A faint red tinted the tanned cheeks of the colonel.  Dick thought it was merely the reflection of the fire.

“Would you care for me to read what she says about you?” asked Dick.

“If you don’t mind.”

Dick drew out the letter again and read the paragraph.

“Your mother is a very fine woman,” said Colonel Winchester.

“You’re right, sir,” said Dick with enthusiasm.

Colonel Winchester said no more, but rose presently and went to the tent of General Grant, where a conference of officers was to be held.  Dick remained by the fire, where Warner and Pennington soon joined him.

“Our scouts have exchanged some shots with the enemy,” said Pennington, “and they have taken one or two prisoners, bold fellows who say they’re going to lick the spots off us.  They say they have a big army at Donelson, and they’re afraid of nothing except that Grant won’t come on.  Between ourselves, the Johnny Rebs are getting ready for us.”

It was Dick’s opinion, too, that the Southern troops were making great preparations to meet them, but, like the others, he was feeling the strong hand on the reins.  He did not notice here the doubt and uncertainty that had reigned at Washington before the advance on Bull Run; in Grant’s army were order and precision, and with perfect confidence in his commander he rolled himself in his blankets that night and went to sleep.

The order to advance did not come the next morning, and Dick, for a few moments, thought it might not come at all.  The reports from Donelson were of a formidable nature, and Grant’s own army was not provided for a winter campaign.  It had few wagons for food and ammunition, and some of the regiments from the northwest, cherishing the delusion that winter in Tennessee was not cold, were not provided with warm clothing and sufficient blankets.

But Warner abated his confidence not one jot.

“The chance of our moving against Donelson is one hundred per cent,” he said.  “I passed the General today and his lips were shut tight together, which means a resolve to do at all costs what one has intended to do.  I still admit that the prophets and the sons of prophets live no more, but I predict with absolute certainty that we will move in the morning.”

The Vermonter’s faith was justified.  The army, being put in thorough trim, started at dawn upon its momentous march.  Wintry fogs were rising from the great river and the submerged lowlands, and the air was full of raw, penetrating chill.  An abundant breakfast was served to everybody, and then with warmth and courage the lads of the west and northwest marched forward with eagerness to an undertaking which they knew would be far greater than the capture of Fort Henry.

Dick and Pennington, as staff officers, were mounted, although the horses that had been furnished to them were not much more than ponies.  Warner rode with Colonel Newcomb and Major Hertford, who led the slender Pennsylvania detachment beside the Kentucky regiment.  Thus the army emerged from its camp and began the march toward the Cumberland.  It was now about fifteen thousand strong, but it expected reinforcements, and its fleet held the command of the rivers.