“It was now May 23,—­an ever-memorable day.  We were pushing on into Paris, and were to attack Montmartre; but first we had to make sure of the houses in our rear.  Then began that terrible fighting in the streets, when every man fights hand to hand, when one must jump, revolver in hand, into dark cellars, or rush up narrow staircases with an enemy who knows the ground, lying in wait.  Two or three shots, well aimed, come from one house, and each brings down a comrade.  Exasperated, we break in the door and rush through the chambers.  The crime must be punished, the murderers are still on the spot; but there are ten men in the house.  Each swears that he is innocent.  Then each soldier has to take upon himself the office of a judge.  He looks to see if the gun of each man has been discharged recently, if the blouse and the citizen’s trousers have not been hastily drawn over a uniform.  Death and life are in his hands; no one will ever call him to account for his decision.  Women and children fall at his feet imploring pity; through all the house resound sobs, groans, and the reports of rifles.  At the corner of every street lie the bodies of men shot, or stand prisoners about to be executed.

“I was thankful when the moment came to attack the heights of Montmartre, and to engage in open warfare.  General Pradie, our brigadier-general, marched at our head, greatly exposed, because of the gold lace on his uniform.  An insurgent, whom we had taken prisoner, suddenly sprang from his guards, seized the general’s horse, and presented at him a revolver that he had hidden in his belt.  The general, furious, cried, ‘Shoot him! shoot him!’ But we dared not, they were too close together.  Suddenly the man sprang back, gained the street, and though twenty of us fired in haste at once, every ball missed him.  Leaping like a goat, he made his escape.  The general was very angry.  Step by step we made our way, slowly, it is true, but never losing ground.  About two hundred yards from Montmartre were tall houses and wood-yards where many insurgents had taken refuge.  These sent among us a shower of balls.  We had sharp fighting in this place, but succeeded in gaining the position.  Then we halted for about two hours, to make preparations for an attack upon the heights.  Some of us while we halted, fired at the enemy, some raided houses and made prisoners; some went in search of something to eat, but seldom found it.  I was fortunate, however, while taking some prisoners to the provost-marshal, to be able to buy a dozen salt herrings, four pints of milk, nine loaves of bread, some prunes, some barley-sugar, and a pound of bacon.  I took all I could get, and from the colonel downward, all my comrades were glad to get a share of my provisions.  The heights of Montmartre had been riddled by the fire from Mont Valerien.  Sometimes a shell from our mortars would burst in the enemy’s trenches, when a swarm of human beings would rush out of their holes and run like rabbits in a warren.”