The spectacle, nevertheless, was appalling.  The snow drove harder and harder.  It was not merely a passing shower of flakes.  It was a storm.  The snow soon lay upon the ground an inch deep, then three inches, then four and still it gained.  Through the darkness and the storm the Southern cannon crashed at intervals, sending shells at random into the Union camp or over it.  There was full need then for the indomitable spirit of Grant and those around him to encourage anew the thousands of boys who had so lately left the farms or the lumber yards.

Dick and his comrades, careless of the risk, searched over the battlefield for the wounded who were yet there.  They carried lanterns, but the darkness was so great and the snow drove so hard and lay so deep that they knew many would never be found.

Back beyond the range of the fort’s cannon men were building fires with what wood they could secure from the forest.  All the tents they had were set up, and the men tried to cook food and make coffee, in order that some degree of warmth and cheer might be provided for the army beset so sorely.

The snow, after a while, slackening somewhat, was succeeded by cold much greater than ever.  The shivering men bent over the fires and lamented anew the discarded blankets.  Dick did not sleep an instant that terrible night.  He could not.  He, Pennington, and Warner, relieved from staff service, worked all through the cold and darkness, helping the wounded and seeking wood for the fires.  And with them always was the wise Sergeant Whitley, to whom, although inferior in rank, they turned often and willingly for guidance and advice.

“It’s an awful situation,” said Pennington; “I knew that war would furnish horrors, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“But General Grant will never retreat,” said Dick.  “I feel it in every bone of me.  I’ve seen his face tonight.”

“No, he won’t,” said the experienced sergeant, “because he’s making every preparation to stay.  An’ remember, Mr. Pennington, that while this is pretty bad, worse can happen.  Remember, too, that while we can stand this, we can also stand whatever worse may come.  It’s goin’ to be a fight to a finish.”

Far in the night the occasional guns from the Southern fortress ceased.  The snow was falling no longer, but it lay very deep on the ground, and the cold was at its height.  Along a line of miles the fires burned and the men crowded about them.  But Dick, who had been working on the snowy plain that was the battlefield, and who had heard many moans there, now heard none.  All who lay in that space were sleeping the common sleep of death, their bodies frozen stiff and hard under the snow.

Dick, sitting by one of the fires, saw the cold dawn come, and in those chill hours of nervous exhaustion he lost hope for a moment or two.  How could anybody, no matter how resolute, maintain a siege without ammunition and without food.  But he spoke cheerfully to Pennington and Warner, who had slept a little and who were just awakening.