The rioters presented, indeed, a terrifying spectacle. Stunned, for a moment, by the swift retribution that had fallen on their leader, their amazement now gave way to a frenzy of rage. Incited to still greater fury by Kranich who had precipitately fled into the midst of his followers when he saw his companion fall, the men of the invading host were clamoring for revenge. The red flag, temporarily lowered, was again shaken aloft. Men with faces distorted by wrath and a desire for vengeance were shrieking their anger, flourishing their clubs, brandishing knives, daggers, pistols, gathering from the street missiles of any and every kind with which to charge upon their enemy. They could not conceive that sixty Guardsmen in khaki, with rifles and bayonets, could check the murderous onslaught of five hundred desperate and daring men. Already stones and brickbats were hurtling through the air, and falling in the midst of the troops. A stone struck Manning’s head, cut through his hat, and sent him staggering and bleeding to the curb. “Charge bayonet!” McCormack’s command rang out clear and distinct above the din and tumult of the riot. As it went down the line the rifle of every man was thrown to the front, his left hand supporting the barrel, his right hand grasping the stock. The points of sixty bayonets, four paces apart, ranged in the sweeping arc of a circle, converged in the direction of the howling and advancing mob. Barriscale alone was in revolt. “It’s wild!” he shouted. “We’ve got to give ’em bullets, not bayonets! This is no pink tea! This is war! I say, load your guns, men, load! load!” Obeying his own command, he pulled back the bolt of his piece, withdrew a clip from his cartridge belt, pushed it with trembling and hurried fingers into the slot of his rifle, forced the cartridges into the magazine, thrust the bolt home, and then looked around in amazement to see that no one else had followed his lead. McCormack, though his face went white with anger, still thought it prudent to let Barriscale have his fling. The man was excited, terrified, utterly beyond even self-control; he could harm no one but himself. The calmness, the deliberation, the apparent patience which the commanding officer was exercising in the handling of his force, appeared to give courage to the attacking mob, the front rank of which, forced on from behind, was now within twenty paces of the line of army steel. The jeering was hideous and the yelling terrific. Stones, brickbats, missiles of all kinds went crashing into the silent ranks. “Advance!” McCormack gave the command and repeated it. It was instantly obeyed. With measured step, bayonets pointed ahead of them at the height of their chins, firmness in every eye, determination gripping every inch of muscle, the men of Company E moved forward in the face of such a mad and murderous assault as few of them ever cared to witness again.