e
bushes, and creep up in front of the Rebel lines. There are jets of
flame and wreaths of blue smoke from their rifles. The Rebel pickets are
driven back. The sharpshooters work their way still nearer to the
trenches. The bushes blaze. There are mysterious puffs of smoke from the
hollows, from stumps, and from the roots of trees. The Rebel gunners are
compelled to let their guns remain silent, and the infantry dare not
show their heads above the breastworks. They lie close. A Rebel soldier
raises his slouched hat on his ramrod. Birges's men see it, just over
the parapet. Whiz! The hat disappears. The Rebels chuckle that they have
outwitted the Yankee.

"Why don't you come out of your old fort?" shouts a sharpshooter, lying
close behind a tree.

"Why don't you come in?" is the answer from the breastworks.

"O, you are cowards!" says the voice at the stump.

"When are you going to take the fort?" is the response from the
breastwork.

The cannonade lasted till night. Nothing had been gained, but much had
been lost, by the Union army. There were scores of men lying in the
thickets, where they had fallen. There were hundreds in the hospitals.
The gunboats and the expected reinforcements had not arrived. The Rebels
outnumbered General Grant's force by several thousand, but fortunately
they did not know it. General Grant's provisions were almost gone. There
was no meat, nothing but hard bread. The south-wind of the morning had
changed to the east. It was mild then, but piercing now. The sky, so
golden at the dawn, was dark and lowering, with clouds rolling up from
the east. The rain began to fall. The roads were miry, the dead leaves
slippery. The men had thrown aside their overcoats and blankets. They
had no shelter, no protection. They were weary and exhausted with the
contest. They were cold, wet, and hungry. The rain increased. The wind
blew more furiously. It wailed through the forest. The rain changed to
hail. The men lay down upon frozen beds, and were covered with icy
sheets. It grew colder. The hail became snow. The wind increased to a
gale, and whirled the snow into drifts. The soldiers curled down behind
the stumps and fallen trees. They built great fires. They walked, ran,
thumped their feet upon the frozen ground, beat their fingers till the
blood seemed starting from beneath the nails. The thermometer sank
almost to zero. It was a night of horror, not only outside, but inside
the Rebel lines. The Southern