Carried away by what was, perhaps, a natural impulse, the men, without waiting for orders, rushed at the nearest barrier, and were mowed down in scores.
I suppose it is the sense of being shut up in a corner, with little chance of escape, that makes street fighting so savage. Certainly I have never seen so furious a conflict in the open field as behind the barricades in Waitzen.
From the shouts and cries of the combatants, and the firing of guns, we recognized that our comrades were fighting their way, step by step, in other directions, and I for one hoped some of them would come to our assistance by taking the barricades in the rear.
The attack having failed, the men came dropping back in disorder, being exposed not only to the fire from the barrier, but also from the windows of the houses, which were garrisoned by soldiers.
Meanwhile, the pressure behind being relieved, the colonel rallied the regiment into something like order again.
"It's no use trying for the barricade like that, my lads," he exclaimed cheerfully; "we're only knocking our heads against a stone wall. What we have to do is to clear the houses one by one."
This was really the only workmanlike way of doing the business, though it added much to the horrors of the combat.
The Austrians inside the buildings forced us to fight for every room in each house. They made a barricade of every article of furniture, and a fortress of every staircase. While we fought those below, their comrades in the upper stories picked us off with their rifles; and when their ammunition was exhausted they clambered over to the next house, or dropped into the street.
In this fashion we worked our way to the buildings overlooking the first barricade, which now became useless, and was immediately abandoned.
The last man to leave was their leader, and at sight of him my heart beat fast.