Part 44 (1/2)
”Thank you, sir. I will take your advice,” Cuthbert said.
He found, indeed, that there was no seeing anything that was going on in the way of fighting without running great risks, and he accordingly made his way back to the Trocadero. Here he could see that a number of fires had broken out at various points since morning, even in the part of the town occupied by the troops; and though some of these might be caused by the Communists' sh.e.l.l it was more probable that they were the work of the incendiary. He had, indeed, heard from some of the citizens to whom he had spoken while at work at the pumps, that orders had been issued that all gratings and windows giving light to cellars, should be closed by wet sacks being piled against them, and should then be covered thickly with earth, as several women had been caught in the act of pouring petroleum into the cellars and then dropping lighted matches down upon it.
These wretches had been shot instantly, but the fresh fires continually springing up showed that the work was still going on.
It was strangely silent in the streets. With the exception of the sentries at every corner there were few persons indeed abroad. Many were looking from the windows, but few, indeed, ventured out. They knew not what orders had been given to the sentries and feared arrest were they to stir beyond their doors. Moreover, the occasional crash of a sh.e.l.l from the insurgent batteries, the whistling of bullets, and the frequent discharge of musket shots still kept up by groups of desperate Communists who had taken refuge in the houses, was sufficient alone to deter them from making any attempt to learn what was going on. But in the absence of footfalls in the street and of the sound of vehicles, the distant noises were strangely audible. The rustle of the flames at the Hotel de Ville and the great fires across the river, the crash of the falling roofs and walls, the incessant rattle of distant musketry, and the boom of cannon, formed a weird contrast to the silence that prevailed in the quarter. Cuthbert felt that he breathed more freely when he issued out again into the Champs Elysees.
The next day he did not go down. The advance continued, but progress was slow. On the following morning Paris was horrified by the news published in the papers at Versailles that statements of prisoners left no doubt that the Archbishop of Paris and many other priests, in all a hundred persons, had been ma.s.sacred in cold blood, the methods of the first revolution being closely followed, and the prisoners made to walk out one by one from the gate of the prison, and being shot down as they issued out. Another statement of a scarcely less appalling nature was that the female fiends of the Commune not only continued their work of destruction by fire, but were poisoning the troops. Several instances of this occurred. In one case ten men were poisoned by one of these furies, who came out as they pa.s.sed, and expressing joy at the defeat of the Commune, offered them wine. They drank it unsuspectingly, and within an hour were all dead. Orders, were consequently issued that no soldier should on any account accept drink or food of any kind offered them by women.
”This horrible ma.s.sacre of the Archbishop and the other prisoners is next door to madness,” Cuthbert said, as he read the account at breakfast. ”The Communists could have no personal feeling of hostility against their victims, indeed, the Archbishop was, I know, most popular.
Upon the other hand it seals the fate of thousands. The fury excited by such a deed will be so great that the troops will refuse to give quarter and the prisoners taken will have to suffer to the utmost for the crime committed by perhaps a handful of desperate wretches. The omnibuses began to run yesterday from Sevres, and I propose, Mary, that we go over to Versailles to-day and get out of sound of the firing. They say there are fully 20,000 prisoners there.”
”I don't want to see the prisoners,” Mary said, with a shudder. ”I should like to go to Versailles, but let us keep away from horrors.”
And so for a day they left the sound of battle behind, wandered together through the Park at Versailles, and carefully abstained from all allusion to the public events of the past six months. The next day Cuthbert returned to Paris and made his way down to the Place de la Bastille, where, for the sum of half a Napoleon, he obtained permission to ascend to the upper window of a house. The scene here was terrible.
On the side on which he was standing a great drapery establishment, known as the Bon Marche, embracing a dozen houses, was in flames. In the square itself three batteries of artillery belonging to Ladmirault's Division, were sending their sh.e.l.l up the various streets debouching on the place.
Most of the houses on the opposite side were in flames. The insurgent batteries on the b.u.t.tes de Chaumont were replying to the guns of the troops. The infantry were already pressing their way upwards. Some of the barricades were so desperately defended that the method by which alone the troops on the south side had been able to capture these defences, was adopted; the troops taking possession of the houses and breaking their way with crow-bar and pick-axe through the party wall, and so, step by step, making their way along under cover until they approached the barricades, which they were then able to make untenable by their musketry fire from the windows. Cuthbert remained here for an hour or two, and then making a detour came out on the Boulevards higher up.
The Theatre of Porte St. Martin was in flames, as were many other buildings. A large number of troops with piled arms occupied the centre of the street, taking their turn to rest before they relieved their comrades in the work of a.s.sault. Presently he saw down a side street a party of soldiers with some prisoners. He turned down to see what was going on. The officer in command of the party came up to him.
”Monsieur has doubtless a pa.s.s,” he said, politely.
Cuthbert produced it.
”Ah, you are English, monsieur. It is well for you that your country does not breed such wretches as these. Every one of them has been caught in the course of the last hour in the act of setting houses alight. They are now to be shot.”
”It is an unpleasant duty, monsieur,” Cuthbert said.
”It would be horrible at any other time,” the officer said. ”But we cannot consider these creatures as human beings. They are wild beasts and I verily believe the women are worse than the men. There is only one I would spare, though she is the worst of all. At every barricade where the fighting has been fiercest for the last four days she has been conspicuous. The troops got to know her by her red cap and dress. She has been seen to shoot down men who attempted to retire, and she has led a charmed life or she would have been killed a thousand times. When she was taken she had on an old dress over her red one, and a hideous bonnet in place of the cap. She was caught just as she had dropped a lighted match into a cellar. The flames flashed up at once, and two soldiers near ran up and arrested her. She stabbed one, but the other broke her wrist with a blow from the b.u.t.t of his musket.
”Then came a curious thing. A man who had been standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the street ran out and declared that he was a sharer in her crime. His air was that of a madman, and the men would have pushed him away, but he exclaimed, 'I am Arnold Dampierre, one of the leaders of the Commune. This is my wife.' Then the woman said, 'The man is mad. I have never seen him before. I know Arnold Dampierre everyone knows him. He does not resemble this man, whose proper place is a lunatic asylum.' So they contended, and both were brought before the drumhead Court Martial.
”The man had so wild an air that we should not have believed his story, but on his being searched his American pa.s.sport was found upon him. Then the woman threw herself into his arms. 'We will die together then!' she said. 'I would have saved you if you would have let me.' Then she turned to us. 'Yes, I am guilty. I have fought against you on the barricades,'
and she tore off her outer dress and bonnet. 'I have kindled twenty fires, but in this I am guilty alone. He stood by me on the barricades, but he would have nothing to do with firing houses. But I am a Parisian.
I am the daughter of Martin Dufaure, who was killed an hour since, and my duty was to the Commune first, and to my husband afterwards. I hate and despise you slaves of tyrants. You have conquered us but we have taught a lesson to the men who fatten on our suffering.'
”Of course they were both ordered to be shot. I have given them all five minutes, but the time is up. Range them by the wall, men,” he said, turning to the soldiers.
Cuthbert glanced for a moment and then turned away. The other women were mostly old, or at least middle-aged, and they stood scowling at the soldiers, and some of them pouring out the foulest imprecations upon them.
Minette stood in the centre of the line conspicuous by her red dress.
One hand grasped that of Arnold, who was gazing upon her as if oblivious to all else. Her head was held erect and she looked at her executioners with an air of proud defiance.
Cuthbert hurried away, filled with an intense feeling of pity and regret. He heard Minette cry in a loud clear voice, ”Vive la Commune!”
Then there was a sharp volley and all was over, and a minute later the soldiers pa.s.sed him on the way to join their comrades.
He stood for a time at the corner of the street irresolute. He had seen scores of dead in the streets. He had thought he could see nothing worse than he had witnessed, but he felt that he could not go back, as he had first thought of doing, to the scene of execution. Comrades had fallen by his side in the fight at Champigny, but he had not felt for them as for this comrade who lay behind him, or for the girl who, with her talents, might have had a bright future before her had she been thrown amid other surroundings. He wondered whether he could obtain their bodies for burial.