and I am
quite accustomed to the noise of cannon and small arms. This solitary
explosion, however, seemed so close at hand, and has so strongly shaken
the prison, that, anxious to know what has happened, I rise and approach
the door and listen. A few moments of silence--then, suddenly, from
somewhere in the corridor, comes the jingle of spurs, the clash of
swords, and the sound of voices. At first, all this noise is stationary,
then gradually it grows and appears to spread on all sides. Something
extraordinary has surely happened behind this heavy door, something is
now happening which causes me anxiety. But what is it? Standing on
tip-toes, I try to look through the small square of glass covering the
wicket, but the outside shutter is closed, and in spite of the habit
which I and other prisoners have of finding some small aperture through
which a glimpse of the corridor may be obtained, to-day I can see
nothing. Only the noise of heavy and rapid footsteps, each moment
stronger and more distinct, comes to my ears. I seem to hear in the
distance the choked and panting voice of Captain W---- asking some
question, then another nearer and unknown voice replies--"Oh! yes,
killed! Killed outright!"

[Illustration: "BREAKING THE CELL DOORS."]

Killed? Who? How and why? Killed? My God! Have I heard aright? Killed!
No, no; it is impossible! Breathless, and with beating heart, I consider
for a moment in order to find some pretext for having this heavy door
opened. Shall I ask to see the director--or the doctor--or say I am
thirsty and have no water? The latter is the most simple, and, my jug
hastily emptied, I return to the wicket to knock. In ordinary times the
slightest blow struck on the little square of glass brings my "blue
angel," the warder. Now, I knock loudly, and again and again. The
intervals seem like an eternity, but the little shutter remains closed,
while the sound of spurs, swords, and voices cross each other in the
corridor, sometimes near, then dying away into the distance. A few
moments more of anxious waiting and agony almost insupportable, then I
raise my arm determined to break the window, when a new noise from the
outside causes a shudder to run through me.

Clear and sharp, the noise is that of windows broken in rapid
succession; it is the signal that the prisoners have revolted. Distant
at first, the noise approaches with lightning-like rapidity on the side
of the principal building of the prison, and