How I got there I cannot tell, but I was in the hall, my clothing a mass
of rags, my body aching from head to foot, and still struggling. About
me were men, my own men--pressed together back to back, meeting as best
they could the tide pouring against them from two sides. Remorselessly
they hurled us back, those behind pushing the front ranks into us. We
fought with fingers, fists, clubbed revolvers, paving the floor with
bodies, yet inch by inch were compelled to give way, our little circle
narrowing, and wedged tighter against the wall. Mahoney had made the
stairs, and fought there like a demon until some one shot him down. I
saw three men lift the great log which had barricaded the door, and hurl
it crashing against the gray mass. But nothing could stop them. I felt
within me the strength of ten men; the carbine stock shattered, I swung
the iron barrel, striking until it bent in my hands. I was dazed by a
blow in the face, blood trickled into my eyes where a bullet had grazed
my forehead, one shoulder smarted as though burned by fire, yet it never
occurred to me to cease fighting. Again and again the men rallied to my
call, devils incarnate now, only to have their formation shattered by
numbers. We went back, back, inch by inch, slipping in blood, falling
over our own dead, until we were pinned against the wall.
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