deployed along the front of the City Hall. The rifle fire from both
ends of the street was rapid and continuous. It was the first time in
my life that I had ever been in danger of being killed by a bullet. I
confess that for a few minutes I was so nervous that I was unable to
give any attention to the fighting going on in front of me. So many
rifles were going off at the far end of the street that it seemed
certain that not only Bland and I but every one of Bob's men must
necessarily die at once. To my very great surprise I was not hit. My
nervousness began to disappear. I peered out of the window and noticed
that none of Bob's men were either killed or wounded.

"I suppose," I said to Bland, "that this is a regular battle. You've
had some experience so you ought to know."

"Oh yes," said Bland, "it's a battle right enough--of sorts."

A bullet snicked through the window glass above my head and buried
itself in the wall at the far end of the room. I looked at the
volunteers again. They did not seem to be suffering. I took a glance
at the soldiers at the far end of the street. The firing did not seem
even to annoy them.

"There seems to me," I said, "to be very little damage done. Don't
they usually kill each other in battles?"

"The shooting's damned bad," said Bland, "damned bad on both sides. I
never saw worse. I wonder if they mean to shoot straight."

Bob's men, I think, were doing their best; but they were certainly
making very bad practice. It did not seem to me that during the first
twenty minutes they hit a single living thing except the four dragoon
horses. The walls of the houses on both sides of the street were
filled with bullet marks. A curious kind of shallow furrow appeared
about halfway down the street. At first it seemed a mere line drawn on
the ground. Then it deepened into a little trench with a ridge of dust
beyond it.

"There must be a ton or two of good bullets buried there," said Bland.
"They haven't sighted for the distance."

"I don't blame the volunteers," I said, "but the soldiers really ought
to shoot better. A lot of money is spent on that army every year, and
if they can't hit a single enemy at that distance--"

"I rather think," said Bland, "that the soldiers are firing up into
the air on purpose. That bullet which came through our window is the
only one which hit anything. It's shocking waste of ammunition."

The door of the reading-room opened behind me. I turned and saw Sir