The Mad King [69]
"I know him well by sight. He entered my room last night and stole the military passes from my coat--we all saw him and pursued him, but he got away in the dark. There can be no doubt but that he is the Serbian spy."
"He insists that he is Bernard Custer, an American," urged the general, who, it seemed to Barney, was anxious to make no mistake, and to give the prisoner every reasonable chance --a state of mind that rather surprised him in a European military chieftain, all of whom appeared to share the popu- lar obsession regarding the prevalence of spies.
"Pardon me, general," interrupted Maenck. "I am well acquainted with Mr. Custer, who spent some time in Lutha a couple of years ago. This man is not he."
"That is sufficient, gentlemen, I thank you," said the gen- eral. He did not again look at the prisoner, but turned to a lieutenant who stood near-by. "You may remove the pris- oner," he directed. "He will be destroyed with the others-- here is the order," and he handed the subaltern a printed form upon which many names were filled in and at the bot- tom of which the general had just signed his own. It had evidently been waiting the outcome of the examination of Stefan Drontoff.
Surrounded by soldiers, Barney Custer walked from the presence of the military court. It was to him as though he moved in a strange world of dreams. He saw the look of satisfaction upon the face of Peter of Blentz as he passed him, and the open sneer of Maenck. As yet he did not fully realize what it all meant--that he was marching to his death! For the last time he was looking upon the faces of his fellow men; for the last time he had seen the sun rise, never again to see it set.
He was to be "destroyed." He had heard that expression used many times in connection with useless horses, or vicious dogs. Mechanically he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it. There was no bravado in the act. On the contrary it was done almost unconsciously. The soldiers marched him through the streets of Burgova. The men were entirely im- passive--even so early in the war they had become accus- tomed to this grim duty. The young officer who commanded them was more nervous than the prisoner--it was his first detail with a firing squad. He looked wonderingly at Bar- ney, expecting momentarily to see the man collapse, or at least show some sign of terror at his close impending fate; but the American walked silently toward his death, puffing leisurely at his cigarette.
At last, after what seemed a long time, his guard turned in at a large gateway in a brick wall surrounding a factory. As they entered Barney saw twenty or thirty men in civilian dress, guarded by a dozen infantrymen. They were stand- ing before the wall of a low brick building. Barney noticed that there were no windows in the wall. It suddenly oc- curred to him that there was something peculiarly grim and sinister in the appearance of the dead, blank surface of weather-stained brick. For the first time since he had faced the military court he awakened to a full realization of what it all meant to him--he was going to be lined up against that ominous brick wall with these other men-- they were going to shoot them.
A momentary madness seized him. He looked about upon the other prisoners and guards. A sudden break for liberty might give him temporary respite. He could seize a rifle from the nearest soldier, and at least have the satisfaction of selling his life dearly. As he looked he saw more soldiers entering the factory yard.
A sudden apathy overwhelmed him. What was the use? He could not escape. Why should he wish to kill these soldiers? It was not they who were responsible for his plight --they were but obeying orders. The close presence of death made life seem very desirable. These men, too, desired life. Why should he take it from them uselessly. At best he might kill one or two, but in the end he would be killed as surely as though he took his place before the brick wall with the others.
He noticed now that these others evinced no
"He insists that he is Bernard Custer, an American," urged the general, who, it seemed to Barney, was anxious to make no mistake, and to give the prisoner every reasonable chance --a state of mind that rather surprised him in a European military chieftain, all of whom appeared to share the popu- lar obsession regarding the prevalence of spies.
"Pardon me, general," interrupted Maenck. "I am well acquainted with Mr. Custer, who spent some time in Lutha a couple of years ago. This man is not he."
"That is sufficient, gentlemen, I thank you," said the gen- eral. He did not again look at the prisoner, but turned to a lieutenant who stood near-by. "You may remove the pris- oner," he directed. "He will be destroyed with the others-- here is the order," and he handed the subaltern a printed form upon which many names were filled in and at the bot- tom of which the general had just signed his own. It had evidently been waiting the outcome of the examination of Stefan Drontoff.
Surrounded by soldiers, Barney Custer walked from the presence of the military court. It was to him as though he moved in a strange world of dreams. He saw the look of satisfaction upon the face of Peter of Blentz as he passed him, and the open sneer of Maenck. As yet he did not fully realize what it all meant--that he was marching to his death! For the last time he was looking upon the faces of his fellow men; for the last time he had seen the sun rise, never again to see it set.
He was to be "destroyed." He had heard that expression used many times in connection with useless horses, or vicious dogs. Mechanically he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it. There was no bravado in the act. On the contrary it was done almost unconsciously. The soldiers marched him through the streets of Burgova. The men were entirely im- passive--even so early in the war they had become accus- tomed to this grim duty. The young officer who commanded them was more nervous than the prisoner--it was his first detail with a firing squad. He looked wonderingly at Bar- ney, expecting momentarily to see the man collapse, or at least show some sign of terror at his close impending fate; but the American walked silently toward his death, puffing leisurely at his cigarette.
At last, after what seemed a long time, his guard turned in at a large gateway in a brick wall surrounding a factory. As they entered Barney saw twenty or thirty men in civilian dress, guarded by a dozen infantrymen. They were stand- ing before the wall of a low brick building. Barney noticed that there were no windows in the wall. It suddenly oc- curred to him that there was something peculiarly grim and sinister in the appearance of the dead, blank surface of weather-stained brick. For the first time since he had faced the military court he awakened to a full realization of what it all meant to him--he was going to be lined up against that ominous brick wall with these other men-- they were going to shoot them.
A momentary madness seized him. He looked about upon the other prisoners and guards. A sudden break for liberty might give him temporary respite. He could seize a rifle from the nearest soldier, and at least have the satisfaction of selling his life dearly. As he looked he saw more soldiers entering the factory yard.
A sudden apathy overwhelmed him. What was the use? He could not escape. Why should he wish to kill these soldiers? It was not they who were responsible for his plight --they were but obeying orders. The close presence of death made life seem very desirable. These men, too, desired life. Why should he take it from them uselessly. At best he might kill one or two, but in the end he would be killed as surely as though he took his place before the brick wall with the others.
He noticed now that these others evinced no