My chum was a silent, sententious sort of a chap, and as we ran forward to the Captain’s line, he remarked earnestly: 

“Well:  this beats hell!”

I thought he had a clear idea of the situation.

All this occupied an inappreciably short space of time.  The Rebels had not stopped to reload, but were rushing impetuously toward us.  We gave them a hot, rolling volley from our carbines.  Many fell, more stopped to load and reply, but the mass surged straight forward at us.  Then our fire grew so deadly that they showed a disposition to cover themselves behind the rocks and trees.  Again they were urged forward; and a body of them headed by their Colonel, mounted on a white horse, pushed forward through the gap between us and the Second Lieutenant.  The Rebel Colonel dashed up to the Second Lieutenant, and ordered him to surrender.  The latter-a gallant old graybeard—­cursed the Rebel bitterly and snapped his now empty revolver in his face.  The Colonel fired and killed him, whereupon his squad, with two of its Sergeants killed and half its numbers on the ground, surrendered.

The Rebels in our front and flank pressed us with equal closeness.  It seemed as if it was absolutely impossible to check their rush for an instant, and as we saw the fate of our companions the Captain gave the word for every man to look out for himself.  We ran back a little distance, sprang over the fence into the fields, and rushed toward Town, the Rebels encouraging us to make good time by a sharp fire into our backs from the fence.

While we were vainly attempting to stem the onset of the column dashed against us, better success was secured elsewhere.  Another column swept down the other road, upon which there was only an outlying picket.  This had to come back on the run before the overwhelming numbers, and the Rebels galloped straight for the three-inch Rodman.  Company M was the first to get saddled and mounted, and now came up at a steady, swinging gallop, in two platoons, saber and revolver in hand, and led by two Sergeants-Key and McWright,—­printer boys from Bloomington, Illinois.  They divined the object of the Rebel dash, and strained every nerve to reach the gun first.  The Rebels were too near, and got the gun and turned it.  Before they could fire it, Company M struck them headlong, but they took the terrible impact without flinching, and for a few minutes there was fierce hand-to-hand work, with sword and pistol.  The Rebel leader sank under a half-dozen simultaneous wounds, and fell dead almost under the gun.  Men dropped from their horses each instant, and the riderless steeds fled away.  The scale of victory was turned by the Major dashing against the Rebel left flank at the head of Company I, and a portion of the artillery squad.  The Rebels gave ground slowly, and were packed into a dense mass in the lane up which they had charged.  After they had been crowded back, say fifty yards, word was passed through our men to