"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 soldiers were kept in the intrenchments, in the rifle-pits, and ditches, to be in readiness to repel an assault. They could not keep up great, roaring fires, for fear of inviting a night attack. Through the long hours the soldiers of both armies kept their positions, exposed to the fury of the winter storm, not only the severest storm of the season, but the wildest and coldest that had been known for many years in that section of the country. FRIDAY. Friday morning dawned, and with the first rays of light the rifles cracked in the frosty air. The sharpshooters, though they had passed a sleepless night, were in their places behind rocks and stumps and trees. Neither army was ready to recommence the struggle. General Grant was out of provisions. The transports, with supplies and reinforcements, had not arrived. Only one gunboat, the Carondelet, had come. It was a critical hour. What if the Rebels, with their superior force, should march out from their intrenchments and make an attack? How long could the half-frozen, exhausted, hungry men maintain their ground? Where were the gunboats? Where the transports? Where the reinforcements? There were no dark columns of smoke rising above the forest-trees, indicating the approach of the belated fleet.