"Comrade, give me a drink of water."
The soldier placed the flask in his hands, and the bandit drank the
water given him by a man with whom he had but now exchanged gunshots. He
then asked that his hands might be tied crossed over his breast instead
of behind his back.
"I prefer," he said, "to lie down comfortably."
They granted him his request. Then, at a sign from the adjutant, they
set out, first bidding adieu to Mateo, who answered never a word, and
descended at a quick pace towards the plain.
Well-nigh ten minutes elapsed before Mateo opened his mouth. The child
looked uneasily first at his mother, then at his father, who leant on
his gun, looking at him with an expression of concentrated anger.
"Well, you have made a pretty beginning," said Mateo at last in a voice
calm, but terrifying, to those who knew the man.
"Father," the boy cried out, with tears in his eyes, just ready to fall
at his knees.
"Out of my sight!" shouted Mateo.
The child stopped motionless a few steps off his father, and began to
sob.
Giuseppa came near him. She had just seen the end of the watch-chain
hanging from out his shirt.
"Who gave you that watch?" she asked severely.
"My cousin the adjutant."
Falcone seized the watch, and threw it against a stone with such force
that it broke into a thousand pieces.
"Woman," he said, "is this my child?"
Giuseppa's brown cheeks flamed brick-red.
"What are you saying, Mateo? Do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"Yes, very well. This child is the first traitor of his race."
Fortunato's sobs and hiccoughs redoubled, and Falcone kept his lynx eyes
steadily fixed on him. At length he struck the ground with the butt end
of his gun; then he flung it across his shoulder, retook the way to the
_mâquis_, and ordered Fortunato to follow him. The child obeyed.
Giuseppa ran after Mateo, and seized him by the arm.
"He is your son," she said in a trembling voice, fixing her black eyes
on those of her husband, as though to read all that was passing in his
mind.
"Leave go," replied Mateo; "I am his father."
Giuseppa kissed her son, and went back crying into the hut. She threw
herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin, and prayed
fervently. When Falcone had walked about two hundred yards along the
path he stopped at a little ravine and went down into it. He sounded the
ground with the butt end of his gun, and found it soft and easy to dig.
The spot seemed suitable to his purpose.
"Fortunato, go near to that large rock."
The boy did as he was told, then knelt down.
"Father, father, do not kill me!"
"Say your prayers!" repeated Mateo in a terrible voice.
The child repeated the Lord's Prayer and the Creed, stammering and
sobbing. The father said "Amen!" in a firm voice at the close of each
prayer.
"Are those all the prayers you know?"
"I know also the Ave Maria and Litany, that my aunt taught me, father."
"It is long, but never mind."
The child finished the Litany in a faint voice.
"Have you finished?"
"Oh, father, forgive me! forgive me! I will never do it again. I will
beg my cousin the corporal with all my might to pardon Gianetto!"
He went on imploring. Mateo loaded his rifle and took aim.
"May God forgive you!" he said.
The boy made a frantic effort to get up and clasp his father's knees,
but he had no time. Mateo fired, and Fortunato fell stone dead.
Without throwing a single glance at the body, Mateo went back to his
house to fetch a spade with which to bury his son. He had only returned
a little way along the path when he met Giuseppa, who had run out
alarmed by the sound of firing.
"What have you done?" she cried.
"Justice!"
"Where is he?"
"In the ravine; I am going to bury him. He died a Christian. I shall
have a mass sung for him. Let someone tell my son-in-law Tiodoro Bianchi
to come and live with us."
1829.
[1] Corporals were formerly the chief officers of the Corsican communes
after they had rebelled against the feudal lords. To-day the name is
still given sometimes to a man who, by his property, his connections and
his clients, exercises influence, and a kind of effective magistracy
over a _pieve_ or canton. By an ancient custom Corsicans divide
themselves into five castes: _gentlemen_ (of whom some are of higher,
_magnifiques_, some of lower, _signori_, estate), corporals, citizens,
plebeians and foreigners.
[2] _Voltigeurs_: a body raised of late years by the Government, which
acts in conjunction with the gendarmes in the maintenance of order.
[3] The uniform of the _voltigeurs_ was brown with a yellow collar.
[4] A leather belt which served the joint purposes of a cartridge-box
and pocket for despatches and orders.
[5] The ordinary greeting of Corsicans.