"For God's sake," I shouted, "send the children home."

"No, no," shouted a hundred maddened voices; "let them learn a lesson."

I love children, but as I looked about the little faces distorted with
passion and the bloodshot eyes of the cruel parents who held them high
in their arms, I thanked God that I have none of my own.

As the hot iron sank deep into poor Henry's flesh a hideous yell rent
the air, and, with a sound as terrible as the cry, of lost souls on
judgment day, 20,000 maddened people took up the victim's cry of agony
and a prolonged howl of maddened glee rent the air.

No one was himself now. Every man, woman and child in that awful crowd
was worked up to a greater frenzy than that which actuated Smith's
horrible crime. The people were capable of any new atrocity now, and as
Smith's yells became more and more frequent, it was difficult to hold
the crowd back, so anxious were the savages to participate in the
sickening tortures.

For half an hour I tried to pray as the beads of agony rolled down my
forehead and bathed my face.

For an instant a hush spread over the people. I could stand no more, and
with a superhuman effort dashed through the compact mass of humanity and
stood at the foot of the burning scaffold.

"In the name of God," I cried, "I command you to cease this torture."

The heavy butt of a Winchester rifle descended on my head and I fell to