Theodore, seizing his sword,
and telling the man to follow him, exclaimed, "I will teach them
to ask for food when my faithful soldiers are starving." Arrived
at the place where the prisoners were confined, blind with rage and
drink, he ordered the guards to bring them out. The two first he
hacked to pieces with his own sword; the third was a young child;
though it arrested his hand, it did not save the poor creature's
life, and he was hurled alive over the precipice by Theodore's
order. He seems to have been somewhat calmer after the two first
murders, and something like order prevailed during the remainder
of the executions. As every prisoner was brought out he inquired
his name, his country, and _his crime_. The greater part were
found guilty, hurled over the precipice, and shot below by musketeers
sent there to despatch any one who still showed signs of animation,
as many had escaped with life from the awful fall. Some 307 were
put to death, and 91 reserved for another day. These last, strange
to say, were all chiefs of note; many of whom had fought against
the Emperor, and all, he knew, were his deadly enemies.
What our feelings were all this time can easily be surmised: we
could see the deep line of soldiers standing behind the Emperor,
and counted up to two hundred discharges of fire-arms, when we left
off the agonizing calculation of how many victims were being
slaughtered.
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