To reach it he had to traverse a little walk shaded by a vineclad arbor.  In the back room, with a cocked revolver in his hand, was Dr. C.A.  Noiret, a young medical student, who was aiding the citizens’ posse.  As he sprang through the door Charles fired a shot, and the bullet whizzed past the doctor’s head.  Before it could be repeated Noiret’s pistol cracked and the murderer reeled, turned half around and fell on his back.  The doctor sent another ball into his body as he struck the floor, and half a dozen men, swarming into the room from the front, riddled the corpse with bullets.

Private Adolph Anderson of the Connell Rifles was the first man to announce the death of the wretch.  He rushed to the street door, shouted the news to the crowd, and a moment later the bleeding body was dragged to the pavement and made the target of a score of pistols.  It was shot, kicked and beaten almost out of semblance to humanity....

The limp dead body was dropped at the edge of the sidewalk and from there dragged to the muddy roadway by half a hundred hands.  There in the road more shots were fired into the body.  Corporal Trenchard, a brother-in-law of Porteus, led the shooting into the inanimate clay.  With each shot there was a cheer for the work that had been done and curses and imprecations on the inanimate mass of riddled flesh that was once Robert Charles.

Cries of “Burn him!  Burn him!” were heard from Clio Street all the way to Erato Street, and it was with difficulty that the crowd was restrained from totally destroying the wretched dead body.  Some of those who agitated burning even secured a large vessel of kerosene, which had previously been brought to the scene for the purpose of firing Charles’s refuge, and for a time it looked as though this vengeance might be wreaked on the body.  The officers, however, restrained this move, although they were powerless to prevent the stamping and kicking of the body by the enraged crowd.

After the infuriated citizens had vented their spleen on the body of the dead Negro it was loaded into the patrol wagon.  The police raised the body of the heavy black from the ground and literally chucked it into the space on the floor of the wagon between the seats.  They threw it with a curse hissed more than uttered and born of the bitterness which was rankling in their breasts at the thought of Charles having taken so wantonly the lives of four of the best of their fellow-officers.

  When the murderer’s body landed in the wagon it fell in such a position
  that the hideously mutilated head, kicked, stamped and crushed, hung
  over the end.