Pillow, who had led the attack instead of Floyd, seeing his fortunes pass so suddenly from the zenith to the nadir, gathered his retreating army upon a hill in front of their intrenchments, but he was not permitted to rest there.  A fresh Northern brigade, a reserve, had just arrived upon the field.  Joining it to the forces of Lew Wallace, afterwards famous as a novelist, Grant hurled the entire division upon Pillow’s weakened and discouraged army.

Winchester’s regiment joined in the attack.  Dick felt himself swept along as if by a torrent.  His courage and the courage of those around him was all the greater now, because hope, sanguine hope, had suddenly shot up from the very depths of despair.  Their ranks had been thinned terribly, but they forgot it for the time and rushed upon their enemy.

The battle had rolled back and forth for hours.  Noon had come and passed.  The troops of Pillow had been fighting without ceasing for six hours, and they could not withstand the new attack made with such tremendous spirit and energy.  They fought with desperation, but they were compelled at last to yield the field and retreat within their works.  Their right and left suffered the same fate.  The whole Confederate attack was repulsed.  Bull Run was indeed reversed.  There the South snatched victory from defeat and here the North came back with a like triumph.

CHAPTER XII

GRANT’S GREAT VICTORY

The night, early and wintry, put an end to the conflict, the fiercest and greatest yet seen in the West.  Thousands of dead and wounded lay upon the field and the hearts of the Southern leaders were full of bitterness.  They had seen the victory, won by courage and daring, taken from them at the very last moment.  The farmer lads whom they led had fought with splendid courage and tenacity.  Defeat was no fault of theirs.  It belonged rather to the generals, among whom had been a want of understanding and concert, fatal on the field of action.  They saw, too, that they had lost more than the battle.  The Union army had not only regained all its lost positions, but on the right it had carried the Southern intrenchments, and from that point Grant’s great guns could dominate Donelson.  They foresaw with dismay the effect of these facts upon their young troops.

When the night fell, and the battle ceased, save for the fitful boom of cannon along the lines, Dick sank against an earthwork, exhausted.  He panted for breath and was without the power to move.  He regarded vaguely the moving lights that had begun to show in the darkness, and he heard without comprehension the voices of men and the fitful fire of the cannon.

“Steady, Dick!  Steady!” said a cheerful voice.  “Now is the time to rejoice!  We’ve won a victory, and nothing can break General Grant’s death grip on Donelson!”