But the Germans came down the ladder so swiftly now that Sergeant Bowers was smothered beneath them. In vain he struck out right and left. Two men went down under his sledge-hammer blows, but the enemy arrived faster than Bowers could dispose of them.
Directly the sergeant found himself at bay, fully a dozen Germans circling about him with ugly gleams in their eyes.
It seemed that the foes had run short of ammunition; otherwise Bowers must surely have perished where he stood before help could reach him. But no shot was fired. Nevertheless, the Germans were armed with knives and daggers, while Bowers had no weapons save his two great fists.
It was apparent, however, that the cowardly foes had a wholesome respect for these fists. Each appeared afraid to close in—each waited for the next man to strike the first blow. Sergeant Bowers stood with his back to the wall and taunted them.
“Come on, you cowards!” he called. “Come in here and meet an American marine!”
The Germans muttered angrily, but no man seemed anxious to be the first to attack.
Still, it was plain to Sergeant Bowers that they must attack soon or be caught like rats in a trap. The position where the sergeant stood at bay had a certain advantage; for the Germans to reach the steps leading to the floor below it would be necessary to pass within a few feet of him. And Sergeant Bowers had decided with himself that he would never allow the Germans to pass there while he remained alive.
The Germans now began to realize the need of haste; and this haste became greater as a marine came sliding down the ladder from the roof. With bellows of fury they sprang upon Sergeant Bowers and the new arrival.
The sergeant and the private fought as best they could. They struck out right and left with all their strength.
But gradually they felt themselves being pushed back. Bowers felt a slight pain in his left forearm as a knife found its mark. A moment later a shining blade grazed his forehead. With an angry bellow, the sergeant sprang into the very midst of his foes.