The rumor that a surrender was impending spread to the soldiers.  Not yet firm in the bonds of discipline confusion ensued, and the high officers were too busy escaping by the river to restore it.  All through the night the two little steamers worked, but a vast majority of the troops were left behind.

But Dick could know nothing of this at the time.  He was sleeping too heavily.  He had merely taken a moment to snatch a bit of food, and then, at the suggestion of his commanding officer, he had rolled himself in his blankets.  Sleep came instantly, and it was not interrupted until Warner’s hand fell upon his shoulder at dawn, and Warner’s voice said in his ear: 

“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.