My father's eyes lit up as he was telling the story and at the end he said, "We cannot fail now. Those young lads will never forget."
When next I saw my father it was on Thursday, May 11, at midnight. A motor ambulance came to the door. The officer who accompanied it said my father was very weak and wished to see his wife and eldest daughter. Mamma believed this story because she had seen my father on Wednesday and he was in great pain and very weak then. He told her also that he never slept without receiving morphine. Nevertheless she was a trifle apprehensive for she asked the officer to tell her if they were going to shoot my father. The officer said he could tell her nothing.
It seemed to take hours to get to the Castle. We went through the dark, deserted, burning streets encountering only the sentries. We could hardly restrain ourselves while the sentries were questioning the driver. The minutes seemed hours. At last, we arrived at the Castle and were taken to Papa's room. As we went up the stairs we were surprised to see that about a dozen soldiers were encamped on the small landing outside his room. They had their mattresses and their full equipment with them. Six soldiers were asleep, six more on guard at the top of the stair with rifles and fixed bayonets. And in the alcove leading to the room were three more also with fixed bayonets. There was an officer on guard in the room.
When we entered the room Papa had his head turned to the door watching for our coming. When he saw Mamma he said:
"Well, Lillie, I suppose you know what this means?"
"O James! It's not that—it's not that?" my mother wailed.
"Yes, Lillie," he said. "I fell asleep for the first time to-night and they wakened me at eleven and told me that I was to die at dawn."
My mother broke down, laid her head on his bed and sobbed heartbreakingly.
My father patted her head and said, "Don't cry, Lillie, you'll unman me."
"But your beautiful life, James," my mother sobbed. "Your beautiful life."