mob passed again. A fine-looking young man was in their hands; and
Mrs. Jenkin saw him with his mouth open as if he sought to speak,
saw him tossed from one to another like a ball, and then saw him no
more. 'He was dead a few instants after, but the crowd hid that
terror from us. My knees shook under me and my sight left me.'
With this street tragedy, the curtain rose upon their second
revolution.

The attack on Spirito Santo, and the capitulation and departure of
the troops speedily followed. Genoa was in the hands of the
Republicans, and now came a time when the English residents were in
a position to pay some return for hospitality received. Nor were
they backward. Our Consul (the same who had the benefit of
correction from Fleeming) carried the Intendente on board the
VENGEANCE, escorting him through the streets, getting along with
him on board a shore boat, and when the insurgents levelled their
muskets, standing up and naming himself, 'CONSOLE INGLESE.' A
friend of the Jenkins', Captain Glynne, had a more painful, if a
less dramatic part. One Colonel Nosozzo had been killed (I read)
while trying to prevent his own artillery from firing on the mob;
but in that hell's cauldron of a distracted city, there were no
distinctions made, and the Colonel's widow was hunted for her life.
In her grief and peril, the Glynnes received and hid her; Captain
Glynne sought and found her husband's body among the slain, saved
it for two days, brought the widow a lock of the dead man's hair;
but at last, the mob still strictly searching, seems to have
abandoned the body, and conveyed his guest on board the VENGEANCE.
The Jenkins also had their refugees, the family of an EMPLOYE
threatened by a decree. 'You should have seen me making a Union
Jack to nail over our door,' writes Mrs. Jenkin. 'I never worked