escape from the furious mob which was pursuing him, and which finally
put an end to his existence in a most cruel manner.

The Negro, whom no one seemed to know--at any rate no one could be found
in the vicinity of the killing who could tell who he was--was walking
along the levee, as near as could be learned, when he was attacked by a
number of white longshoremen or screwmen. For what reason, if there was
any reason other than the fact that he was a Negro, could not be
learned, and immediately they pounced upon him he broke ground and
started on a desperate run for his life.

The hunted Negro started off the levee toward the French Vegetable
Market, changed his course out the sidewalk toward Gallatin Street. The
angry, yelling mob was close at his heels, and increasing steadily as
each block was traversed. At Gallatin Street he turned up that
thoroughfare, doubled back into North Peters Street and ran into the
rear of No. 1216 of that street, which is occupied by Chris Reuter as a
commission store and residence.

He rushed frantically through the place and out on to the gallery on the
Gallatin Street side. From this gallery he jumped to the street and fell
flat on his back on the sidewalk. Springing to his feet as soon as
possible, with a leaden, hail fired by the angry mob whistling about
him, he turned to his merciless pursuers in an appealing way, and,
throwing up one hand, told them not to shoot any more, that they could
take him as he was.

But the hail of lead continued, and the unfortunate Negro finally
dropped to the sidewalk, mortally wounded. The mob then rushed upon him,
still continuing the fusillade, and upon reaching his body a number of