ds of the precise right
shade of colour had assured them, in Mrs. Turner's drawing-room, that
all was for the best; and they rose on February 28 without fear. About
the middle of the day they heard the sound of musketry, and the next
morning they were wakened by the cannonade. The French, who had behaved
so "splendidly," pausing, at the voice of Lamartine, just where
judicious Liberals could have desired--the French, who had "no cupidity
in their nature," were now about to play a variation on the theme
rebellion. The Jenkins took refuge in the house of Mrs. Turner, the
house of the false prophets, "Anna going with Mrs. Turner, that she
might be prevented speaking English, Fleeming, Miss H., and I" (it is
the mother who writes) "walking together. As we reached the Rue de
Clichy the report of the cannon sounded close to our ears and made our
hearts sick, I assure you. The fighting was at the barrier Rochechouart,
a few streets off. All Saturday and Sunday we were a prey to great
alarm, there came so many reports that the insurgents were getting the
upper hand. One could tell the state of affairs from the extreme quiet
or the sudden hum in the street. When the news was bad, all the houses
closed and the people disappeared; when better, the doors half opened
and you heard the sound of men again. From the upper windows we could
see each discharge from the Bastille--I mean the smoke rising--and also
the flames and smoke from the Boulevard la Chapelle. We were four
ladies, and only Fleeming by way of a man, and difficulty enough we had
to keep him from joining the National Guards--his pride and spirit were
both fired. You cannot picture to yourself the multitudes of soldiers,
guards, and armed men of all sorts we watched--not close to the window,
however, for such havoc had been made among them by the firing from the
windows, that as the battalions marched by, they cried, '_Fermez vos
fenetres!_' and it was very painful to watch their looks of anxiety and
suspicion as they marched by."

"The Revolution," writes Fleeming to Frank Scott, "was quite delightful:
getting popped at, and run at by horses, and giving sous for the wounded
into little boxes guarded by the raggedest, picturesquest,
delightfullest sentinels; but the insurrection! ugh, I shudder to think
at [_sic_] it." He found it "not a bit of fun sitting boxed up in the
house four days almost.... I was the only _gentleman_ to four ladies,
and didn't they keep me in orde