The cartridge factory, situated between the Champs-de-Mars and the Avenue Rapp, blew up. The concussion was felt over nearly the whole of the city, but in the immediate vicinity the effect was lamentable in the extreme. As soon as the first dreadful detonation had been heard, it was followed in the space of a few seconds by thousands of smaller ones in every direction, arising from the combustion of cartridges—many millions of which were stored on the premises—and of boxes of grape-shot, which burst in the air, and descended in a perfect storm of blackened lead. An immense column of smoke rose over the spot in majestic form, and floated slowly away towards the southwest. Its disappearance was, unfortunately, followed by another mass, which rose more rapidly, and which, by its crimson reflections, showed that a conflagration had arisen. Such was in fact the case, as the wooden huts in the Champs-de-Mars were burning fiercely.
The agitation in the quarter was indescribable—men, women, and children rushing about in the wildest disorder in search of parents or relatives, absent at the moment from their homes. Their terror was increased by the fact that at first no one knew what had occurred, every one believing that a bombshell had fallen in his own house. Nor was the alarm by any means allayed, when the real nature of the accident became known, as the rumor spread rapidly that all danger was not over, and fears were entertained that a store of shells near the building destroyed might also blow up. In fact the insurgents, who hastened to the spot as soon as possible to maintain order, told all the inhabitants to retire to their own houses, and even recommended them to seek temporary shelter in their cellars. Happily, that second horror was spared the district; and after a short time the people began to reappear, and turned their attention to assisting the wounded, large numbers of whom might be seen being
