Part 4

The court-house itself was long, low, and white, with a blue ceiling and a boarded floor. A long table ran half-way down either side of the hall to accommodate the journalists, and half-a-dozen arm-chairs were arranged in a good position for the diplomatists. These were almost empty on the first day, and my next-door neighbour, a polite young Turkish attaché, considerately moved out of the way whenever he saw that I was trying to take a photograph. And, indeed, it was not the easiest task in the world to get pictures of the proceedings. The prisoners were a restless set of people, who fidgeted, sprang constantly to their feet, and interrupted the speakers in a very tantalizing way. As there was not very much light a fairly long exposure had to be given, and there were difficulties in propping the camera up satisfactorily and also in disguising my intentions as much as possible. However, I had the satisfaction of knowing that mine were the only photographs taken, for the local photographer who had been commissioned by the authorities to take some pictures declined to try, owing to the obstacles.

The thirty-two prisoners, guarded by soldiers on either side, occupied benches all down the centre of the hall. Some of them were in European dress, thus differing from the majority of Montenegrins. Amongst them were all sorts and conditions of men, from peasants to ex-Ministers of the Crown. It is not often one finds a former Prime Minister, four ex-Ministers, three high State officials, and several Deputies all in one trial for high treason. As a rule, the accused were puny, furtive-looking striplings, a contrast to their stalwart compatriots; but their imprisonment of several months may have had something to do with this. Many were students who had gone to Belgrade to complete their studies and had there imbibed Anarchistic and revolutionary principles. The judge showed great tact and firmness in dealing with them.

As the long indictment which contained all the particulars of the plot was being read out by the counsel for the Crown--a handsome man in full Montenegrin costume--first one prisoner and then another started from his seat, rudely interrupting and violently contradicting. A clamour then arose from the whole thirty-two. The judge expostulated, begged them to be reasonable, and finally touched a silver hand-bell. The soldiers pulled them down to their seats again, but seemed as gentle in their methods as policemen with Suffragettes. As names were mentioned now and again in the indictment, exclamations of derision and protest were heard from the prisoners. They next complained bitterly that they had no note-books or pencils with which to take down the points and prepare their defence, whereupon the President ordered that paper and pencils should be brought to them at once. The indictment was long, and it finally asked for the death penalty as punishment. At this loud clamours arose, and the excitement grew so intense that a nervous feeling communicated itself to the public. The President by this time despaired of keeping order, and directed that the prisoners should be taken back to their prisons. One alone remained, Raikovitch, the man who brought the bombs into Montenegro, and the principal prisoner.

Raikovitch was a rather good-looking young man, dark and sallow. He had a large, round nose, a round chin, and even his forehead seemed to bulge. But his black, beady eyes struck me as shifty, and he appeared somewhat ill at ease. In spite of his confident manner he would glance round at the pressmen’s table every few seconds to note what effect his defence was having on them. But he had an amazing fluency, and his story flowed on like a river. There was no bullying by Public Prosecutor or judges.

Every now and then the President, tapping his fingers with a pencil, would interrupt the prisoner with a short, sharp question, evidently very much to the point, and he pulled up the prisoner’s counsel very sharply on one occasion for attempting to prompt his client. Presently there was a small stir, for Raikovitch was heard to denounce Vukotic, the nephew of Princess Milena, Prince Nicholas’s wife, as having been in communication with and paid by the conspirators. No one seemed to know who would be accused next, and the Servian Minister, who was present, must have experienced feelings of uneasiness. Raikovitch was next led to the table to examine the black bag, to identify it as his luggage, and acknowledged that those were the bombs he had brought into the country. His defence lasted for the rest of the day.

Next morning, when the prisoners were brought back, the sitting was even more agitated. The ex-Deputy Chulavitch was accused. He leapt to his feet, and in a voice of thunder shouted that he had been betrayed--he had been sold! Later on, however, he acknowledged that he had received thirteen napoleons for his help in the plot. Various other prisoners were accused, but all had answers and excuses at first. Some said they acted on behalf of others. Others said they had taken no active part, but had only known of the conspiracy. They would confess one day, and the next flatly deny everything they had said before. Later on in the trial, however, they found means of communicating with each other, and arranged on a line of common action.

Few documents could be produced in evidence against the accused, but a great sensation was caused by the reading of a letter from a Montenegrin, now an officer in the Servian army, to his brother. In it he promised both moral and material support for the plot and enclosed a thousand francs from King Peter. At this there was profound silence in the court, and a deep impression was left on the minds of the public.

A student named Voivoditch then gave the details of the plot. He had brought bombs from Belgrade with the express intention of killing Prince Nicholas and Prince Mirko. It was arranged that various Government offices were to be set on fire and in the confusion bombs were to be thrown against the palace, a small building which would be easily destroyed. Then, acting on the lines of the Servian regicides, the Ministers and principal people in Cetinje were to be assassinated and their houses wrecked.

The trial lasted several weeks, for with fifty persons accused and thirty-two prisoners to examine and hear, things cannot be done in a moment. But the principal witness against the prisoners was a certain Nastitch, a Servian journalist from Serajevo. He brought the gravest charges against the Servian Government. As he had been present at the manufacture of the bombs he said that he was entitled to speak with some authority. Last year he was sent to Kragujevats State Arsenal by a Captain Nenadovitch, cousin of King Peter, who gave him a letter to the Commander from the Servian Crown Prince. In this letter the Prince begged the Commander to allow Nastitch to stay ten days in the arsenal whilst the bombs were being made. They were then given to him to be consigned to Captain Nenadovitch in Belgrade, who told him that they were to be employed in a patriotic enterprise. A little later he was informed that the police had sequestrated the bombs, as Pasitch, the Prime Minister, had been informed of his stay in Kragujevats.

Nastitch then began to perceive that some mischief was being hatched, and that Nenadovitch was trying to throw dust into his eyes. He put two and two together and got a shrewd suspicion of what was really up. So he crossed over to Semlin, in Hungary, from Belgrade, as no letters are safe from being opened by the Servian secret police, and communicated with Tomanovitch, Prime Minister of Montenegro. He asserted that he did not fear denials, since he had documents to prove the truth of what he said. He next produced specifications of the bombs, and then asked the judges to have those in their possession examined to see whether they were not identical. At the conclusion of his evidence Nastitch was applauded loudly by the public, and was cheered as he left the court.

There were several rather interesting little touches in the evidence of other prisoners. One was found to be sending secret messages to a friend written in microscopic handwriting under the postage-stamps of the letter. Under one was written: “Is it true that Stevo has confessed everything?” Stevo being Raikovitch.

Raikovitch was brought up a second time and confronted with various prisoners, who accused him of inventing the whole plot. He met every accusation with complete calm and cynicism. Indeed, it seemed impossible to disturb his sang-froid. He proclaimed aloud that he would laugh even when climbing the steps of the gallows. He was the type of the complete _poseur_, considering himself the centre of attraction, choosing his language with the utmost care, and throwing himself into appropriate attitudes. When asked if he was not a Socialist, he replied, “Of course I am a Socialist. I must confess, however, that I am not _absolutely_ sure what Socialism is!”

The ex-Prime Minister, Radovitch, was the most interesting of the villains, and was quite a story-book scoundrel. He had enjoyed the favour of the Prince, and had been Court Chamberlain for some years. It was expected that he would make a favourable impression on the public, for when he had come back from Paris to deliver himself up, arriving dramatically the very morning of the opening of the trial, he had been cheered all along the streets of Cetinje, and flowers had been thrown at his feet; but in court he cut a sorry figure indeed. For six weary hours he spoke unceasingly, and all the time about himself only! According to his own version he is the cleverest, the most capable of Montenegrins--in a word, he is the only patriot in the land. He alluded contemptuously to the judges, and cried theatrically to the President: “I am proud and happy to stand before you as defendant, for I would not change places with you, my Lord President!” He boasted of the Prince’s affection for him and openly betrayed that he expected to be let off easily.

The trial lasted over a month. This is no joke in a sweltering Montenegrin summer, and both judges and prisoners must have heaved sighs of relief when every witness was heard and the suspense was nearly over. Six were condemned to death, but only two of these, Chulavitch and Voivoditch, were in custody; the others had escaped abroad. Raikovitch and the Minister Radovitch were sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment. Thirteen others received sentences varying from two to ten years, and several were discharged either because they were innocent or from lack of proof.

I was interested in visiting the prisons of Cetinje and Podgoritza. Both are very small, which speaks well for the state of the country. Few murders are committed, and these are rarely for gain, but usually acts of revenge. The men concerned in the plot were confined at Cetinje, in a small and somewhat primitive building, but when they had been sentenced they were removed to Podgoritza. Both prisons are built round a courtyard in which exercise can be taken, for the doors of the light and roomy cells were open all day long. Nearly every cell contained an oven, and the prisoners were allowed to cook their food themselves. The daily rations consisted of two pounds of bread and the sum of fourpence, with which they could buy what they liked.

I was taken over the place by the Governor, a very kindly-looking giant, who seemed as if he could not hurt a fly. If I am ever unlucky enough to be put under lock and key, I should like to have a jailer just like him. He and a Montenegrin officer, who spoke most excellent French, were very kind in helping me to take photographs. Some of the prisoners wore irons which I rather wanted to photograph, but they thought it might hurt the men’s feelings, so they offered to lend me a jailer to be manacled and snap-shotted. He thought it the greatest joke in the world, and quite entered into the spirit of it all. Just as I was about to press the button he gesticulated wildly. He had remembered that there was a little collection of a dozen or so weapons of warfare in his capacious belt, and these were not at all in keeping with the irons. So he pulled out daggers and pistols galore, and looked quite thin by the time he had finished.

We also visited the prison at Podgoritza, a large town some forty miles from Cetinje. Here we found a strange collection of men and women. There was a saintly-looking pope, who had appropriated the funds of his church. He was dressed in priest’s robes and did the honours of the place. We saw several convicts who were being kept in solitary confinement, and pushed cigarettes to them between the bars. They seemed to feel the boredom most; otherwise they have an easy time. They do little work in summer and still less in winter, and a great part, of the day is spent in sleep. The cells looked far more comfortable than barrack-rooms, and prisoners in Montenegro evidently have little to complain of.

There were ten or twelve women there. These were nearly all guilty of infanticide. When I came into their quarters they rushed at me, seized my hands and kissed them, and tried to make me sit down and talk to them. But, as I could not understand a word they said, and one of them looked very mad, I made my escape as soon as possible.

It will be long before I forget that strange trial, which for spectacular effect might have taken place in Venice in the magnificent Middle Ages. The splendid figures of the judges rivalled the signori in all their glory, and the gigantic soldiery in gay and glowing colour made one almost forget the prisoners, until their primitive, almost savage, behaviour reminded one of their existence and of the fact that even nowadays in Europe things happen that eclipse the achievements of mediæval criminals.

CROSSING THE RIVER.

BY J. T. NEWNHAM-WILLIAMS, OF SALISBURY, MASHONALAND.

A trader’s story of the appalling catastrophe which, almost in the twinkling of an eye, wiped out the fruits of a lengthy and arduous expedition and cost him the lives of two faithful “boys.”

It was about the end of October, 1902, when I was returning from a trading and hunting expedition which had taken me into the wild bush-country lying to the north-west of the Limpopo valley, that the following incident occurred--an incident which neither myself nor any of the “boys” who accompanied me are ever likely to forget. I had started out from Pietersburg, in the Transvaal, about five months before, taking with me a good “salted” horse, a wagon and sixteen oxen, and half-a-dozen boys. I had loaded up with a good deal of the usual trading gear, and had made a very successful trip.

It was always my rule, on returning from these expeditions, to shoot the whole of my way back, and I arranged my departure from civilization so that I could get through with my trading in good time and have the game season well in hand on the home trek.

The rains had commenced rather earlier than usual, and, although we had only had a few showers as yet, I felt that there was not much time to lose if I wished to get back to Pietersburg before they had fairly set in. I had started out in the morning from a little native village called M’Sablai, and meant to push on through the day in order to get to a native “staad” called Wegdraai, which lay on the opposite side of the Limpopo River, better known as the Crocodile. Everything went well during the day, and towards five o’clock in the afternoon I sighted the group of kopjes by which Wegdraai was surrounded. Telling the boys to make all possible haste and follow me, I spurred my horse and rode forward to find a suitable ford.

The river at this point is about a quarter of a mile in width, and in the dry season is very shallow, the water usually lying about in pools. It presents a very pretty appearance at this time of the year, being dotted with innumerable verdure-clad islands. I did not anticipate much trouble in crossing, and, on reaching the bank, soon selected a suitable spot. There was rather more water than usual, but this was only to be expected, as it had been raining a little the day before.

Having picked out the ford, I watered my horse and rode slowly back to meet the wagon. When it came in sight, creaking and rumbling, I dismounted and, throwing the reins over the horse’s head, sat down and lit my pipe whilst waiting for it to come up. I had been smoking for a few minutes, thinking of nothing in particular, when my attention was attracted by a curious murmuring sound, very faint and far away; it sounded like the roar of a train travelling at a high speed.

I glanced uneasily towards the river, but as far as the eye could reach it looked peaceful enough. I knew the sound only too well, however--it was the noise of flood-water coming down stream. When the wagon arrived, my head boy, Jim, called my attention to the murmur, at the same time advising me not to attempt to get across. I had half a mind to follow his advice and outspan then and there, but it occurred to me that the river might remain “up” for several days, and then, if more rain came, I should not be able to get across for weeks. It seemed to me to be a case of getting across at once or waiting for an indefinite period.

We were moving steadily forward all the time, and when we came to the river-bank I noticed that by this time the water was looking slightly disturbed, little swirling eddies being plainly visible about half-way across. I looked doubtfully up the river, which here ran nearly straight for about a mile, but, seeing nothing of the wall of water which usually comes down when a river is rising in flood, I threw prudence to the winds and determined to get across. Tying my horse to the rear of the wagon, and shouting to the boys to look after the brake, I seized the long whip which the driver was carrying, and, making it whistle around the ears of the oxen, urged them down the bank. I could see that the boys were scared--they knew the treacherous nature of the river only too well--but I thought that we could gain the opposite bank long before the water reached us.

Urged on by wild yells and shrieks, such as only a Kaffir wagon-boy can utter, the team moved slowly on through the river-bed, and in a very short time were half-way across. It was then that I observed for the first time that the water was slowly rising, and, looking backward, I saw that what had been a dry place a few seconds before was now entirely covered. Glancing down, I saw that the water beneath us, motionless a moment ago, was now slowly running. Alarmed, we redoubled our efforts, but without avail. The oxen moved slower and slower as the water increased in volume and depth, until, the wagon listing slightly in a small hole, they stopped altogether.

I could see there was nothing for it now but to cut loose the oxen and abandon the wagon, so, shouting to the boys to assist me, I loosened the trek chain and tried to whip the oxen across. By this time, however, the poor beasts had scented their danger, and lowing piteously they huddled together and became hopelessly entangled in the long chain. Jim, whipping out his hunting-knife, shouted, “Sicca, baas, sicca lo n’tambo” (“Cut the reins”), and immediately began slashing at the reins which bound the yokes to the oxen. I saw that it was the only thing to do, and promptly followed suit. We were just then quite close to one of the larger of the islands which stood well out of the water, and as the leading oxen were freed they made for this.

We had cut most of them loose and the water had risen above our waists, when I suddenly heard a wild snort, followed by an agonized scream from the rear of the wagon, and the next moment my horse was down, and three of the boys, with yells of terror, were making for the island. “Hurry up, baas,” remarked Jim, coolly; “lo ingwania” (crocodiles). As he spoke there was a huge splash alongside me, and down went one of the oxen, the water round us turning a sickening red.

I must confess that at that moment I lost heart completely, and shouting to the other two boys, who had climbed on to the wagon, to make for the island, I grabbed Jim by the arm and literally had to drag him away, the brave fellow wanting to remain and loosen the remainder of the oxen. We reached the land in safety, and, turning to look for the other two boys, saw that they were still on the wagon, being afraid to venture into the momentarily-deepening water. I shouted to them to come away, but without avail. Just then Jim touched me on the shoulder and pointed up the river. Looking in the direction indicated, I beheld a line of foam stretching from bank to bank, and coming towards us like an express train. The two boys on the wagon also saw it, and one of them plunged off into the water, which was now running swiftly, and in a few seconds was carried down to us, Jim catching hold of him and hauling him up on to the higher ground. There was not a moment to spare, for we could plainly see that the onrushing water would overwhelm us where we now stood.

Yelling to the boys to follow my example, I made a rush for a good-sized tree which stood on the summit of the island--now looking little more than a large mound. Getting a lift from Jim, I was soon in its topmost branches. Three of the boys were already perched in trees, but the fourth, the boy who had swum from the wagon, not having recovered his wind, was clinging helplessly round a tree-trunk, too exhausted to pull himself up. Noticing his predicament, Jim rushed across and, giving him a shove, sent him up on to the lower branches. The water was now almost upon us, and I shouted to Jim to follow the boy up the tree, but my voice was drowned by the roar of the flood. He ran towards me, then hesitated, glanced round, and saw the roaring wall of water within about fifty yards of him. The sight seemed to paralyze him for a moment; then, with a spring, he reached a small tree which was within a few yards of him, and, clambering like a monkey, reached the top just as the water struck the wagon. The heavy vehicle was picked up in the swirling tide as though it had been a straw, the boy Zuzi clinging to the top until it was nearly abreast with us. Then it rolled over and over, and he disappeared from view, never to be seen again.

I had scarcely had time to realize that the boy was gone when I noticed that the remainder of the oxen which had been standing beneath us were adrift. The poor beasts swam desperately, but it was no use--they were carried away like flies on the raging torrent.

Darkness was now falling fast, and the water had completely covered the island, while the trees were swaying in a manner which brought my heart into my mouth; I expected every moment to see them torn out by the roots. What made matters worse was that pieces of timber, uprooted trees, etc., coming down-stream at racing pace, would strike the trunks of the trees we were sheltered in with terrific force, and the smaller trees were one by one uprooted and carried away in this manner.