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. He seemed somewhat startled and gave me
to understand that he was led to believe I was a Serb. I used some
very forcible German and French, both of which he was able to
understand, pointing out to him that someone, somewhere, made a
thundering big blunder which somehow would have to be paid for. He
was clearly ill at ease, but said, "I have to obey my instructions."
I had told him of my message to the minister, and although it was
quite obvious I was sparring for time he seemed in no way inclined to
rush the execution. Five minutes went; ten minutes went and looking
at his watch, which showed five minutes to eight (although it was fast
getting dusk, I could see that watch-dial distinctly), shrugging his
shoulders and saying, "I can delay no longer," he called a sergeant,
who placed me with my shoulders to the wall and offered me a
handkerchief. I didn't want a handkerchief. A few sharp orders and
twelve Mauser tubes pointed their ugly black snouts directly at me.

I hate to tell my sensation just then. Frankly, I felt nothing
clearly. The only thing I remember distinctly was the third man in
the second file held his gun in rather a slipshod manner, aiming it
first at my midriff, next pointing it at my nose--which strangely
enough caused me intense annoyance. How long we stood thus I don't