He had repeated it himself striking his heels against the door in hopes
of effecting a diversion or delay.
He kept repeating it, with other speeches, till his voice became drowned
in the detonation of that death-dealing volley.
And once again he gave utterance to it after the echoes had ceased, and
the courtyard became quiet. It was heard by the members of the
court-martial outside.
"You've got a madman there!" said the presiding officer. "Who bit,
Virocq?"
"One of the same," answered the sous-lieutenant of Zouaves. "A fellow
as full of sedition as the one just disposed of."
"Do you know his name?"
"No, Colonel. He's a stranger--a foreigner."
"Of what country?"
"Anglais--Americain. He's been brought in from the Boulevards. My men
took him up, and by my orders."
"For what?"
"Interfering with their duty. That isn't all. I chanced to see him
last night in the Cafe de Mille Colonnes. He was there speaking against
the government, and expressing pity for poor France."
"Indeed!"
"I should have answered him upon the spot, mon Colonel, but some of ours
interfered to shield him, on the excuse of his being a stranger."
"That's no reason why he should be suffered to talk sedition here."
"I know it, Colonel."
"Are you ready to swear he has done so?"
"I am ready. A score of people were present. You hear how he talks
now?"
"True--true!" answered the President of the court. "Bring him before
us! His being a stranger shan't shield him. It's not a time to be nice
about nationalities. English or American, such a tongue must be made
silent. Comrades!" continued he in a low tone to the other members,
"this fellow has been witness to--you understand? He must be tried; and
if Virocq's charges are sufficient, should be _silenced_. You
understand?"
A grim assent was given by the others, who knew they were but mocking
justice. For that they had been specially selected--above all, their
president, who was the notorious Colonel Gardotte.
Inside his cell Maynard could hear but little of what was said. The
turbulence was still continued in the streets outside--the fusillade,
and the firing of cannon. Other prisoners were being brought into the
courtyard, that echoed the tread of troops and the clanking of steel
scabbards. There was noise everywhere.
Withal, a word or two coming through the keyhole sounded ominous in his
ears. He had seen the ruffian Virocq, and knew that beside such a man
there must be danger.
Still he had no dread of being submitted to any very severe punishment--
much less a trial for his life. He supposed he would be kept in prison
till the _emeute_ had passed over, and then examined for an act he was
prepared to justify, and for which military men could not otherwise than
acquit him. He was only chafing at the outrage he had endured, and the
detention he was enduring. He little knew the nature of that _emeute_,
nor its design.
In his experience of honest soldiery, he was incapable of comprehending
the character of the Franco-Algerine brigands into whose hands he had
fallen.
He had been startled by the assassination--for he could call it by no
other name--of his fellow-prisoner. Still the latter had stood in a
certain relationship to the men who had murdered him that could not
apply to himself. Moreover, he was a stranger, and not answerable to
them for his political leanings. He should appeal to his own country's
flag for protection.
It did not occur to him that, in the midst of a revolution, and among
such reckless executioners, no flag might be regarded.
He had but little time to reflect thus. While he was yet burning with
indignation at the atrocious tragedy just enacted, the door of his cell
was once more flung open, and he was dragged out into the presence of
the court.
"Your name?" haughtily demanded the President Maynard made answer by
giving it. "Of what country?"
"An Irishman--a British subject, if you prefer it."
"It matters not, monsieur! All are alike here; more especially in times
like these. We can make no distinction among those who sow sedition.
What is your accusation, Lieutenant Virocq?" With a tissue of
falsehoods, such as might have brought blushes to the cheek of a harlot,
the Zouave officer told his story.
Maynard was almost amazed with its lying ingenuity. He disdained to
contradict it.
"What's the use, messieurs?" he said, addressing himself to the court.
"I do not acknowledge your right to try me--least of all by a drum-head
court-martial. I call upon you to suspend these proceedings. I appeal
to the Embassy of my country!"
"We have no time for application to Embassies, monsieur. You may
acknowledge our right or not--just as it pleases you. We hold and
intend exercising it. And notably on your noble self."
The ruffian was even satirical.
"Gentlemen," he continued, addressing himself to the other members,
"you've heard the charge and the defence. Is the accused guilty, or
not?"
The vote was taken, beginning with a scurvy-looking sous-lieutenant, the
junior of the court. This creature, knowing what was expected of him,
pronounced:
"_Coupable_!"
The terrible word went round the drum, without a dissentient voice, and
was quick followed by the still more terrible phrase, pronounced by the
President:
"_Condamne a mort_!"
Maynard started, as if a shot had been fired at him. Once more did he
mutter to himself:
"Am I dreaming?"
But no, the bleeding corpse of his late fellow-prisoner, seen in a
corner of the yard, was too real. So, too, the serious, scowling faces
before him, with the platoon of uniformed executioners standing a little
apart, and making ready to carry out the murderous decree!
Everything around told him it was no dream--no jest, but a dread
appalling reality!
No wonder it appalled him. No wonder that in this hour of peril he
should recall those words late heard, "I'll come to you! I will come!"
No wonder his glance turned anxiously towards the entrance door.
But she who had spoken them came not. Even if she had, what could she
have done? A young girl, an innocent child, what would her intercession
avail with those merciless men who had made up their minds to his
execution?
She could not know where they had taken him. In the crowded, turbulent
street, or while descending to it, she must have lost sight of him, and
her inquiries would be answered too late!
He had no hopes of her coming there. None of ever again seeing her, on
this side the grave!
The thought was agony itself. It caused him to turn like a tiger upon
judge and accuser, and give tongue to the wrath swelling within his
bosom.
His speeches were met only with jeers and laughter.
And soon they were unheeded. Fresh prisoners were being brought in--
fresh victims like himself, to be condemned over the drum!
The court no longer claimed his attendance.
He was left to Virocq and his uniformed executioners.
Two of these laying hold, forced him up against the wall, close to the
corpse of the Red Republican.
He was manacled, and could make no resistance. None would have availed
him.