A child--he could not have been more than four years old--ran screaming by me.

From a balcony right overhead a soldier shot at him, missed, and laughed uproariously.

Then he reloaded and began firing among the bullocks, now jammed and goring one another at the entrance of a narrow alley.

And his shots seemed to be a signal for a general salvo of random musketry.

I saw a woman cross the roadway with a rifleman close behind her; he swung up his rifle, holding it by the muzzle, and clubbed her between the shoulders with the butt.
All night these scenes went by me--these and scenes of which I cannot write; unrolled in the blaze of the houses which burnt on, as little regarded as I who lay in my gutter and watched them to the savage unending music of yells, musketry, and the roar of flames.
In the height of it my ear caught the regular footfall of troops, and a squad of infantry came swinging round the corner.