“One, two, three--fire!” was the command, given orderly, but hurriedly.
Every man in the room, and the number is estimated at from seventy-five to one hundred and fifty, fired point blank at the line of trembling and terror-stricken bound wretches.
The volley came as the fire from a gatling gun.
It filled the warehouse with smoke and flame and death and brought a wail of horror that chilled the helpless guard.
The volley awakened the peaceful town of Palmetto and from every house the excited citizens ran.
“Load and fire again,” shouted the captain of the mob, and his voice was heard above the screaming and death cries of the wounded and dead.
The men rapidly loaded their guns, then fired at the given command.
“Now, before you leave, load and get ready for trouble,” came the captain’s order, and then men loaded their guns and got ready to leave the bloody room.
The guard was not relieved, however, until every man had left the building and all was safe for their hasty flight.
“I wonder if they are all dead,” said one of the mob, when the order was given to leave the building.
“But we had better see,” said the captain coolly and assuming an air of business.
A detail of probably a half dozen men, probably a dozen and maybe more, the guard does not remember just how many, was sent forward into the blood and brains and into the twisting mass of dying men to examine if all were dead. They were given orders to finish those who were not dead.
The men jerked the fallen, twisting and writhing and bleeding bodies about.
The first man they reached was not dead. He was still groaning, and the breath was coming in great, quick gasps.
A pistol was placed at his breast and every chamber was emptied.
“He’s dead now,” laughed one of the crowd.
Other men, wounded, bleeding, moaning and begging, were caught, turned over and pistols emptied into their bodies.
But the shooting had made so much noise that the mob concluded its safety lay in flight.
The Negroes were quickly examined and with a parting shot and a volley of oaths of warning the mob left the warehouse and rushed to their horses.
The men ran from the warehouse to the little spot in the center of the town, where horses are tied by countrymen and merchants.