The men, though saying nothing, began to feel their victory. They were making a great fight and they knew it. Their beloved cannon was excelling itself. They patted the barrel and the wheels, and ran their hands along the shining bronze, saying, "Good old boy!" and "Well done!" The prolonge ropes were taken down, the limber chest and caisson were sent back to the rear, and the great one gun battery again went into action. "Aim at that mass of infantry across the hill there," said the corporal, and the shot was placed in the appointed spot. The fires of many British guns was turned upon this cannon which had become most annoying, stinging like a wasp. The defeat of the cavalry furnished mortification too, and the necessity to silence the gun and annihilate its detachment grew more imperative. A sleet of lead and iron beat about it. A hot shot struck the limber chest, and a volcano of fire and smoke, accompanied by a terrific explosion, gushed up. Pieces of iron and steel and oaken wood whizzed through the air, and for a few moments both men and horses were blinded by the dazzling burst of flame. The limber chest was no longer there; but a deep hole appeared in the earth where it had been, and the space about it was strewed with old iron. It had been blown up by the hot shot, and the corporal, who was taking charges from the chest, and three horses were blown up with it. The other horses, torn loose from their gear and chest, had run away, bleeding. The new driver of the caisson cracked his whip over the heads of his horses, and whirled the limber into the place of the limber destroyed. The chief of caisson proceeded to supply ammunition to the gun, which did not slacken its industry. The main battle rolled a little further away, and the horses and the gun formed a projection of the American line extending into the British. But the nature of the ground on either side, and the occupation furnished by our army to the bulk of the British troops, protected their flanks. The danger lay directly in front of them. The gun was getting hot, and they were forced to let it cool a little. The corporal watched the enemy, while his gun rested. He never turned his eyes towards his comrades, knowing they would do their duty. "They advance slowly," he said to the new No. 1. "They do not like the kisses of old Hammer and Tongs here," replied No. 1, patting the gun. "Is that sponge burnt out?" asked the corporal. No. 1 did not reply. "Why don't you answer?" asked the corporal, a little impatiently. "He's quit talking," said Acting No. 2.