"Here, you--men!" he shouted. "Each of you shoulder one of those empty pork-barrels, and carry it up the bluff." But not a man stirred. His indignation was aroused; but he knew that it was not a time for argument. He drew his revolver, pointed it at a group, and said, "Start! or I'll shoot you." It was spoken so resolutely that they obeyed. He told them how, if they could hold that position, the Rebels would be defeated,--how a few minutes of resolute work would save the army. He saw their courage revive. They dug a trench, cut down trees, rolled up logs, filled the barrels with dirt, and worked like beavers. Others wheeled up the great guns, and Paul put them into position. Others brought shot and shell, and laid them in piles beside the guns. The storm was coming nearer. The lines were giving way. Regiments with broken ranks came straggling down the road. "Bring all the batteries into position along the ravine," said General Grant. Away flew half a dozen officers with the orders, and the batteries, one after another, came thundering down the road,--the horses leaping, the artillery-men blackened and begrimed, yet ready for another fight. "Get anybody you can to work the thirty-twos," said Colonel Webster, the chief of artillery, to Paul. "I can sight a cannon," said a surgeon, who was dressing wounds in the hospital. He laid down his bandages, went up and patted one of the guns, as if it were an old friend, ran his eye along the sights, and told the gunners what to do. It was sunset. All day long the battle had raged, and the Union troops had been driven. The Rebels were ready for their last grand charge, which they hoped would give them the victory. Onward they came down the steep bank opposite, into the ravine. The Union batteries were ready for them,--Captain Silversparre with his twenty-pounders, Captain Richardson and Captain Russell with their howitzers, Captain Stone with his ten-pounders, Captain Taylor, Captain Dresser, Captain Willard, and Lieutenant Edwards,--sixty or more cannon in all. A gunner was lacking for one of the great iron thirty-twos. Paul sprang from his horse, and took command of the piece. The long lines of the Rebels came into view. "Bang! bang! bang! bang!" went the guns. Then half a dozen crashed at once,--the great thirty-twos thundering heavier than all the others. Shells, solid shot, and canister tore through the ravine, rolling back the Rebel lines, drenching the hillsides with blood, turning the brook to crimson, and the fresh young leaves to scarlet. O the wild commotion,--the jarring of the earth, the deep reverberations rolling far away, and the shouts of the cannoneers!