Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1893-12-16
Chapter II.


Whit Sunday. May on the threshold
of june, the very dawn of summer;
but the sun, which hitherto has shone
pitileSs searching light upon scenes
Of death and horror, shines no more
Stormy winds beat and buster against
that feeble old house in the Rue Git
le Occur, with a sound and fury as Of
thunder; the cannonade of heaven
takes up the cannonade of earth, and
echoes it with twenty-fold power. TEN
pestuous rain lashes the windows, like
the spray from a seething ocean The
cannon of Montmartre thundcrS against
the heights of Bclleyille and Menil-
montant The insurgents reply with
savage fury, blind, reckless, deluging
Paris with shells.
And while the pitiless struggle still
goes on upon the heights of Belleyille,
the day OF rcprisals has already begun
for tAv insurgents. From Mazas they
bring a hundred and forty-eight prison
ers, hastily huddled into the prison
yesterday. In the stormy Sunday morn
ing, Whitsuntide morning, they are
marched to the cemetery of Pere La
chaisc, among the trees and the flow
ers and the marble monuments of the
distinguished dead; and there, hard by
that common grave where the muir
dered Archbishop and his companions
lie in their bloody shrouds, the Federal
prisoners are divided into patches Of
ten, and shot 10 death. They die brave
~ joining hands and crying Long
live the Commune with their last
breath.
In the prison of Little Roquctte, at
about the same hour, two hundred and
twenty insurgents meet the same
doom; not quite so boldly, for some
of these, said an eyewitness, were
sniyellcrs, and begged for mercy.
The final hour has come; those shells
are verify the death-rattle of the Com
mune Thirty thousand men are said
to be concentrated upon this point
of Paris, where they have built up
giant barbados. almost impcnetrable
torTesscs, communicating with each
other by underground passages, Il Won
der Of rough and ready masonry and
skill. They are held in this supreme
hour by men OF desperate courage,
men who have sworn not to surrender.
Two o'clock ON that stormy Sabbath;
and SO far there has been neither rest
nor respite Cannon, mirailleuse,
chassepot, laundering, rafting, roar
ing kissing; but now as the afternoon
wears on there come intervals Of ST.
lence. The cannonadc pauses to draw
breath The sounds Of battle seem
more remote-they die away in the
distance Then silence
Silence! Are they all dcadf
This is Sunday, the day when the
laborer rests from his toll but today
there has been only one laborer, and
his name is Death
Evening, and for the first time for
many weeks and many days no more
cannon. O happy silence Of peace, Or
should we not rather say silence Of
death?
A column of six thousand prisoners
who have surrendered at Belleyille
slowly defle along the boulevard; and
this is verify the end, YES, the cup Of
lesolation has been drained TO the
dregs There have been the sword to
Stay, and the dogs to tear, and the
beasts of the earth to devOur and de
stroy, as in the day of the Prophet
only the dogs have been human dogs,
and the beasts have been human
beasts; and the whirlwind of the Lord
has gone forth with fury, a continuing
whirlwind, and it has fallen with pain
upon the head Of the wicked; and on
the head Of the good and just, and in
nocent and gentle also.
The sacred month of May, month
dedicated to the holy mother of God,
was oyer-month Of May never to be
forgotten by the French people, May
which has left its indelible mark upon
The city Of Paris-and now all the
gates of the city were opened, and
the world came to see the work OF
destruction. English, americans, for
aigners Of all kinds went about look
Dg at the ruins, as at Pompeii or Her
sulaneum, criticisinE, examining, some
what disappointed that the havoc was
not more universal
on the 7th Of June came the funeral
of Monsignor Darboy, the
third Archbishop of Paris murdered
within q quarter of a century. Under
1 gray and sunless sky the car with
It's long train Of mourners, soldiers, I
people, solemnly, silently dehled along
he quays, past the still smouldering
uins of palaces and mansions. No roll
IL drums no funeral music broke that
awful silence: only the rhythmical
read Of the soldiers, the hollow rumble /.
If gun carriages. In the dumbness Of a I