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 open to the right and left on the sides of the road.
The artillerymen had turned the gun and loaded it with a solid shot.
Instantly a wide lane opened through our ranks; the man with the lanyard drew the fatal cord, fire burst from the primer and the muzzle, the long gun sprang up and recoiled, and there seemed to be a demoniac yell in its ear-splitting crash, as the heavy ball left the mouth, and tore its bloody way through the bodies of the struggling mass of men and horses.
This ended it.