At one instant, all had been still and dim; at
another, the air before him was thick with vivid rifle flashes, his
ears were full of the strident din of flying bullets, of shouting
men, of squealing, moaning horses. For a time, he could see nothing
of the enemy but the flashing dots of fire. Then the dots drew
nearer, closed up, and the din was increased by the rattle of fixing
bayonets, by the dull, sucking sound of steel prodded into soft
masses, and by the thud of falling bodies. And always from the outer
circle the pitiless rain of bullets came splashing down upon them,
striking impartially on friend and on foe.
Side by side in the foremost rank, Weldon and Carew were fighting
like tigers. Carew's cheek was gashed by a passing bullet, and
Weldon's coat showed dark and wet over his left shoulder; but
neither man was conscious of pain, or of fear, or of anything else
than a surly determination to check the maddening rush before them.
Carew was slashing about him with all the strength of arm and
bayonet; but Weldon, disdaining his bayonet, was firing with a
steady aim which sent one man and then another to join the heap on
the ground at his feet.
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