A man rose before him, shouting.
Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's
coat brought it down again.
"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?"
The other pointed.
"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring.
"Yes! I fell--machine smashed--come on!"
"Hurt?"
"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?"
Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in
pandemonium.
"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven!
Rally, here! Rally!"
Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The
retreat was becoming a rout!
Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men.
"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys,
now! Come on!"
His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new
determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic
volume.
Then the tide turned.
Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. back at the
machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls.
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