At the trial of Ferré, August 10, Dr. Puymoyen, physician to the prison
for juvenile offenders, opposite La Roquette, gave the following
graphic evidence:—
“Immediately after the insurgents, driven back by the troops, had
occupied La Roquette, they installed a court-martial at the children’s
prison opposite, where I live. It was from thence I saw the poor
wretches whom they feigned to release, ushered in to the square, where
they encountered an ignoble mob, that ill-treated them in the most
brutal manner. I was told that Ferré presided over this court-martial.
Its proceedings were singular. I saw an unfortunate gendarme taken to
the prison; he had been arrested near the Grenier d’Abondance, on a
denunciation. He wore a blouse, blue trousers, and an apron, and was
charged with having stolen them. The mob wanted to enter the prison
along with him, but the keepers, who behaved very well, prevented the
invasion of the courtyard. The escort was commanded by a young woman
carrying a Chassepot, and wearing a chignon. I entered the registrar’s
office with this unfortunate gendarme. One Briand, who was charged to
question the prisoners summarily, asked him where his clothes came
from. The man was very cool and courageous, and his perfect
self-possession disconcerted this _juge d’instruction._ He was asked if
he were married, and had a family. He replied, ‘Yes, I have a wife and
eight children.’ He was then shown into the back office, where the
‘judges’ were. These judges were mere boys, who seemed quite proud of
the part they were playing, and gave themselves no end of airs, I asked
the governor of the gaol soon afterwards what had been done with the
gendarme. He told me that they were going to shoot him. I replied,
‘Surely it can’t be true. I must see the president—we can’t allow a
married man with eight children to be murdered in this way.’ I tried to
get into the room where the court-martial was sitting, but was
prevented. One of the National Guards on duty at the door told me
‘Don’t go in there, or you’re done for (_N’y entrez pas, ou vous êtes
f—_).’ I made immediately further inquiries about M. Grudnemel, and was
told he was in ‘a provisional cell.’ I trembled for him, for I knew
that meant he would be given up to the mob, which would tear him to
pieces. When they said, ‘This man is to be taken to a cell,’ that meant
that he was to be shot. When they said, ‘Put him in a provisional
cell,’ it meant that he should be delivered over to the mob for
butchery, I continued to plead the gendarme’s cause with the National
Guard, dwelling on the fact of his having eight children. Thereon, the
Woman above referred to, who appeared to be in command of the
detachment, exclaimed, ‘Why does this fellow go in for the gendarme?’
One of her acolytes replied, ‘Smash his jaw.’ This woman seemed to
understand her business. She minutely inspected the men’s pouches to
ascertain that they had plenty of ammunition. She would not hear of the
gendarme being reprieved, and she had her way. I understood that I had
better follow the governor’s advice and keep quiet. A mere boy was
placed as sentry at the door of the court-martial. He told me, ‘You
know I sha’n’t let you in.’ When I saw the poor gendarme leave the room
he looked at me imploringly; he had probably detected in my eyes a look
of sympathy. And when he was told that he might go out—hearing the
yells of the mob—he turned towards me and said, ‘But I shall be stoned
to death;’ and, in fact, it was perfectly fearful to hear the shouts of
the crowd outside. I could not withstand the impulse, and I took my
place by his side, and tried to address the crowd. ‘Think on what you
are going to do—surely you won’t murder the father of eight children.’
The words were hardly out of my mouth when a kind of signal was given.
I was shoved back against the wall, and one National Guard, clapping
his hand on his musket, ejaculated, ‘You know, you old rascal, there is
something for you here,’ and he drove his bayonet through my whiskers.
The unfortunate gendarme was taken across the place, close to the shop
where they sell funeral wreaths, but there was no firing party in
attendance. He then took to his heels, but was pursued, captured, and
put to death. I began to feel rather bewildered, and some one urged me
to return to the prison, which I did. A young linesman was then brought
in. He was quite a young fellow, barely twenty; his hands were tied
behind his back. They decided to kill him within the prison. They set
upon him, beat him, tore his clothes, so that he had hardly a shred of
covering left; they made him kneel, then made him stand up, blindfolded
him then uncovered his eyes; finally they put an end to his long agony
by shooting him, and flung the body into a costermonger’s cart close to
the gate. Several priests had got out of the prison of La Roquette. The
Abbé Surat, on passing over a barricade, was so imprudent as to state
who he was, and showed some articles of value he had about him. He had
got as far as about the middle of the Boulevard du Prince Eugène, when
he was arrested and taken back to the prison, where they prepared to
shoot him. But the young woman whom I have before mentioned, with a
revolver in one hand and a dagger in the other, rushed at him
exclaiming, ‘I must have the honour of giving him the first blow.’ The
abbé instinctively put his hands out to protect himself, crying,
‘_Grâce! grâce!_’ Whereon this fury shouted, ‘_Grâce! grâce! en voilà
un maigre_,’ and she discharged her revolver at him. His body was not
searched, but his shoes were removed. Afterwards his pastoral cross and
300 francs were found about him. The boys detained in the prison were
set at liberty. The smaller ones were made to carry pails of petroleum,
the others had muskets given them, and were sent to fight. Six of them
were killed; the remainder came back that night, and on the following
day. About a hundred boys were taken to Belleville by a member of the
Commune, quite a young man; they were wanted to make sand-bags, to be
filled with earth to form barricades.”