The Donaldsonville chief. [volume] (Donaldsonville, La.) 1871-current, 1905-06-24
hat were not occupied by the SOL

that were not occupied by the sol
diers.
After the hours Of disorder that had
followed the terrible repression of tho
people, the anger of the populace was
once more rising, desperate, careless of
the punishment that was certain to fol-
low. A crowd of victims, many. sorely
wounded. breaking the truce estab-
1ished by mere terror, marched blindly
and wildly through the streets.
At the sound Of the bugles blown
from the other side of the bridge,
Venetian knew that the alarm had been
given. But his duty was to deliver the
letter in his saddle bag; this was the
instruction he had received.
He continued to ride ahead. An
other moment and he was face to face
with the insurgents, a column of white
faced, haggard men, ready for the SUI
preme sacrifice. In his gruff. good-na-
tured voice Venetian called loudly:
WAY! Make way there!''
But the brute instincts of the people
were unclaimed The rider, was sur
rounded, shrilI voices rose in biting in
suits An old man, whose fur cap had
been torn to shreds by bayenets, cried,
waveringly:
Here's another. Here's another of
'emi''
AWorkman, armed with stick, aimed
a rude blow at the soldiers head. Thus
attacked, Venetian spurred his horse,
trying to free himself. But a wave Of
human beings flowed over him, heavy
hands grasped his bride, paralyzed his
arms. He spoke again:
Brothers, I must do my duty. Let
me pass"
A cry Of rage answered him and q
voice shrieked:
did you and yours have pity yester-
day."
kill him!" yelled hunchbacked
beggar.
The revoIters sWarmed upon this VIC
tim whom the fates had delivered into
their hands. Had they not been ruth
lessly shot down the day before by men
like this one?
Collecting all his strength Venetian
sought to grasp his sword The simple
man thought less of his own danger
than of the obstacle which threatened to
prevent him from accomplishing his err
rand.
The sword was torn from his belt,
amid loud shouts. An insurgent, seiz-
hi wildly
laugh greeted the leaping blood.
Venetian fought in vain. His horse,
wounded, cruelty cut with knives, sank
beneath him and the dragon was
thrcwn down and stamped upon.
A young woman whose husband had
been taken prisoner, tore one Of the
boots from Yemelian's feet and beat him
in the face with the improvised weap-
on. A tragic drunkenness possessed the
crowd, their whole suffering was being
revenged upon the soldier; their hatred
was refined for his agony.
Venetian sWores bitterly beneath the
blows and wounds, but even in his tor
ment one thought remained with him,
loyalty to the orders be had received.
With fast weakening hands, he still
sought to grasp the saddle bag.
A boy near by seized quickly at his
revolver, which the soldier had lost in
the struggle, and, echoed by { shout Of
Joy from the crowd, placed it at Ye-
meIians head and sent a bullet through
his temple.
What was he carrying in the saddle
bag?" cried one Of the old men. Or
ders for a second massacre, no doubt"
He leaned over the body, tearing the
bag from the arms that held it even in
death, and opening it took out the let
ter which Venetian had defended with
his dying breath. It was addressed to
Countess Douchka Seraslsofff.' . He
read it aloud:
Sorry not to see you to-day. Love and
a thousand kisses. Michka"
From the Russian, in n. Y. Sun.