CHAPTER XXVII.
JUSTICE.
edit
Count Mathias Sandorf had paid his debt of gratitude to Maria and Luigi Ferrato, Mme. Bathory, Pierre, and Sava were at last reunited. After the reward came the punishment.
For some days following the defeat of the Senousists the colonists were actively employed in repairing damages. With the exception of a few trifling scars Pierre, Luigi, Point Pescade, and Cape Matifou—that is to say, all those who had been most intimately connected with the events of this drama—were safe and sound. That they had not spared themselves, however, needs no affirmation.
Great, therefore, was the rejoicing when they met together in the Stadthaus with Sava Sandorf, Maria Ferrato, Mme. Bathory, and her old servant Borik. After the funeral of those who had fallen in battle the little colony resumed its happy existence. Its future would be free from trouble. The defeat of the Senousists had been overwhelming, and Sarcany, who had persuaded them to undertake this campaign against Antekirtta, would no longer be with them to fan the flame of hatred and vengeance.
The doctor proposed completing his system of defense without delay. Not only would Artenak be promptly rendered secure from a sudden surprise, but the island itself would nowhere afford a landing-place. And it was intended to invite thither a few more colonists, to whom the fertility of the soil would prove an attraction and a guarantee of well-being.
Meanwhile no further obstacle existed to the marriage of Pierre and Sava. The ceremony had been fixed for the 9th of December; and it would take place on that date. And so Point Pescade was particularly busy with the preparations that had been interrupted by the invasion of the pirates from the Cyrenaic.
And now without delay the fate of Sarcany, Toronthal, and Carpena was to be decided.
On the 6th of December, two days after the retreat of the Senousists, the doctor ordered them to be brought to the Stadthaus. The prisoners were unaware of each other's presence on the island, and for the first time found themselves together, when, under guard of a detachment of militia, they came before the tribunal of Artenak, presided over by the chief magistrate of Antekirtta.
Carpena appeared uneasy; but having lost nothing of his sneakish look, he merely threw furtive glances to the right and left of him, and dared not lift his eyes to his judges.
Toronthal seemed quite cast down, and bowed his head, and instinctively avoided the touch of his old accomplice.
Sarcany had only one feeling—he was furious at having fallen into the hands of this Dr. Antekirtt.
Luigi advanced toward the judges, and began by addressing the Spaniard.
“Carpena,” said he, “I am Luigi Ferrato, the son of the fisherman at Rovigno, whom you informed against and sent to prison at Stein, where he died.”
Carpena drew himself up for an instant. A paroxysm of anger sent the blood to his eyes. Then it was Maria whom he had recognized in the lanes of the Manderaggio, and it was her brother Luigi who thus accused him.
Pierre then advanced, and at first pointing to the banker, he said:
“Silas Toronthal, I am Pierre Bathory, the son of Stephen Bathory, the Hungarian patriot, whom you, with your accomplice Sarcany, most shamefully betrayed to the Austrian police at Trieste, and sent to death!”
Then to Sarcany he said:
“I am Pierre Bathory, whom you tried to assassinate in the road at Ragusa. I am the intended husband of Sava, the daughter of Count Mathias Sandorf, whom you stole fifteen years ago from the Castle of Artenak!”
Toronthal was struck as by a crowbar, when he recognized Pierre Bathory, who he thought was dead.
Sarcany stood with crossed arms, and except for a slight trembling of his eyelids, retained his impudent immobility.
Neither Toronthal nor Sarcany said a word in reply. And what could they say to their victim, who seemed to have risen from the tomb to accuse them?
But it was quite another thing when Dr. Antekirtt rose in his turn, and said in a grave voice:
“And I, I am the companion of Ladislas Zathmar and Stephen Bathory, whom your treachery caused to be shot in the donjon of Pisino! I am the father of Sava, whom you stole to get possession of her fortune! I am Count Mathias Sandorf!”
This time the effect of the declaration was such that the knees of Silas Toronthal bent to the ground, while Sarcany crouched down as if he would sink into himself.
Then the three accused were examined one after the other. Their crimes they could not deny, and for their crimes no pardon was possible. The chief magistrate reminded Sarcany that the attack on the island, undertaken in his own personal interest, had made many victims whose blood cried out for vengeance. Then having given the accused full liberty to reply, he gave sentence conformably to the right given him by this regularly constituted jurisdiction.
“Silas Toronthal, Sarcany, and Carpena, you have caused the deaths of Stephen Bathory, Ladislas Zathmar, and Andrea Ferrato! You are sentenced to death!”
“Whenever you like!” replied Sarcany, whose impudence again asserted itself.
“Pardon!” cried Carpena.
Toronthal had not the strength to speak.
The three were taken away to the casemates and there kept under guard.
How were these scoundrels to die? Were they to be shot in some corner of the island? That would be to defile the soil of Antekirtta with the blood of traitors! And it was decided that the execution should take place at Kencraf.
That evening one of the “Electrics,” commanded by Luigi Ferrato, took the prisoners on board and bore them off to the island, where they were to wait till sunrise for the firing-party.
Sarcany, Toronthal, and Carpena saw that their time had come; and, when they had been landed, Sarcany went up to Luigi, and asked him:
“Is it to be this evening?”
Luigi made no reply. The three doomed men were left there all alone, and night had fallen when the “Electric” returned to Antekirtta.
The island was now free from the presence of the traitors. That they could escape from Kencraf, which was twenty miles away from the mainland, was impossible.
“Before to-morrow,” said Point Pescade, “they will have eaten each other!”
“Porrao!” said Cape Matifou in disgust.
The night passed at the Stadthaus. Count Sandorf had not a moment's repose. Locked in his room, he did not leave it until four o'clock in the morning, when he descended to the hall to meet Pierre and Luigi, who were immediately summoned.
A file of militia was waiting in the court-yard of the Stadthaus under orders to embark for Kencraf.
“Pierre Bathory, Luigi Ferrato,” said Count Sandorf, “have these traitors been justly condemned to die?”
“Yes, they deserve it,” answered Pierre.
“Yes,” replied Luigi, “and the scoundrels deserve no mercy.”
“Then let justice be done, and may God give the pardon that man can not—”
He had scarcely finished speaking when a fearful explosion shook the Stadthaus, and the whole of the island as if an earthquake had taken place.
Count Sandorf and his companions rushed out and the whole population in terror came streaming into the streets of Artenak.
An immense sheaf of flame, with enormous masses of rock and showers of stones, was blazing to a prodigious height toward the sky. Then the masses fell back round the islet, raining huge waves in the sea, and a thick cloud remained suspended in space.
Not a trace was left of the islet of Kencraf nor of the three men whom the explosion had annihilated.
What then had happened?
It will not have been forgotten that the island had been mined in preparation for the landing of the Senousists, and that in case the submarine cable which united it to Antekirtta were put out of action, certain electric batteries had been buried in the ground, so that the wires had only to be pressed by the feet to be brought in contact and fire the fougasses of panclastile.
What had happened was this. By chance one of the doomed men had trodden on these wires. And hence the complete and instantaneous destruction of the islet.
“Heaven has spared us the horrors of an execution!” said Count Sandorf.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Three days afterward the marriage of Pierre and Sava was duly celebrated at the church of Artenak. On that occasion Dr. Antekirtt signed his real name of Mathias Sandorf; which he would never again lay down, now justice had been done.
A few words will suffice to finish our story.
Three weeks afterward Sava Bathory was recognized as the heiress of the Sandorf property. The letter from Mme. Toronthal and a declaration obtained from the banker, in which the circumstances and the object of her being stolen were duly set forth, proved sufficient to establish her identity. As Sava was not yet eighteen all that remained of the Carpathian estates in Transylvania came back to her.
Count Sandorf himself could, if he had so chosen, have entered into possession of this property under an amnesty which had been issued in favor of political prisoners. But if he returned to public life as Mathias Sandorf he could not remain chief of the great family of Antekirtta. And he wished to pass his life among those who loved him.
The little colony, thanks to his renewed efforts, began to flourish exceedingly. In less than a year it had doubled its population. Scientists and inventors, invited thither by Count Sandorf, had come to make good use of discoveries that would have remained barren without his advice, and the wealth of which he was the master. And so Antekirtta would soon become the most important place in the Syrtic Sea, and with the accomplishment of its defensive system its security would become absolute.
Of Mme. Bathory, Maria and Luigi Ferrato, and of Pierre and Sava, we need say no more; who does not feel that their lives were happy? Nor need we say more about Point Pescade and Matifou, who were now, perhaps, the most famous colonists of Antekirtta.
If they regretted anything it was that they had no more occasion to display their devotion to him to whom they owed their happy existence.
Count Sandorf had accomplished his task, and had it not been for the remembrance of his two companions, Stephen Bathory and Ladislas Zathmar, he would have been as happy as a generous man can be on this earth when he is doing good around him.
In the whole Mediterranean, in all the other seas of the globe—even in the Fortunate Islands—we may seek in vain for an island whose prosperity rivals that of Antekirtta!
And when Cape Matifou, in the exuberance of his good fortune, thought fit to say—“Do you think we deserve to be so happy?” Point Pescade replied—
“No, my Cape! I don't! But what can you do? Shall we resign?”
THE END.