The Serbs Chose War, Ruth Mitchel 40. THE VERDICT IS GUILTY MY COURT-MARTIAL was conducted during parts of four widely separated days. On the second day Seidl changed his tactics. He had before him my dossier, a huge pile almost a foot high, my dagger lying on top. Beside it lay a book about the size of a dictionary closely printed with names and addresses. It was open at "M," and, upside down, I could see my name and that of a good friend on the Black List of Germany: her enemies who were to be exterminated. It heartened me to know that I was in such goodly company. When I asked again for the American consul, he simply barked: "Unerhort! [Unheard of 1]" "Chetnik," he said slowly, with an indescribable narrow-eyed leer of triumph, "Chetnik, eh?" "Chetniks?" I asked with puzzled surprise. "Yes, they are quite interesting." He evidently expected I would deny all knowledge of them. On the contrary I launched into an elaborate description of the Chetniks and their methods. "I should think," I said seriously, "that you might be quite interested in them as fighters. They are unique, but entirely outmoded, of course, and useless nowadays in scientific warfare. But you might learn something from their experience on this Balkan terrain: you are always so ready to learn!" The irony quite passed him by. But with indulgent condescension he explained how impossible it would be for these primitive cave men" to damage the great German war machine. ("Three weeks, thought, "three weeks more, you woodenheaded braggart, and you are likely really to learn something.") It was now easy to unpack my old tale of "the book," and it seem to go down plausibly. But he had the photo of me in uniform c with badge. So I told him a touching tale of "that poor old dotard," Pechanats; of how I had flattered him in order to persuade him relate to me his dramatic life story; of how, after wine, he had taken the badge from his own cap and pressed it into my hand, saying: "Here, take this memento of me. If ever you are traveling in Yugoslavia just show this badge and you can pass anywhere." When I had "fled" from Belgrade during the bombardment I had happened to see the badge lying there and, remembering his words, had thought might be useful in getting through the crowds of refugees. The c itself, of course, was only my riding cap, "Why, everybody wears the here in the winter!" As for my jacket, that, as he must know, was "just a warm Shumadiya peasant coat I had collected in my study national costumes." Well, it seemed to work. I was a "lady," he said, and could not have been seriously connected with such "riffraff." He started to dictate my story. He was so polite that I became very much on the ale Sure enough, when he came to telling why I saw the Duke, he said ". . . and I was interested in his life and politics." "Not politics," I corrected gently, "but past." "Same thing," he said sharply. "Not at all the same thing. Very different. The word that will into the statement is 'past."' His patience snapped: this arguing had gone far enough. Now must stop! Glaring furiously at me, he rose and, leaning forward, banged the table with his fist-his ring, I noticed, making a dent. "Es wird geschrieben wie es mir gefallt," he bellowed. "Das Wort ist 'Politik.' [It shall be written as I wish. The word is 'politics.' I too rose. I too leaned forward. I too banged the table, though not quite so hard. And in a voice even lower than ever, I said: "This statement is my statement, and if a word goes in which I have express denied I will not sign it. I will speak and sign only the truth." He looked at me a moment, the very picture of amazement. Then he burst into a mocking laugh. "What do you think-do you believe it matters whether you sign it or not?" It sounds much nastier in German: "Was glauben Sie? Bilden Sie sich ein es ware nicht ganz egal ob Sie unterschreiben oder nicht?" So now I knew that this was all just a farce, only a pumping expedition, and that the result could only be-a foregone conclusion. On the third day the atmosphere had entirely changed. There were three officers present, one quite young. Again I asked, demanded to see my consul. They didn't even bother to answer. They asked me a few days of my visits to different parts of the country, which I had "forgotten," and tried to make me admit having seen certain people. I "could not remember." They consulted and again began to dictate to the girl, who looked very frightened. I had always smiled in a friendly way at her-she was obviously a Yugoslav of German extraction. She now threw me a pitying glance. Once in visiting a monastery that was under repair I had been so struck by the beautiful stonework that I had put in a corner of my notebook the name of the architect in charge, meaning to employ him if I built a house there. Throughout the whole of the proceedings this name had been shot at me over and over again-showing what frightful mistakes can occur. They would not believe the true answer. Apparently the whole country had been searched for this unfortunate man. I pray to heaven that his life was not sacrificed by my carelessness in overlooking his name. All others had been carefully erased. In dictating, they now so completely garbled my words that it was absurd. It was obviously useless to argue any more. Suddenly, therefore, I rose and, crossing the room to the window, stood looking out. They evidently thought I intended to jump, and the young officer made a movement to spring up and seize me. "Don't worry, please," I said quietly. "I see you don't need my assistance: you obviously know much more about all this than I do. Proceed, please, without me!" There was a pause of uncertainty and a clearing of throats. I walked back slowly and sat down again. Hardly anything more was said. And they all rose as I went out. On the fourth day, about ten days later, as I was waiting to be taken in, I knew that now would come the decision: today my fate would be decided. Suddenly to my own surprise I heard myself humming quite audibly: "Ready, now ready . . ." Sharply a detective looked up. I could not have done anything more stupid and dangerous: these men were of local birth-they knew that song! As nonchalantly as I could I let it run into the slightly similar German tune, "Oh, Tannenbaum." Again the same three officers. The girl did not look at me. The dossier was again before them, fatter than ever. But this time the dagger lay on my side of the desk. Whether by design or accident I do not know, but I noticed instantly that the point was toward me. I cannot help thinking it was intended as a compliment. Every military man will know what it meant. They let me stand for some minutes without paying any attention to me. Then, without preliminaries, Major Seidl barked shortly: "Fur Schuldig erklart [Guilty]." "I have not yet been informed of what I am accused," I said. "We have complete proof that you are an agent of the British Intelligence Service." (He said "Geheim Polizei [Secret Police]," then corrected himself.) "Now, my girl," thought I, "if you have wits, prepare to use them now! Not many more hours to live." Was there nothing, nothing I could find to say that could affect their fatal resolution? Suddenly it seemed just as if something sitting on my left shoulder whispered in my ear, quite actual and real. "I will say this," I said slowly: "If I die-it is certain that many German women will weep." They looked up, attentive. "You were not aware, I think, or you would have mentioned it, that Admiral Richard Byrd and United States Senator Byrd are my brothers-in-law." (That was not quite true; they were the brothers-in-law of my sister-in-law. I did not know these two gentlemen nor had they even passed through my thoughts for years. Why had they suddenly, at this most critical moment of my life, come into my head?) "One is a world figure [they nodded in acknowledgment], and both are very powerful in America. Germany is straining every nerve and is pouring out millions upon millions of marks trying to keep America out of the war. If you shoot me when I am not guilty, you may be sure my relatives will throw themselves with energy into working against Germany. If you know Americans you know that they are greatly moved by principles. [All three made sounds of disgust.] My death might even be the actual small first cause of America entering the war against you." The youngest officer had scribbled a quick note which he passed along and the other two glanced at. They tried not to show that they were alarmed at this perhaps important news. They looked at each other silently, then darkly at me. There was a pause. "The charge is considered proved," said Seidl woodenly. "When will it be carried out?" A hesitation, just the faintest hesitation, then: "You will know in due course." I knew then that I had saved my life at least for a few days: it was obvious they could not risk a perhaps serious reprimand-I knew the case would now have to be referred to Berlin. I thought of the Serbs, my friends, so firmly facing death in the prison. "Gentlemen," I said softly, "it is sometimes an honor to die [Meine Herren, zu sterben ist manchmal eine Ehre]." I walked out between my two guards, and I tried not to show how wobbly I felt. I mention those details because of puzzling developments. Before long the news was spread over Serbia that I had been shot. The clothes I was alleged to have worn were described, and my "last words" I did say as above. Only four people were present, all Germans. The report must therefore have been put about by the Germans themselves. Why ? Did they think it would have a lowering effect on the morale of the Fighting Serbs? If anything, I hope and believe it had the opposite effect. The Serbs know, they knew well then, that I would gladly die if that could in any way cause them to fight harder. Previous Chapter | Content | Next Chapter The Serbs Chose War, Ruth Mitchel