His men closed up with him instantly, Merwyn being among the first to reach his side, and for a few moments the thud of clubs on human skulls was heard above every other sound. Mr. Vosburgh, keeping a little to the rear on the sidewalk, watched Merwyn, who held his attention almost equally with the general issues of this decisive battle. The youth was dealing blows like an athlete, and keeping pace with the boldest. The windows of the buildings on Broadway were now crowded by thousands witnessing the conflict, while Mr. Vosburgh, following closely, heard the ominous "sing" of more than one bullet. The man who had come that day to the protection of his home and child should not be left to the mercy of strangers, should he fall. To his surprise he soon saw that Merwyn had shifted his club to his left hand, and that he was fighting with a revolver. He watched the young fellow with renewed interest, and observed that his aim was as deliberate as it was quick, and that often when he fired some prominent figure in the mob dropped. "By all the powers! if he is not coolly shooting the leaders, and picking out his man every time!" ejaculated the astonished officer. The police made a clean sweep of the street, and only prostrate forms were left in their rear. Therefore Mr. Vosburgh could almost keep pace with Merwyn. The rioters soon became appalled at their punishment. Like a dark blue wave, with bloody clubs forming a crimson crest, that unfaltering rank of men steadily advanced and ingulfed them. All within reach went down. Those of the police who were wounded still fought on, or, if disabled, the ranks closed up, and there was no cessation in the fatal hail of blows. The rioters in front would have given way, had not the thousands in their rear pressed them forward to their fate.