The men of Stuart's body-guard were fighting outside of the
breastworks and mattresses. They were using their swords as
though they were machetes, and the Irishmen were swinging their
guns around their shoulders like sledge-hammers, and beating
their foes over the head and breast. The guns at his own side
sounded close at Langham's ear, and deafened him, and those of
the enemy exploded so near to his face that he was kept
continually winking and dodging, as though he were being taken by
a flashlight photograph. When he fired he aimed where the
mass was thickest, so that he might not see what his bullet did,
but he remembered afterward that he always reloaded with the most
anxious swiftness in order that he might not be killed before he
had had another shot, and that the idea of being killed was of no
concern to him except on that account. Then the scene before him
changed, and apparently hundreds of Mendoza's soldiers poured out
from the Palace and swept down upon him, cheering as they came,
and he felt himself falling back naturally and as a matter of
course, as he would have stepped out of the way of a locomotive,
or a runaway horse, or any other unreasoning thing. His
shoulders pushed against a mass of shouting, sweating men, who in
turn pressed back upon others, until the mass reached the iron
fence and could move no farther. He heard Clay's voice shouting
to them, and saw him run forward, shooting rapidly as he ran, and
he followed him, even though his reason told him it was a useless
thing to do, and then there came a great shout from the rear of
the Palace, and more soldiers, dressed exactly like the others,
rushed through the great doors and swarmed around the two wings
of the building, and he recognized them as Rojas's men and knew
that the fight was over.