The Negroes slowly stood up. The mob came closer and pressed about the stacks of furniture that had been stored in the room.
The leader asked if everybody’s gun was loaded and the men answered in the affirmative.
The Negroes pleaded and prayed for mercy.
They stood, trembling wretches, jerking at the long ropes that held them by the waist and about the wrists.
“Oh, give me a minute longer!” implored Bud Cotton.
“My men, are you ready?” asked the captain, still cool and composed and fearfully determined to execute the bloodiest deed that has ever stained Campbell County.
“Ready,” came the unanimous response.
“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.