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By the date now reached the army of order was rapidly gaining ground. The fort of Vauves was taken; that of Mont Rouge was dismantled; breaches were opened in the barricades, and by the 20th of May the army was in the streets and fighting its way onward against a desperate defence. The carnage was frightful; Dambrowski, a Pole and the only able general of the Commune, was killed; prisoners on both sides were shot down without mercy; there were barricades in almost every street and these were hotly defended, the courage of despair in their defenders making the progress of the besieging army a slow and bloody one.

The rest of the story is all blood and horror. The desperate leaders of the Commune determined that, if they must perish, Paris should be their funeral pyre. On the night of May 24 the city became a scene of incendiary rage. The Hotel-de-Ville was in flames; the Palace of the Tuileries was burning like a great furnace; the Palace of the Legion of Honor, the Ministry of War, the Treasury were lurid volcanoes of flames; on all sides the torch had been applied.

Not only these great public buildings, but many private houses were consigned to the flames. All the sewers beneath Paris had been strewn with torpedoes, bombs, and inflammable materials, connected with electric wires, and the catacombs in the eastern quarter of the city were similarly prepared. It was the intention of the desperate revolutionists to blow up the city, but fortunately, before their preparations were completed, the army of order was in control and sappers and miners were sent underground to cut the electric wires leading to these mines of death-dealing explosives.

But the capture of the city came too late to save the lives of many of the “hostages” whom the Commune had sent to prison. Not content with burning the architectural monuments of the city, as the last effort of baffled rage they condemned these innocent victims of their wrath to death. On Wednesday, May 24, the venerable archbishop and five others of the imprisoned priests were taken from their cells and shot to death. On Thursday fifty more, priests and others, were similarly slaughtered.

A large number of captives remained shut up in the prison of La Roquette, around which, on Saturday the 27th, a yelling crowd gathered, thirsting for their lives. They, knowing that their rescuers were fighting within the city, determined to defend themselves and convert the prison into a fortress. Poiret, one of the warders, horrified by what had already been done, was the leader in the resolution, in which he was joined by the Abbe Lamazan, who called out:

“Don’t let us be shot, my friends; let us defend ourselves. Trust in God; he is on our side.”

The sergents de ville, captives in the story below, had made the same resolution. They had no arms, but they barricaded the doors and resolved to defend themselves from the murderous throng outside, howling for their blood. Two guns and a mortar had been brought by the mob to fire on the prison and the moment was critical.

Suddenly there came a lull in the uproar. Something had taken place. In a few minutes more the crowd broke up and dispersed, dragging away the guns they had brought. Word had reached them that the Council had fled from its headquarters to Belleville and a sudden panic seized the mob. Yet that night they returned, howling and cursing, while a barricade near by was still held by the insurgents. But with the early dawn this was abandoned, the mob melted away, and soon after a batallion of rescuers marched up and took possession of the prison. The captives were saved. Their resistance, seemingly so desperate, had proved successful. That day, Sunday, May 28, ended the rule of the Commune. The Versailles troops, who had been fighting their way steadily from street to street since the 21st, completed their work, the whole great city was in their hands, and the rule of the Commune was over.