But at last the time came when at least one of these vexed questions was to be solved by a trial at arms. While the scenes we have attempted to describe were being enacted on shore, others, that were of no less interest and importance to Marcy Gray and the people who lived in and around Nashville, were transpiring on the water. On the 11th day of January a formidable military and naval expedition, consisting of more than a hundred gunboats, transports, and supply ships, set sail from Fortress Monroe. Its object was to obtain possession of Roanoke Island, which the Confederates had spent so much time and care in fortifying, and which their General Wise called "the key to all the rear defences of Norfolk." Two days later the expedition arrived off Hatteras just as a fierce northeast gale was springing up, and two days after that the Newbern papers brought the encouraging news to Nashville. We say encouraging, because there was not a man or boy in town who did not honestly believe that those hundred vessels were doomed to certain and swift destruction. As in the case of a former expedition, Tom Allison was much afraid that the wind and the waves would do the work which the gunners at Roanoke Island were anxious to do themselves.
"Oh, don't I wish this wind would go down!" was the way he greeted Marcy on the morning on which the news of the arrival of the fleet reached Nashville. "Here we've gone and worked like beavers to fortify the island, hoping and expecting to give the Yankees a Bull Run licking there, and now Old Hatteras has taken the matter out of our hands, and is pounding the expedition to pieces on the shoals. Half of the enemy's tubs have gone to smash already, and the rest will go back as soon as they can. Not one of them will ever cross the bar, I tell you."
For two weeks a furious gale raged along the coast, and, during that time, Marcy Gray lived in a state of suspense that cannot be described. He could not bring himself down to work, so he went to town twice each day, and always came back to report the loss of another ship belonging to the expedition.
"Why, Marcy, if they keep on losing vessels at this rate, there will not be any expedition left after a while," said his mother one day.
"These reports are all false," declared Marcy. "I tell them to you because they are told to me, and not because I expect you to believe them. Don't worry. Those ships are commanded by Yankees, and Yankees are the best sailors in the world."
For a time it looked as though Tom Allison's prediction would be verified; for it was only after fifteen days' struggle with the elements, and the loss of four vessels, that Burnside and his naval associate, Flag-officer Goldsborough, succeeded in passing through Hatteras Inlet to the calmer waters of Pamlico Sound. It was an exhibition of patient courage and skill on the part of the Union officers and men that astonished everybody; and even Tom Allison was willing to confess that things were getting serious. There was bound to be a terrible battle at the Island, and the citizens of Nashville would hear the guns. And if the Island should be captured, as Forts Hatteras and Clark were captured, then what? The thought was terrifying to the timid ones, who straightway hid their clothing, and began carrying the contents of their cellars, smoke-houses, and corn-cribs into the woods, as they had done when the news came that Butler and Stringham had reduced the fortifications at the Inlet; but, on this occasion, Mrs. Gray's neighbors were all so busy with their own affairs that they did not have time to run over and find fault with her because she did not hide anything.
A few days of inactivity followed, during which the fleet was repairing the damages it had received during the storm, and then a hush seemed to fall upon the whole nation as the news was flashed over it that the final struggle for the possession of those waters was about to begin. The low, swampy shores of the Sound being but sparsely settled, and nearly all the able-bodied men in the country, both white and black, having been summoned to the Island, some as soldiers and the others to work on the forts and trenches, there were few to witness the grand and imposing spectacle the fleet presented as it moved into position on the evening of February 5, and dropped anchor within a few miles of the entrance to Croatan Sound; but among those few was one who was destined to bring Marcy Gray into deeper trouble than he had ever known before, and the reader will acknowledge that that is saying a good deal. It was Doctor Patten's negro boy Jonas. He lay flat behind some obstruction near the water's edge, and took in the whole scene as if it had been a review arranged for his especial benefit. He saw the waters of the Sound splash as the heavy anchors were dropped into them, and could even hear the shrill tones of the boatswains' pipes. When darkness came and shut the nearest vessel out from his view, he scrambled to his feet and hastened toward his master's house, muttering under his breath:
"Jonas been prayin' hard fur de Yankees to come, an' bress de Lawd, here dey is! Now, what Jonas gwine do?"