At eight o’clock the Goreville Volunteers were ready for the march. Dirty and wet, they yet presented a determined appearance as they drew up in two lines, each man in light marching order, with a day’s rations in his haversack and forty rounds of ammunition in his cartridge box. Each gun had been cleaned and oiled, and every bayonet was as bright as when it left the arsenal--for the terror of a bayonet lies in its brightness as well as its pointedness. “Forward, march!” the word of command did not come until nearly eleven o’clock, and even then the volunteers moved only a few hundred feet. “It’s going to be another fizzle,” growled Jerry Rowe, under his breath, when a sharp rattle of musketry ahead caused him to jump and turn pale. The savage battle of Fair Oaks, Jerry never forgot and he never said “fizzle” again. The attack proved to be nothing but a skirmish, but not long after noon the battle began in earnest and was kept up until sundown, when both sides lay down almost exhausted, but knowing that the fray must be continued at dawn, despite the fact that it was God’s day of rest. The real battle had been in progress in front about an hour when there came a sudden panic, brought on by the retreat of a portion of a division which had been almost cut in two by the mad attack of a great body of Confederates. “They are coming upon us a hundred thousand strong! We’ll have to fall back!” was the cry, which made Louis’s heart leap into his throat. Was the scene at Bull Run to be repeated? “Halt, men! About face!” came the command. “Don’t be cowards! We can whip them yet!” And a fresh division was advanced, and those who were retreating took heart. Now the Goreville Volunteers were going to the front, the second company in the regiment. Along the muddy road they went, leaping over fallen trees and over the dirt embankments which had been thrown up. Bang! crack! bang! The enemy was in sight and the front line of the Confederates had opened fire upon them. Down the Union boys dropped to their knees, and a part of the deadly fire spent itself over their heads. Then a Confederate battery, situated in a woods to the right, opened its thunder, with grape and canister. “Forward!” came down the line again, and on the boys in blue went for twenty yards more. “Fire!” was the next cry, and from the long line came a spurt of pure white smoke, and scores of Confederates were seen to throw up their hands and fall. But their forces did not waver. Constantly reinforced, they came on, blazing away as rapidly as the men could load, while their battery spoke out more spitefully than ever. Slowly the Union troops were forced back, foot by foot over the torn up and swampy ground. There was a mist in the air, and now this and the thick smoke for a time hid all from view.