Some are slaughtered, some are clubbed into insensibility. The rest are marched away to prison.
Resistance is crushed. The Soviet is annihilated. The Allies congratulate themselves upon the success of the coup. The bourgeoisie are in transports of delight. Lights flame from the windows of the great houses and restaurants. From the cafes come snatches of song, and the throb of the orchestra. The merrymakers are laughing, dancing, cheering the Allied uniforms. From the churches breaks forth the clanging, chiming, pealing, booming music of the bells—the priests within offering up prayers for the Czar. From the decks of the battleships the bugles call across the waters of the bay. The city gives itself up to revelry and rejoicing.
But not in the workingmen's quarters. There is silence, broken only by the sobbing of women. Behind drawn curtains they are laying out their slain. From a nearby shed comes the sound of hammering. The men are joining rough planks together, making coffins for their comrade dead.
