Jess

  CHAPTER XXIX

  CONDEMNED TO DEATH

  Half an hour passed in silence, which was broken only by the footstepsof the sentries as they tramped, or rather loitered, up and down, orby the occasional fall of some calcined masonry from the walls of theburnt-out house. What between the smell of smoke and dust, the heat ofthe sun on the tin roof above, and the red-hot embers of the house infront, the little room where Bessie was shut up grew almost unbearable,and she felt as though she should faint upon the sacks. Through one ofthe cracks in the waggon-house wall there blew a slight draught, and bythis crack Bessie placed herself, leaning her head against the wallso as to get the full benefit of the air and to command a view of theplace. Presently several of the Boers came into the waggon-house andpulled some of the carts and timber out of it, leaving one buck-waggon,however, placed along the wall on the side opposite to the crack throughwhich Bessie was looking. Then they pulled the Scotch cart over to herside, laughing about something among themselves as they did so, andarranged it with its back turned towards the waggon, supporting theshafts upon a waggon-jack. Next, out of the farther corner of the place,they extracted an old saw-bench, and set it at the top of the openspace. Then Bessie understood what they were doing: they were arranginga court, and the saw-bench was the judge's chair. So Frank Muller meantto carry out his threat!

  Shortly after this all the Boers, except those who were keeping guard,filed into the place and began to clamber on to the buck-waggon, seatingthemselves with much rough joking in a double row upon the broadside rails. Next appeared Hans Coetzee, his head bound up in a bloodyhandkerchief. He was pale and shaky, but Bessie could see that he wasbut little the worse for his wound. Then came Frank Muller himself,looking white and very terrible, and as he came the men stopped theirjokes and talking. Indeed it was curious to observe how strong was hisascendancy over them. As a rule, the weak part of Boer organisation isthat it is practically impossible to persuade one Boer to pay deferenceto or obey another; but this was certainly not the case where FrankMuller was concerned.

  Muller advanced without hesitation to the saw-bench at the top of theopen space, and sat down on it, placing his rifle between his knees.After this there was a pause, and then Bessie saw her old uncle ledforward by two armed Boers, who halted in the middle of the space, aboutthree paces from the saw-bench, and stood one on either side of theirprisoner. At the same time Hans Coetzee climbed into the Scotch cart,and Muller drew a note-book and a pencil from his pocket.

  "Silence!" he said. "We are assembled here to try the Englishman, SilasCroft, by court-martial. The charges against him are that by word anddeed, notably by continuing to fly the British flag after the countryhad been surrendered to the Republic, he has traitorously rebelledagainst the Government of this country. Further, that he has attemptedto murder a burgher of the Republic by shooting at him with a loadedrifle. If these charges are proved against him he will be liable todeath, by martial law. Prisoner Croft, what do you answer to the chargesagainst you?"

  The old man, who seemed very quiet and composed, looked up at his judge,and then replied:

  "I am an English subject. I only defended my house after you hadmurdered one of my servants. I deny your jurisdiction over me, and Irefuse to plead."

  Frank Muller made some notes in his pocket-book, and then said, "Ioverrule the prisoner's objection as to the jurisdiction of the court.As to the charges, we will now take evidence. Of the first charge noevidence is needed, for we all saw the flag flying. As to the second,Hans Coetzee, the assaulted burgher, will now give evidence. HansCoetzee, do you swear, in the name of God and the Republic, to speak thetruth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

  "Almighty, yes," answered Hans from the cart on which he had enthronedhimself, "so help me the dear Lord."

  "Proceed, then."

  "I was entering the house of the prisoner to arrest him, in obedienceto your worshipful commands, when the prisoner lifted a gun and firedat me. The bullet from the gun struck me upon the ear, cutting it andputting me to much pain and loss of blood. That is the evidence I haveto give."

  "That's right; that is not a lie," said some of the men on the waggon.

  "Prisoner, have you any question to ask the witness?" said Muller.

  "I have no question to ask; I deny your jurisdiction," said the old manwith spirit.

  "The prisoner declines to question the witness, and again pleads to thejurisdiction, a plea which I have overruled. Gentlemen, do you desire tohear any further evidence?"

  "No, no."

  "Do you find the prisoner guilty of the charges laid against him?"

  "Yes, yes," from the waggon.

  Muller made a further note in his book, and went on:

  "Then, the prisoner having been found guilty of high treason andattempted murder, the only matter that remains is the question ofthe punishment required to be meted out by the law to such wickedand horrible offences. Every man will give his verdict, having dulyconsidered if there is any way by which, in accordance with the holydictates of his conscience, and with the natural promptings to pityin his heart, he can extend mercy to the prisoner. As commandant andpresident of the court, the first vote lies with me; and I must tellyou, gentlemen, that I feel the responsibility a very heavy one inthe sight of God and my country; and I must also warn you not to beinfluenced or overruled by my decision, who am, like you, only a man,liable to err and be led away."

  "Hear, hear," said the voices on the waggon as he paused to note theeffect of his address.

  "Gentlemen and burghers of the State, my natural promptings in this caseare towards pity. The prisoner is an old man, who has lived many yearsamongst us like a brother. Indeed, he is a _voortrekker_, and, though anEnglishman, one of the fathers of the land. Can we condemn such a one toa bloody grave, more especially as he has a niece dependent on him?"

  "No, no!" they cried, in answer to this skilful touch upon the betterstrings in their nature.

  "Gentlemen, those sentiments do you honour. My own heart cried but now,'No, no. Whatever his sins have been, let the old man go free.' Butthen came reflection. True, the prisoner is old; but should not age havetaught him wisdom? Is that which is not to be forgiven to youth to beforgiven to the ripe experience of many years? May a man murder and be atraitor because he is old?"

  "No, certainly not!" answered the chorus on the waggon.

  "Then there is the second point. He was a _voortrekker_ and a father tothe land. Should he not therefore have known better than to betray itinto the hands of the cruel, godless English? For, gentlemen, thoughthat charge is not laid against him, we must remember, as throwing lightupon his general character, that the prisoner was one of those vile menwho betrayed the land to Shepstone. Is it not a most cruel and unnaturalthing that a father should sell his own children into slavery?--thata father of the land should barter away its freedom? Therefore on thispoint too does justice temper mercy."

  "That is so," echoed the chorus with particular enthusiasm, most of themhaving themselves been instrumental in bringing the annexation about.

  "Then one more thing: this man has a niece, and it is the care ofall good men to see that the young shall not be left destitute andfriendless, lest they should grow up bad and become enemies to thewell-being of the State. But in this case that will not be so, for thefarm will go to the girl by law; and, indeed, she will be well rid of sodesperate and godless an old man.

  "And now, having set my reasons towards one side and the other beforeyou, and having warned you fully to act each man according to hisconscience, I give my vote. It is"--and in the midst of the most intensesilence he paused and looked at old Silas, who never even quailed--"itis _death_."

  There was a little hum of conversation, and poor Bessie, surveying thescene through the crack in the store-room wall, groaned in bitternessand despair of heart.

  Then Hans Coetzee spoke. "It cut his bosom in two," he said, "to have tosay a word against one to whom he had for many years been as a brother.But, then, wha
t was he to do? The man had plotted evil against theirland, the dear land that the dear Lord had given them, and which theyand their fathers had on various occasions watered, and were stillcontinuing to water, with their blood. What could be a fittingpunishment for so black-hearted a traitor, and how would it be possibleto insure the better behaviour of other damned Englishmen, unless theyinflicted that punishment? There could, alas! be but one answer--though,personally speaking, he uttered it with many tears--and that answer was_death_."

  After this there were no more speeches, but each man voted, according tohis age, upon his name being called by the president. At first therewas a little hesitation, for some among them were fond of old Silas,and loth to destroy him. But Frank Muller had played his game very well,and, notwithstanding his appeals to their independence of judgment, theyknew full surely what would happen to him who gave his vote against thepresident. So they swallowed their better feelings with all the ease forwhich such swallowing is noted, and one by one uttered the fatal word.

  When they had all done Frank Muller addressed Silas:

  "Prisoner, you have heard the judgment against you. I need not nowrecapitulate your crimes. You have had a fair and open trial bycourt-martial, such as our law directs. Have you anything to say whysentence of death should not be passed upon you in accordance with thejudgment?"

  Old Silas looked up with flashing eyes, and shook back his fringe ofwhite hair like a lion at bay.

  "I have nothing to say. If you will do murder, do it, black-heartedvillain that you are! I might point to my grey hairs, to my murderedservant, to my home that took me ten years to build--destroyed by you!I might tell you how I have been a good citizen and lived peaceablyand neighbourly in the land for more than twenty years--ay, and donekindness after kindness to many of you who are going to butcher me incold blood! But I will not. Shoot me if you will, and may my death lieheavy on your heads. This morning I would have said that my countrywould avenge me; I cannot say that now, for England has deserted us, andI have no country. Therefore I leave the vengeance in the hands of God,who never fails to avenge, though sometimes He waits for long to doit. I am not afraid of you. Shoot me--now if you like. I have lost myhonour, my home, and my country; why should I not lose my life also?"

  Frank Muller fixed his cold eyes upon the old man's quivering face andsmiled a dreadful smile of triumph.

  "Prisoner, it is now my duty in the name of God and the Republic, tosentence you to be shot to-morrow at dawn, and may the Almighty forgiveyou your wickedness and have mercy upon your soul.

  "Let the prisoner be removed, and let a man ride full speed to the emptyhouse on the hillside, where the Englishman with the red beard used tolive, one hour this side of Wakkerstroom, and bring back with him theclergyman he will find waiting there, that the prisoner may be offeredhis ministrations. Also let two men be set to dig the prisoner's gravein the burial-place at the back of the house."

  The guards laid their hands upon the old man's shoulders, and he turnedand went with them without a word. Through her crack in the wall Bessiewatched him go till the dear old head with its fringe of white hairsand the bent frame were no more visible. Then at last, benumbed andexhausted by the horrors she was passing through, her faculties failedher, and she fell forward in a faint there upon the sacks.

  Meanwhile Muller was writing the death-warrant on a sheet of hispocket-book. At the foot he left a space for his own signature, but forreasons of his own he did not sign. What he did do was to pass the bookround to be countersigned by all who had formed the court in this mocktrial, his object being to implicate every one there present in thejudicial murder by the direct and incontrovertible evidence of hissign-manual. Now, Boers are simple pastoral folk, but they are not quiteso simple as to be deceived by a move like this, and hereon followed avery instructive little scene. To a man they had been willing enough togive their verdict for the execution of Silas, but they were by no meansprepared to record it in black and white. As soon as they understoodthe object of their feared and respected commandant, a general desiremanifested itself to make themselves individually and collectivelyscarce. Suddenly they found that they had business outside, to whicheach and all of them must attend. Already they had escaped from theirextemporised jury-box, and, headed by the redoubtable Hans, wereapproaching the entrance to the waggon-house, when Frank Mullerperceived their design, and roared in a voice of thunder:

  "Stop! Not a man leaves this place till the warrant is signed."

  Instantly they halted, and began to look innocent and converse.

  "Hans Coetzee, come here and sign," said Muller again, whereon thatunfortunate advanced with as good a grace as he could muster, murmuringto himself curses, not loud but deep, upon the head of "that devil of aman, Frank Muller."

  However, there was no help for it, so, with a sickly smile, he put hisname to the fatal document in big and shaky letters. Then Mullercalled another man, who instantly tried to shirk on the ground that hiseducation had been neglected, and that he could not write, an excusewhich availed him little, for Frank Muller quietly wrote his name forhim, leaving a space for his mark. After this there was no more trouble,and in five minutes the back of the warrant was covered with thesprawling signatures of the various members of the court.