so that now,
as they manned the barricade, they were half-stupid, more than
half-deafened, and hardly knew what had happened. Henri and Jules,
leaning against the bags and peering out into the darkness, could see
the flash of men's rifles as they fired from below, and caught a
glimpse of dusky figures. Then they felt the wall wobble, while
something struck Henri a blow on the arm, and, stretching out his hand,
he gripped first a pole and then an iron hook at the end of it. But it
was only one of half a dozen such implements, which German cunning had
suggested. They were at work then all about him. Those hooks caught
in the upper layer of bags, and at once they were dragged outwards;
Others followed, and even the storm of bullets from the rifles of the
defenders could not stop them. Indeed, in quite a short space of time
the better part of the barricade on which the defenders had counted had
been swept away, dragged down the stairs, and flung into the passage.

"Bayonets ready!" shouted Henri grimly. "We have got to cut our way
out of this place and through the Brandenburgers. Make ready!"

He could feel men swarming up beside him, and heard Jules at his left
shouting encouragement to them. Then one of the poles armed with an
iron hook, failing to catch a bag, became entangled in his clothing,
and in a trice, before he knew where he was, Henri was dragged over the
remnants of the wall, and found himself floundering down the stairway.
A minute later, with a loud shout, the _poilus_ charged over him,
making play with their bayonets to right and to left, and driving the
Germans backward. Then, in that narrow gallery at the foot of the
stairway, and at the wide exit from the hall, there took place as
desperate a combat as had ever been in the whole of this desperate
warfare. Men used their bayonets till the weapons were beaten out of
their hands, or clubbed their rifles and swung them overhead. Then,
undefeated though outnumbered, they gripped their enemies about the
waist and wrestled with them, while some, a few only, for the art does
not come naturally to the _poilu_, dealt swinging blows with their
fists, and, driving a way through the Germans, escaped into the
passage. It was a melee in which all was confusion, in which shouts
deafened the combatants, a pack of struggling, bellowing men, which
seemed as if it would fill the place for ever, and which, as so often
happens, suddenly burst asunder and scatter