of the
hill. As they reloaded, Si and Shorty saw in quick glances that the
rebel line to the right and left seemed beaten to a standstill by the
terrific storm which fell upon them, but in their immediate front a body
of men, apparently a regiment, kept stubbornly forging forward. Upon
their flag, held gallantly aloft, could be made out the let ters "Miss."

By the time every shot in the cartridge-boxes had been fired at them
they had forced their way half-up the slope.

"Attention, 200th Indiana," shouted Capt. McGillicuddy. "Dress on the
colors. Fix bayonets."

"They'uns 's Injiannians," shouted the rebel Color-Sergeant, waving
his flag defiantly. "Come on, you Hoosiers. We'uns 's Mississippians.
Remember Buny Visty. Injiannians 's cowards."

"Shorty, le's have that 'ere flag," said Si.

"Le's," said Shorty, pushing around the ring that locked his bayonet on.

"Forward March Charge!" shouted Capt. McGillicuddy.

[Illustration: THEY HAD A DELIRIOUS REMEMBRANCE OF THE MAD WHIRL. 211]

Of the mad whirl of an eternity of events in the next few minutes
neither Si nor Shorty had anything but a delirious remembrance. They
could only recollect the fierce rush of the lightning-like play of
bayonet and gun-barrel in the storm-center around the rebel colors.
Each after an instant's savage fencing had sent his bayonet home in his
opponent's body. Si had sprung at and seized the rebel colors, only to
fall, as he grasped them, from a bullet out of the revolver of a rebel
Captain, whom Shorty instantly bayoneted, and fell himself from a blow
across the head with a musket-barrel.

The man who struck him was bayoneted by Abel Waite, who was dancing
around the edges of the melee like a malignant little fiend, prodding
wherever he could get a chance at a rebel body. The Irishmen, yelling
like demons, were using their guns like shilelahs, and crushing heads in
every direction, while Wat Burnham had thrown his musket aside, and was
rushing at everybody with his mighty fists.

At length the rebels fled, leaving the Indianians in possession of their
colors and the hillside.

"Some of you find Lieut. Bowersox, and bring him here," said Capt.
McGillicuddy, sitting up, and beginning to twist a handkerchief around
his thigh, to form a tourniquet. "Lieutenant, you all right?"

"Nothing more than a mere scratch on the side of my head," said the
Lieutenant, wiping away the blood.

"Well, Lieutenant, you'll have to take command of th