truction. The bursting
shells thinned the ranks terribly, while the infantry fire continued to
sweep along the ground, but worst of all, the ammunition of the Irish
regiments was getting low. Several batteries were planted between the
ruins of the houses in Hilgard, but even then the enemy did not budge.

Then came a great rush from the left: Cavalry, Indian scouts, regular
cavalry, cavalry militia, volunteer regiments, and behind them all the
machine-guns and the field-artillery--a perfect avalanche of human
beings and horses wrapped in thick clouds of smoke from which showers of
sparks descended.

That was our salvation. A wild shout of joy from the Irishmen rose above
the din of battle, and after that there was no restraining them. The
front ranks of the cavalry were mown down like sheaves of corn by the
bullets of the enemy's machine-guns; but that made no difference, on
they went, on, ever on! Whole regiments were cut to pieces. Hundreds of
saddles were emptied, but the riders came on just the same, and even
before they had reached the Irish sharpshooters, every man who wore the
green was headed for the ridge almost without waiting for the word of
command!

It was an assault the enemy could not possibly repulse. The Irish and
the cavalry were right among their firing lines; a battery galloped up
into the hostile ranks, crushing dead and wounded beneath its wheels.
Bloody shreds of flesh were sticking to the gun-barrels, and torn limbs
and even whole bodies were whirled round and round in the spokes of the
wheels.

Shrill bugle-calls resounded. The horses were wheeled around and the
battery unlimbered. A hostile shell suddenly struck the shaft of the
gun-carriage, and in a second the horses were a bloody mass of legs
wildly beating the air and of writhing, groaning bodies.

But the gun was in position. And now out with the ammunition! Bang! went
the first shot, which had been in the barrel, and then everybody lent a
hand; an Indian scout, bleeding at the shoulder, and an engineer helped
pass the shells, while a mortally wounded gunner shoved the cartridge
into the barrel.

"Aim up there to the left, near the two detached pine-trees, six hundred
yards," roared a lieutenant, whose blood-covered shirt could be seen
beneath his open uniform.

"The two pines to the left," answered the gunner, lying across the
bracket-trail. Bang! off went the shot, and a line of Japanese
sharpshooters rose like a flock of quail.