FERRÉ.
At half-past nine on the morning of the 18th of March Ferré was at No. 6, Rue des Rosiers, opposing the departure of the prisoners of the Republican Guard, by obtaining from the Commander Bardelle the revocation of the order for their dismissal, which was known to have been issued. He went to the council of the Château Rouge, whither General Lecomte was about to be taken, and made himself conspicuous by the persistency with which he called for the death of that general. On the morning of Monday, the 24th May, a witness residing at the Prefecture of Police saw Ferré and five others going up the stairs of the Prefecture of Police. Ferré said to him, “Be off as quick as you can. We are going to set fire to the place. In a quarter of an hour it will be in flames.” Half an hear afterwards the witness saw the flames burst forth from two windows of the office of the Procureur-Général. When Raoul Rigault was installed during the insurrection, a woman saw some persons washing the walls of the Prefecture of Police with petroleum. Seeing them going out by the court of the St. Chapelle, she noticed among them one smaller than the rest, wearing a grey paletot with a black velvet collar, and black striped trousers. On the same day a police agent went to La Roquette to order the shooting of Mgr. Darboy and the other prisoners—the President Bonjean, the Abbé Allard, the Père Ducoudray, and the Abbé Deguerry. On Saturday, the 27th, Ferré installed himself in the clerk’s office of the prison, and ordered the release of certain of the criminals and gave them arms and ammunition. Upon this they proceeded to massacre a great number of the prisoners, among whom were 66 gendarmes. Several witnesses saw Ferré that day at the prison.
XI. (Page 342.)
At the trial of Ferré, August 10, Dr. Puymoyen, physician to the prison for juvenile offenders, opposite La Roquette, gave the following graphic evidence:—
“Immediately after the insurgents, driven back by the troops, had occupied La Roquette, they installed a court-martial at the children’s prison opposite, where I live. It was from thence I saw the poor wretches whom they feigned to release, ushered in to the square, where they encountered an ignoble mob, that ill-treated them in the most brutal manner. I was told that Ferré presided over this court-martial. Its proceedings were singular. I saw an unfortunate gendarme taken to the prison; he had been arrested near the Grenier d’Abondance, on a denunciation. He wore a blouse, blue trousers, and an apron, and was charged with having stolen them. The mob wanted to enter the prison along with him, but the keepers, who behaved very well, prevented the invasion of the courtyard. The escort was commanded by a young woman carrying a Chassepot, and wearing a chignon. I entered the registrar’s office with this unfortunate gendarme. One Briand, who was charged to question the prisoners summarily, asked him where his clothes came from. The man was very cool and courageous, and his perfect self-possession disconcerted this juge d’instruction. He was asked if he were married, and had a family. He replied, ‘Yes, I have a wife and eight children.’ He was then shown into the back office, where the ‘judges’ were. These judges were mere boys, who seemed quite proud of the part they were playing, and gave themselves no end of airs, I asked the governor of the gaol soon afterwards what had been done with the gendarme. He told me that they were going to shoot him. I replied, ‘Surely it can’t be true. I must see the president—we can’t allow a married man with eight children to be murdered in this way.’ I tried to get into the room where the court-martial was sitting, but was prevented. One of the National Guards on duty at the door told me ‘Don’t go in there, or you’re done for (N’y entrez pas, ou vous êtes f—).’ I made immediately further inquiries about M. Grudnemel, and was told he was in ‘a provisional cell.’ I trembled for him, for I knew that meant he would be given up to the mob, which would tear him to pieces. When they said, ‘This man is to be taken to a cell,’ that meant that he was to be shot. When they said, ‘Put him in a provisional cell,’ it meant that he should be delivered over to the mob for butchery, I continued to plead the gendarme’s cause with the National Guard, dwelling on the fact of his having eight children. Thereon, the Woman above referred to, who appeared to be in command of the detachment, exclaimed, ‘Why does this fellow go in for the gendarme?’ One of her acolytes replied, ‘Smash his jaw.’ This woman seemed to understand her business. She minutely inspected the men’s pouches to ascertain that they had plenty of ammunition. She would not hear of the gendarme being reprieved, and she had her way. I understood that I had better follow the governor’s advice and keep quiet. A mere boy was placed as sentry at the door of the court-martial. He told me, ‘You know I sha’n’t let you in.’ When I saw the poor gendarme leave the room he looked at me imploringly; he had probably detected in my eyes a look of sympathy. And when he was told that he might go out—hearing the yells of the mob—he turned towards me and said, ‘But I shall be stoned to death;’ and, in fact, it was perfectly fearful to hear the shouts of the crowd outside. I could not withstand the impulse, and I took my place by his side, and tried to address the crowd. ‘Think on what you are going to do—surely you won’t murder the father of eight children.’ The words were hardly out of my mouth when a kind of signal was given. I was shoved back against the wall, and one National Guard, clapping his hand on his musket, ejaculated, ‘You know, you old rascal, there is something for you here,’ and he drove his bayonet through my whiskers. The unfortunate gendarme was taken across the place, close to the shop where they sell funeral wreaths, but there was 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 Abbé 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 Eugène, 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 abbé instinctively put his hands out to protect himself, crying, ‘Grâce! grâce!’ Whereon this fury shouted, ‘Grâce! grâce! en voilà 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 negative. The man passed before my door without stopping, and I soon heard the mild voice of the archbishop answering to his name. The hostages were then dragged put of the lobby; ten minutes later I saw the mournful cortège pass in front of my windows; the federates were walking along in a confused way, making a noise to cover the voice of their victims, but I could hear Father Allard exhorting his companions to prepare for death. A little after I heard the report of the muskets, and understood that all was over. On Thursday (the 25th) the day passed off quietly, but on Friday shells began to fall on the prison, and at about half-past four in the afternoon a corporal, named Romain. came up, and with a joyful face told us we would soon be free. He said answer to your names; I must have 15. He had a list in his hand, and I must confess a feeling of terror came over us all. Ten hostages answered to their names. One of them, a father of the order of Picpus, asked if he could take his hat. Romain replied, ‘Oh, it’s no use; you are only going to the registrar’s.’ None of these unfortunate men ever returned. On Saturday (the 27th) we learnt that several of the prisoners had been armed with hammers, files, &c. They threw us some of these in at the windows. We were then informed that several members of the Commune had arrived at La Roquette. I cannot say whether Ferré was among them. We were taken back to our cellars, where we expected to be put to death every minute. At about four o’clock the cells of the common prisoners were opened, and they escaped, shouting ‘Vive la Commune!’ Our keeper himself had disappeared, and a turnkey presently opened our cells, and recommended us to run away. We were afraid this was a trap, but as it might afford a chance we determined to avail ourselves of it. Those amongst us who had plain clothes hurried them on, and I must say the gaolers behaved admirably in this emergency; they lent clothes to such of us as had none, and we were thus all enabled to escape. As for myself, after wandering for about an hour in the streets about the prison, and being unable to find shelter anywhere, and afraid of being murdered in the streets, I determined to return to La Roquette. As I reached it I met the archbishop’s secretary, two priests, and two gendarmes, who, like myself, had been driven to return to the prison. One of the keepers told us that the safest for us was the sick ward. We dressed up in the hospital uniform and hid in bed. At eight in the evening the federates, who were not aware that we had escaped, came back and called on the gaolers to produce us. They were told we had gone; fortunately they believed it. On Sunday the troops came in, and I left La Roquette for good this time. In reply to a further question the witness said that as the hostages marched past his windows, on their way to execution, he saw President Bonjean raising his hands, and heard him say, ‘Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!’