"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.
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