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POGROM.
This took place some fifteen years ago in one of the towns situated on the banks of the Volga.
One hot June morning I was by the river occupied in covering a ferry-boat with tar.
The dinner-hour was approaching, when I heard from a retired part of the suburbs a deafening sound, like thunder, and after that a noise like roaring of bulls enraged by hunger. Feeling hungry myself I wished to finish my work as quickly as possible, so I did not pay any more attention to these sounds, which seemed to me to be far off. However, they grew louder and increased every minute, like the smoke which rises above a conflagration.
