In the high road lay articles of furniture, huddled together, thrown in heaps one on another, and broken into fragments in the fall.

A sergeant and company of musketeers were even then in the midst of this pitiful work of devastation, turning the people out of their little thatched cottages and flinging their poor sticks of property out after them.

Everywhere were tumult and ruin.

Old people were lying on the cold earth by the wayside.

They had been born in these houses; they had looked to die in these homes; but houses and homes were to be theirs no more.