Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1901-09-08
CHAPTER I.

the Oaths
A thousand wooden shoes clattered
along the cobbles of the Rue de Fer
mey. Here and there a cracking
torch cleaned and Illuminated haggard
faces, wan and pinched with staring
eyes and streaked, dishevelled hair.
1t had been raining during the day,
and night now fell on Paris. gloomy
and chill and desolate.
The houses were old and bulge-wall-
ed; the cobbles we're rough and UNI
evenly laid. There were nc lights to
show the darkness, only the flaring
fambeaux filing the street with grim
shadows and throwing a weird glare on
the faces of the mob.
It was a mob of women: nervous,
high-wrought, swaying and screaming
calling for vengeance.
Most of them were young. Their
clothing was dark and simple, open
often at the throat. Here and there
red caps of Liberty brought into promi-
nence the black tresses they surmount-
ed. They threw o the waxen pailor
of the cheeks and the sharp CLEAN Of
the eyes.
The mob rushed on, not swiftly but
rather tempestuously, choked often
and checked where the street narrowed.
There rose on the cold air a hoarse
veil of anger and despair.
Down with the tyrants!.
.To the lamp-post with the starvers
OF children"
BREAD, bread! Where in all Paris
is bread?"
A swinging of reeksome torches was
the only answer. The scene was pan
demonium. Excited woman turned to
m gesticulating, beseeching, ex-
postulating.
Away with tyranny
"Where will our children get bread
Again and again that cry went up.
The relief Of tears came at last to
many a soul-tired creature. Gaspins
sobs shook the m The words they
would have uttered were stifed in agi-
tation. Bosoms heaved with anguish
and weary-limbed mothers, with pent
feelings, now gushing loose, seized
other mothers-women they knew not
but to whom they were bound in the
confraternity of the starved-and wept
upon their breasts.
Still the mob swayed and the torches
fiared. The hubbub was deafening.
Further up the street, little broader
than a passage with the houses fore
boding and suffered, was clustered a
of girls, slim and painting. their
hair hanging awry. They were dancing
in an ecstacy of madness.
A rude circle was formed and a dozen
fambeaux were held around. The mob
pressed to gain a glimpse.
There we're eight girls in the circle.
But they were not wearing the duh garb
of the others. Gay ribbons tricked
their skirts; gay streaming gibbons
hung from their shoulders; long, thin
strips of blue and white and red ribbon
fiuttered from the blood-colored caps of
Liberty.
There was a piercing gaze seen only
in the eyes of the oY~er-excited. The
lips were thin and ashen slightly open,
for the breathing was in painful gasps.
A blotch of carmine-the flush Of hun
ger and desperation-wa5 on every
cheek.
Systematically. bewilderingly they
danced,
A little woman, with beady eyes.
stood between two torches beating
thump. thump. thump, on a drum.
The spectators on the inner circle clap
ped their hands and yelled. Beyond
was the roar of the delayed and pro-
testing mob.
But over all the roar swelled the song
of the dancers-the distraught girls
with the flaming eyes throwing back
shafts Of fire to the rudy blaze OF the
TpF san STORY OF