[COPYRIGHT STORY.] THE CONDEMNED

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 1, 5 January 1907, Page 19

[COPYRIGHT STORY.] THE CONDEMNED

By

THEY carried cigarettes and Turkish coffee to a terrace above the glacis of the castle, and thither I followed the Governor when dinner was done. A radiant •unset followed upon a day of torrid heat anti burning winds. The distant “Adriatic had that shimmer of hazy light which is the aftermath of a summers day. as the sun of Dalmatia knows it. Even the dwellers upon the mountain side complained. I had been through Montenegro and was returning homo by Trieste -and the Adriatic sea. AH the world nowadays knows those -glorious-, waters,. and the countless islands are marked down tn every tourist’s vademecutn. Then it was very different. Austria had just entered upon her dominion of the States. There were brigands •abundant. You could ba. field to ftrnsorn -and- robbed almpst vn any island you cared to name. Trayel w adventure worthy the name. I remember that an Austrian officer at Metkoviteh cautioned’ me not ito venture among-the people of the. hills on uny pretence whatever. "They are all thieved" he said, "even the soldiers. Keep ’on the ship and you will be all right. Our folks cannot help you ashore. We.are still shooting, but the work is slow." The advice was wholesome, and I took it. Not until we touched at the port of Epalato did I leave the Austrian-Lloyd steamer at all. and then it was merely to carry a letter ot introduction to the Governor, given me by this timorous friend at Metkoviiea. Here, as elsewhere. I found the Austrian official the most delightful person in Europe. The Governor was up at the fortress in the liiHs. said the young captain in charge, and. if 1 eared to go as far, he would eend an escort with me. The invitation had a niee sound, and I determined to miss a steamer and take advantage of it. After all, there is something picturesque in being robbed by mountain brigand?—and -what a tale would it be for smoking rooms until the end of my days. Let me state at once that this pious hope of polite brigandage was not destined to-be fulfilled. I had an escort of iiaif-a-dozen splendidly mounted hussars, and they were as unlike brigands as any half-a-dozen hussar- could be. The road itself, winding up front the sea -amidst green mountains and sweet-smelling pines, 1 found, beyond words picturesque. Here fresh breezes tempered the pursuing heat and bade the traveller live again. The solitudes were ini-

MAX PEMBERTON,

Author of “ The Iron Pirate,” Etc.

mense, and of insurpassable majesty. Nor did the castle itself strike a discord in this gamut of pleasing harmonies. Such a castle it was as the second Mahomet might have built, or Caesar himself have overthrown; a veritable fortress of the hills; a granite keep, superb in its isolation and its dignity. As for the Governor, he received me with the characteristic hospitality of his race. Strangers were rare enough in that lonely mountain vastness that he would readily part with one. "I will show you the hills," he said, earnestly, .“we have fishing which cannot be bettered, and shooting as good. 1 can promise- you anything from a bear to an African snipe. The country is remarkable—so are the people, ait tie too remarkable sometimes. We are shooting one of them at dawn to-mor-row—a young trooper from Zara. . I don’t know whether you have ever seen a hran shot, but it you haven’t, this affair may interest you. I’ll tell "you Thestory after dinner—it’s characteristic"6f the place and ASf the temper 1 hive to deal with.” Al! this, mind you. from -a pleasantfaced old gentleman with white whiskers and bright, blue eyes, -and the aspect of a saint in the p’eture. Had he been speaking of the contemplated execution of a fowl, he could not nave referred to the subject less seriously. For myself I but dimly understood that a man was to be shot, and that I was invited to witness his execution. A truly British horror of such spectacles found some expression. I suppose, in my manner and bearing. I was profoundly interested and yet frankly a coward in the matter. The Governor perceived as much and turned the subject adroitly. "I must tell them to get a good hfirse for you.” lie said, “we will start out early to-morrow and see what we can kill. Or, if yon prefer to fish, I can arrange it. Perhaps you may play picquet? That would be great good nsws.” I told him that I did play piequet and so filled his heart with joy. Evidently he had determined to make a prisoner of’me and he. it appeared, was th- veritable social brigand against whom I had been warned. The lonely life he led up there in the hills undoubtedly account, d for his earnest desire that I should remain his guest for some weeks. It is true that he had a squadron of hussars in the citadel, but the officers were not much to his liking, aud I imaginist that the presence of a stranger who shot and —fished and played piequet was a god-, send—even if that stranger had display-

cd no overmastering joy when he heard that there was a man to be executed at dawn to-morrow. It was astonishing, upon my part, how this hint of a grim tragedy, so soon to l»c played within these monstrous walls, ran in my head and would not be disturbed. I could think of nothing els?. The very isolation of the scene, the majesty of the hill-lands, the stories I had heard of their romance and their danger accrntuated the sense of awe with which the Governor’s callous words had filled me. A man to die at dawn to-morrow! Had 1 been a son of the Adriatic such an intima'ion would have left me quite indifferent. Life is cheap in Dalmatia and what is it to any man that another must die? My very judgment of the old Governor may have lx-en harsh and misplaced. He was there to rule these provinces in the name of Austria and duty must be done. A moment's reflection, as I dressed for dinner, reminded nie that 1 knew but little of tlie condemned man s story and must wait to hear it before I could pronounc- an opinion. The young trooper might be nothing better than a common brigand of the hill side. The Governor alone could tell me. This confidence came when our dinner had b? n eaten and the coffee carried to the terrace above the glacis. It was at this moment: that we were joined by an old Italian priest, old enough, it appear<sl, to remember the days when Spalato belonged to Italy—and he, to my satisfaction, at- cnee raised the subject in which the Governor had interested me so profoundly. 1 gathered that he was but lately come from the condemned man’s cell and not only this, but that some question of the lad’s guilt or innocence yet remained unsolved. A rapid conversation b tween priest and Governor in the tricky Italian dialect of the coast left me little wiser than before; but when our cigars had been lighted and liqueurs served, my amiable host at once gratified my curiosity and spoke of the prisoner.

“It is a most serious case" he said—“here is a young soldier named Sandra accused of striking an officer in defence of a young woman to whom he was passionately attached. He is condemned by the court at Livno, not for striking the officer—about which there is some doubt —but for murdering the v ry girl who was the author of the trouble. This district. as you may know, is. for the time being, under what is practically martial law. There have been so many outrages, ■so much disorder everywhere that my Government is determined to establish its authority at any price and will do

so ns successfully in Dalmatia as w« have already done it in Herzegovina and the South. I am sorry for the lad and th.re is an clement of mystery in till case which I do not altogether !ik-w That, however, is not my business. Sandra must die at dawn. I could not panion him against the judgment of the Court unless tlie evidence in his favour were overwhelming. My own prerogative is really very limited.” He appealed to the old priest, who supported his view with animation. "The fact is. signor." Ae said, "we aro not —his excellency and I—we are not absolutely convinced that the girl is dead." I stared at them in amazement. "Not convinced that she is dead and yet you will shoot the man! Is that Dalmatian justice, excellency? ’ The priest- shrugged his shoulders. "There lied been a brawl at the inn aud the girl, Lucy, was picked up' insensible. 1 saw her myself that night and certainly she appeared to be dead.’ What follows then? We learn that thev carried the body to Strepitza to bury it. 1 send some hussars over to •Strepitza and they can learn nothing of the matter. We know tint th? innkeeper, Lucy’s father, did not wish her to marry Sandra. 1 confess my perplexity. His excellency cannot htp me. What would you do under such circumstances, signor?” "Suspend all judgment until tiie truth, is known. You aumot snoot a man for a murder he lias not committed, revet ence. That would be a crime against our common humanity." "There is no official crime in Dalmatia tint that of official backward ncss,” the Governor rejoined. I could see none the less that be was not com inc. d. t here were seeds of hesitation already taking root in a disposition which did not lack sympathy. "Gov ■rimients which rule savage countries cannot do so with a white rose in the button hole,” he ran on — "I must show them in Vienna that I mean to make the mountains safe. What would be said if I pardoned this man without further evidence? Would they not call me a faintheart who was also something of a c-oward. No, no, I must do my duty. It can be nothing to me officially whether th? girl ba alive or dead.”

He persist u d in this, amt yet I perceived plainly that his duty was sb horrent to him. We had argued the point a hundred times. I siqrpose. when lie proposed to me that I should see the prisoner, and jumping at his invitation. 1 followed him from the terrac*

iown the hundred -fairs by which the keep i« ap)>roaehvd —and so to the dun geon of the fortress. A heavy jowlevl Dalmatian trooper, carrying a monster aeimitar in the be-t spirit of mediaeval valour, showed us into a chamber cut out of the solid rock, but wonderfully cool and clean and there in a corner, fast a«*le. p upon a prisoner lied. 1 beheld the lad. Sandra, ami instantly de tertnincd that he was innocent. A kinder face I had never seen on a, yottlh. Italian in typ*, he had the pink and white skin of a mountaineer, the rye- of a son of Kagusa. the curly dark brown hair that one sees so often in Southern Italy. Of slight build, he appealed to possess an agile ami well-t-liape I figure, trailed to endurance on the mountain passes. .\or did his man n*r. when they awoke him. contradict this pleasant impression. I discovered that he spoke German ami instantly entered into conversation with him. “1 am a stranger ami would help you. Samira. I*lea-e tell me how to do so?” •’Mein Herr.” he said. with great revet r nee. “God alone can help me. I am lo he shot at dawn.” ! • I h y charge you with a grave crime — I <’».» m»t believe that you committed He looked up at me xvrth such an ex-pies-ioii of gratitude as one reads in tdie eyes of a dog. f “M. in Herr, if you have ever loved a w email. %on will know that 1 could not Jiavr committed the crime.” ‘ “But Luw is dead. Do they not say that ?" •• I hey say it. excellency. Would to God it were true, for then should I see her again when I die at dawn, mein Kerr.” “You do not believe that she is dead, b SMC” • How ran I deny it —her father has fund so?” “And the priest saw her? Well, they have taken her to Strepitza. Is that far from here, Sandra?” . “It is nine miles across the mountains.” “Ami hjrre you no friend in this place?” “Thev were all my (friends before

this- but who will be my friend now? It is not natural to think so, mein heir. It is not wluit we expect of men.” 1 turned the subject ami harped back again to the story of the girl about whom the trouble had come. A hundred questions, taxing the Governor's patience to the last point, hardly satisfied me. Already there was something in my head which 1 hardly dared to confess to anyone. The unhappy lad could enlighten me but little. I perceived that he had loved the girl so passionately that any thought of the measure of Jove she had given in return had never entero! his head. As to the young officer, whom he had struck, well, there was no doubt that he had made advances to Lucy. “We were never friends, mein herr” the lad said; “from the first day he came here he marked me down. 1 • have suffered a great deal at his hands. He was not in love with Lucy— I do not believe it; but he followed her to torture me. And she laughed at him always. She was not very strong, and rarely came down to the village. Last year she had a great illness but it would not help me to tell you about that. The Lieutenant Katka saw her but little. It was quite an accident that he met upon the night of my misfortune.” “Do you know where the lieutenant is now . Samira *” 4 He has a week's leave, they tell me, and has gone hunting in the hills.” ”l)id they name the place, Sandia?” ‘•They spoke of Duka, mein heir, it lies toward the sea, twenty-eight kilometres from this post.” 1 made a mental note of the fact ami observing that the worthy Governor’s patience hail been strained to the breaking point. I consented reluctantly to terminate the interview. It was now about ten o’clock ami I remembered that the sun would rise at four. The poor fellow, therefore, had but six hours to live unless some miracle of God’s providence intervened in his favour. For my part. I had but a wild dream of an idea how to help him and this seemed so grotesque in its assumptions that

some minutes passed before I dared even s|wak of it. “You are interested in Sandra, and you believe him to be innocent?” the Governor remarked. 1 rejoined that he had read my thoughts exactly. "1 believe him to be the victim of a superiors officer's malice—in which fortune lias aided that officer in a very remarkable way. Your excellency has said that you could only pardon him if evidence were forthcoming which placed his iunoeeut beyond doubt. Should you desire my assistance ” He interrupted me sharply. “Your assistance in what, mein herr?” •‘ln bringing the truth of this mysterious business to light.” "Do you believe that you can help me?” "Let us put my theories to the proof. No harm will be. done. You can imagine that I speak with some hesitation. At least you will be spared the danger of an act you will regret to the end of your days if these youth really be innocent.” I saw that I had impressed him but it would have h< n dangerous to assist. We had returned to the castle by this time, and there he called for wine and cigars. Never in my life, I think, did I sit down to a table with greater impatience. There were but five and a half hours left and the business was not so much as begun. "Come,'’ this cheery old gentleman exclaimed as he filled my glass, “you are making a great deal of fuss about a very little. What is Sandra to you — a stranger whom you have never seen before, and certainly will never see gain. Put the thought of him out of your head. You know nothing and are only guessing. Let us have a game of piequet.” I jumped at the idea and bade him call for the cards. “I will play your excellency upon one condition.” “Which is?” “That some of your hussars carry a message from here to Duka, and return

with the answer before dawn tomwrow.” "Impossible—they are all in bed. And it is twenty-eight kilometres.” "They will wake up if you call them. I know what splendid horsemen they are.” "An obstinate fellow, I perceive. „«6 us cut and see if it is to be so?? lie spread the cards upon the table, and I drew one with trembling fingers. Often have 1 asked myself if 1 did well thus to gamble for a fellow creature’s life that night. A hand of mercy, however, drew the card for me. 1 showed the three of hearts, ami the Governor could do no better than a nine of clubs'. "The men -ball go,” he said immediately—“where is your letter?” "It is there,” 1 said, “addressed, you will perceive, to the Lieutenant Katka.” A single shrug of those expressive shoulders was the only answer he vouchsafed to me. An orderly carried the letter from the room and we fell to our game of piequet. He had named stakes of some value and I played with the interest ami the concentration of a man who would forget. Sleep or lied were out of tlie question. There, in the vase hall, the monstrous wooden fingers of a clock, as old as the centuries, seemed to race onward to the day. Every card that 1 played marked in my fancy a stage onward in the journey the flying hussars were making. "Good God,” I said, “if it were all a dream'” I have played many a good game of piequet in my life, but rarely one with such a true-blue gambler as that merry old gentleman, the Governor. No sooner had we cut the pack than I made sure that he forgot the very existence of Sandra and eared not a straw whether one man or a hundred were to perish at daybreak. His joy when he had won was that of a little child who has discovered a wonder. His rage when he lost was that of a General cursing the troop which had betrayed him. Now roaring with laughter, now uttering wild eries of delight, raging at this card, grinding his teeth at that, I could see that play had been the passion of his life and had stranded him in this wild place—remote

from Vienna and the whole joy of living. And there 1 sat, seeming to play against the watehes of tiie night, a man who feared the dawn and the news it must bring. A game to rememb r — momentous and unparalleled. , It would have been, I suppose, about time o'clock in the morning when the Governor put his cards down. A doleful tolling of tile (a'tie bell brought him suddenly to remembrance--and holding a losing hand, he seized the opportunity and rose from the table. "I have mueh to do, mein heir,” he said more gravely—“you, no doubt, will wash to sleep. There is uo message from Duka, as you see. This poor fellow must die. There is no hope for him.” 1 said that it must lie so and went sullenly to my room. Not for a kingdom would I have been a witness of this ghastly tragedy. And yet, in a sense, I must lie the witness of it. Down yonder, beneath my window’, lay the courtyard in which Sandra was to suffer. Xly mind refused to shut out the picture of that manly face with all its pleasing suggestion of love and kindness and true nobility. Every instant of waking became a torture and yet, God knows. 1 could not sleep. The doleful bell echoed in my ears as though in mockery of my failure. What a faree that night ride to Duka had been! How the troopers must be laughing at the mad Englishman. "Fool,'* said tiie bell, "fool to eome here.” Tortured beyond belief, J lay on the bed and drew the clothes about my head. A desperate desire to bide myself from all remembrance of the place and the circumstances, warred against my curiosity and seemed to better it. Thus striving I shut my eyes, barred my ears to the wofnl sounds —in vain, I could bear the very clock ticking, and when a rifle was fired. I raised myself up ami cried, as though my own brother had fallen — '■Sandra is dead.” Now. I heal’d the rifle shot distinctly and upon it. at an interval of some ten seconds, another report ami then another; the sounds- coining Bearer with every discharge. Perplexed, as well I might have lieen, I still lay a little while, afraid to move from tiie bed when, who should hurst into the room but my amiable Governor himself in as wild a state of affronted surprise as ever 1 have seen a man. "Here’s a pretty business —” he began "Say it onee,’’ I cried—"the girl Lucy is alive but she is sleeping.” "Mein herr—you are evidently a wizard.” “No wizard at all, excellency. Did not Sandra speak of an illness ami of her long sleep which followed upon it. Directly I heard as much, I guessed the rest. The girl fell into a trance when her lover was arrested. The shock brought a return of her illness. She w ill go on sleeping until the lad, Sandra, awakens her. You had better address some civil words to that Lieutenant .of yours. He is evidently a rascal. Of course he and the old father have b-en keeping the girl out of the way the whole time. He deserves a flogging.” "More than that, mein herr—and I will see that he gets it. How can I thank you? What do I owe to yon?’ "You will pardon Sandra, of course?” I said. He reflected upon it an instant, his blue eyes shining with a merry twinkle that was unmistakable—“No," he said quietly—“l will banish him for a mouth to the pleasant island of Lissa—and. mein herr. I will banish the girl—that black eyed minx—l will banish her there too.”

We laughed upon it together and went down to visit the happy prisoner.