Chapter II

Weeks passed.

Kli-r-r! Kli-rr-rr— This time the chains were clanging through the village of A——. Between rows of glittering bayonets appeared from time to time, a white face. The prisoners were being led to the place of execution. Even in daylight this clanging of chains was terrifying. Doors were quickly shut, windows closed. This sound was the terror of the land. It filled the streets, and made the hearts of the brave tremble. A crowd had accumulated about the square. There were judges, lawyers, court accountants. The superintendent was there too, and his helper.

“I did not do it. I am not to be blamed,” the superintendent kept whispering to himself. The judge turned to the prisoner.

“You are A—— from the village of A——?”

“No; I am not from A——.”

“K—— is your friend?”

“I do not know him.”

“Did you kill G——?”

“Yes; he was my enemy.”

“You procured weapons and took them to S——?”

“No; I did not procure the weapons.”

The helper of the superintendent, who until then had listened indifferently, went up to the judge and whispered to him. Then, upon a signal from the judge he walked up to the prisoner and stood directly in front of him, and quite near.

The place of execution became silent. Every one expected something unusual and all eyes were turned toward the two men who stood face to face. It was not two faces that confronted each other, but four eyes ... four flames. The spectators shivered as if from fear. Something was going to happen, something out of the ordinary. Still they stared at each other, eye against eye. Their eyes did not wink. Their lips did not move. Their eyebrows did not twitch. No sound escaped their lips. No word was spoken. They only looked and looked, and one was in chains, but inspirited with righteous wrath. The other wore the uniform of a Turkish official, and yet he trembled and seemed afraid.

The prisoner stepped back. The chains rattled. He turned away with a gesture of scorn that made the other feel shivers pass down his spine, and he stuttered.

“I—I—know you. You are A——”

“Yes,” replied the other. “You were my friend.”

Friend! What a word to use here! The word took on form and towered like a giant in front of the helper. He saw himself in all his baseness. He was in terror at his own likeness. Ah!—how much blood he had shed for these shining buttons on his uniform. Involuntarily he touched one of the buttons. It was cold like ice. He drew his hand back quickly. How many years had he feigned to be a friend to this hero who fought for freedom, and how many just like him he had tricked and brought to ruin. He touched his sword, then drew his hand back, and glanced at the heavy chains of his old friend and former companion in the strife for liberty. Which was better, the sword of the Turkish official or those rusty chains of the martyr for freedom? This question which he thought he had decided long ago, came up again.

It is night—a gloomy night. A restless wind roamed under the black sky. The helper started for the prison. The superintendent had called him. His walk did not have its usual animation. The darkness was not pleasant, nor the wind either. He kept thinking of things he did not wish to think of. How hard he had tried to hide himself that morning when A—— climbed to the gallows. He did not succeed. The prisoner seemed to search for him. He found him. He looked at him again just as he had looked at him on the place of execution. Before he died he wished to burn that look of scorn and contempt into his brain. There—before him in the dark—were two burning points—eyes. He could not go on. He stopped. They were the eyes of his friend. They were just like them—just so large. Should he go on? He meditated a moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the two eyes were still looking at him again—only they were larger and there was a different expression within them. He started to run. The eyes disappeared. It was a cat which leaped ahead of him. He laughed at his fear, but he walked faster than usual.

At length he reached the prison yard. He looked timidly toward the place of execution of the morning. He thought the man was buried and all was over. But he saw the body gleaming through the darkness. And when the wind touched it, the gallows moaned and moaned. And the wind carried the sound on and on. The helper ran without looking up, but as he neared the gallows his steps were heavier and heavier. The old shuddering swept over his body. At last, trembling, he entered the room of the overseer. It was light there. At least there was a human being there. The superintendent did not look up; he was thoughtful and both were silent.

“Now you can sleep,” remarked the helper in order to break the oppressive silence. “Now the chains do not rattle.”

“Hark! Don’t you hear that?” Outside, above the sound of the wind, came plainly the creaking of the gallows. It was a sad, monotonous sound, a gigantic slumber song over the body of the heroic dead.

“Why is he not buried?”

“That is what I have called you for. To-morrow morning you are to take him down and bury him—because you were his friend.”

The helper was silent. What an ironic play of wit was this. Anyway he will not make any noise, thought the helper.

The superintendent dropped his head; his eyes were in the shadow. Slowly the helper got upon his feet, took up the lamp and held it in front of the trembling face of the overseer. The overseer threw back his head in anger, grabbed the lamp from the hand of the helper, threw it upon the floor and smashed it into pieces.

“You cowardly betrayer—he was your friend!”

The room was in darkness. In every corner shone a dozen gleaming eyes that kept growing larger and larger. It was frightful; he wished to get away. But he could not find the door. He circled vainly around and around. At last he stumbled upon it. Carefully he opened it and stuck his head out. It was no less terrifying outside; blackness and wind, and the creaking gallows. Ah!—what a sound was that! It penetrated the marrow of his bones and made him suffer. Up there the dead man was shaking in the wind. Where should he go? He made up his mind to run as fast as he could, but he had only taken a few steps when something forced him to look up. There in front of him, in the darkness, were two gleaming, swollen eyes, streaked with blood. His knees gave way. Trembling he turned back toward the door of the overseer.

“Cowardly betrayer!” murmured the overseer again. The helper turned and ran again. But this time the wind blocked his way and he found himself beneath the gallows. This time the dead man did not seem to be angry. The eyes looked down at him sympathetically and the lips said: “Friend, Friend.”

He twisted and crawled along like a snake. Then with feverish haste he put up the ladder, climbed it, and untied the rope. The corpse fell. Quickly he twisted the same noose about his own neck and swung himself up into the air. With the angry voice of the wind there mingled the peculiar choking sound of a human voice—and then the sound came no more. The two dead men looked at each other, one upon the ground, and the other swinging high in the darkness and the wind.