As they entered the leafless forest Dick saw ahead of them, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, a numerous band of horsemen wearing faded Confederate gray.  They were the cavalry of Forrest, but they were too few to stay the Union advances.  There was a scattered firing of rifles, but the heavy brigades of Grant moved steadily on, and pushed them out of the way.  Forrest could do no more than gallop back to the fort with his men and report that the enemy was coming at last.

“Those fellows ride well,” said Pennington, as the last of Forrest’s cavalrymen passed out of sight, “and if we were not in such strong force I fancy they would sting us pretty hard.”

“We’ll see more of ’em,” said Dick.  “This is the enemy’s country, and we needn’t think that we’re going to march as easy as you please from one victory to another.”

“Maybe not,” said Pennington, “but I’ll be glad when we get Donelson.  I’ve been hearing so much about that place that I’m growing real curious.”

Their march across the woods suffered no further interruption.  Sometimes they saw Confederate cavalrymen at a distance in front, but they did not try to impede Grant’s advance.  When the sun was well down in the west, the vanguard of the army came within sight of the fortress that stood by the Cumberland.  At that very moment the troops under Floyd, just arrived, were crossing the river to join the garrison in the fortress.

Dick looked upon extensive fortifications, a large fort, a redoubt upon slightly higher ground, other batteries at the water’s edge, powerful batteries upon a semi-circular hill which could command the river for a long distance, and around all of these extensive works, several miles in length, including a deep creek on the north.  Inside the works was the little town of Dover, and they were defended by fifteen thousand men, as many as Grant had without.

When Dick beheld this formidable position bristling with cannon, rifles and bayonets, his heart sank within him.  How could one army defeat another, as numerous as itself, inside powerful intrenchments, and in its own country?  Nor could they prevent Southern reinforcements from reaching the other side of the river and crossing to the fort under the shelter of its numerous great guns.  He was yet to learn the truth, or at least the partial truth, of Napoleon’s famous saying, that in war an army is nothing, a man is everything.  The army to which he belonged was led by a man of clear vision and undaunted resolution.  The chief commander inside the fort had neither, and his men were shaken already by the news of Fort Henry, exaggerated in the telling.

But after the first sinking of the heart Dick felt an extraordinary thrill.  Sensitive and imaginative, he was conscious even at the moment that he looked in the face of mighty events.  The things of the minute did not always appeal to him with the greatest force.  He had, instead, the foreseeing mind, and the meaning of that vast panorama of fortress, hills, river and forest did not escape him.