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[211] almost exceeded the three days in Paris, in 1848, were divided among, or rather seized by, the mob. There were, in addition to the food, several hundred barrels of whisky, the heads of which were knocked in, and the contents allowed to mingle with the waters of the Cumberland.

About one hundred of our prisoners, who were captured by the rebels at Donelson, were found at this place upon the arrival of our troops — all of them were either sick or wounded. That they were glad to once more find themselves among friends, will not be doubted.

It is not known precisely to what point the enemy is retiring, but it is generally believed that they are concentrating at Chattanooga, in this State. I doubt very much their making any more stands of any magnitude at any point where they can be reached by gunboats. “We can whip you even-handed,” said a Fort Donelson prisoner to me, “on land, but d — n your gunboats!”

The water is very high in the Cumberland River; higher, in fact, than it has been in many years. This has favored the gunboats, and to their prestige we owe much in gaining Nashville so easily. Said a citizen an hour since: “I think the Old Monster has sent this high water on us; if it hadn't been for that, the gunboats couldn't have come up, and you wouldn't have got Nashville without a big fight!” Doubtless this is pretty much so. The ground around Nashvile is broken and covered with timber, and could have been defended for weeks by a determined moderate-sized army.

No movements of great importance need be anticipated at this place within a short time. Gen. Smith's division has reached here from Clarksville, and has taken quarters in the suburbs of the city. Several skirmishes have taken place between our pickets and guerrilla parties of the enemy, but it is believed that no considerable force of the enemy is within fifty miles of Nashville.

A rebel account of the capture.

A gentleman who left Nashville shortly after the battle at Fort Donelson communicates to the Mobile Tribune an interesting account of the evacuation and surrender of the city, a portion of which we append:

The fight at Fort Donelson, on the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of February, was of intense concern to us, and each day's work down there wound up with the statement that the fight would be renewed to-morrow. The fears that the fall of Fort Henry were calculated to inspire had been well-nigh dispelled by the way Fort Donelson was holding out. It was better located, and stronger in men and guns. Pillow, Floyd, and Buckner were there. Pillow had said, “Let come what might, he never would surrender the place,” and Nashville felt that we could not afford to lose that battle. Saturday's work was glorious. Our citizens shouted over it. Many were saying: “I never liked Pillow, but forgive him now — he is the man for the occasion.” A sober, modest citizen, an Old Line Whig and Ex-Governor, was heard to say, Saturday afternoon, on being asked how the fight went on: “First-rate; Pillow is giving them h — ll, and rubbing it in.”

The despatches closed on Saturday as they had for three successive days before--“The eneare expecting large reenforcements,” but we slept soundly, and expected to have great news on the morrow. About nine o'clock Sunday morning I rode out into the country seven or eight miles, and leaving the turnpike, dined with a friend in one of the quiet and luxurious farmer-homes of Middle Tennessee. Returning leisurely, I struck the pike about four P. M., and as everybody I had met in the morning had asked me the latest news from the city, I asked the first man I met, “Any news?” --prepared to hear only of victory.

“News! What's the last you've heard?”

“Last night's despatches.”

“None since? The latest out, and plenty of it. Fort Donelson has fallen, and Nashville is surrendered! They say the white flag is waving now on the capitol, and the gunboats will be up before sundown.”

I thought he was hoaxing me, but quickened my pace. The next morning confirmed it all and more. I saw there was literally a cloud of witnesses, pouring along the turnpike leading to Franklin. Convalescent soldiers, quitting the hospitals, were waddling along with their scanty baggage. Travellers, in groups and squads, had left the hotels, carrying carpet-bags and satchels, and saddle-bags in hand. The family of the owner of the omnibus line were rolling out in those vehicles. Double and one-horse carriages were full of living freight. On reaching the tollgate, on the top of the hill overlooking Nashville, I strained my eyes to see the white flag on the capitol. The tall flag-staff was naked. There was no flag of any sort on it.

Passing down Broad street by the Nashville and Decatur road, the first man I saw was Gov. Harris, about to leave on a special train, with the Legislature and archives of the State. The town was in commotion. Over the wire bridge that spans the Cumberland, Gen. Johnston's army were passing, taking the direction of the Murfreeeboro turnpike. The train of wagons and soldiers reached out of sight, and did not get over that night. The sight of a withdrawing or retreating army is very disheartening.

My residence is in Edgefield, a little village separated from Nashville by the Cumberland River. For several days Gen. Johnston's headquarters had been established on that side of the river, and near me. The lady with whom he and his staff took their meals is my neighbor and friend, and tells me that the General opened the news to her at table, in these words:

Madam, I take you to be a person of firmness, and trust your neighbors are. Don't be alarmed. Last night, my last despatch, up to twelve o'clock, was favorable, and I lay down expecting a great victory to-day; but this morning, at four o'clock, I was waked by a courier, with the news that our forces at Fort Donelson were ”

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