The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1871-06-13
SCENES IN PARIS.
shooting OF the Communists.

A correspondent OF the New York
World writes: .
The Parisians of civil life are catiffs
to the last drop of their thin sour white
blood. But yesterday they had eric d
"Vile la Commune! and submitted to
be governed BY this said Commune.
To-day they rubbed their hands with
livid, currish JOY to have it in their
power to denounce a communist and
reveal his hiding place. Very eager at
this work are the dear creatures OF
women They know the rat-holcs into
which the poor devils have got, and
they guide to them with a tiendish glee
which is phase Of the many-slded sex.
Volta the braves Of France returned to
triumph after shameful captivity !
They have found him, the miserable !!
Yes, they drag him out from one OF the
purlieus which Haussamann had not
time to sweep away, and guard OF six
Of them hem him round as they march
him into the Rue st. Honore. \ tall,
pale, hatless man, with something not
ignoble in his carriage. His lower lip
is trembling, but his brow is firm, and
the eve OF him has some pride and de-
fiance in it. They yell-thc crowd
Shoot him; shoe, him THE demon
women most clamorous, Of course. An
arm goes into the air; there are on it
the stripes Of a non commissioned officer,
and there is q stick in the fist The
stick falls on the head of the pale man
in black. Ia infection has caught;
men club their rifles and bring them
down on that head, or clash them into
splinters in their lust for murder. He
is down; he is up again; he is down
again; the thrd Of the gun-stock5 on
him sounding just as the sound when a
man beats cushion with a stick. A
certain British impulse, stronger than
consideration Tor self, prompts me TO
run forward But it is useless. They
are firing into the faced carcase now,
thronging about it like blow-hics on a
piece of meat. His brains squirt on my
boot and splash into the gutter, whittier
the carrion is bodily chucked, presently
to be trodden on and rolled on by the
mutitndes and wheels of gun carriages.
Womanhood, then, is not quite dead III
that band of Bediamitcs who had clamor-
ed Shoot him." Here is one in Mysteries;
another, with wan, scared face, draws
out OF the press an embryo Bedlamite,
her offspring, and, let us hope, goes
home. But surely all manhood is dead
in the soldiery OF France to do deed
like this. An otficer--one with a bull
throat and the eyes of Algiers-stood
toy and looked on at the sport, suck
ing cigar meanwhile. Prticcps
criminis surely was he if there is such a
word as discipline in the French ranks;
il there is not, and | question whether
there be, he might have been pitied if
he had not smiled his smug-faced ap'
prevail
The merry game goes on. Denounc.
ing becomes fashionable, and denounc.
in is followed in the French natural
sequence by Draining. Faugh let us
get away from the truculent towards
and the bloody cutters, and the yelling
women and the Algerian-eyed officers.
Here is the Place Vendome, held, as !
learn on credible authority, by twenty
five communists and woman against
all that Versailles found it in its heart
to do for hours. In the shattered Cen
trail Place Versaillist sentries are stalk
ing about the ruins Of the column.
They aveaccumulated, too, some forces
in the rat-trap. There is one corpse in
the gutter buffeted and hesmirched-
the corpse, as ! learn, OF the commu.
mist captain OF barricade, who held
it for haitian hour single-handed against
the braves OF France, and then shot
himself. The braves have, seemingly,
made sure Of him 10y shooting him
and the clay. which was once man,
over and over again. And in the Place
is another corpse, that Of the Hecatc,
who fought on the Rue de la Paix
barricade with such persistence and
fury. They might have shot her; yes,
when woman takes to war, she forgets
her immuities; but they might at least
have pulled her scanty rags over the
bare limbs that outrage decency, if the
,,os1J Ia not m ayntic IN pariS