|THROUGHOUT the night there was sporadic firing here and there in
the city, as the Ruey followers relentlessly hunted down the isolated
detachment of Government troops which had escaped annihilation and
capture in the final rout and fallen back on the city, where, concealing
themselves according to their nature and inclination, they indulged
in more or less sniping from windows and the roofs of buildings. The
practice of taking no prisoners was an old one in Sobrante, and few
presidents had done more than Sarros to keep that custom alive; ergo,
firm in the conviction that to surrender was tantamount to facing
a firing squad at daylight, the majority of these stragglers, with
consummate courage, fought to the death.
The capture of Buenaventura was alone sufficient to insure a brief
revolution, but the capture of Sarros was ample guarantee that the
resistance to the new order of things was already at an end. However,
Ricardo Ruey felt that the prompt execution of Sarros would be an added
guarantee of peace by effectually discouraging any opposition to the
rebel cause in the outlying districts, where a few isolated garrisons
still remained in ignorance of the momentous events being enacted in
the capital. For the time being, Ricardo was master of life and death in
Sobrante, and all of his advisers and supporters agreed with him that a
so-called trial of the ex-dictator would be a rather useless affair.
His life was forfeit a hundred times for murder and treason, and to be
ponderous over his elimination would savour of mockery. Accordingly,
at midnight, a priest entered the room in the arsenal where Sarros was
confined, and shrived him. Throughout the night the priest remained with
him, and when that early morning march to the cemetery commenced, he
walked beside Sarros, repeating the prayers for the dying.
Upon reaching the cemetery there was a slight wait until a carriage
drove up and discharged Ricardo Ruey and Mother Jenks. The sergeant in
command of the squad saluted and was briefly ordered to proceed with the
matter in hand; whereupon he turned to Sarros, who with the customary
_sang froid_ of his kind upon such occasions was calmly smoking, and
bowed deprecatingly. Sarros actually smiled upon him. “_Adios, amigos_”
he murmured. Then, as an afterthought and probably because he was
sufficient of an egoist to desire to appear a martyr, he added
heroically: “I die for my country. May God have mercy on my enemies.”
“If you'd cared to play a gentleman's game, you blighter, you might 'ave
lived for your bally country,” Mother Jenks reminded him in English.
“Wonder if the beggar 'll wilt or will 'e go through smilin' like my
sainted 'Enery on the syme spot.”
She need not have worried. It requires a strong man to be dictator of
a Roman-candle republic for fifteen years, and whatever his sins of
omission or commission, Sarros did not lack animal courage. Alone and
unattended he limped away among the graves to the wall on the other
side of the cemetery and placed his back against it, negligently in
the attitude of a devil-may-care fellow without a worry in life. The
sergeant waited respectfully until Sarros had finished his cigarette;
when he tossed it away and straightened to attention, the sergeant knew
he was ready to die. At his command there was a sudden rattle of bolts
as the cartridges slid from the magazines into the breeches; there
followed a momentary halt, another command; the squad was aiming when
Ricardo Ruey called sharply:
“Sergeant, do not give the order to fire.”
The rifles were lowered and the men gazed wonderingly at Ricardo. “He's
too brave,” Ricardo complained. “Damn him, I can't kill him as I would
a mad-dog. I've got to give him a chance.” The sergeant raised his brows
expressively. Ah, the _ley fuga_, that popular form of execution where
the prisoner is given a running chance, and the firing-squad practises
wing shooting If the prisoner manages, miraculously, to escape, he is
not pursued!
A doubt, however, crossed the sergeant's mind. “But, my general,” he
expostulated, “Senor Sarros cannot accept the _ley fuga_. He is very
lame. That is not giving him the chance your Excellency desires he
should have.”
“I wasn't thinking of that,” Ricardo replied. “I was thinking I'm
killing him without a fair trial for the reason that he's so infernally
ripe for the gallows that a trial would have been a joke. Nevertheless,
I am really killing him because he killed my father--and that is
scarcely fair. My father was a gentleman. Sergeant, is your pistol
loaded?”
“Yes, General.”
“Give it to Senor Sarros.”
As the sergeant started forward to comply Ricardo drew his own service
revolver and then motioned Mother Jenks and the firing-squad to stand
aside while he crossed to the centre of the cemetery. “Sarros,” he
called, “I am going to let God decide which one of us shall live. When
the sergeant gives the command to fire, I shall open fire on you, and
you are free to do the same to me. Sergeant, if he kills me and escapes
unhurt, my orders are to escort him to the bay in my carriage and put
him safely aboard the steamer.”
Mother Jenks sat down on a tombstone. “Gord's truth!” she gasped, “but
there's a rare plucked 'un.” Aloud she croaked: “Don't be a bally ass,
sir.”
“Silence!” he commanded.
The sergeant handed Sarros the revolver. “You heard what I said?”
Ricardo called.
Sarros bowed gravely.
“You understand your orders, Sergeant?”
“Yes, General.”
“Very well. Proceed. If this prisoner fires before you give the word,
have your squad riddle him.” The sergeant backed away and gazed owlishly
from the prisoner to his captor. “Ready!” he called. Both revolvers
came up. “Fire!” he shouted, and the two shots were discharged
simultaneously. Ricardo's cap flew off his head, but he remained
standing, while Sarros staggered back against the wall and there
recovering himself gamely, fired again. He scored a clean miss, and
Ricardo's gun barked three times; Sarros sprawled on his face, rose
to his knees, raised his pistol halfway, fired into the sky and slid
forward on his face. Ricardo stood beside the body until the sergeant
approached and stood to attention, his attitude saying:
“It is over. What next, General?”
“Take the squad back to the arsenal, Sergeant,” Ricardo ordered him
coolly, and walked back to recover his uniform cap. He was smiling as he
ran his finger through a gaping hole in the upper half of the crown.
“Well, Mrs. Jenks,” he announced when he rejoined the old lady, “that
was better than executing him with a firing-squad. I gave him a square
deal. Now his friends can never say that I murdered him.” He extended
his hand to help Mother Jenks to her feet. She stood erect and felt
again that queer swelling of the heart, the old feeling of suffocation.
“Steady, lass!” she mumbled. “'Old on to me, sir. It's my bally
haneurism. Gor'--I'm--chokin'----”
He caught her in his arms as she lurched toward him. Her face was
purple, and in her eyes there was a queer fierce light that went out
suddenly, leaving them dull and glazed. When she commenced to sag in his
arms, he eased her gently to the ground and laid her on her back in the
grass.
“The nipper's safe, 'Enery,” he heard her murmur. “I've raised 'er a
lydy, s'elp me--she's back where--you found 'er-- 'Enery----”
She quivered, and the light came creeping back into her eyes before it
faded forever. “Comin', 'Enery--darlin',” she whispered; and then the
soul of Mother Jenks, who had a code and lived up to it (which is more
than the majority of us do), had departed upon the ultimate journey.
Ricardo gazed down on the hard old mouth, softened now by a little
half-smile of mingled yearning and gladness: “What a wonderful soul you
had,” he murmured, and kissed her.
In the end she slept in the niche in the wall of the Catedral de la Vera
Cruz, beside her sainted 'Enery.