Suddenly we sat up in the bed. Outside in the street was the heavy tramp of marching men. Voices were whispering in the back. Through our window came the flare of a dazzling searchlight. It was about 1 a.m. We had been over an hour in the house. There was a crash of glass in the front. A door opened. From the stairs came the sound of rushing footsteps. We sprang out of bed together. Simultaneously our hands gripped our revolvers. I took a gun in each hand. A hand was groping on our door outside. I never spoke. Sean pressed my arm and whispered “Goodbye, Dan, we’ll meet above.” Crack! crack! Two bullets came whizzing through the door. Crack! crack! My German Mauser pistol was replying. There was no light save the flash of the shots. Outside on the landing an English voice was shouting, “Where is Ryan? Where is Ryan?” Bullets were now flying on all sides, our door was partly open. I blazed away on to the landing. Blood was flowing freely from my right thumb where a flying bullet struck me, but I felt no pain. Outside I heard a thud as if a man had fallen on the carpet. Suddenly I realised that Sean’s gun had missed fire. With my Mauser still raking the landing and the stairs I shouted to Sean to get back to the window. He stepped back, just as another bullet from outside buried itself in the wardrobe. The firing from the stairs had momentarily ceased. There was a hurried rush of retreating footsteps down towards the hall. In the back I could hear rifle shots ringing out. I dashed out of the room on to the landing and saw half a dozen soldiers making another attempt to come up the stairs, their electric torches making me an almost certain target for their bullets. Into that khaki group my pistol poured bullet after bullet. I knew now that the house was surrounded and that there was little hope of escape for me. But the rage of battle had taken possession of me. I was going to be killed; but I would sell my life dearly. As I blazed into the soldiers there was a hurried rush for safety. They had now evacuated the top landing and I was pursuing them down the stairs. When I got to the first floor they had all disappeared—some had taken shelter in the rooms underneath, others had retreated headlong into the street. There was no other target for my bullets, but now and again I heard the sharp report of a rifle from the back, mingled with occasional groans and cries. I rushed back to my room. At the door I tripped over two dead officers and a wounded Tommy. I had to pull each of them out of the way before I could close my door. I don’t know how I had missed tripping over them when I had first rushed out of the room. In the heat of the battle one does not see everything.