We were upon the fellows with a rush, firing in their very faces, and leaping madly at them. There was little room between the walls, barely space for a half-dozen to fight in, shoulder to shoulder, but those behind, eager to strike also, pressed us so recklessly that we hurled them back. To me it was all confusion, uproar, deadly fighting. I could think of nothing to right or left, only of the struggling devils in my front. Faces, forms, came and vanished in the swirl of smoke, brown gun-barrels whirled before me, flashes of fire burned my eyes, strange features, bearded, malignant, glared at me. I leaped straight at them, striking fiercely. Once I saw Grant, and aimed a blow at him. Then he was gone, swallowed in the ruck. There were oaths, shouts, shrieks of pain, groans, the heavy breathing of men, the crunch of feet, the dull reverberation of blows, the continued firing of those behind. It was all an infuriated babel, the smoke thickening until we gasped for breath, barely able to see. Our mad onrush swept them back, helpless, demoralized. I stumbled over bodies, slipped in pools of blood, yet kept my feet. Every muscle ached; I was cut and pounded, yet drove into the mass, shouting to those behind, "Come on, lads! Come on! We're driving them!" A yard, two yards, three,--beyond the door where the men had escaped we won our way. Then they could go no further. Blocked, unable to retreat, wedged helplessly against the far end of the hall they turned like cornered rats. I could see nothing of Jones, but I heard him, raging like a fiend. "Now, you curs, now!" he stormed. "You cowardly scum--perhaps you'll fight when you can't run! What are you afraid of? There's only a handful, you can chew 'em up, if you will! Push 'em back, there! Push 'em back!"