"Go!" he cried; "leave the palace! You have done mischief enough!"
Mendel's strong form shook with emotion; he was weeping. He collected himself for a final appeal.
"If your excellency would send us a regiment of soldiers," he said, preparing to leave; "our lives and our property might still be saved."
"What care I for your property or your wretched lives?" shouted the Governor, in a frenzy. "I shall not trouble my soldiers for a pack of miserable Jews."[21]
The Rabbi and his fellows found themselves outside of the palace walls, sad and disheartened.
"Friends," he said, in a broken voice, "you have been witnesses of this terrible scene. Oh, God! to think that my brother, whom we mourned as dead, should have become a Catholic priest and be plotting the destruction of his people." Here Mendel's grief overcame him and he remained silent for some moments. Recovering his composure with an effort, he continued, in a subdued voice: "I have a favor to ask of you, my friends. Speak to no one of this unfortunate meeting. If the news came to my father's ears it would kill him."
The men promised and the little band walked silently back to their homes.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] In the description of the outrages and acts of lawlessness in this and succeeding chapters, the author has not drawn upon his imagination, but has followed as closely as possible the narration of the Russian refugees on their arrival in America, and the graphic account sent by a special correspondent to the London Times, and republished in pamphlet form in this country in 1883.
[21] Historical.