CHAPTER XVIII
AT THE FIREPLACE
THERE was no time to organize for defence, or hesitate as to action. I saw that mob of frightened men crowding the hall, some armed, others weaponless, their laces blanched with terror, not a few bleeding from wounds. Bullets crashed into the door; there were veils without, and the sound of feet on the porch.
"Into the rooms, men, and return the fire from the windows," I commanded sharply. "Lively now, but lie low, so as not to get hit. We can beat them back before they break in. O'Brien, take charge at the right—take a squad with you. Here, you fellows, come with me."
They were veteran soldiers, and the decisive voice of command was all they needed. I saw O'Brien dive into the black parlor, a dozen troopers following, and I leaped through the open library door, blowing out the light upon the table, then flinging myself on the floor as I crept to the front windows. How many were with me I was unable to determine, yet I could hear them as they stumbled forward through the darkness. Nor were we in position a moment too soon, already hands without were wrenching at the shutter, and the butt of a carbine sent a shower of shattered glass into my face. There was a dim figure visible and I fired, the fellow
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