'A conspiracy broke out in Siberia, which was betrayed on the very eve of its commencement at Omsk. The Abbe Sierocinski was concerned in it, and he and five of his accomplices, among whom was found an officer of the empire between sixty and seventy years of age, were condemned to seven thousand lashes, each without remission. The other conspirators, numbering nearly a thousand in all, were sentenced to receive from one thousand to fifteen hundred lashes, and to hard labor for life. The day of execution arrived. It occurred in 1837, early in the month of March. It took place at Omsk. General Golofeiev, in consequence of being celebrated for his cruelty, was sent from the capital to superintend the punishment and command this mournful _cortege_. Two entire battalions were ranged in a great plain near the city, the one destined for the six principal conspirators, the other for those whose punishment was not to be so severe. It is not our intention to describe the detailed butchery of this day of horror: we will confine ourselves to the Abbe Sierocinski and his five companions in misfortune. They were escorted on the plain, their sentence was read aloud to them with great solemnity, and then the running of the gauntlet commenced. The lashes were administered, according to the letter of the decree, 'without mercy,' and the cries of the wretched sufferers rose to the skies. None of them lived to receive the full number of lashes: executed one after another, after having passed two or three times through the dreadful file, they fell upon the earth, dyeing the pure snow red with the blood of their agonies as they expired. In order that the Abbe Sierocinski might drink to the dregs the bitter cup of his punishment, that he might suffer doubly through the torture of his friends, he had been reserved to the last. His turn now arrived, they stripped his back and tied his hands to the bayonet, and the physician advanced to give him, as he had given the others, some drops to strengthen him for the torment, but he refused them, saying: 'I do not want your drops--I will not taste them, I am ready--drink, then, the blood for which you thirst.' The signal of his fearful march was given, and the strong voice of the old superior of the monastery was heard entoning with high, clear chant: 'Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam!'