He parried the thrust and, as the momentum carried the Englishman onward, he reversed and brought up the gun butt with all his strength. He heard the impact of that butt striking flush beneath the other’s chin and saw agony spring to the soldier’s face. Then he was caught in a milling crowd and jammed tightly against the rear parapet. The sallyport was too small an exit; they leaped over the wall and retreated toward the base of Bunker Hill. Brent never knew how he got over the parapet. He was aware that some time later he, too, was retreating stubbornly, elbow to elbow with others, swearing large epithets and praying for a drink of water. If the confusion within the redoubt was great, it was still worse in the ground immediately outside. Here the dust, under the converging points of British attack, rose in billows, and the two sides were so mixed that no man could tell friend or foe beyond a few yards. Now and then, on the left, Brent heard the popping of a musket and knew that those stationed along the rail fence were covering the retreat of the redoubt defenders. “By Godfrey!” he gasped. “We can fight!” He seemed to be emerging from the area of a storm into comparatively quiet territory. The noise and the dust alike grew fainter as he retreated. He scrambled over a fence, still holding to his musket, and almost automatically joined in a kind of organized body retreating along the road to Charlestown Neck and the mainland. Brent looked behind him as the scene began to clarify. The redoubt was well surrounded by British who were halting and dressing their lines. The provincials at the rail fence, once the redoubt had been cleared, were very slowly giving ground, holding off pursuit. From every direction men and companies converged into the road. The doctor, carried along in the throng, turned his face to the front. The road swung and cut the battlefield from sight. He lagged wearily, hearing now and then a mumbled word from his neighbors; but for the most part he was a silent part of a silent and sullen crowd. Their heads were down in sheer exhaustion and their steps were shambling. A fresh company from Cambridge came up, heard the news and turned back. In no great time Brent roused himself with an effort and saw that he was with a much smaller group. They had crossed the Neck, and the men were splitting along the various routes to their homes. He too, turned. In a half hour he came to the Lone Oak tavern, found his horse and climbed into the saddle. It was then for the first time that he noted the afternoon gone and evening advancing swiftly. There was a throbbing in his wrist; he looked down to see the blood congealing over his hand. * * * * *