The volunteers in the town-hall believed, when they heard these cries, that the Chinese were attacking the utterly defenceless town, and an indescribable panic ensued; some rushed into the street, others hurried to the armoury of the hall (where, as everyone knew, some hundred old guns were stored), crying, “Arms! give us arms!” The number of these weapons was of course insufficient to arm all the volunteers, and many, chiefly the poorer people, then rushed to the shops—which, as it was Sunday, were closed—broke in, and possessed themselves by force of any weapons they could lay their hands on. The entire community was overcome with terror. Numbers of the inhabitants packed up their valuables and fled from the town on foot or on horseback; or took refuge with friends who lived at a greater distance from the river and in stone houses, which could afford better protection from shot or shell. The idea that the Chinese might crowd into the defenceless town, set it on fire, and practise all manner of horrible cruelties on the inhabitants, drove many people into a state of positive desperation. It would in truth have cost a disciplined army of small proportions but little trouble to destroy Blagovèstshensk in a few hours, but luckily for its citizens the Chinese were very bad marksmen; most of their shells never reached the town, but fell into the Amur, or else they failed to explode. Thanks to this there were only between fifteen and twenty of the townspeople killed and wounded during the whole bombardment. On the second day of the siege Blagovèstshensk presented a forlorn appearance—shops closed; windows and doors fast shut; no horses and hardly any foot-passengers in the streets, people who had ventured out keeping close to the walls, and hurrying over the crossings for fear of stray bullets; all business at a standstill.