_Picayune_ as follows:

A smaller party detached itself from the mob at Washington and Rampart
Streets, and started down the latter thoroughfare. One of the foremost
spied a Negro, and immediately there was a rush for the unfortunate
black man. With the sticks they had torn from fences on the line of
march the young outlaws attacked the black and clubbed him unmercifully,
acting more like demons than human beings. After being severely beaten
over the head, the Negro started to run with the whole gang at his
heels. Several revolvers were brought into play and pumped their lead at
the refugee. The Negro made rapid progress and took refuge behind the
blinds of a little cottage in Rampart Street, but he had been seen, and
the mob hauled him from his hiding place and again commenced beating
him. There were more this time, some twenty or thirty, all armed with
sticks and heavy clubs, and under their incessant blows the Negro could
not last long. He begged for mercy, and his cries were most pitiful, but
a mob has no heart, and his cries were only answered with more blows.

"For God's sake, boss, I ain't done nothin'. Don't kill me. I swear I
ain't done nothin'."

The white brutes turned

+ A DEAF EAR TO THE PITYING CRIES+

of the black wretch and the drubbing continued. The cries subsided into
moans, and soon the black swooned away into unconsciousness. Still not
content with their heartless work, they pulled the Negro out and kicked
him into the gutter. For the time those who had beaten the black seemed
satisfied and left him groaning in the gutter, but others came up, and,