My comrades were against sending it,
but I am related to Zolarevitch. So if you can show me some reason, I
shall take your message."
I gave him some reason. So much so that he did not lose any time
getting under way. In fact, it was a very pale, perturbed officer who
rushed out of my cell. I didn't worry much, but when at about 7.30
the cell door opened and two sentries with fixed bayonets and
cartridge pouches entered, placed me in the center and marched me into
the courtyard, where ten more likewise equipped soldiers in charge of
an officer awaited me, I felt somewhat green. I know a firing squad
when I see one. I knew if my message ever reached responsible
quarters, nothing could happen to me; but these were motley times and
all sorts of delays may have happened to the officer.
"Right about wheel" and myself in the center, we marched out of the
courtyard to a little hill to the west of the Citadel.
An old stone building--probably a decayed monastery, for I noticed
several crumbled tombstones--was evidently selected for the place of
execution. On a little rough, four-foot, stone wall we halted, and
the officer, pulling out a document, began reading to me a rather
lengthy preamble in Servian.
Up to then not a word had been spoken. I let him finish and then
politely requested him, as I was not a Serb and consequently did not
understand his lingo, to translate it into a civilized language,
preferably German or French.
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