e stream moved slowly, while from it arose
groans and lamentations, cursings, babblings of senility, hysteria, and
insanity; for these were the very young and the very old, the feeble and
the sick, the helpless and the hopeless, all the wreckage of the ghetto.
The burning of the great ghetto on the South Side had driven them forth
into the inferno of the street-fighting, and whither they wended and
whatever became of them I did not know and never learned.*

* It was long a question of debate, whether the burning of
the South Side ghetto was accidental, or whether it was done
by the Mercenaries; but it is definitely settled now that
the ghetto was fired by the Mercenaries under orders from
their chiefs.

I have faint memories of breaking a window and hiding in some shop to
escape a street mob that was pursued by soldiers. Also, a bomb burst
near me, once, in some still street, where, look as I would, up and
down, I could see no human being. But my next sharp recollection begins
with the crack of a rifle and an abrupt becoming aware that I am being
fired at by a soldier in an automobile. The shot missed, and the next
moment I was screaming and motioning the signals. My memory of riding in
the automobile is very hazy, though this ride, in turn, is broken by one
vivid picture. The crack of the rifle of the soldier sitting beside me
made me open my eyes, and I saw George Milford, whom I had known in the
Pell Street days, sinking slowly down to the sidewalk. Even as he sank
the soldier fired again, and Milford doubled in, then flung his body
out, and fell sprawling. The soldier chuckled, and the automobile sped
on.

The next I knew after that I was awakened out of a sound sleep by a man
who walked up and down close beside me. His face was drawn and strained,
and the sweat rolled down his nose from his forehead. One hand was
clutched tightly against his chest by the other hand, and blood
dripped down upon the floor as he walked. He wore the uniform of the
Mercenaries. From without, as through thick walls, came the muffled roar
of bursting bombs. I was in some building that was locked in combat with
some other building.

A surgeon came in to dress the wounded soldier, and I learned that it
was two in the afternoon. My headache was no better, and the surgeon
paused from his work long enough to give me a powerful drug that would
depress the heart and bring relief. I slept again, and the next I knew I