Two barricades were built like that on the floor below. Pasquier and some of his followers had burst open the outer door, and were endeavoring to burn both the prison and the prisoners. "Never fear," cried a corporal who had superintended the hasty erection of the barricades; "I put nothing combustible into them. They can't burn floor tiles and wire mattresses. Bring all the water you can."
The crowd continued to shout threats. The battery from Père la Chaise, they cried, was coming; and often a voice would shout, "Soldiers of the Loire, surrender! We will not hurt you. We will set you at liberty!" A few soldiers trusted this promise, and as soon as they got into the crowd were massacred.
In the midst of the tumult came a sudden lull; the besieged could see that something strange had taken place. The crowd had been informed that the Government, alarmed by the advance of the Versailles troops, had abandoned its headquarters at the mairie of the Eleventh Arrondissement, and had gone to Belleville. Amazed and confused by this intelligence, the mob followed its leaders. Only a few minutes before it left, two guns and a mortar had been brought to fire on the prison; they were now dragged away in the wake of the Government.
The criminal prisoners at La Roquette were in a state of great excitement. They had been liberated, and such weapons as could be found were put into their hands; but they were not inclined either to kill their fellow-captives or to fight for the Commune. They hastily made off, shouting, "Vive la Commune! Vive la République!"
By this time the prison director and his officials had disappeared. The prison doors were open. Then came another danger: soldiers of the Commune, fleeing from the vengeance of the Versaillais, might seek refuge in the prison. With much difficulty the Abbé Lamazou persuaded Poiret and some other warders who had stood with him, to close the gates till the arrival of troops from Versailles. It was still more difficult, now that a way was open to escape, to persuade his fellow-captives to remain in prison. Some priests would not take his advice, among them Monseigneur Surat, the vicar-general. He had secured a suit of citizen's clothes, and hoped to escape in safety. In vain the Abbé Lamazou called out to him, "To go is certain death; to stay is possible safety." He was killed most cruelly, together with two' priests and a layman.
At eleven o'clock at night, firing seemed to cease in the city, but outside of the prison the maddened crowd continued all night howling insults and curses. Hours seemed ages to the anxious and now famished captives, shut up in the great building. The barricade of the Rue de la Roquette was near them, still defended by insurgents; but in the early dawn it was abandoned, and shortly after, a battalion of marines took possession of La Roquette. The resistance of the prisoners, which had seemed at first so desperate, had proved successful.
Innumerable other anecdotes have found their way into print concerning the last hours of the Commune; but I will rather tell of Mégy, the member of the Council who, in his scarf of office, animated the party that slew the archbishop and his, five companions.
He reached New York in 1878, and, as I said, was received with an ovation by a colony of escaped Communists who had settled on our shores. A reporter connected with the New York "World" called upon Mégy, and here is his account of the interview:—
"'I was born in Paris, in 1844,' said the ex-member of the Commune, lighting a cigar; 'I went through a primary school, and learned but little. I was apprenticed to a machinist. When I was twenty I found work on the Suez Canal. I was already a member of a secret society organized against the Empire, with Blanqui at its head. In 1866 I came back to Paris, and persuaded all my fellow-workmen in the establishment where I was employed to become conspirators. We waited for a good opportunity to commence an insurrection. Some of us wanted to begin when Pierre Bonaparte murdered Victor Noir; but it was put off till February 7, when about three thousand of us rushed into the streets, began raising barricades, and proclaimed a Republic. The next day two thousand republicans were arrested. On February 11 six police agents came to my house at a quarter past five in the morning. I had a pistol, and when the first one entered my room to arrest me, I shot him dead. You should have seen how the others scampered downstairs. I am glad I killed him. But five minutes after, I was overpowered, bound, and taken to prison. I was condemned to twenty years in New Caledonia, with hard labor. I was sent to Toulon, but before my embarkation the Republic was proclaimed, and a decree of the Government set me at liberty. I came to Paris, and was named a member of the Municipal Council. In October, 1870, during the siege, an order was passed for my arrest because I endeavored to deprive General Trochu of his command. I hid myself, enlisted under a false name, and fought the Prussians. Then I went to the South of France, and waited to see what would happen. I was there when the Commune was proclaimed. I arrested the prefect of Marseilles on my own responsibility, and put myself in his place. I was prefect of Marseilles for eight days. Early in April I made my way to Paris, was made a general, and put in charge of Fort Issy.[l] When Fort Issy fell, I was made commander-in-chief on the left bank of the Seine. I ordered the Palace of the Legion of Honor to be set on fire; I defended the barricades on the Boulevard of Magenta; and when I left them on May 24, I found that Ferré and Deleschuze had given orders to shoot the hostages because the troops of Thiers had shot eight of our officers.'"
[Footnote 1: General Rossel gave his opinion of the officers in command at Fort Issy in his letter to the Commune.]