covered the floor with glass, and cracked the walls. After it was over I
found that it had demolished in my house twelve plates and fifty-four
sheets of glass, each measuring about thirty by fifty inches.

At 4:45 1 was ordered out of my house by the soldiers, - not in a quiet
manner, but with an order that there was no mistaking its terms and
meaning, - about like this: "Get out of this house!" I replied: "But
this is my house and I have a right to stay here if I choose." "Get out
d--n quick, and make no talk about it, either!" So a soldier with a
bayonet on his gun marched me up Clay Street to Gough amid flames,
smoke, and explosions. Feeling exhausted from climbing the steep street,
and when within one hundred feet of Gough Street I rested on a doorstep.
I had not been there for more than two minutes before a soldier on the
opposite side of the street leveled his gun and cried out, "Get out of
that old man, and go up on to Gough Street." As he had a loaded gun, and
appeared very important, I quickly obeyed his polite order. As I
reluctantly ascended Clay Street in charge of the soldier, I held back
long enough to see the steeple of the Presbyterian Church fall. I stayed
at Gough Street a while, looking down upon my house, expecting every
minute to see the flames coming out of it. I watched from Gough Street
with much anxiety, and made up my mind that I would see if I could not
get back into my house, for I believed I could save it. The heat was so
intense that it had driven the guards away from Van Ness Avenue; so,
seeing no one near, I quietly slipped down the north side of Washington
Street to Franklin. As no one was around there, I continued to
Washington and Van Ness and, putting up my coat-collar and protecting
the side of my face with my hat, I ran along Van Ness to my front door
and quickly got into the house again at 5:40, being kept out fifty-five
minutes. My clothing got very hot but was not scorched. This I did at a
great risk of my life, for these soldiers were very arrogant and