The day opened with a mixture of rain, snow, and fiercely cold winds.  Grant’s army moved out of its camp to make the attack, but it was hampered by the terrible weather and the vast swamp through which its course must lead.  Colonel Winchester, who knew the country better than any other high officer, was sent ahead on horseback with a small detachment to examine the way.  He naturally took Dick and Pennington, who were on his staff, and by request, Colonel Newcomb, Major Hertford, Warner and Sergeant Whitley went also.  The whole party numbered about a hundred men.

Dick and the other lads rejoiced over their mission.  It was better to ride ahead than to remain with an army that was pulling itself along slowly through the mud.  The fort itself was only about three miles away, and as it stood upon low, marshy ground, the backwater from the flooded Tennessee had almost surrounded it.

Despite their horses, Winchester’s men found their own advance slow.  They had to make many a twist and turn to avoid marshes and deep water before they came within the sight of the fort, and then Dick’s watch told him that it was nearly noon, the time for the concerted attacks of army and fleet.  But it was certain now that the army could not get up until several hours later, and he wondered what would happen.

They saw the fort very clearly from their position on a low hill, and they saw that the main Confederate force was gathered on a height outside, connected with the fort, and as well as he could judge, the mass seemed to number three or four thousand men.

“What does that mean?” he asked Colonel Winchester.

“I surmise,” replied the colonel, “that Tilghman, the Confederate commander, is afraid his men may be caught in a trap.  We know his troops are merely raw militia, and he has put them where they can retreat in case of defeat.  He, himself, with his trained cannoneers, is inside the fort.”

“There can be no attack until tomorrow,” said Colonel Newcomb.  “It will be impossible for General Grant’s army to get here in time.”

“You are certainly right about the army, but I’m not so sure that you’re right about the attack.  Look what’s coming up the river.”

“The fleet!” exclaimed Newcomb in excitement.  “As sure as I’m here it’s the fleet, advancing to make the attack alone.  Foote is a daring and energetic man, and the failure of the army to co-operate will not keep him back.”

“Daring and energy, seventy per cent, at least,” Dick heard Warner murmur, but he paid no more attention to his comrades because all his interest was absorbed in the thrilling spectacle that was about to be unfolded before them.

The fleet, the armor clads, the floating batteries, and the mortar boats, were coming straight toward the fort.  Colonel Winchester lent Dick his glasses for a moment, and the boy plainly saw the great, yawning mouths of the mortars.  Then he passed the glasses back to the colonel, but he was able to see well what followed with the naked eye.  The fleet came on, steady, but yet silent.