Part 40 (1/2)

During that memorable Sabbath day, hundreds of refugees came in from the surrounding villages where the outrages had already begun. They fled to Kief as a place of refuge, vainly believing that a city with such important mercantile interests centred in the Jewish population would be exempt from serious danger. The poor Israelites feared to stir from their homes; they sat in prayer during the entire day and fasted as on the Day of Atonement.

Towards night, the door of Rabbi Winenki's house was suddenly thrown open, and Joseph Kierson, haggard and travel-stained, entered.

”What are you doing here?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed both the Rabbi and Kathinka, in a breath.

”Has there been a riot in Berditchef?” queried Mendel.

”No,” answered Joseph, sinking into a chair; ”not yet; but I heard that there would be danger here, and I hurried back to share it with you.”

”Unhappy man,” said Kathinka. ”Think of the peril of remaining here. If you are recognized they will take you back to prison.”

”I do not care,” answered the young man. ”I could not remain in Berditchef, when I knew that you and my family were exposed to danger.

My place is at your side; come what may, I will live or die with you.”

”You are a n.o.ble boy,” exclaimed the Rabbi, grasping his hand, affectionately. ”Kathinka, get Joseph some supper; he must be hungry.”

”You are right, Rabbi,” returned Joseph. ”I am hungry and tired, and yet since I have seen Kathinka I am supremely happy.”

It was a sad and fearful night. Sleep was out of the question for the threatened Israelites. All night long the noise of hammering could be heard; the Christians were attaching little wooden crosses to their houses that they might be spared by the mob. The Jews gathered their portable treasures and trinkets and conveyed them to places of safety.

The morning of the eighth of May dawned; a quiet serene Sunday morning, the day on which is proclaimed throughout Christendom the golden rule: ”Love your enemies.”

At an early hour armed gangs appeared on the streets, wandering hither and thither, without any definite plan or object. Ringleaders, however, were not long in making their appearance.

As in Elizabethgrad, the first act of the mob was to storm the dram-shops; it needed the inspiration of _vodki_. Having broken in the doors and windows, they rolled the barrels out into the street. _Vodki_ flowed in streams; the rioters waded, they bathed, they wallowed in whiskey. The women carried it away by the pailful. From shop to shop they went, becoming more hilarious, more boisterous as they proceeded.

Through the uproar could be heard their shouts: ”The Jews have lorded it over us long enough; it is our turn now! Down with the Jews!”

They came to the inn of a man named Rykelmann and here they met their first resistance. Rykelmann refused to admit them. He had barricaded himself and his family behind stout doors and stood guard over his premises with a pistol. The mob besieged the place from all sides and finally succeeded in forcing an entrance in the rear. The poor proprietor was forced to accompany the rioters to his wine cellar, where they amused themselves staving in the barrels and breaking the bottles, while some of the drunken ruffians in the rooms above cut the throats of his wife and six children. It was the first blood shed in Kief and it served to stimulate the appet.i.tes of the vampires.

Onward sped the rioters. They divided into groups, each, under a self-appointed leader, attacking a different quarter. Here and there houses were burning fiercely, and to the crackling of the flames was added the piteous cries of women and children consigned to a fiery death.

At this stage several companies of soldiers, headed by Loris Drentell, appeared upon the scene. The Governor fearing that Christians might suffer in the general ma.s.sacre, had at length yielded to the importunities of his counsellors and sent his son with a detachment of men as a protection, not to the Jews, but to the Christians. Loris had returned to Kief shortly after the a.s.sa.s.sination of the Czar.

For an hour the soldiers allowed the work of destruction to go on unhindered, and then, no longer able to control their appet.i.tes, they joined the mob.

The rioters came to the house of Hirsch Bensef.

”He is the richest of them all,” shouted a Russian, who had once been employed by him. ”His house is a regular mine of wealth. I've been in it.”

”Down with the house!” shouted the mob. ”His wealth belongs to us. Show him no mercy!”

They battered down the door, and regardless of the piteous pleadings of the aged man and his wife they pillaged and plundered from cellar to attic. Nothing was left intact. What could not be carried away was destroyed. Loris himself, stimulated by reports of the fabulous wealth which Bensef was said to possess, led the charge and took an active part in the attack. When he left the house it was because he could conceal no more of the booty about his person. Valuable property was scattered upon the ground by the rioters and lay in mud-bespattered heaps, to be picked up by the crowds of women and children that followed in their wake.

Bensef and his wife escaped a.s.sault at the hands of the ruffians by fleeing precipitately through a rear door and taking refuge in the house of a Christian friend.

Haim Goldheim's dwelling, not far from that of Bensef, was next attacked. Father, mother and children had fled at the approach of the rioters, but the rich furniture and works of art which the well-to-do banker had acc.u.mulated fell into the destroying hands of the mob. An hour afterwards, hungry flames devoured all that remained of the once luxurious home.

At the further end of the street was the house of one David Wienarski.