rioters, instead of being intimidated, rushed to a pile of paving-stones
that unfortunately happened to be near, and arming themselves with these,
began to pelt the horses, which soon became unmanageable, so that the
cavalry force had to retire.

The infantry then advanced, but were received with such a deluge of stones
that they, too, fell back to Broadway. Here they rallied, and at the order
forward, moved steadily on the mob, and forced their way to the front of
the Opera House. While forming line here on the sidewalk, they were
assailed so fiercely with paving-stones, that the soldiers fell rapidly.
The rioters were in close quarters, and the heavy stones, hurled at such a
short distance, were almost as deadly as musket-balls. Captain Pond soon
fell wounded, when the second in command told the sheriff that if he did
not give the order to fire, the troops would be withdrawn, for they
couldn't stand it. Recorder Talmadge, unwilling to resort to such a
desperate measure, attempted to harangue the mob. He begged them, in God's
name, to disperse and go home--if they did not, the soldiers would
certainly fire on them, etc. The only reply was hoots and yells of
defiance, and paving-stones. The Recorder then forced his way up to
General Hall, standing at the right of the battalion, and said: "You must
order your men to fire; it is a terrible alternative, but there is no
other." The General asked for the Mayor, for he was doubtful of his
authority to do so, without his order. "He won't be here," replied
Talmadge. General Sandford then said: "Well, the National Guards will not
stand and be pounded to death with stones; nearly one-third of the force
is already disabled." After a little more hurried conversation, the
sheriff said, "If that be so, you have permission to fire." The uproar all
this time was deafening, and the order, "Ready!" of General Sandford,
could hardly be heard; but the sharp, quick rattle of steel rose
distinctly over the discord. Still terribly repugnant to shoot down