no firing party in attendance. He then took to
his heels, but was pursued, captured, and put to death.
I began to feel rather bewildered, and some one urged
me to return to the prison, which I did. A young
linesman was then brought in. He was quite a young
fellow, barely twenty; his hands were tied behind
his back. They decided to kill him within the
prison. They set upon him, beat him, tore his
clothes, so that he had hardly a shred of covering
left; they made him kneel, then made him stand up,
blindfolded him then uncovered his eyes; finally they
put an end to his long agony by shooting him, and flung
the body into a costermonger’s cart close to
the gate. Several priests had got out of the
prison of La Roquette. The Abbe Surat, on passing
over a barricade, was so imprudent as to state who
he was, and showed some articles of value he had about
him. He had got as far as about the middle of
the Boulevard du Prince Eugene, when he was arrested
and taken back to the prison, where they prepared
to shoot him. But the young woman whom I have
before mentioned, with a revolver in one hand and a
dagger in the other, rushed at him exclaiming, ’I
must have the honour of giving him the first blow.’
The abbe instinctively put his hands out to protect
himself, crying, ‘Grace! grace!
Whereon this fury shouted, ’Grace! grace!
en voila un maigre
,’ and she discharged her
revolver at him. His body was not searched, but
his shoes were removed. Afterwards his pastoral
cross and 300 francs were found about him. The
boys detained in the prison were set at liberty.
The smaller ones were made to carry pails of petroleum,
the others had muskets given them, and were sent to
fight. Six of them were killed; the remainder
came back that night, and on the following day.
About a hundred boys were taken to Belleville by a
member of the Commune, quite a young man; they were
wanted to make sand-bags, to be filled with earth
to form barricades.”
XII. (Page 345.)
Regarding the death of President Bonjean, the Abbe
de Marsay said—“That gentleman carried
his scruples so far that he would not avail himself
of forty-eight hours’ leave on parole,
fearing he could not get back in time; thus did not
see his family.”
The Abbe Perni, a venerable man with a white beard,
who had been a missionary said:
“On Wednesday, the 24th of May,
we were ordered back to our cells at La Roquette
at an earlier hour than usual, and at about four o’clock
in the afternoon a battalion of federates noisily
occupied the passage into which our cells opened.
They spoke at the topmost pitch of their voices.
One of them said, ’We must get rid of these
Versailles banditti.’ Another replied,
’Yes; let us bowl them over, put them to
bed.’ I understood what this meant, and
prepared for death. Soon after the door next
mine was opened, and I heard a man asking if M.
Darboy was there. The prisoner replied in the