Chapter 15

MY EXECUTION

I have several times been in danger of a violent death, and yet I still survive. “No man can evade his fate,” said the Crooked One; yet it is equally true that no man knows or can foresee his fate. One who frequently escapes death learns to fall back upon philosophy and ceases to worry overmuch.

I must have fallen asleep after a time, for when I opened my eyes the sun was flooding the room and my usual breakfast of milk and fruits stood upon the bench near me. I had scarcely finished the meal when in came a dozen Faytan warriors, headed by the Crooked One himself.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“What if I am not?” I retorted. “You intend I shall go with you, of course.”

He inclined his head gravely—not mockingly. Even he, standing in the presence of death, respected my feelings.

They did not bind me, but led me out between close files of the warriors. In the square was a vast crowd, silent and attentive. With my guard I passed to the east and took the broadest thoroughfare—that leading to the bay.

I had never been in this direction before, but I remembered seeing the water front from the airship when Joe and I first entered the city. The crowd swayed back to let us pass and then closed up behind us, following after in a long procession.

It was not far to the beautiful landlocked bay before which the Pearl City had been built, and when it came into full view I found the water thickly covered with boats of every description. The entire populace seemed to have turned out to witness my execution, and the occasion partook of the nature of a festival, for boats, barges and buildings were gay with the peculiar banners these people use for decoration. They were of all colors and shapes, and every one was bordered with pearls.

One of the biggest flat-bottomed barges, manned by a score of oarsmen, lay at the foot of the street waiting to receive us. I stepped aboard, the guards followed and the Crooked One took a seat beside me. Then, while the crowd scrambled for all the empty boats remaining, our oarsmen dipped their paddles and we moved slowly away toward the center of the bay.

A clear space, several hundred feet in diameter, had been left for my exclusive use, and I looked at it rather disapprovingly because the clear, smooth stretch of water was destined, seemingly, to extinguish all my future hopes and ambitions. Death by drowning may be a merciful mode of execution, but I do not think any condemned person can look with composure upon death in any form. For my part I took a sudden aversion to water, although I had always loved it before.

First we drew up before the royal barge, in which sat the young king upon a high seat. Around this place, and indeed all around the clear space in the bay, were clustered hundreds of boats, so densely packed that their sides touched. Every boat had as many passengers as it would hold, but the natives were quiet and no shouts nor jeering did I hear.

Standing up beside me the Crooked One bowed low before the king and said in a loud voice:

“Here is a stranger who has dared to land upon the shores of Faytan. What shall be done with him, King of Faytan?”

“Let him die,” answered the king, speaking so that all might hear.

With an abruptness that startled me, all that vast concourse repeated the sentence after him:

“Let him die!”

It was a veritable roar of voices, expressing all the restrained repugnance of the people for a stranger and their demand for vengeance. It was not so much personal hatred on their part as a desire that I should pay the long deferred penalty for my crime—the crime of being shipwrecked on their coast.

The chieftain resumed his seat and motioned to the oarsmen. With their former deliberation they paddled us out into the clear space, until we had reached the very center of it. Quite naturally I had expected to be bound and have a weight attached to me before I was thrown overboard to drown, but it transpired that this was not the Faytan custom. The king had said he was merciful and did not torture his victims, yet it was with a thrill of horror that I realized my death was to be made a spectacle for the delectation of the natives, who were assembled to watch and enjoy my struggles as I slowly drowned.

Two strong warriors caught me up and tossed me into the water without any warning or preparation. Then the barge receded to a position beside that of the king, leaving me to my fate.

I am a good swimmer, having lived on the water all my life. After the plunge I arose to the surface, supported myself and looked about me. My clothes were a drag upon me, so I managed to divest myself of my coat and my shoes while I trod water.

Why I should make what appeared a useless struggle for a brief period of life was not clear to my mind just then. I was the center of a great theater and thousands of eyes watched me with grave interest. At the edge of the clearing a man was stationed in the prow of every boat with an uplifted spear to prevent my clinging to the side. They wanted me to struggle. The longer I tried to keep above water the longer the spectacle would last. No matter how powerful a swimmer I might prove I would wear out my strength in time, and they were prepared to wait patiently to witness my antics and my final conquest.

The thought came to me to disappoint them by letting myself quietly drown at once; but so strong is hope in the human breast that I abandoned the idea and determined, instead, to fight it out to the very end.

I rested leisurely upon my back, trying to avoid giving way to excitement and wondering how long I could last, when suddenly a dark object swept across the sky, approaching me with marvelous rapidity. In an instant I knew it was the biplane, and the knowledge so excited me that it was almost fatal. I rolled over and began to sink; then I struggled to the surface to find the airship just over me.

“Catch hold of the frame—here—anywhere!” called an eager voice—eager though it strove to be calm.

I raised myself and made a frantic effort to obey, but failed and sank again. When I came to the surface a moment later the biplane was circling over the bay. Again it came toward me, and this time it dipped until it nearly touched the water. I grabbed the frame as it passed by and clung to it desperately, for it nearly jerked my arms from their sockets.

Arrows were whizzing about me in a cloud; the natives were shouting angrily and a thousand boats were rushing toward us; but the next instant I was high in the air, dangling from the frail crossbar of the lower plane, and my safety was only a question of whether I could hang on or not.

A face bent over me from the seat and stared into mine—a girl’s face.

“Lucia!” I cried in wonder.

“Save your breath and hold on!” she returned. “Can you manage it, Sam?”

“I’ll try—for awhile.”

“Till we get to the ship?”

“I—I’m afraid not.”

Indeed, this rush through the air was fast driving the life out of me. My arms and hands were so numb there was no feeling in them at all. Lucia had straightened up to attend to the machine, and the next thing I knew I bumped the earth, lost my hold, and went rolling over and over.

“Quick!” cried the girl. “Let me help you.”

I sat up, quite dazed, and glanced about me. We were in an open field, just now deserted by the natives, and Alfonso’s Antoinette rested upon the ground a short distance away. I could not have stood alone, but Lucia dragged me to my feet and half supported me while I tottered to the machine. It was a great effort to climb aboard, but the girl, naturally strong and rendered doubly so by excitement, got me into the seat and then deftly started the motors as she sprang up beside me.

The machine rolled along the ground a little way, lifted its nose and then soared into the air like a bird. I was still marveling at the girl’s wonderful control of the aëroplane when the ship came in sight. We dipped downward, the motor ceased to whir and the next moment we gracefully alighted full upon the deck of the ship.

A mighty cheer rang in my ears. Then all turned black and I lost consciousness.