tants and his army. Famine was
already beginning to threaten all of the poorer classes who had
neglected their opportunities to leave the city, or who had been unable
to do so. As for Ned Crawford's provisions, he had continued to board
with Anita, or with any mess of military men among whom he might happen
to be. He had made many acquaintances, and he had found the ragged,
unpaid, illiterate Mexican soldiers a genuinely hospitable lot of
patriotic fellows. He came to his supper somewhat late on the evening of
March 21st, and that night, after going to care for his pony, he came
back and slept on a blanket on the floor of Anita's kitchen. On the
morning of the 22d, he had but just walked out into the street when
suddenly all the air around him seemed to be full of thunder. Roar
followed roar, and peal followed peal, and then he heard affrighted
shrieks in all directions. The bombardment had begun!

"O Madre de Dios!" moaned the voice of poor Anita behind him. "O Senor
Carfora! We shall all be killed! What shall we do? Oh, the wicked
gringos! What did they come here for? I never did them any harm."

That was a terrible war question which was troubling Ned himself.
Whatever might have been the evil doings of either of the two
governments, or of all the scheming, ambitious politicians, the helpless
people of Mexico were in no manner to blame. Why, then, he asked
himself, should any of them, like Anita, for instance, be killed by
cannon-shot or torn in pieces by bursting shells? He could not settle
the matter in his mind just then, but he said to her, encouragingly:

"Don't be so badly scared. Up here in this northern part of the town, we
are as far away from the shooting as we could be. I'll go over to the
southern side of the city and see what is going on. As soon as I find
out, I'll come back and tell you."

"Oh, do!" she said, "but do not get killed. Come back and get some
dinner. I will cook you a real good one, if you will."

That was something of a promise, for he knew that she was one of the
prudent folk who had looked out for their supplies in time, but he
walked away toward the southerly wall and the forts with a strong
feeling that he must be in the middle of a kind of dreadful dream. He
reached the line of antiquated and defective defences, which had been
good enough long ago, but which were not constructed to resist modern
artillery. Old as it might be, the wall was in the way of his intended
sightseeing,