His body was rescued through the bravery of Captain Beiral and his company, who fought their way back through the thickest of the opposing force, and with desperate courage rescued the body of their dead commander, and conveyed it to the island. At once the rout began, and the Union forces were driven back, down the steep clay bluffs, one hundred feet high, falling, jumping down, pushed by the Confederates, who followed at their heels, killing and taking prisoners.
It was an awful spectacle. Men whose courage could not be doubted, were panic-stricken, and throwing away coats, muskets, and everything that could impede them, plunged into the river, whose rapid current overwhelmed them, and to their shrieks as they drowned, was added the rapid firing of the Confederates on the cliff above, the roar of the artillery, the cries of the wounded, making a scene of horror which cannot be described. The imagination alone can fill in the picture.
Among the incidents of this day may be mentioned a desertion of one of the regiments by its colonel, who swam the river on horseback, thus making his escape. Many took to a boat, which was quickly filled, and as quickly sunk with every soul. A captain in the Fifteenth Massachusetts came to the rescue of the fleeing Federals, with two companies, and charged up the hill, only to see how little help he could give, and a few moments decided him to wave his handkerchief, and surrender to the Confederates.
Dispirited and weary, the remnant of the troops moved back to camp. Their loss had been heavy. Over five hundred soldiers had been captured by the Confederates, Colonel Baker had been shot, and they had lost arms, ammunition and clothing.
Corporal Ralph Gregory had shown coolness and clearheaded courage, equal to the oldest and bravest. When the battle began, the color-sergeant had received a ball in the breast, and had fallen dead. Seizing the flag from his stiffening fingers, Ralph rushed to the front, and held it manfully, through the storm of bullets that riddled its folds, and clinging desperately to it, he carried it proudly and safely, soiled and torn, but not disgraced.
But his strength was not equal to his courage, and handing it to a stalwart comrade whose arm was more powerful, he bade him to “protect it from capture.” The colors went back to camp, and with them, went the story of the boy's bravery.
Ralph was weak, his nerves were unstrung. His ears still echoed the noise and confusion of the battle that had not yet died away. Still the Union men were fleeing, pursued closely by their enemy, who wounded them with muskets and swords, as they ran. The agonized shrieks of those who met their death in the swift-flowing stream rang in his ears with fearful distinctness, and he vaguely wondered if he would ever cease to hear them.
He was unnerved. It was not cowardice, but the reaction that so often follows times of great excitement. Exhaustion, complete and unavoidable, had taken possession of him. He reeled like a drunken man. Making a frantic effort to recover himself, he sank on the earth amid a clump of leaves and brush, that half hid him from observation. How long he lay in this stupor he could not tell, but when he became conscious of the dreadful place he was in, he slowly struggled to his feet, half-dazed and bewildered. His first thought was to wonder where Bill was. He recollected that he had fled in hot haste with the others, and the last glimpse of him which he had, was when the plucky Massachusetts captain made his stand, but was compelled to surrender. He was sure that he had been wounded, for he saw blood streaming down Bill's face, as he ran.
