Thursday noon was set for the funeral of the man who had given his life that a city might live. In the room where he had made his brave fight against death he now lay in state. On Wednesday ten thousand people visited him there. Early Thursday morning his remains1 were transferred to the Unitarian Church where, early as it was, a great multitude had gathered to do him honour. Now through the long morning hours it sat with him silently. The church was soon filled to over-flowing; the streets in all directions became crowded with sober-faced men and women. They knew they would be unable to get into the church, to attend nearer his last communion with his fellowmen, but they stayed, feeling vaguely2 that their mere3 presence helped--as, indeed, perhaps it did. Marching bodies from every guild4 or society in the city stood in rank after rank, extending down the street as far as the eye could reach. Hundreds of horsemen, carriages, foot marchers, quietly, orderly, were already getting into line. They, too, were excluded from the funeral ceremonies by lack of room; they, too, waited to do honour to the cortege. This procession was over two miles in length. Each man wore a band of crepe around his left arm. The time set for the funeral ceremony was yet hours distant.
It seemed that all the city must be there. But those who, hurrying to the scene, had occasion to pass near the Vigilante headquarters found the vacant square guarded on all sides by a triple line of armed men. The side streets, also, were filled with them. They stood in exact alignment5, rigid6, bayonets fixed7, their eyes straight ahead. Three thousand of them were there. Hour after hour they stood, untiring, staring at the building, which gave no sign; just as the other multitude, only a few squares away, stood hour after hour, patiently waiting in the bright sun.
At quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building were thrown open, and small platforms, extending about three feet, were thrust from two of them. An instant later two heavy beams were shoved out from the flat roof directly over the platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled8 nooses9 of rope. A dead wait ensued. Across the silence could be heard faintly from the open windows of the distant church the chords of an organ, the rise and fall of a hymn11, then the measured cadence12 of oration13. The funeral services had begun.
As though this were a signal, the blinds that had partly closed the window openings were swung back, and Charles Cora was conducted to the end of one of the little platforms. His face was covered with a white handkerchief, and his arms and legs were bound with cords. The attendant adjusted the noose10, then left him. An instant later Casey appeared. He had petitioned not to be blindfolded14, so his face was bare. Cora stood bolt upright, motionless as a stone. Casey's nerve had left him; his face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. As the attendant placed the noose, the murderer's eyes darted15 here and there over the square. Did he still expect that the boastful promises of his friends would be fulfilled, did he still hope for rescue? If so, that hope must have died as he looked down on those set, grim faces staring straight ahead, on that sinister16 ring of steel. He began to babble17.
"Gentlemen!" he cried at them, "I am not a murderer! I do not feel afraid to meet my God on a charge of murder! I have done nothing but what I thought was right! To-morrow let no editor dare call me a murderer! Whenever I was injured I have resented it. It has been part of my education during twenty-nine years! Gentlemen, I forgive you this persecution18! O God! My poor mother! O God!"
Not one word of contrition19; not one word for the man who lay yonder in the church; not one syllable20 for the heartbroken wife kneeling at the coffin21! He ceased. And his words went out into the void and found no echo against that wall of steel.
They waited. For what? Across the intervening housetops the sound of speaking ceased to carry. The last orator22 had given place. At the door of the sanctuary23 was visible a slight, commotion24: the coffin was being carried out. It was placed in the hearse. Every head was bared. There ensued a slight pause; then from overhead the great bell boomed once. Another bell in the next block answered. A third, more distant, chimed in. From all parts of the city tolled25 the solemn requiem26.
At the first stroke the long cortege moved forward toward Lone27 Mountain; at the first stroke the Vigilantes, as one man, presented arms; at the first stroke the platforms dropped and Casey and Cora fell into the abyss of eternity28.
1 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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2 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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3 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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4 guild | |
n.行会,同业公会,协会 | |
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5 alignment | |
n.队列;结盟,联合 | |
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6 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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7 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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8 dangled | |
悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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9 nooses | |
n.绞索,套索( noose的名词复数 ) | |
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10 noose | |
n.绳套,绞索(刑);v.用套索捉;使落入圈套;处以绞刑 | |
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11 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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12 cadence | |
n.(说话声调的)抑扬顿挫 | |
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13 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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14 blindfolded | |
v.(尤指用布)挡住(某人)的视线( blindfold的过去式 );蒙住(某人)的眼睛;使不理解;蒙骗 | |
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15 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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16 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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17 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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18 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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19 contrition | |
n.悔罪,痛悔 | |
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20 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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21 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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22 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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23 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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24 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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25 tolled | |
鸣钟(toll的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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26 requiem | |
n.安魂曲,安灵曲 | |
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27 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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28 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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