I could hear near and distant explosions of rifles, shouts and curses of men, women screaming, and children bawling.

Then I could make out the thuds and squeals of bullets that hit wood and iron in the wheels and under-construction of the wagon.
Whoever it was that was shooting, the aim was too low.

When I started to rise, my mother, evidently just in the act of dressing, pressed me down with her hand.

Father, already up and about, at this stage erupted into the wagon.
"Out of it!" he shouted.

"Quick! To the ground!" He wasted no time.