A fierce storm of cannon and musketry answered from the crest 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 the regiment. I had a personal altercation with that Mississippi Colonel lying over there, and he put a bullet through my thigh. Get the men together, pick up our wounded, and fall back to the top of the hill again." "I'm afraid there's no use of picking up Corp'l Klegg and Shorty," said the Lieutenant, with tears in his eyes. "They got the rebel flag, but they're lying there stiff and cold."