Murders were now becoming common.  Amongst other names of victims mentioned were Loriol, Bigot, Dumas, Lhermet, Heritier, Domaison, Combe, Clairon, Begomet, Poujas, Imbert, Vigal, Pourchet, Vignole.  Details more or less shocking came to light as to the manner in which the murderers went to work.  A man called Dalbos was in the custody of two armed men; some others came to consult with them.  Dalbos appealed for mercy to the new-comers.  It was granted, but as he turned to go he was shot dead.  Another of the name of Rambert tried to escape by disguising himself as a woman, but was recognised and shot down a few yards outside his own door.  A gunner called Saussine was walking in all security along the road to Uzes, pipe in mouth, when he was met by five men belonging to Trestaillon’s company, who surrounded him and stabbed him to the heart with their knives.  The elder of two brothers named Chivas ran across some fields to take shelter in a country house called Rouviere, which, unknown to him, had been occupied by some of the new National Guard.  These met him on the threshold and shot him dead.

Rant was seized in his own house and shot.  Clos was met by a company, and seeing Trestaillons, with whom he had always been friends, in its ranks, he went up to him and held out his hand; whereupon Trestaillons drew a pistol from his belt and blew his brains out.  Calandre being chased down the rue des Soeurs-Grises, sought shelter in a tavern, but was forced to come out, and was killed with sabres.  Courbet was sent to prison under the escort of some men, but these changed their minds on the way as to his punishment, halted, and shot him dead in the middle of the street.

A wine merchant called Cabanot, who was flying from Trestaillons, ran into a house in which there was a venerable priest called Cure Bonhomme.  When the cut-throat rushed in, all covered with blood, the priest advanced and stopped him, crying: 

“What will happen, unhappy man, when you come to the confessional with blood-stained hands?”

“Pooh!” replied Trestaillons, “you must put on your wide gown; the sleeves are large enough to let everything pass.”

To the short account given above of so many murders I will add the narrative of one to which I was an eye-witness, and which made the most terrible impression on me of, anything in my experience.

It was midnight.  I was working beside my wife’s bed; she was just becoming drowsy, when a noise in the distance caught our attention.  It gradually became more distinct, and drums began to beat the ‘generale’ in every direction.  Hiding my own alarm for fear of increasing hers, I answered my wife, who was asking what new thing was about to happen, that it was probably troops marching in or out of garrison.  But soon reports of firearms, accompanied by an uproar with which we were so familiar that we could no longer mistake its meaning, were heard outside.  Opening