But the French did not quail. The weight of numbers meant nothing to
them. It was not the first time they had stood firmly against
overwhelming odds, and there was not a man in the farmhouse who did not
fully expect to survive the present battle and be ready to face
overwhelming odds again. Each man knew well enough that before the
fighting was over it was ten to one that there would be but a handful
of the defenders left, but each man was confident he would be one of
that number.
They poured a galling fire into the ranks of the Germans as they advanced
to the charge.
The effect of this steady stream of rifle fire, accurate and deadly at
such close range, was bound to tell. In spite of the urging of their
officers, the Germans wavered. The lines behind the first surged forward,
however, pushing the men in front closer to the deadly fire of the
French. Those in front pushed back and for a moment there was wild
confusion without.
In vain German officers rushed in among the troops, trying to rally them.
It was too late. The Germans had become demoralized. A moment and they
broke and fled. It was every man for himself.
The French within the farmhouse raised a wild cheer and poured volley
after volley into the fleeing Germans.
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