floyd. Both departed in the night, and I am left in command of the Southern army at Fort Donelson. You can state your demands to me, Colonel Winchester.”
Dick saw that the brave Kentuckian was struggling to hide his chagrin, and he had much sympathy for him. It was in truth a hard task that Floyd and Pillow had left for Buckner. They had allowed themselves to be trapped and they had thrown upon him the burden of surrendering. But Buckner proceeded with the negotiations. Presently he noticed Dick.
“Good morning, Richard,” he said. “It seems that in this case, at least, you have chosen the side of the victors.”
“Fortune has happened to be on our side, general,” said Dick respectfully. “Could you tell me, sir, if my uncle, Colonel Kenton, is unhurt?”
“He was, when he was last with us,” replied General Buckner, kindly. “Colonel Kenton went out last night with Forrest’s cavalry. He will not be a prisoner.”
“I am glad of that,” said the boy.
And he was truly glad. He knew that it would hurt Colonel Kenton’s pride terribly to become a prisoner, and although they were now on opposite sides, he loved and respected his uncle.