“Down with the oppressor!” cried another.
“Yell on ye wretched rabble!” exclaimed the object of their indignation, his mustachios curling with a contemptuous sneer, and his eyes flashing with malignity. “It matters not to me what is said by such vile hounds. Yell on then, it does my heart good to hear ye; and ye know full well ye dare not do any thing else.” Then turning round to Master Porphyry, he said, “I have come to testify my loyalty by beholding the death of a traitor.”
“There is no traitor here, Philadelphia,” replied the philanthropist, mildly, “unless it be yourself.”
“Oh, the hated tyrant!” shouted some of the multitude.
“The curses of the people are upon thee, thou miserable slave!” cried others.
“Down with him! Down with the despot! Down with the enslaver of his country!” exclaimed the rest. At this instant a banner was raised near the centre of the quadrangle, with the inscription upon it, in large letters, of “Porphyry, or Death!” It was the signal for an immediate rush towards the scaffold. With one simultaneous cheer the vast multitude hurried forwards, burst in upon the troops, and with frantic rage began to struggle with them for the possession of their arms. A volley of musketry from an opposite window at this moment killed the executioners and several others, and the rest, with the exception of Philadelphia and Master Porphyry, took to flight.
“Leap down here, my benefactor, and I will save you,” shouted a voice from beneath the platform.
“You shall not escape me a second time, my enemy,” muttered the noble as he drew his sword, and with a look of mingled hatred and ferocity exclaimed, “Thus I punish a traitor!” as he drove the weapon through the body of his companion.
The philanthropist gazed on his murderer, more in sorrow than in anger; and the only words he uttered, before he dropped down dead on the platform, were, “My Brother!” The miserable fratricide seemed confounded by the avowal; but little time was allowed him for reflection. Curses, yells, screams, groans, and execrations burst from the assembled citizens as they noticed the death of their chief magistrate; and Philadelphia fell by his side, pierced by a hundred bullets. A shout of triumph arose when they beheld the fall of the tyrant; and, as if inspirited by the sight, they threw themselves upon the soldiery in countless masses, and endeavoured to drag them from their horses, or wrest their weapons out of their hands. In this manœuvre, although it was attended by immense loss of life, many succeeded; but the strength and discipline of the troops at last prevailed, and the citizens were forced out of the quadrangle; and when the artillery began to play upon them they dispersed in all directions.