THE REIGN OF TERROR.

Westport Times, Volume V, Issue 835, 11 July 1871, Page 2

THE REIGN OF TERROR.

SCENE OP THE MURDER OF LECOMTE AND THOMAS. A writer in the " Soir" gives tbe following graphic account of a visit to the garden in the Rue des Hosiers, which was the scene of the murder of of Generals Lecomte and Clement Thomas : The street of the Rosebushes! You may in vain trust to the names of streets and to their peaceful aspect When having climbed over the barricades and mitrailleurs, I arrived if there, among the mills of MontmarW, and saw this little-street, with if' pebbly road, it gardens and house® with but few stories, I fancied myself in the country, in one of those quiet suburbs, where the town spreads out and dwindles and disappears at the edge of the fields. As one advances the street widens, becomes more animated. There are tents in lines, cannons, guns in stacks; then to the left a large portico, before which National Guards smoke their pipesThe house stands back, and is not seen from the road. After some hesitation the sentry allowed 'me to 'go ilii It is a two-storied house between a court" yard and a garden, with nothing tragic about it. It belongs to the heirs of M. Scribe. This cut-throat den is born of a vaudeville. lb o rooms on the ground floor open on the passages which lead from the little paved yard to the garden. They are light, airy, papered with flowery patterns. There the late Central

g ===== Committee W M its meetings ; it ff aß there that on the afternoon of the jSth the two Generals were brought, jnd there they felt the anguish of the i jasfc hour, while the crowds stood in heaps in the garden, and the linesmen I leant their hideous heads against the window panes, scenting blood like wolves: there, at last, the two corpses riddled with balls were brought, and there they remained exposed for two , jj a ys- I descend with a heavy heart the three Bteps which lead to the garden, i n which each dweller has his corner of gooseberry bushes and clematis, separated by green trellis work, w ith gates to which bells are attached. The anger of a crowd had been there. The inclosures were down, the tytders torn up; nothing was standing tytM>me twenty lime trees, recently toed, leafless, and raising their hard 0 branches like vultures' claws. In iron railing ran behind them as a fill, and showed the valley in the distance, immense, mournful where the long factory chimneys smoke. Things soften down, as do living beings. Here Ism on the scene of the drama, and find it difficult to feel its power. The gather is mild, the sky clear. The soldiers of Montmartre who surround B e look kindly enough. They sine:, they play at corks. The officers walk up and down langhing. But a great black wall pierced by balls, and the crest of which is crumbling, rises like a witness and relates the crime. It is against this wall that they were shot. It seems that at the last moment General Lecomte, till then dignified and resolute, felt his courage fail. He then tried to struggle, to fly; he ran several steps in the garden ; then, instntly retaken, shaken, dragged, hußtled, he fell on his knees and spoke of his children. ' I have five,' said he, jobbing. The father's heart burst through the soldier's tunic. There were fathers in that crowd, and some voices replied with emotion to this heartstirring appeal, but the implacable linesmen wouid not hear a word. 'lf we do not shoot him to-day he will hare us shot to-morrow.' He was pushed against the wall. A Pergeant of the line almost immediately advanced towards him. ' General,' said he,'if you will promise .' Suddenly changing his mind, he stepped two paces back, and discharged his c&assepot full in the General's chest. The others had only to finish the deed. Clement Thomas never showed a moment's weakness. His back against the same wall as Lecomte, but two paces from the corpse, he made head against death to the end, and spoke very harshly. When the guns were lowered, he, by an instinctive gesture, placed his left arm before his face; sud this old ltepublican died in the attitude of Csesar. Above the place where they fell, against that wall, sad and naked as the mark in a shootinggallery, some branches of peach are still trained, and an early flower blooms in whiteness, which the bullets have spared, and the powder failed to blacken."