As soon as this ultimatum was reported to the Committee of Public Safety at the Mayoralty, something very like consternation ensued. The idea of a bombardment was repugnant to the fat burgesses who had joined the party of revolt so soon as it had become obvious that it was the winning side. It was also distasteful to the Socialists who, however much they might approve of the application of dynamite to others, did not themselves relish the idea of a personal acquaintance with high explosives.
The officers related their interview and the Admiral’s demands.
“And if we refuse to comply?” inquired Savrola.
“Then he will open fire at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Well, Gentlemen, we shall have to grin and bear it. They will not dare to shoot away all their ammunition, and so soon as they see that we are determined, they will give in. Women and children will be safe in the cellars, and it may be possible to bring some of the guns of the forts to bear on the harbour.” There was no enthusiasm. “It will be an expensive game of bluff,” he added.
“There is a cheaper way,” said a Socialist delegate from the end of the table, significantly.
“What do you propose?” asked Savrola looking hard at him; the man had been a close ally of Kreutze.
“I say that it would be cheaper if the leader of the revolt were to sacrifice himself for the sake of Society.”
“That is your opinion; I will take the sense of the Committee on it.” There were cries of “No! No!” and “Shame!” from many present. Some were silent; but it was evident that Savrola had the majority. “Very well,” he said acidly; “the Committee of Public Safety do not propose to adopt the honourable member’s suggestion. He is overruled,”—here he looked hard at the man, who blenched—“as he will frequently be among people of civilised habits.”
Another man got up from the end of the long table. “Look here,” he said roughly; “if our city is at their mercy, we have hostages. We have thirty of these popinjays who fought us this morning; let us send and tell the Admiral that we shall shoot one for every shell he fires.”
There was a murmur of assent. Many approved of the proposal, because they thought that it need never be carried into execution, and all wanted to prevent the shells. Savrola’s plan, however wise, was painful. It was evident that the new suggestion was a popular one.
“It is out of the question,” said Savrola.
“Why?” asked several voices.
“Because, Sirs, these officers surrendered to terms, and because the Republic does not butcher innocent men.”
“Let us divide upon it,” said the man.
“I protest against a division. This is not a matter of debate or of opinion; it is a matter of right and wrong.”
“Nevertheless I am for voting.”
“And I,” “And I,” “And I,” shouted many voices.
The voting went forward. Renos supported Savrola on legal grounds; the case of the officers was now sub judice, so he said. Godoy abstained. The majority in favour of the proposal was twenty-one to seventeen.
The count of hands was received with cheering. Savrola shrugged his shoulders. “It is impossible that this can go on. Are we become barbarians in a morning?”
“There is an alternative,” said Kreutze’s friend.
“There is, Sir; an alternative that I should gladly embrace before this new plan was carried out. But,” in a low menacing tone, “the people will be invited to pronounce an opinion first, and I may have an opportunity of showing them their real enemies and mine.”
The man made no reply to the obvious threat; like all the others he stood in considerable awe of Savrola’s power with the mob and of his strong dominating character. The silence was broken by Godoy, who said that the matter had been settled by the Committee. A note was therefore drafted and despatched to the Admiral, informing him that the military prisoners would be shot should he bombard the city. After further discussion the Committee broke up.
Savrola remained behind, watching the members move slowly away talking as they went. Then he rose and entered the small room he had used as his office. His spirits were low. Slight as it was, his wound hurt him; but worse than that, he was conscious that there were hostile influences at work; he was losing his hold over the Party. While victory was still in the balance he had been indispensable; now they were prepared to go on alone. He thought of all he had gone through that day; the terrible scene of the night, the excitement and anxiety while the fighting was going on, the strange experience in the square, and, last of all, this grave matter. His mind, however, was made up. He knew enough of De Mello to guess what his answer would be. “They are soldiers,” he would say; “they must give their lives if necessary. No prisoner should allow his friends to be compromised on his account. They should not have surrendered.” When the bombardment began he could imagine fear turning to cruelty, and the crowd carrying out the threat that their leaders had made. Whatever happened, the affair could not be allowed to continue.
He rang the bell. “Ask the Secretary to come here,” he said to the attendant. The man departed, and in a few moments returned with Miguel. “What officer has charge of the prison?”
“I don’t think the officials have been altered; they have taken no part in the Revolution.”
“Well, write an order to the Governor to send the prisoners of war, the military officers taken this afternoon, in closed carriages to the railway station. They must be there at ten o’clock tonight.”
“Are you going to release them?” asked Miguel opening his eyes.
“I am going to send them to a place of security,” answered Savrola ambiguously.
Miguel began to write the order without further comment. Savrola took the telephone off the
