Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1890-06-28
THE RED FLAG.
M. E. BRADDON.
Author OF aIady Audley's secrct,n
etc. etc. etc.

was the word. Murder and fire were their
only notion for taking their revenge upon
versailles. Arrests, forsooth. What wa
the use Of talking about arrests? The pris.
obs were teeming with hostages, there was
neither space nor provision for the herd OF
unfortunates; aud now the word had gone
forth to shoot them down In the prison.
yards, or TO roast them alive In their cells.
Rigault and Ferre, Serizier, Megy, these
were not men to surrender tamely. IL these
fiery stars were to be quenched, they would
70 down In a sea Of blood.
Anything newY' repeated a man In a
group that stood ON the bridge watching the
burning Of the Lyric Theatre. as IL it had
been a free representation, waiting for the
Chatelet TO take fire on the other side of the
wide luris street, mementarily expecting
the dark towers OF Notre Dame to vomis
fiames-"anything new? Yes, we live in
stirring times. There is always something
new. The Vcrsaillals have taken the Par.
theon, the stronghold of the Commune, lust
as the Federals were going TO blow 1t up.
Milliere has been shot. That Is new. Have
you heard OF the massacre of the Dominl-
cans? That Is new. And Serizicr has taken
10 his heels-Serizier, the colonel of the
f01st battalion; SerIzier, the hero Of Issy
n Chatlllon. The colonel Is gone, and the
battalion is scattered"
The Dominicans! At that name Katll-
leen drew closer TO the group, as near as
she could 70 the speaker, gazing at him with
wild wlde-0pen eyes. The D~ominicans
Almost the last words she had heard from
her husbands lips were an indignant pro-
test against the ill-treatment OF these good
monks.
II would shed my last drop Of blood rath-
er than that a hair Of Father Captier's head
should be hurt by those devils" he had said
O few minutes before he left the house.
She went close up TO the man who had
spoken, and who was now staring, open
mouthed, at the burning theatre. She laid
her hand upon his arm.
is that true?" she asked. HAS there
been any harm done 10 the Dominican
Fathers Of the school Of Albert the Great2
Ny husband was at school there, and he
loves them as II they were his own flesh
and blood"
your husbands sons will have TO find
another school, cheyenne" answered the
man, with a cynical air. "The Dominican
school Is sacked, and the shayen-poIls have
been given their passport for paradise" y
'Murdsred!'
Every one Of them. Shot down like
pheasants In q battue, 'lis afternoon, yon-
der In the Avenue talie," pointing far
away TO the south. There Is nothing left
OF the nest or Of the magpies, cheyenne"
She clasped her hands before her face,
and reeled against the parapet Of the bridge.
Nobody noticed her, or cared for her. The
roof Of the theatre was falling ina shower
OF burning fragments was blown across the
dark water like q fiery rain. On the other
side Of the river the glare, the smoke, the
stencil OF burning were intensifying with
every moment.
will there be anything left Of Paris but
ddst and ashes when the sun rises?" asked
N Of the bystanders.
Kathleen leant against the bridge, motion
less, specifies, paralyssd by fear. She
tried to think. But for some moments
thought was impossible; her brain was
clouded, benumbed, frozen. Then came re-
Fiction. CASTOR had said that he would die
TO save them, fight for them 10 the death,
these good fathers; and they had all been
murdered, and CASTOR was missing. lie
who had given her such faithful love had
abandoned her to desolation and despair.
Was IL likely that he would so abandon
her, unlsss a higher duty claimed him?
Was 1t likely that he would leave her for a
space Of four days In ignorance OF his fate,
unless he we're a prlsoner-or unless he
were dead? Paris reeked with blood, every
street was the scene Of murder, and he was
gone from ~her-gone with the rest of those
victims of whom the crowd spoke with such
seeming lightness, while IL looked on al
the burning Of the city as at the fireworks
which conclude some grand fete.
They were waiting for the eonflagraticn
TO burst from yonder mighty pile, from
painted window, and tower and battlement,
from nave and transept from clerestory
u roof: Notre Dame was TO be the bou-
quet
Tell me, sir" said Kathleen, In a hoarse
half-strangled voice, was there any one
else killed in the Avenue d'Italie-any one
besides the Dominicans-any n who was
In company with the good fathersT'
Eyes, there were a few understrappers 1
believe, servants of the school,"
mo one else?'
what do / know? The news has passed
from mouth to mouth. There is no Off cIal
bulletin, cheyenne. The Commune keeps
these things quiet 1t is only hearsay."
Only hearsayi A ray Of hope liz up the
biackness Of her soul. Only hearsayl And
how many wild stories had been told In
Paris within the last week, how horrors
had been bruited about which had been but
bubbles Of foul imagining! The story OF
the bodies found In the church Of Saint
Laurent, for instance. The desecrated
corpses exposed at the church-door, the sup
posed victims Of priestly crime foul ictions
invented to stimulate the ~populace to car
mage and spoliation.
as 1t far to the Avenue d'Italie?" she
asked.
The ~bystanders answered carelessly, one
saying one thing, one another, each and all
absorbed In the awful rapture Of the scene,
and caring not at all for individual needs
and feelings.
One o'clock struck from the clock-tower
Of Notre Dame. Kathleen wa footsore,
faint, her eyes burning with fever, her
mouth parched with thirst. She looked
down ut the river, but the stream seemed to
DO running with liquid fire, not water. There
was no fountain near. She must get on
somehow, without the longed-for refresh
ment of a cup of cold water. There was nc
use In asking for information here where
the news was only hearsay, where people
answered her carelessly. In the Avenue
d'Italie. on the scene OF this hldeous crime,
II tho thing were true, she must more easily
learn the actual facts-who had fallen, how
many. There she might learn the worst.
She crossed to the left bank OF the river,
and began her pilgrimage Of despair. The
distance was long, every step was WEAKNESS
and pain after her days's wanderlngs. All
the length OF the Boulevard st. Michel,
along which the ambulance-wagons were
passing In dismal procession, crimson with
blood. Under their scanty covering were
hcaped a confused mass of corpses. The
dead were being carried away by wagon
loads. On and ON. past a barricade at which
the men Of the quarter were working, old
~gray-headed men among them, men who
only wanted to die peacefully at home with
wife and children. and who. knowing that
death was Inevitable. struck heroically 70
their posts. On and on, till the blaze Of tho
confagration, the roar Of the flames, seem
ed to be left behind. But not the dull thun-
der Of the cannonade, the sharp crack OF
pistolshots. Carnage was audible on every
side.
Blood everywhere-the pavement was
stained with IL; the doors and door-posts
were splashed with Il; the cutters ran with
"A Rafnsa AZ All kinda liffercd the road.