d and confused
by this intelligence, the mob followed its leaders. Only a few
minutes before it left, two guns and a mortar had been brought
to fire on the prison; they were now dragged away in the wake of
the Government.

The criminal prisoners at La Roquette were in a state of great
excitement. They had been liberated, and such weapons as could be
found were put into their hands; but they were not inclined either
to kill their fellow-captives or to fight for the Commune. They
hastily made off, shouting, "Vive la Commune! Vive la Republique!"

By this time the prison director and his officials had disappeared.
The prison doors were open. Then came another danger: soldiers
of the Commune, fleeing from the vengeance of the Versaillais,
might seek refuge in the prison. With much difficulty the Abbe
Lamazou persuaded Poiret and some other warders who had stood with
him, to close the gates till the arrival of troops from Versailles.
It was still more difficult, now that a way was open to escape,
to persuade his fellow-captives to remain in prison. Some priests
would not take his advice, among them Monseigneur Surat, the
vicar-general. He had secured a suit of citizen's clothes, and
hoped to escape in safety. In vain the Abbe Lamazou called out
to him, "To go is certain death; to stay is possible safety." He
was killed most cruelly, together with two' priests and a layman.

At eleven o'clock at night, firing seemed to cease in the city,
but outside of the prison the maddened crowd continued all night
howling insults and curses. Hours seemed ages to the anxious and now
famished captives, shut up in the great building. The barricade of
the Rue de la Roquette was near them, still defended by insurgents;
but in the early dawn it was abandoned, and shortly after, a battalion
of marines took possession of La Roquette. The resistance of the
prisoners, which had seemed at first so desperate, had proved
successful.

Innumerable other anecdotes have found their way into print concerning
the last hours of the Commune; but I will rather tell of Megy, the
member of the Council who, in his scarf of office, animated the
party that slew the archbishop and his, five companions.

He reached New York in 1878, and, as I said, was received with
an ovation by a colony of escaped Communists who had settled on
our shores. A reporter connected with the New York "World" called
upon Megy, and here is his account of the interview:--

"'I was b