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by the throat, by the mouth, by the hair. There was no longer a
cartridge in the barricade, but there remained despair. A workman,
pierced through and through, snatched the bayonet from his belly, and
stabbed a soldier with it. They did not see each other, but they
devoured each other. It was a desperate scuffle in the dark.
The barricade did not hold out for two minutes. In several places, it
may be remembered, it was low. It was rather stridden over than scaled.
That was all the more heroic. One of the survivors[28] told the writer
of these lines, "The barricade defended itself very badly, but the men
died very well."
All this took place while Jeanty Sarre and Charpentier were carrying the
wounded man to the ambulance in the Rue du Cadran. His wounds having
been attended to, they came back to the barricade. They had just reached
it when they heard themselves called by name. A feeble voice close by
said to them, "Jeanty Sarre! Charpentier!" They turned round and saw one
of their men who was dying leaning against a wall, and his knees giving
way beneath him. He was a combatant who had left the barricade. He had
only been able to take a few steps down the street. He held his hand
over his breast, where he had received a ball fired at close quarters.
He said to them in a scarcely audible voice, "The barricade is taken,
save yourselves."
"No," said Jeanty Sarre, "I must unload my gun." Jeanty Sarre re-entered
the barricade, fired a last shot and went away.
Nothing could be more frightful than the interior of the captured
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