The cavalry company was not large, and many saddles were empty before it smashed into the gun and its defenders. Then a terrible tumult arose. There was a confused mêlée of rearing horses, men leaning in the saddle, firing with pistols and slashing with sabres. Other men, brown and wiry, reaching over and bending forward among the wheels, striking upward with short heavy swords, killing horses and riders, and darting about like Indians, evading alike the hoofs of the horses and the slashes of the horsemen. There was a sickening whit of steel cutting through flesh, the gasp of last and hard-drawn breaths, and the sound of falls. The horses became entangled among the ropes, and stumbled over the gun and caisson, throwing their riders to the earth. The sinewy forms of their enemies slipped in and out like snakes, escaping the blows aimed from above, but steadily deepening the stains on their own red swords. Shouts, cries, and the stamp of horses' feet came from the whirling ball of fire and smoke, which began presently to throw forth men and horses. The cavalrymen who still rode, galloped away, and those who were on foot now, followed. Many of the horses were riderless, and they joined others that ran up and down the field, always keeping the battle in view. Then the ball split asunder entirely, and each half began to shred off in fragments; the dying combat, and the men, the living and the dead, rose out of it. The ground over which they had fought was a soaking red mire, and the wheels of cannon, caisson, and limber were sunk deep in it. But the cavalry had been beaten; entangled in the breastwork of the gun and its equipment and the prolonge ropes, they had been unable to withstand the slashing and the thrusting of the short artillery swords, and those who lived fled to the main line of their army, knowing their defeat and not seeking to hide it. A trumpet sounded the recall, and the riderless horses, ceasing their restless race to and fro on the field, fell into line like the veterans they were, and followed the bugler back to the army which owned them. The men about the gun may have enjoyed their victory; but they gave no sign, and the seven who were left, four having fallen, were reloading as if nothing had happened to interrupt the regular firing of their one gun battery. No. 1, the sponger and rammer, had been killed by a pistol-shot. No. 2 had taken his place, his own place being taken in turn by No. 3, and so on, each moving up a step in the promotion of death. There was no reserve men now, and the force at the caisson was reduced. The corporal was bleeding from a sabre-cut on the head; but he took no notice of it, nor did the men comment on the appearance of his face, which was dyed red. Such things had grown common. "We gave 'em hell that time," said the corporal. "And we can do it again," said he who had been No. 2, but now was No. 1.