his spare time in the back of the shop, playing cards with the town loafers. He was considered a "has-been," a man who had had his chance at West Point and in the army, and had failed.

Now, in February, 1862, he is a major-general with the most brilliant victory of the year-old war to his credit. On the horizon there is the gleam of bayonets . . . and the silhouettes of marching men. He commands thousands of them -they are a moving, dynamic power under his hand, like a horse beneath its rider. His name appears in the far-away capitals of Europe; men are thinking of him; the President of the United States smiles as he fingers the terse reports of things accomplished.

Let us consider the military results of the capture of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson.

In a direct line about seventy miles southeast of Donelson is Nashville, the capital of the state of Tennessee, and-in 1862-one of the most important supply depots of the Confederacy. I have already said that General Albert Sidney Johnston, the commander of all the Southern troops in that region, abandoned his position in Kentucky when Donelson was threatened. If he had gone directly to the relief of Fort Donelson it is highly probable that he would have saved the situation. It is even possible that, by so doing, he would have caught Grant between two fires, and might have crushed the Union army.

But he was not equal to the emergency. He sent his 14,000 men scurrying to Nashville, and was there when Donelson surrendered. His move was an unpardonable strategic error. Then he appears to have been seized by a sort of panic, and ordered Nashville to be evacuated, and the bridge across the Cumberland destroyed. The Union general Buell had followed

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on his heels from Kentucky, and was in Nashville as soon as the Confederates departed. Johnston lost the whole of central Tennessee without striking a blow.

So Nashville has fallen, and Fort Columbus-that Confederate Gibraltar on the Mississippi-has fallen, too. It was impossible to hold Columbus with Grant in its rear at Donelson. The Confederates are out of Kentucky, and their line has sagged back to the heart of Tennessee.

These movements are profoundly significant; they foreshadow the eventual breaking down of the Confederacy.

But Grant is in trouble again, despite his resounding fame. He falls into trouble easily. He went up to Nashville to see how things stood, as he considered that place within his undefined department of Western Tennessee.

In the meantime Halleck wired to McClellan, who was in command of all the Union armies:

I have had no communication from Grant all week. He left his command without my authority and went to Nashville. . . . Satisfied with his victory, he sits and enjoys it without regard to the future. I am worn out and tired with his neglect and inefficiency. General Smith is almost the only officer equal to the emergency.

The next day Halleck received this message from McClellan: "Generals must observe discipline as well as private soldiers. Do not hesitate to arrest him at once, if the good of the service requires it, and place General Smith in command.” | Halleck, who seems to have been Grant's special kill-joy, wired back to McClellan:

A rumor has just reached me that since the taking of Fort Donelson, General Grant has resumed his former bad habits. If so, it will account for his neglect of my often repeated orders. I do not deem it advisable to

arrest him at present, but have placed General C. F. Smith in command of the expedition up the Tennessee. I think Smith will restore order and discipline.

Grant came back to Fort Donelson in a few days and found a telegram from Halleck which read: "You will place General C. F. Smith in command of the expedition, and remain yourself at Fort Henry. Why do you not obey my orders to report strength and positions of your command?" Grant wept when he received this message and passed it sadly around for his staff to read.

It took some time to get all this straightened out. As to the charge that he had left his department without permission, Grant could only assert that he thought Nashville was in his department. It is true that his men were riotous and undisciplined-for a few days, at any rate, while celebrating their victory. He declared that he had wired Halleck daily, but through some break in the telegraph connection his messages had not reached their destination. \

After awhile the whole affair was dropped and Halleck retracted his accusations. "As he acted from a praiseworthy although mistaken zeal for the public service in going to Nashville and leaving his command," he wrote to the War Department, "I respectfully recommend that no further notice be taken of it."

I have no doubt that Halleck was Grant's enemy at this time; he disliked him as a person. There may have been some slipshod dereliction of duty on Grant's part. I do not know whether there was or not-there is not sufficient evidence to be sure-but Halleck thought there was, and came to the conclusion that it was a good opportunity to get rid of Grant altogether. His plan failed, I think, because public opinion was so strongly in favor of Grant that Halleck did not dare to press his charges to a conclusion.

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§ 5

From all this emerges one certain fact-and that is that Grant had no powerful friends at court. He was not in favor with the Halleck clique; McClellan was indifferent to him; Lincoln and his cabinet knew almost nothing about him. His rise came from military achievements which were too substantial to be disregarded.

A

CHAPTER XVII

THE SOUTH TRIES TO BE A NATION

§1

DRIPPING sky, heavy with rain, covered Richmond

like a gray tent on Washington's Birthday of the year 1862. It was Jefferson Davis' inaugural day. Until then he had been a provisional president, but now he was to begin his regular term of six years.

Davis stood under an awning by the side of the equestrian statue of George Washington, on the public square before the Virginia state capitol, and spoke his inaugural address to a crowd of rain-sleek umbrellas. The cold, precise voice of Davis rang out over the multitude and carried on to the crowded windows of the houses across the square. His words were sharp and metallic, like pieces of steel wire cut into even lengths. But there was no warmth in them, because there was no warmth in Davis himself. A patriot of the deepest dye, he would have given his life gladly for the ideals he represented. Yet, somehow, with all his deep conviction, he lacked the power to inspire, to electrify, to enthuse.

In words that were without wings Davis made it clear that the South did not consider itself in rebellion, except technically. The feeling in the Confederate States was that the North had departed from the ideals of our Revolutionary forefathers, and that the sacred duty of preserving them had fallen upon the Southern people. He predicted that the financial strain of carrying on the war would wreck the North.

Even before his inauguration Davis had lost most of his popularity. He was destined to lose all of it before the end