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Updated: May 7, 2025
All we did was to guard the battered-in door, and to fire away as before. On came the Maroons with their frantic gestures, and, to our horror, as soon as they reached the door, they began to throw their torches in among us.
Sometimes there were battered-in doors and windows, with ugly, swollen corpses stretched near by; sometimes the contents of a rich emporium had been swept, as if by some strange whirlwind, out on the street to litter the whole driving road many inches deep with the most heterogeneous things.
Like movies at the Cinema, they'll bob up in my brain, The places that I knew so well I'll see them all again. The battered-in Asylum; the Prison scorched and scarred; And 'ole Salvation Corner with the guns a bellowin' 'ard. The muddy, ruddy, Ramparts; the mist upon the Moat; The grey Canal between whose banks no barges ever float. An' them Cathedral ruins O Gawd, the fearsome sight!
Harvests trampled down or burned were bad enough, so were burning cottages, battered-in doors, and smashed windows, but these things were nothing to the sight of dead men and women scattered about the streets. The men were not men of war; their peasant garbs bespoke them men of peace. Gallantly had they fought, however, in defence of hearth and home, but all in vain.
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