It was a clear, warm day. It had not rained now for more than ten days, and the high ground around the camp was beginning to show signs of dust. On every side activity prevailed. Yet it was not until the middle of the afternoon that orders reached the regiment to which the Goreville boys belonged to move forward, in heavy marching order. “This does mean business,” Blackwell exclaimed. “We’re either going to march for Richmond or--” “Or what, Blackwell?” “Or we’re going to retreat.” “Retreat!” came from half a dozen throats. “Exactly, fellows. You see--” The roll of Benny Bruce’s drum cut the remark short. Soon soldiers were hurrying in all directions as the call to arms sounded upon the afternoon air. Half an hour later the Goreville Volunteers were on the march, moving down a road in the direction of Mechanicsville. Less than half a mile had been covered, when they heard the deep booming of cannon, followed by the sharp rattle of musketry. The shots came in quick succession, showing that not a mere skirmish but a genuine battle was in progress. Louis’s heart began to beat fast. He had done no fighting since that advance at Fair Oaks. What did the immediate future hold in store? He breathed a silent prayer that all might go well with him. A small hill was ascended and before the Volunteers was spread a moving panorama of soldiers, marching, retreating, and firing so fast that the clouds of dust almost hid the gallant fighters from view. On another hill a Confederate battery was dealing out death with every discharge of its four guns. “That battery must be taken!” This was the cry that ran along the line, as the Goreville Volunteers swept into action. “Forward, men, and keep close. One gallant charge and the day is ours!” Away went the men, each bayonet glistening brightly in the clear sunshine. On and on over the tramped-down grass, the soldiers so close together that nothing could go between them, Harry on one side of Louis, Blackwell upon the other--on and on, through the smoke and dust. Louis could fairly feel his heart thump against his cross-belts. Boom! boom! boom! The Confederate battery had opened upon them in deadly earnest. The long flashes of fire, the whistling of grape and canister, was followed by yells and shrieks of agony never-to-be-forgotten. Men dropped by the score and for a moment the line staggered and halted. “Close up! close up! forward!” came the command, and the men crowded together again. Now came the order to fire, and the first line did so. Then they dropped upon their knees and the second line fired over their heads. The rifles were pointed at the Confederate gunners and several were seen to tumble back. Then on swept the Union line, yelling with a voice that is never heard anywhere but on the battlefield where men are fighting for their very lives. [Illustration: THEN ON SWEPT THE UNION LINE, YELLING WITH A VOICE THAT IS NEVER HEARD ANYWHERE BUT ON THE BATTLEFIELD. _Page 399._]