bars of a window with their hands pressed to their cheeks, and a negro
with a broom in his hand crouching in a doorway. Some of the men
stopped running and halted to fire, but I shouted to them to come on.
I was sure if we continued to charge we could frighten off the men at
the end of the street, and I guessed rightly, for as we kept on they
scattered and ran. I could hear shouts and screams rising from many
different houses, and men and women scuttled from one side of the
street to the other like frightened hens.

As we passed an open shop some men inside opened a fusillade on me,
and over my shoulder I just caught a glimpse of one of them as he
dropped back behind the counter. I shouted to Von Ritter, who was
racing with me, to look after them, and saw him and a half-dozen
others swerve suddenly and sweep into the shop. Porter's men were just
behind mine and the noise our boots made pounding on the cobblestones
sounded like a stampede of cattle.

The plaza was an unshaded square of dusty grass. In the centre was a
circular fountain, choked with dirt and dead leaves, and down the
paths which led to it were solid stone benches. I told the men to take
cover inside the fountain, and about a dozen of them dropped behind
the rim of it, facing toward the barracks. I heard Porter give a loud
"hurrah!" at finding the doors of the warehouse open, and it seemed
almost instantly that the men of his troop began to fire over our
heads from its roof. At the first glance it was difficult to tell from
where the enemy's fire came, but I soon saw smoke floating from the
cupola of the church on the corner and drifting through the barred
windows of the barracks. I shouted at the men behind the benches to
aim at the cupola, and directed those with me around the fountain to
let loose at the barrack windows. As they rose to fire and exposed