"And the city died in that moment. Now there was no holding the Turkish attack, which foamed over the outer wall, beat down the remaining defenders, and forced its way through the inner wall, into the heart of Constantinople. ..The emperor himself rode among the remnants of his men along the Lycus wall. Even he could not rally them; they were exhausted, most of them were wounded, and they would not stand. ..Constantine decided. He would not survive the fall of his city to be a trophy for a heathen conqueror. The city has been taken,' he shouted, 'and I am still alive!'
"And so, with the others at his back, the last Byzantine emperor threw away his imperial regalia and pressed forward into the throngs of Janizaries, sword in hand. He was never seen again. [...]
"Within the city there was no safety. Blood ran down the gutters of the streets as the Turks killed everything that moved. Turkish law allowed three days of pillage in a conquered city, and the rampaging troops broke in everywhere to loot and destroy, rape and kill. Gradually, as the bloodlust subsided, they began to take captives: The young and able-bodied, at least, had real value in the slave market. [...]
"Otherwise, Mehmet the Conqueror left a ruined, ghostly city; a shadow of the glory that had been, largely depopulated and desolate. The Muslim call to prayer echoed through the empty, weeping streets of ancient Byzantium. Where a thousand years of emperors had walked, there were now only shades of the past, ghosts who moved without sound, and vanished with the coming of the day."
(Robert Barr Smith, To the Last Cartridge, The End of a Thousand Years, pp. 15-32).
