The stream was full to the banks and too deep to wade. Not a third of the men could swim it with their arms and accouterments. The rebels were every minute drawing nearer and intensifying their fire. They were truly between fire and water. There were no boats to be had nor could the time be taken to construct a raft of bamboo poles. On came the howling, revengeful, murderous black devils, frenzied by their recent defeat by this inferior party. The leaders were frantically waving their swords over their heads, and shouting words of encouragement to their men; offering rewards to the first to reenter the trenches. Our diminutive army was now on the defensive. They leaped into the ditch and began to take pot-shots at the more daring of the rapidly approaching mass, determined, to hold the place or die in the attempt--indeed, there was no alternative. They succeeded in arresting the van. The enemy in turn sought shelter and began a fire that had results, for two Americans were soon rendered _hors de combat_; the trench not affording as good shelter from the side from which the insurgents were approaching as on the other side. This long-range duel kept up for many minutes. Ammunition grew scarce and was finally exhausted, Van Osdol alone retaining loads in his revolver. From the slackening of the American fire, the rebels soon became aware of their scarcity of cartridges, and again began a mad rush for the trenches. Nothing remained for the bold little band to do but to meet them with the point of the bayonet and sell their lives at a precious price. The unhurt members of the detachment rallied around their gallant leader with bayonets fixed. Now the foremost of the wildly rushing horde was within a hundred yards. A brilliant thought struck Sergeant Schriner. He ran forward, grasped a Mauser near one of the rebels who had fallen when the trenches were taken, undid the belt of the lifeless owner, buckled it around his own waist, and returned to his comrades. All followed his example. With their own arms and ammunition the advance of the blood-thirsty enemy was again checked. With the newly acquired arms and ammunition the brave little band inflicted a decided injury to their would-be slayers. Now every shot was expended with the greatest caution. Again the American fire slackened, and again the stubborn insurrectos rushed forward. At last the recently acquired belts were emptied. There was now no further hope. With renewed shouting, and rending the air with their hideous screams, the twice-checked enemy came madly on. Once more the defenders rallied to meet their death together. On a sudden the yells seemed a hundred times multiplied, and from the rear as well as front. Had they been surrounded? To the rear the shouts were rapidly drawing nearer, but it was not the sharp and broken yell of the Tagalo--it was the familiar "Yankee yell"; that invincible, "gugu"-terrorizing "Yankee yell."