Having examined the banks of the Danube
and of the Saava, in case of flight becoming
unavoidable, Schobry proceeded, unsuspected,
in his handsome equipage to Stuhlweissenberg,
where he had appointed to meet one of
his agents, who had extensive means of
knowing what was going on in the camp of
hostile police and military cohorts. The
accounts were anything but reassuring: the
whole country was raised; minute descriptions
of his person circulated everywhere;
and particular instructions had been sent to
the commandants along the military frontier;
consequently, Voukovar, Peterwardein, Mitrovitze,
and Semlin, were the most dangerous
places to which he could go. It was
proposed that he should remain quiet in the
Transylvanian mountains. His recent visit
to Voukovar had by some means become
known to the authorities a few hours after he
quitted; and if he had not, by mere accident,
taken a cross-country track, he would have
been intercepted. Yet, after learning all
this and more, his confidant was dismayed at
hearing him say, in his firmest and most
deliberate tone, "I shall be obliged to go to
Voukovar and Essig, and I shall be obliged
to go to Semlin, or close to it." A good disguise,
and a new passport adapted to the
travesty, enabled him to do as he pleased at
Voukovar, where the police were off their
guard, little expecting a fresh visit so soon
after a hot pursuit. But on the frontier all
the public guardians were on the alert, and
they have often penetrated rnasqueradings
that passed undiscovered even in Vienna.
It is said that Schobry went from Voukovar
to some part of the Baïtchka county, or to
the Banat, on his way to Semlin, quite alone.
In the small hostelries on the road he often
heard himself spoken of, and quite as often
spoke of himself. One evening he arrived
(after losing his way to a farm-house, where
he had a friend), wet and weary, at a village
inn, and went to bed at once; merely lighting
a candle, drinking a tumbler of wine in
the common room, and ordering his supper
to be brought to him a couple of hours later.
But that lighting of a candle was the
extinguishing of his own life. The little corporal,
his restless foe since the adventure of the
cave, was there among the smokers, and
instantly set off to tell the commander of
troops in the village who the new guest
was at the village inn. The captain,
a cautious old Kaiserlich, made full
inquiry before he decided upon his course.
It was known that Schobry always went
well armed; and the point of skill was,
therefore, to take him alive, without giving
him a chance of killing one of his assailants.

The innkeeper (a docile Saxon, whose
discretion could be trusted), as well as the
battalion-surgeon, were called to the
captain's quarters. There it was arranged
that a bottle of a superior kind of red wine
should be drugged, and supplied, at half-
past seven o'clock, to Schobry with his
supper; afterwards twenty men, under a
lieutenant, were to rush into the room
with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets;
these were to bind Schobry as he slept
under the influence of the narcotic. The
corporal volunteered to enter first, bearing
a torch.

As he sat down to supper, Schobry
observed to the innkeeper's wife (who waited
on him, knowing nothing of his quality, and
his impending fate) that he never before felt
such gloomy forebodings, and requested her
to be extremely careful that night against
fire, as there was so much wood in the
building of the house, and he had noticed
that the room next his was full of flax. The
woman replied that she herself was very
nervous about fire, and always walked
through the house with a lantern before
going to rest for the night. He drank about
half the wine, and must have taken with it
a sufficient over-dose of opium. Before the
supper was removed, he reverted to the
subject of fire, observing, that if such a misfortune
were to occur, he could save, at any
rate, himself, the windows of the room being
only a couple of feet from the ground. He
little knew that he was already watched
through those windows by the eight eyes of
four sentinels and the two eyes of the small
corporal, who helped to watch until the
bandit was in bed, and had put out the
candle.

All was ready at midnight for the capture.
The door had been gently opened, and the
victim's hard breathing was heard. The
corporal entered with his torch, and Schobry
either started up, or uttered a cry in his
sleep. Contrary to their original orders,
four soldiers fired at him from the doorway,
and three of their balls told. According
to some accounts, Schobry was
killed on the instant, and his dead body
exposed next day to the terror of ill-
doers; while another version is that, being
only wounded, he was executed publicly
after a brief trial.

Under the pillow of the bed in which he
slept, a square packet was found, and upon
the blood-stained cover there was something
written. The contents were six Vienna
bank-notes (at one of those rare periods
when these were at par) for one thousand
florins each, and twenty notes of
one hundred florins. It is not known
who received that treasure; but it certainly
did not reach Julia Petravits. So the
lovers did not marry, and were miserable
ever after.