, and when he came to, he saw a company of soldiers
passing the spot where he stood. The next instant the butt-end of a
musket pushed him backwards into the doorway.

"This is madness!" he cried. "You're firing on the people."

"Because the people are murdering and plundering downtown!" answered an
officer. Gradually the tumult calmed down. Another company passed by
Robertson, who had sat down on the step before the door. He examined his
arm and found that he was uninjured; a stone splinter must have struck
his left elbow, for the violent pain soon disappeared. The mob was
quickly lost to view up Broadway, while some ambulance surgeons appeared
on the other side of the street. Robertson called over to them and told
them Mr. Hanbury had been murdered, whereupon they crossed the street at
once.

Gerald Hanbury's corpse was lifted on a stretcher.

"How terrible, they've broken in his skull," said one of the surgeons,
and taking a gray shawl from the shoulders of the charwoman who was
writhing with agony, he threw it over the upper part of Gerald's body.

"Where shall we take it?" asked one of the surgeons.

"To Mr. Hanbury's house, two blocks north," directed Robertson, and
going up to one of the surgeons he added: "I'll take your place at the
stretcher, for you can make yourself useful elsewhere."

"How about her?" asked one of the ambulance attendants, pointing to the
woman on the ground.

"I'm afraid we can't do much for her," replied one of the surgeons, "she
seems to be near death's door."

Then the men lifted their burden and slowly the sad procession walked up
Broadway, which was now almost deserted.

A few shots could still be heard from the direction of Union Square; to
the left the sky was fiery red while clouds of smoke traveled over the
high buildings on Broadway, shutting out the light of the stars.
Robertson looked back. The street lay dark and still. Suddenly far away
in the middle of the street two glaring white lights appeared and above
them flared and waved the smoky flames of the petroleum torches, while
gongs and sirens announced the approach of the fire-engines. And now
they thundered past, the glaring lights from the acetylene lamps in
front of the fire-engines lighting up the whole pavement. Streams of
light and rushing black shadows played up and down the walls of the
buildings. Next came the rattling hook and ladder wagons and the
hosecarts, the light from the torches dancing in red and