The evidence against Waterman was so clear, so overwhelming, that there
was not the slightest doubt about the verdict which would be passed
upon him. He had been caught practically red-handed in his deed of
treachery; but this was not all. Tom Pollard's action had led to a
number of other facts coming to light. He had by many cunning devices
been in communication with the enemy; he had constantly made known the
plans which he had learnt at the Divisional Headquarters, and had thus
prepared the Germans for many of the attacks which we had made.
Tom could not help being impressed by the fact that even although
Waterman's guilt was as clear as daylight, it was the evident desire of
those who tried him to act fairly, and even generously, towards him.
Everything that could be said in his favour was carefully listened to,
and noted; and on the faces of more than one present was a look of
concern almost amounting to pain. This, however, did not hide the
truth that every man regarded him with horror, almost amounting to
loathing. They respected an enemy who fought openly and fairly, but
for a man who was a staff officer in the British Army and who
consequently learnt many of the plans of that Army; for a man who had
taken the oath to be faithful to his King and Country, and yet to act
as he had acted, was ignominy too vile for expression.
But Waterman seemed to have no shame, no sense of guilt; he uttered no
word of regret, but stood erect and almost motionless. His face was
hard and set, in his eyes was a steely glitter; it seemed as though he
defied his judges to do their worst, and to mock at their evident
disgust.
Tom gave his evidence clearly, and without any waste of words.
"You knew him before you went into the Army, then?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom.
"Tell us where."
Whereupon Tom told of Waterman's association with him in Brunford, and
of the conversations he had had with the prisoner.
"I didn't quite understand at the time," said Tom, "why he seemed so
sure of the Germans getting the best of it. He seemed to be glad when
he told me of the tremendous strength of the German army, and the
preparations they had made. He said he had been to Germany to school,
and had lived there a long time; that was how he came to know so much
about it. I could never quite make it out how an Englishman who loved
his country could be so sure that the Germans would win. Besides, he
didn't talk about it as though it would be a calamity, but something he
would be proud of; but I don't know that I thought much of it at the
time, especially when he told me he was going to receive a commission
in our Army; but later on, when I found out the Germans knew what we
were going to do, I wondered how they'd found out, and that led me to
put one thing to another."
This was not strict evidence, and the officers knew it, but they
allowed Tom to tell his story his own way.
"That was why I determined to watch him," went on Tom, "and--well, sir,
that was how things turned out as they did."
When Tom's evidence came to an end he was told to retire. The lad was
sorely grieved at this, because he would have liked to remain to the
end; but after all, he was only a private, and he was there simply to
give his evidence.
"Shooting's too good for him," thought Tom as he left the room. "What
a look he did give me! If a look could murder a man I should not be
alive now!"
"Now then," said the President to Waterman, when Tom had gone, "what
have you got to say for yourself?"
"Nothing," replied Waterman. He was no longer respectful or polite.
His every word suggested insolence.
"You admit, then, that you are guilty of the charges that have been
brought against you?"
Waterman shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
"You admit that you, an officer in the British Army, have given away
your country's secrets and become an ally to the enemy?"
Waterman laughed. "I have simply tried to serve my own country," was
his reply, "the country which will soon conquer yours."
Every eye was fixed upon him; the man's brazen confession almost
staggered them.
"Then you are a German!"
"Yes," replied Waterman proudly.
The President looked at him keenly, and then turned towards some papers.
"I see that you claim English birth, that you were educated at an
English public school, and that you went into an English house of
business."
"That doesn't make me cease to be a German," replied Waterman.
"I find, too, that you boasted of being an Englishman."
"That helped me to do my work," was the jeering answer.
For some seconds there was a deathly silence save for the rustle of the
papers which the President read. Each man who sat in the room listened
almost breathlessly; each was so intensely interested that no one broke
the silence.
"My father and my mother are German," went on Waterman; "when they
lived in Germany they spelt their name German fashion, and there were
two n's, not one, at the end of my name; but when they were in England
they thought it would serve them best to spell it English fashion. But
they never ceased being Germans. When I was a boy I was taught to love
my country above all things; that was my religion, and I was always
faithful to it. When I went to your British school I was always a
German at heart; the other boys used to say that I was not a sportsman,
and that I could not play the game."
"Evidently they spoke the truth."
Waterman shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
"Then you mean to say that you, born in England, educated in England,
and receiving all the benefits of our country, were all the time a
German at heart, and sought to act in Germany's interests."
"Certainly."
"And you didn't feel that you were acting meanly, ungratefully?"
"I thought only of my own country," was the reply. "I knew that this
war was coming, knew too that I could best serve my country by
professing to be an Englishman, and by entering the British Army. I
proved myself in the right too," he added significantly.
"But didn't you realise that such conduct as yours must inevitably end
in disgrace and death?"
"Disgrace?" cried the other. "No, it is glory. As for death, what
does that matter? My death is of no importance; the victory of my
country is everything."
"Then you have no sense of shame for what you have done?"
"Shame?" laughed Waterman--"shame in feeling that I have served the
Fatherland!"
"What do you think about your action, then?"
"I think what fools you all were and are," and Waterman laughed
insolently. "I and others have laughed when you have played into our
hands. Why," and here there was a touch of passion in his voice, "your
country is simply riddled with friends of Germany. Do you think that
because a German becomes naturalised he ceases to be a German? Do you
think that, although he protests his loyalty to England, and his desire
to help England, that he is the less a German at heart? Do you think
that a German, whether naturalised or not, stops at anything in order
to serve his country? You have hundreds of Germans in your army
to-day, while your public offices are full of men, and women too for
that matter, of German parentage and with German sympathies. Yes, you
may kill me," and he threw back his shoulders proudly, "but that will
not stop us from conquering your country and being your masters."
For a moment he almost seemed to dominate the room. He stood erect,
haughty, scornful; it might seem as though he were the accuser and not
the accused.
"Of course you know the consequence of your deed?" said the President
presently.
Waterman shrugged his shoulders. "I have counted the cost, and am
willing to pay the price," was his reply.
When he was led away there was a silence in the room for some seconds.
Whatever else he had done he had given his judges to see that he was a
brave man; that to him the victory of his country was more than life;
that for what he had called the Fatherland he had trampled under his
feet all ordinary conventions, all accepted rules of honour and truth.
Germany was first, everything else came afterwards.
The Englishman always admires courage, no matter in what form it may
appear, and there could be no doubt that Waterman was courageous.
"It is no wonder," said the General, as if speaking to himself, "that
they are such terrible enemies." No man spoke, but each knew what was
in the other's mind.
Of course, there was no doubt about the verdict; Waterman had been
guilty of the worst possible crime, and but for the quick wit and
prompt action of the Lancashire lad he would doubtless have continued
to help the enemy. The paper which Waterman had thrown towards the
German lines contained the details of the next plan of attack; details
which, known to the Germans, would have nullified the British action,
and possibly have led to disaster.
"That young Pollard is a plucky young beggar," remarked the President
presently, "he is a lad of brains, too, and has behaved splendidly. Of
course what he has done must not be lost sight of."
There was a general assent to this.
He ought to be recommended for his D.C.M. was the general verdict.
Early next morning Waterman was led out to a wall not far from the room
where he had been judged. He walked steadily and proudly towards the
place of his execution, and then stood erect like a soldier at
attention. He faced his dread ordeal with a look of pride on his face.
"Fire!"
Several shots rang out, and he fell heavily to the ground.
"Yon' chap'll never do any more spying," said one soldier to another a
little later.
"If I had my way," said the other, "he should not have had such a death
as that. When I think of the dirty meanness of these German swine;
when I think of spies like that; when I think of poisonous gas, and of
all their treachery, I feel as though nothing's too bad for them
Germans. At first, when the war commenced I had nowt but kindly
feelings towards the soldiers, as soldiers; but now----"