.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 40137
   :PG.Title: The Red, White, and Green
   :PG.Released: 2012-07-03
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Hayens
   :DC.Title: The Red, White, and Green
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1901
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE RED, WHITE, AND GREEN
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   .. _`Cover`:

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      :alt: Cover

      Cover

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   .. _`"The white-coats poured in their volley,"`:

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      :align: center
      :alt: "The white-coats poured in their volley.
 
      "The white-coats poured in their volley.  Page `190`_.

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   .. _`"I shook my sword at the retreating figure,"`:

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      :align: center
      :alt: "*I shook my sword at the retreating figure.*

      "*I shook my sword at the retreating figure.*  Page `364`_.]

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   *The*
   *Red, White, and Green*

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      *By*
      *HERBERT HAYENS*

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      *Author of "A Captain of Irregulars," "A Vanished Nation,"
      "A Fighter in Green," "An Emperor's Doom,"
      &c. &c.*

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      *WITH ILLUSTRATIONS*

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      *THOMAS NELSON AND SONS*
      *London, Edinburgh, and New York*
      *1901*

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      By the same Author.

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      THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE.  Price 5s.
      A VANISHED NATION.  Price 5s.
      A CAPTAIN OF IRREGULARS.  Price 5s.
      A FIGHTER IN GREEN.  Price 5s.
      IN THE GRIP OF THE SPANIARD.  Price 5s.
      AN EMPEROR'S DOOM.  Price 5s.
      CLEVELY SAHIB.  Price 5s.
      UNDER THE LONE STAR.  Price 5s.
      THE BRITISH LEGION.  Price 3s. 6d.

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      T. NELSON AND SONS,
      *London, Edinburgh, and New York.*

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      CONTENTS.

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      I.  `WILL THE REGIMENT MARCH?`_
      II.  `A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT SORT`_
      III.  `THE INSURRECTION IN FULL SWING`_
      IV.  `VIENNA IN FLAMES`_
      V.  `ARRESTED`_
      VI.  `HARD WORK AT PESTH`_
      VII.  `A FIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS`_
      VIII.  `A DRAWN BATTLE`_
      IX.  `THE RETREAT`_
      X.  `ON THE SICK LIST`_
      XI.  `GÖRGEI TO THE RESCUE`_
      XII.  `A SORROWFUL VICTORY`_
      XIII.  `A VISIT FROM STEPHEN`_
      XIV.  `THE QUARREL WITH COUNT BEULA`_
      XV.  `HOW STEPHEN CARRIED THE FLAG`_
      XVI.  `I JOIN THE STAFF`_
      XVII.  `THE WOUNDING OF GÖRGEI`_
      XVIII.  `GÖRGEI FORGETS HIS WOUND`_
      XIX.  `SENT SCOUTING`_
      XX.  `NEARLY CAPTURED`_
      XXI.  `THE LAST BLOW`_
      XXII.  `THE SURRENDER`_
      XXIII.  `COUNT BEULA DISLIKES HANGING`_
      XXIV.  `THE END OF COUNT BEULA`_
      XXV.  `IMPRISONED AT ARAD`_
      XXVI.  `LED OUT TO EXECUTION`_
      XXVII.  `AN AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ALLIANCE`_

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      LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

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      `"THE WHITE-COATS POURED IN THEIR VOLLEY,"`_ *Frontispiece*
      `"I SHOOK MY SWORD AT THE RETREATING FIGURE,"`_ *Vignette*
      `"FROM THE WOODS THEY POURED A HOT MUSKETRY FIRE UPON THE DEFENDERS"`_
      `"MY HEART LEAPED TO MY MOUTH AS I SAW STEPHEN FOREMOST"`_
      `"GÖRGEI AND HIS STAFF RODE TO THE FRONT, WHERE THE RUSSIAN GENERALS MET THEM"`_

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.. _`WILL THE REGIMENT MARCH?`:

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   THE RED, WHITE, AND GREEN.

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   CHAPTER I.

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   *WILL THE REGIMENT MARCH?*

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"Cowardly rats, deserting a sinking ship!"
exclaimed my brother Stephen; "I would not raise
my little finger to help them!"

"It seems to me this insurrection will do good to our
cause."

Stephen pushed his chair back from the breakfast-table,
and stood up.

"We are Hungarians," said he, "and we fight for our
nation.  We want no assistance from these Austrian rebels.
If they care a kreuzer for their country, why don't they
rally round the emperor?"

Laughing at Stephen's expression of disgust, I crossed
the room to the little window, and looked into the street.

It was the morning of October 5, 1848, and still fairly
early, yet the people of Vienna were pouring by in
hundreds, all eager, restless, and apparently too excited to
think of such an ordinary thing as breakfast.

Some were mere lads, pale-faced and spectacled, but
armed with sword and pistol, and looking very resolute;
these were students from the public schools and
universities.  Mingling with these enthusiastic youths were
a few shopkeepers, a more considerable body of
respectably-dressed artisans, numbers of National Guards in
uniform, and, most significant of all, the men from the
slums--bare-headed, dirty, gaunt, but carrying knives, hatchets,
clubs, and other death-dealing weapons.

Thus far, this year of 1848 had produced most remarkable
changes throughout Europe.

Louis Philippe, King of the French, had been driven
into exile; Sicily had revolted against King Bomba;
insurrections had arisen at Madrid; the whole of Germany
had been, and was, in a state of turmoil; the Prussians
had conquered Poland afresh.

Thrones had crumbled into dust, and monarchs and
rulers had been swept away like chaff before the wrath
of the people.

But of all the European countries, none in this wild
gale of popular fury was so severely tried as the proud
empire of Austria.

In northern Italy, the veteran Radetzky was upholding
the black and yellow flag of Austria against a host of
insurgents; in Bohemia, the Slavs, bent on founding a
great Slav nation, were suppressed with difficulty by the
Austrian general, Prince Windischgratz; my own gallant
land of Hungary had drawn the sword to win back the
ancient rights of which it had been deprived by the
Viennese government; while here at Vienna, in the very
heart of the empire, thousands of men were working their
hardest to overthrow their own Kaiser.

With these people neither Stephen nor I had the least
sympathy.  We were Hungarians, but royalists, loving
our country with a fond and faithful affection, yet
wishful to preserve our loyalty to the emperor-king.

News of the dispute between Hungary and Austria
had reached us in London, and we had just arrived at
Vienna on our homeward journey.

My brother Stephen was eighteen years of age, and my
senior by twelve months.

In figure he was tall and elegant; his face was regularly
oval, with a pale complexion; his forehead was high and
broad, his mouth small and well formed.  His black hair
fell in long curls almost to his shoulders; he wore a black
moustache in the Hungarian fashion; and his eyes were
dark and fiery.

A true Magyar, every inch of him, he might have
stood beside King Stephen of glorious memory.

He came to join me at the little window, and we were
still gazing intently at the throngs below, when some one,
hurrying up the stairway, knocked at the door.

"Come in!" I cried, and turning round added hastily,
"Why, it is Rakoczy, looking as miserable as a caged
bird!  Are the folks too busy demonstrating to get you
some breakfast?"

The newcomer closed and locked the door, and came
over to us.

John Rakoczy, or "John the Joyous," as we called him,
was, like ourselves, a Hungarian, though there was a slight
mixture of German blood in his veins.

He was a handsome man, several years older than myself,
with chestnut hair, dark-blue eyes, and a frank, open,
jovial face.

His merry laugh and light-hearted manners had earned
him the title of "John the Joyous;" but on this October
morning his face was gloomy and troubled.

He placed himself between us, so that he could speak to
both without raising his voice.

"Heard the news?" he asked.

"We've heard the row!" I replied.  "These poor people
will strain their throats."

"The city's in a state of insurrection.  The students
and the Nationals and the Burgher Guards are going to
overthrow the government."

"Barking dogs never bite," said Stephen sarcastically.

"These will soon--they're only sharpening their teeth;
and the Richters are to help them."

"The Richter Grenadiers?" I exclaimed.

"Yes.  Our fellows have beaten Jellachich, who is in
sore straits; and Latour, the war minister, has ordered
the grenadiers to march to his assistance.  They are in
a state of mutiny, and the citizens are backing them up."

Earlier in the year, Croatia, under its Ban or Governor,
Baron Jellachich, had revolted from Hungary; and though
at first the emperor had denounced the rising, he had now
taken Jellachich under his protection.

"Count Latour can take care of himself," said Stephen;
"he is a man, not a lath."

Our companion rubbed his hands together softly, and,
lowering his voice to a whisper, said,--

"This affair is serious.  Don't ask how I obtained the
information, but you can rely on its truth.  A secret
meeting was held last night in the city.  The chiefs of
the extreme party were present, and to-morrow, when
the regiment marches out, has been fixed for a general
rising."

"This is interesting to the Viennese," said my brother,
"but not to us."

"Wait a bit.  You know what happened a few days
since in Pesth?"

Stephen's face flushed with shame, and I hung my head.

On September 28, Count Lamberg, the Austrian
commander-in-chief, had been seized in the streets of Pesth
by an armed rabble, and cruelly put to death--a foul
crime that would long stain the fair name of Hungary.

"To-morrow," Rakoczy continued, "the victim will be
Count Latour, and the butchers will cry, 'Long live
Hungary!'"

"What do we want with such brutes?" cried Stephen
passionately.  "Cannot we fight and win our battles with
our own swords?  We shall be disgraced for ever by this
rabble!"

"The count must be put on his guard," I exclaimed.
"I will go to his hôtel and inform him of the plot."

"It will be useless trouble," said Stephen.  "One man
cannot fight against thirty thousand, and the count is too
brave a veteran to yield."

"He must yield or die," said John.  "I have learned
enough to know that.  The chiefs of the revolution have
decided to kill him unless he recalls the order for the
regiment to march."

I put on my hat; the others did the same, and
accompanied me into the street.

A crowd of students rushing by caught sight of our
costume, and surrounding us, cried, "Long live Hungary!"

Much to their surprise, we bared our heads and
responded by a hearty, "Long live King Ferdinand!" for,
although our country was at war with Austria, we
remembered that Austria's emperor was Hungary's king.

In the square on the north side of the hôtel we stopped,
and I gave my weapons to Stephen, so that the guards
might not suspect me of having any design on the life of
the minister.

"Tell him," said Rokoczy earnestly, "that unless he
gives way his life is lost."

I left them standing at the corner of the square, and
went on alone to the courtyard of the hôtel.

Hundreds of citizens stood about, all armed and gesticulating
violently, but as yet offering no personal mischief
to any one.  Several times I had to stop while they cheered
for Hungary and Kossuth; but at length, after considerable
pushing and squeezing, I reached the gate.

There were few soldiers about, and these could
certainly have been overpowered by one determined rush
of the mob outside; but the time for that had not yet
come.

At first the officer on duty made some difficulty about
passing me; but at length I was sent under escort across
the courtyard, and admitted into the building.

Here still further delay occurred.  Count Latour was
busy; he could not see me; it would be better to call
another time, or deliver my message to the count's
secretaries.

Patience, however, is a useful weapon, and by its aid
I found myself at last in the audience-chamber, where
the minister was engaged in animated discussion with his
colleagues.

"Well, young sir?" exclaimed the noble-looking veteran
sharply.  "Your news must be of extreme importance to
justify your persistence."

"You shall judge for yourself, count, if these
gentlemen will leave us for five minutes."

At this the others smiled, and one muttered something
about a Magyar adventurer.

I had entered the room with peace in my heart; but
this insult was abominable, and I loudly demanded to
know if they took me for an assassin.

A little old man with a white beard and small ferret
eyes stopped my high-flown speech by saying, "Remember
Lamberg!" and at those words, so full of meaning, I hung
my head in shame.

Would that fatal act be thrown into the teeth of the
Magyars for ever?

I think that the count must have pitied me, for he said
kindly,--

"What is your name, my young friend?  It is needless
to ask your nationality."

The question restored my self-respect, and I raised my
head proudly.

"George Botskay has little reason to be ashamed of his
name," I said.

"A son of the late General Botskay?"

I bowed in reply, and the count addressed a few words to
his colleagues, who retired one by one with evident reluctance.

"Now, my lad," exclaimed the fine old soldier, "what
is it you wish to say?  I am very busy, and cannot spare
much time."

"I have come to warn you, count," I began, but at that
he stopped me.

"The son of General Botskay should have known that
I take no warning from rebels," he said sternly, and made
a movement to ring the bell.

"One moment, count; you must listen to me.  I have
learned by accident something you ought to know.  The
city is up in arms"--Latour smiled--"and the grenadiers
are to be prevented from marching."

"I have issued the order," he said, as if that settled the
matter.

"It will not be obeyed.  The leaders of the insurrection
met last night in secret, and made their arrangements.  A
revolution has been decided on, and you, count, are to be
the first victim."

"Why do you tell me this?"

"That you may be prepared."

"Are you on our side?"

"No.  I must fight for my own country."

He took a sheet of note-paper from a drawer, and
placing it in my hand, said, "Read!"

It was an anonymous letter, warning him that unless
he recalled the order, the people would put him to death.

"It came this morning," he remarked quietly.  "The
writer will learn my answer to-morrow."

Gazing at the well-knit figure and the calm, proud face
of the sturdy veteran, I felt convinced that he would not
move a finger to avert the impending tragedy.

"You seem sorry," he said, "but there is little to grieve
about.  I am a soldier, and know how to die at my post.
Still, I thank you for trying to help me; and may the time
soon come when Austrians and Hungarians will once more
join hands as brethren and loyal subjects of the emperor."

"Amen to that!" I replied fervently, and the proud old
noble, shaking my hand, himself led me to the door.

At the head of the stairs I turned and glanced at him
again.  He waved his hand cordially; his features were
calm and unruffled, his air was serene, as though he
knew nothing of the dangers which threatened him.

Brave old count!  After all, he chose the better part!

Rakoczy and my brother waited at the corner of the
square, but they saw at once that my errand had been in
vain.

"He will die at his post, if need be," I said, as we got
clear of the crowd.

"What else could he do?" asked Stephen.  "You would
not expect the soldier of half a century to run away from
the armed rabble."

"Well," exclaimed Rakoczy, "we have done our best to
save him; now we must look to ourselves.  I suppose you
two intend joining the army?"

"Yes; but we will wait and see what happens to-morrow."

"If you could stay a few days longer, we might all go
together."

This proposal suited me capitally; and as Stephen did
not wish to lose the speaker's company, it was agreed
that we should remain in Vienna till the end of the
week.

"We aren't likely to miss much," said Rakoczy.  "Kossuth
can do nothing till the Honveds have been properly
drilled.  At present they are no better than these worthy
citizens who shout 'Long live Hungary!' so abominably."

The Honveds, or Home-Defenders, were practically
peasants drawn from the plough, without drill or
discipline, or even knowledge of arms beyond their scythes
and pikes and cumbrous old-world guns.

No general would expect them to stand for an instant
against the Austrian veterans; and, as Görgei, our great
leader, humorously said, he reckoned much more upon their
legs than their arms.

However, they were brave fellows at bottom, and those
who laughed at them had reason to repent of it before the
war ended.

During the afternoon Rakoczy left us to attend to his
private affairs, so Stephen and I strolled about the city
watching the actions of the excited people.

It was easy to tell that something out of the common
was going to happen; and when we returned to our rooms
I felt more sorry than ever for the brave old count, who
so proudly defied the enemies of his master.

But to help him further was beyond our power; we
could only wait and watch the events of a new day.

It was certain that Latour would not withdraw his
order; but whether he would meet force by force and
command Count Auersperg to bombard the city, or offer
himself as a sacrifice to the fury of the mob, we did not
know.  From midnight till about three o'clock a dead
silence brooded over the town, but when daylight fairly
broke Vienna was in arms.

Rakoczy joined us at breakfast, and by his advice we
ate a substantial meal before venturing out, as the time of
our return was very uncertain.

"Now," said he, on rising from the table, "pistols in
working order?  There will be a big *kravalle* before the
day's over."

"If it's nothing worse than that, so much the better," I
replied.  "A street brawl doesn't hurt."

Stephen locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and
we all three went down into the street, where the people
were packed like herrings in a barrel.

Men, women, and children of all classes were there--the
shopkeeper, the artisan, the labourer, and the dweller in
the slums who had come out expressly for plunder, and who
would as soon cut a Hungarian as an Austrian throat.  One
of this last class, however, a brawny fellow, hatless and
coatless, with arms bare to the elbow, and carrying a
murderous-looking axe, professed great sympathy with the
Magyars, and attached himself to Stephen, much to the
latter's disgust.

John and I walked directly behind, laughing to see my
rather fastidious brother in the society of the *soi-disant*
patriot.

"Keep a brave heart, young sir!" we heard the unwashed
one say, "and trust to us.  We'll see you get your rights.
Down with the emperor and up with the people!  It's our
turn now!" and he put one arm affectionately round my
brother's waist.

"Bravo, comrade!" cried John, winking at me.  "The
brave Viennese will take care of Hungary!"

"Right you are, brother!" shouted back the brawny
ruffian.  "We'll join hands.  Long live Hungary and the
Viennese!  No more emperors!  No more kings!  We'll
have a republic and be our own masters!"

"And not do any more work!" said John.

"No; we've had our share.  Let the rest take a turn;"
and he gave Stephen another squeeze to show his goodwill.

Happily for my brother's peace of mind, we had by this
time reached the end of the narrow street, and a vigorous
push by the crowd parted us from our enthusiastic
friend.

We had started with the intention of going to the hôtel
of the war minister, but it soon became plain that we had
no choice in the matter; we were compelled to go wherever
the mob carried us.

One thing I noticed which rather astonished me--the
National Guards and the armed students had disappeared.
Here and there one certainly caught sight of a citizen
warrior, but they were very few, and I wondered what had
become of the others.

"We shall soon find out," said Rakoczy, to whom I put
the question.  "There's mischief brewing somewhere.
Listen to, that!" and a great shout of "Long live the
Grenadiers!" rose on the air.  The people, sufficiently
excited hitherto, now became frantic.  They waved their
arms, and cheered the mutinous regiment wildly.

"Link arms!" exclaimed Rakoczy, and it was well we
took his advice.  A tremendous rush nearly took us off our
feet, and we were carried along in the midst of the
tumultuous throng.

"Tabor!  Tabor!" shouted the crowd.  "Make for the
bridge of Tabor!  That's where they cross!  Hurrah for
the Grenadiers!  Down with the emperor!  Death to
Latour!  Long live the brave Hungarians!"

As we approached the bridge of Tabor the excitement
became intense.  We were pushed this way and that, and,
but for the linking of arms, we must quickly have lost
sight of one another.

"Keep a firm grip," cried John.  "Look out!  There
goes the military!" and instantly the cheers for the
Grenadiers redoubled.

"There's a cavalry regiment escorting them," I
exclaimed; "and look!  Some one has brought up a couple
of guns!"

"They want twenty," said Stephen.  "Ah! now for it!"

At the farther end of the bridge the National Guards
and the University Legion were drawn up in battle array,
waiting to oppose the passage of the troops.

The mob pressed to and fro like the unquiet waves of
the sea; now we were thrown almost bodily into the ranks
of the soldiers, again carried back many yards.

The windows of all the houses anywhere near were filled
by groups of rioters, who levelled their guns ostentatiously
at the loyal troops, while the *sans-culottes* in the streets
roared approval.

At the moment my brother spoke we had a full view of
the situation.

The Grenadiers, with their escort, had reached the
bridge-head.  Behind them were a body of infantry and
the artillerymen with a couple of guns.  An officer in
general's uniform commanded the whole.

Suddenly the Grenadiers broke loose, and, with triumphant
cries of "Long live Hungary!" crossed the bridge at
the *pas de charge*.

The students and Nationals received them with open
arms; the general sat on horseback, immovable as a bronze
statue.  Then a smile, half of pity, half of scorn, appeared
on his face.  He opened his mouth to give an order, when,
from the farther side of the bridge, rang out a sharp report,
and the Austrian fell dead.

Stephen tore himself from me, his eyes flashing, his
handsome face crimson with anger.

"You cowards!" he cried, and would have run to the
bridge had not Rakoczy dragged him back by main force.
Only just in time!

Crash!  And a storm of grape whizzed through the air
as the gunners discharged their two pieces.

The insurgents who were advancing to the charge
wavered; another dose of iron hail, and they fell back
in disorder.

But the loyalists were few, their enemy legion.

Their brave leader, too, was dead; and, though they
fought valiantly for a time, the end was certain.

The students especially behaved like madmen.  Shot
and shell tore through their ranks, making long, narrow
gaps, but the survivors pressed on; the mob picked off the
loyalists; the men at the windows shot them down; the
Nationals eagerly backed up their comrades; the bridge
was gained; there was a desperate, confused, hand-to-hand
struggle round the guns, and then a loud shout of victory
echoed and re-echoed through the exultant multitude.

"To the gates!  Seize the gates!" they yelled; and
presently another cry rose--one which we had been
expecting every moment to hear.

"Death to Latour!" bawled a huge, hairy-throated
fellow; and we recognized our acquaintance of the morning,
whose butcher's axe was wet with blood.

"That's the word!" cried another.  "Death to Latour,
and no more ministers!"

"Forward!  Forward!  Long live the republic!  Up
with the tricolour!"

"To the hôtel!" said Stephen feverishly.  "We may yet
help to save him."

Alas! if we were powerless in the morning, we were
equally so now.  The mob carried us whithersoever it
listed.  We were flung bodily from side to side, shot down
narrow streets like stones from a catapult, jammed together
without power of movement, then pushed forward again by
the masses in the rear.

Rakoczy soon disappeared.  Stephen was yards in front,
separated from me by hundreds of yelling madmen.  I was
panting and breathless, and felt as if some one had beaten
me well with a stout stick.

A man just before me--a small, pale man with
wide-open, frightened eyes--went down, and was lost in the
crowd; it was like dropping a pin.

Had his life been worth the value of the universe, no
one could have saved him; as it was, he simply dropped,
like a stone into the water, and the crowd pressed over
him.

To add to the uproar, the tocsin sounded, and everywhere
it seemed as if the soldiers were discharging their
muskets.

In one street people were busy erecting a barricade.
The head of the crowd, seeing this, wished to turn back;
they might as well have tried to turn the stars in their
course.

The street was narrow and sloping; unfortunately, we
shot into it from the higher end, and there was no stopping.

Those in front raised a cry of despair as they were hurled
against the half-built barricade, the workers on the other
side of which ran into the houses, while the living torrent
swept on.

Crash went the structure--logs of wood, bodies of
carts, stuffed sacks, piles of stones, and human beings all
mingled together!  I caught a brief glimpse of Stephen
wedged into the corner of a doorway, looking as if he
would be squeezed to death, but there was no helping him.

I was off my feet, supported only by the bodies of my
nearest companions, one of whom moaned in pain.

Through the *débris* we were hurled, swept round the
corner to the left, and dropped, panting and bruised and
battered, in the Place of St. Stephen.





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.. _`A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT SORT`:

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   CHAPTER II.

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   *A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT SORT.*

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I stood for several minutes between the palace and the
great church trying to draw some breath into my
lungs, for the pressure of the crowd had left me like a
squeezed lemon.

To search for the missing Rakoczy was useless labour,
but it might be possible to return to the narrow street
where I had last seen my brother.

I soon discovered, however, that the short delay had put
that also out of the question.  The people were pouring
into the Place; and, though the terrible stress had been
lessened, I was still a prisoner, blocked in on all sides by
the tumultuous throng.

The huge bell in the tower of St. Stephen's clanged out
its brazen peals of warning and menace, and a sharp
musketry fire told me that fierce fighting was going on
in the very shadow of the sacred edifice.

A handful of loyal National Guards, faithful to their
oaths, and led by a brave commander, were, like good men
and true, sacrificing their lives in the performance of duty.

Of course, the contest was a hopeless one; but the men
stood their ground bravely, and I guessed from the savage
cries of the rioters that the faithful few were selling their
lives dearly.

From where I stood nothing could be seen save the
heads of the populace; but the surging of the crowd
backward and forward showed how the fight progressed.

Clang! clang! pealed the great bell, swinging high in
the air, while below the whirr and rattle of musketry
mingled with the frantic shouts of the people.

A louder yell than usual proclaimed that something
decisive had occurred, and soon the news spread to the
very outermost of the packed onlookers.

"Now they have them!  Into the church!  Follow
them up!  Well done, brave Nationals!  Well done,
students!  Now we'll see who's to be master!"

It was even so.  The gallant band, overwhelmed by
numbers, had fallen back foot by foot, until the insurgents
by one wild rush had forced them into the cathedral,
where their leader was slain on the high altar itself.

All this I learned only from the conversation of the
people, being unable to see anything for myself.

But from what happened next I might easily have
known the end had come.

From the middle of the throng a cry rose, and the
multitude in their thousands took it up, shouting wildly,
"Latour!  Death to Latour!"

This way and that they rushed, some to the south, some
to the north of the Place, seeking any outlet which would
lead them to the hôtel of the minister of war.

In an instant I was caught up and hurried off out of
the Place, across a wide street, then into a network of
narrow ones, until I was stopped with the rest in front
of the hôtel where lived Count Latour.

Was he still there?  There had been ample time for
escape, and I hoped against hope that he had taken
advantage of it; but, remembering the calm, proud face
of the man, I had my doubts.

The gates were closed; the soldiers, scanty in numbers
but well disciplined, stood at their posts, eyeing the frenzied
mob with contempt.

Some of the students at once opened fire; the soldiers
replied, and, the target being so broad, every bullet lodged
somewhere.

Inside the building Count Latour was holding a council
of war, and the members, fearful lest in the growing excitement
the monarchy itself should be swept away, prevailed
on him to issue the order to cease firing.

This of course paralyzed the action of the loyal troops,
both at the hôtel and at the barracks, while the spirits of
the rebels were proportionately raised.

From the conversation of those near me, I gathered that
their surprise was equal to their delight, but they gave no
thought to the humanity of those in power.

The fearful cry, "Death to Latour!" was again raised.
The gates were threatened.  The soldiers, prevented from
firing by the order of the council, were unable to act.
Fresh bodies of rioters came swarming from various
directions.  The pressure grew terrible; the gates--I suppose,
as I could see nothing--gave way; the courtyard was
filled with the noisy, shouting, bloodthirsty pack; the
doors of the great building were smashed like glass; and
the crowd, screaming and struggling, surged up the broad
staircase.

At the first rush some were thrown violently against
the outer walls; others, by no power of their own, were
carried into the interior of the building, and fate so willed
that I belonged to the latter portion.  The name of the
gallant old count was on the lips of every one, as if he
were responsible for all the ills in the world, so easy is it
to inflame the passions of a mob which does not think for
itself.

It was on the first landing that we received a slight
check.

A few National Guards, still loyal to their pledges,
attempted to stem the human torrent.  Their success
was only momentary, and they were borne back, but not
dispersed.

Here the crowd broke up, some running one way, some
another, but all intent on killing Count Latour.

I followed the Nationals, thinking they would most
likely retire in the direction of the council chamber.

This they did, and that apartment was speedily filled.
I caught a glimpse of Latour, round whom the handful of
loyalists pressed.  His face was pale; otherwise he showed
no sign of fear, but gazed calmly on the throng of butchers.
Once he made an attempt to speak, but his words were
drowned in the tumult.

"Kill Latour!" was the savage cry.  Beyond that one
scarcely heard anything.

However, the brave Nationals resolved to make a fight
of it, and by a stroke of great good fortune I managed
to join them.

"Long live Latour!  Long live the gallant count!" I
cried, with all the strength of my lungs, and his defenders
echoed the cry.

But the others drowned our shouts with "Kill Latour!"
and one man, towering above the rest, sprang at the count
with uplifted axe.

It was the burly ruffian who had walked with us a
short time in the morning, and at sight of me his face
grew black as a thunder-cloud.

"Traitor!" he shouted, and, swinging round, aimed his
axe full at my head.

There was little time for action, much less for thought;
but, having my pistol free, I levelled it swiftly, and shot
the truculent bully dead.

The count threw me a glance of gratitude mingled with
pity; and in truth it appeared as if I needed the latter.

The insurgents rushed at us, bore us back, flung themselves
into our midst, and, acting like wedges, split us into
small groups.

I found myself in front of Latour, where the fighting
was fiercest, and emptied my pistol recklessly into the crowd.

The bullets cleared a space, but it was soon reoccupied.
Most of the loyalists were overpowered and disarmed, and
now their opponents came to help seize Latour.

Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I stood by the
side of the veteran, and did my best to save him.

The attempt failed; it was hopeless from the start, and
the end came very suddenly.

There were scarcely half a dozen of us all told, standing
shoulder to shoulder, to stay the rush, and we toppled
over like so many wooden pegs.

I lay on the floor half stunned, with the body of a man
right across my chest.  He was badly hurt, and kept
moaning feebly.

For several minutes I was unable to rise, or even to
move, and during that time the noise of the fighting grew
less and less distinct, finally dying away altogether.

The shouts of the populace, however, continued to ascend
from the courtyard, and could be plainly heard through
the open windows.

As soon as I had recovered a little strength, I shifted
the wounded man gently, and stood up.

The rioters had left the apartment; only the dead and
those seriously injured remained, and amongst these I
looked in vain for Latour.

Had they spared his life?  The idea seemed too good
for truth, but it was just possible.

Picking up an abandoned sword, I made my way from
the chamber to the staircase.  Several bodies lay where
they had fallen; otherwise the place was empty.

I ran down to the first landing, and overtook a frightened,
pale-faced man--a servant, probably, belonging to the
hôtel.  The fellow looked at me with such a comical
expression of woe, that, in spite of the day's work, I could
hardly refrain from laughing.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," I said, slapping him
on the shoulder.  "I'm not going to eat you.  What have
the rebels done with Count Latour?"

The man's eyes opened wider than before.  He bowed his
head and mumbled some words which I could not understand.

"Speak up!" I cried sharply, "or, by the honour of a
Botskay, I'll throw you over the balustrade."

The threat reduced him to a state bordering on
imbecility.  He made no attempt to speak, but, plucking at
my cloak like a chidden dog, led me into a small chamber
having a window which overlooked the courtyard.

What I saw there held me spellbound; and the man,
seeing he was no longer noticed, quietly slipped off.

Outside, Count Latour, the minister of war, the veteran
general who had carried the black and yellow flag to
victory a score of times, who over and over again had
risked his life to uphold the honour of his country, hung,
battered and dead, suspended from a lamp-post.

The mob still lingered about, but in smaller numbers;
the most violent had departed to pursue their work of
butchery elsewhere.

Many of the disloyal National Guards, who found it
easier work to insult a dead man than to combat a living
one, swaggered about, looking fierce and truculent.  Some
decently-dressed citizens regarded the murdered count, it
appeared to me, with pity and sorrow; even to some
of the insurgents remorse had come with terrible swiftness.

The students and men of the slums had gone--the
former to fight, the latter most likely to plunder.  More
peaceable people helped to fill up the gap thus caused.

I left the room and descended the stairs slowly, thinking
of Stephen.  Where was he?  Had he been killed by
that terrible crush in the narrow street?  Perhaps he was
still there, hurt and unable to move.  I must go and
find out.

On the lower part of the staircase I met numbers of
citizens coming to view the scene of the struggle.

I stood aside to let them pass, and they, recognizing
my nationality, saluted me with the cry of "Long live
Hungary!"  I thought of the dead man outside, and the
blood surged to my face.

In the courtyard there was room to move freely, and,
anxious on my brother's account, I was hurrying away,
when the sound of a girl's voice coming from the left
caused me to stop.

A low, angry growl from a section of the onlookers
told me something was wrong, and I ran to the spot.

A young girl, evidently of high birth, stood facing a
group of Nationals.  Her head was uncovered, and her
hair hung down her back in a thick, wavy, chestnut-coloured
mass.  She had a beautiful face, sweet and fresh
as the morning; her features were regular and refined;
her dark-blue eyes were of wonderful depth and expression.

She was slightly, almost delicately framed, and little
more than a child in years; but the inherited pride of
centuries burned in her face, and she confronted the citizen
soldiers fearlessly.

Standing erect, with her head thrown back defiantly,
she pointed to the body of the murdered man, and, with
a superb gesture of scorn, exclaimed in a ringing voice,
"You pitiful cowards!"

The crowd murmured, some in sympathy, others in
anger.  Several of the Nationals moved as if to chastise
the speaker, but she did not quail.

One, a bigger poltroon than his fellows, placed his hand
on her arm; but at that instant I sprang to the girl's side
and sent the aggressor sprawling.

"It is true!" I cried recklessly.  "You are a pack of
cowards to murder an aged and unarmed man!"

"A Hungarian and a traitor!" shouted a voice from
the crowd.

"No traitor," I replied, "as I hope my sword may prove;
but no assassin either."

"Don't be a fool," said the unseen speaker, but using
now the Hungarian tongue.  "What is the daughter of
an Austrian noble to you?  These others are our friends,
and they have done no worse than we did in Pesth."

"Knock him on the head, and the girl too!" cried one
of the soldiers; but he kept clear of the sword which I
had brought from the council chamber.

"Leave me, sir," implored the high-spirited girl.  "The
butchers will kill you.  I do not fear them."

I looked at her in smiling admiration, and said, "A
Magyar does not leave a lady in distress.  Permit me to
take you away from this crowd."

Thinking perhaps of my danger, she shuddered slightly,
and passed her arm within mine, while I prepared to
guard her with my life.

We might have escaped without further trouble, but
for the action of one of the Nationals, who, angered by the
girl's taunts, threw himself across our path.

I requested him to stand back, but he refused insolently,
and endeavoured to run me through with his bayonet.

At this several of his comrades came to his assistance,
and there was nothing for it but to cut my way out.

Some of the citizens now interfered, crying "Shame"
on the soldiers for attacking a girl; and, while our
opponents stood undecided, I received a welcome though
unexpected reinforcement.

There was a movement in the crowd as of a person
pushing his way through; and all at once I beheld my
brother, who, crying, "A Botskay to the rescue!" sprang
between us and the soldiers.

In either hand he held a loaded pistol, and there was an
air of determination in his handsome face which showed
he would not hesitate to fire.

I had just told the girl who the newcomer was, when a
second man broke through the crowd and joined us.

A giant of a fellow he was, wearing a round hat and
furred coat, and carrying in his hand a ponderous club
which would have crushed the skull of an ox.

My fair companion cried delightedly, "Franz!  Franz!"
and the man bowed to her with an air of respectful
deference.

His countenance was of a ruddy colour, his hair sandy;
he had pleasant blue eyes, a cheerful face, and the massive
limbs of an athlete.

"Make way there!" he cried, twirling his tremendous
club as if it had been a soldier's cane; "make way there
for the Fräulein von Arnstein!"

A portion of the spectators, crying, "Room for the
Fräulein von Arnstein!" hustled the soldiers, who, being
pressed by Franz and Stephen, sullenly began to give
ground.

The movement was very slow, and we had not made
much progress when a young man rode into the courtyard,
and was received with round after round of cheering.

He was dressed in civilian costume, but wore in addition
a broad red sash and a red cockade in his hat.

Who or what he was I did not know, but he was
plainly a person of importance amongst the rebels.

At sight of our companion his face expressed the
broadest astonishment, and leaping to the ground he
advanced quickly towards her.

Speaking in a soft, silky voice and using polished,
well-turned phrases, he expressed his regret at the conduct of
the Nationals, and offered to accompany her home.

"You will encounter neither danger nor insult while
with me," he concluded smilingly.

The girl looked at him in genuine scorn.

"Your offer comes too late," she said coldly.  "These
two gentlemen and my servant Franz are ready to protect
me from all the cut-throats in Vienna, either in or out of
uniform."

The stranger's face turned white, but his eyes burned
like fire, and I prepared for mischief.

He controlled his passion, however, bowed low, and
made a sign to the Nationals, who stood back, leaving the
way to the gates clear.

As for the girl, she took no further notice of him, but,
still leaning on my arm, walked out haughtily.

Franz marched in front with his club, Stephen, who
had replaced his pistols, followed, while we two brought
up the rear.

It was difficult to carry on a conversation, owing to the
shouting; and indeed it suited me well enough to walk in
silence, and to glance from time to time at the face of my
beautiful companion.

At last Franz stopped before a large house, and the
fräulein, making a gracious inclination of the head, begged
us to enter, that her mother might thank us for what
we had done.

Stephen, who cared little for the society of ladies,
would have declined the honour, but I did not give him
the chance, thanking her myself for her courtesy.

So the three of us--the lady leading--passed over the
threshold, and, traversing a wide hall, mounted a stately
staircase, which led to a magnificent apartment, as
sumptuously furnished as any I had seen in Paris.

Here we were left by our charming guide, who,
however, shortly returned with an older lady, grave and
ceremonious, but no doubt kindly at heart.

This was the Baroness von Arnstein, the mother of the
proud yet dainty girl, whom she called Theresa, and the
wife of an officer highly placed in the army commanded
by Prince Windischgratz.

The baroness listened to her daughter's story, and at
the end thanked us for having, as she was pleased to say,
saved her child's life.

Having passed an hour very pleasantly, and promised
to repeat our visit, we took our leave of the ladies, and
once more found ourselves in the streets of the excited
city.

It was late evening now, and rapidly growing dusk;
but the people were still abroad, shouting, singing the
French Marseillaise, and congratulating each other on the
result of the day's doings.

Many, however, occupied the time in far different
fashion.  Some paid visits to the principal shops,
especially to those containing food or weapons, which they
promptly seized.  Others, with an eye to the future, were
erecting barricades or strengthening old ones, and trying
to put the city in a state of defence.

"Imbeciles!" exclaimed Stephen angrily.  "When
Windischgratz arrives he will knock the place about
their ears.  I wonder what has become of Rakoczy."

"She has the most beautiful eyes," I murmured, pursuing
my own train of thought, "and of the loveliest blue.
And what remarkable bravery to be shown by a girl so
young!"

"Remarkable folly," replied my brother, "if you are
speaking of the Austrian maid; but enough of her.  Let
us think of Rakoczy.  The poor fellow may be dead, or
sorely needing our help."

"If so, he will take some finding.  I haven't seen him
since we left the bridge; but I don't think 'The Joyous'
will come to any harm.  Look at that red light in the
sky!  There is a big fire somewhere."

"It is at the arsenal, my brave Hungarians!" said a
wild-looking fellow staggering along beneath a load of
plunder.  "The students are attacking the arsenal.
Never fear, my boys!  We'll soon give you your independence!"

This speech was particularly galling to Stephen, who
moved on quickly, saying, "Come, George; it is likely we
shall find Rakoczy there."

It was difficult to get near the arsenal, as the streets
were crowded, and from some we had to turn back, owing
to the erection of barricades.

We were hungry, too, having eaten nothing since the
early morning; and seeing an open café, I persuaded
Stephen to enter.  The place was dirty, and the food not
the best; but hunger is a good sauce, and we ate what was
set before us without complaining.

From the talk of the men in the café we learned that
the soldiers guarding the arsenal were making a stout
fight against the students and National Guards, though,
unless reinforcements arrived, they were certain to be
overpowered by numbers.

"Well," said one fellow, chuckling, "we have our
revolution at last.  There's no drawing back for the
faint-hearts now."

"Latour's death has let them in up to the neck," said
another.  "They'll find it mighty hard to pull out of
that bog!"

"And a good job too!" replied the first speaker.  "What's
the use of making a revolution in kid gloves?  Strike
while the iron's hot is my motto.  Why should we stop at
Latour when there's bigger game to be found at
Schönbrunn?  Why not--"

Fortunately by this time we had finished our meal, and
were moving to the door; so, linking my arm in Stephen's,
I led him out hastily.

Though the government called him a Hungarian rebel,
he had scanty sympathy with Austrian republicans, and I
feared an explosion which would do little good.

Once outside the shop, we forgot the incident in looking
at the sky, which, near the arsenal, had now become a
deep-red colour, made more intensely vivid by the
increasing darkness.

"The building's on fire!" I said.  "The garrison will
have to surrender."

"Unless the sparks fall on the powder-magazine, and
then--"

"It will be farewell both to soldiers and students!"

A man whose face was blackened by powder, came up
the street shouting, "The arsenal's captured!  Cheers for
the brave students!" and immediately the people set off
running.

"Let us go too!" said Stephen.  "It is possible we
may find our friend;" and I, knowing how irresistibly a
fight attracted "John the Joyous," willingly agreed.





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.. _`THE INSURRECTION IN FULL SWING`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER III.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *THE INSURRECTION IN FULL SWING.*

.. vspace:: 2

For some time the flames from the burning building
leaped high into the heavens, and, spreading out, lit
an immense area by their glow; but gradually the vivid
red grew paler, and we concluded that the insurgents,
having captured the arsenal, were now trying to extinguish
the fire.

A nearer view, however, made it plain that our
informant had brought false news, as the garrison still
maintained a fierce fight against the students and the
National Guards.  The scene was more striking even than
that at the hôtel of the minister of war.  The darkness
of the night was illumined by the flames which continually
burst forth from one part of the arsenal, while the flashes
from hundreds of rifles showed that the roofs and windows
of the adjoining houses were occupied by the insurgents.

"Not much chance for the garrison," I said.  "All
these houses command the arsenal."

Still the unequal contest continued; the soldiers stuck
to their posts, and while some threw water on the flames,
the others returned the fire of the rioters.

The sharp-shooters on the roofs and at the windows
suffered little, but their allies in the street, being more
exposed, by no means escaped lightly.

All through the night the struggle lasted, but between
five and six o'clock in the morning it became plain to
every one that the powder-magazine was in imminent
danger of being blown up.

Then the brave garrison agreed to an honourable
capitulation; and as they marched out, the people, with
savage cries of triumph, flung themselves into the building.

The students and many of the National Guards did
their utmost to save the magazine; of the others, some
sought for weapons, while the remainder appeared bent
solely upon destruction.

After a tremendous amount of work, the fire was got
under, but really I expected to see it break out again in a
dozen different places.

The more foolish of the rioters played the strangest
antics, and having obtained both rifles and ammunition,
found pleasure in firing them at anybody or anything.

All the treasures were brought into the streets, and the
swords of the great Scanderbeg and Prince Eugene became
the property of men of the lowest classes.

We saw, without being able to prevent it, the helmet of
that Francis the First who was taken prisoner at the battle
of Pavia, tossed from one to the other of the ignorant mob,
and watched the destruction of the armour once worn by
the mighty Wallenstein and the faithful Daun.

We could not find Rakoczy; so, after searching a long
while, we decided on returning to our lodging.

The streets were less crowded now than they had been
during the last twenty-four hours.  Numbers of people,
tired by the fighting and excitement, had gone to rest;
others, shocked by the excesses committed, had withdrawn;
and indeed the broadening daylight made every one look
more or less ashamed of the night's events.

From the talk of the rioters we learned that the emperor
had left Schönbrunn with his family for Olmutz, and that
Count Auersperg had sent four thousand troops to form an
escort.  The rest of the army had been stationed in the
gardens of the Schwartzenberg and Belvidere palaces on
heights commanding the city.

But for the order to cease firing, these same soldiers
would most likely have nipped the insurrection in the
bud.

Still we did not meet Rakoczy; but a scrap of paper
pushed beneath the door of our room relieved our anxiety
concerning him.

"8 a.m.--Call again later.  Don't leave before seeing
me.--J.R."

"Now we can go to bed with easy minds," I said, passing
the paper to Stephen.

We were both exceedingly tired, and having once fallen
asleep, knew nothing further till awakened by a loud
knocking.

"Rakoczy," murmured Stephen lazily.  "Let him in,
George.  There's no more rest for us."

"The Joyous" now began to troll forth a Magyar hunting-song,
and the sound of the rich, full notes put all sleep to
flight.  Dressing hastily, I went into the sitting-room and
opened the door.

Street fighting and loss of sleep appeared to have little
effect on our companion.  His handsome face was bright
and cheerful as usual, and bidding me finish my toilet,
he continued his song.

"So the insurgents carried out their threat?" I said,
when, some time later, the three of us sat down to
dinner.

Rakoczy nodded.

"Heard the news at the arsenal?" he asked.  "What a
rush it was!  The crowd swept me away like a chip in
the Danube.  And as to getting back; there wasn't the
slightest chance."

"We were separated too," said Stephen, "but met again
in front of the hôtel.  George had quite an adventure.
Rescued a royalist maiden from the mob; quite like a
hero of romance."

"A charming girl--the daughter of Baron von Arnstein.
But Stephen has left out his share of the business;" and I
straightway related all that had happened.

"Fortunate youngsters," said Rakoczy.  "And a plucky
girl.  We shall soon be looking for an Austro-Hungarian
alliance.  I have some news, too, though not as pleasant
as yours.  Count Beula is in the city."

"What of that?" asked Stephen coldly.

"A great deal.  He is the head of the Hungarian Committee
formed to aid the Viennese in their insurrection."

"The work ought to suit him," I said carelessly.

"So it will till the Austrians recapture the town; then
he'll change sides fast enough."

"Very likely," said Rakoczy.  "But that isn't the point.
At present the rebels are victorious, and Count Beula is a
man of importance."

"Well, it has nothing to do with us," observed Stephen
rather crossly.

"Wrong again, my boy.  By virtue of his office, he
orders you to appear before the committee this very
evening;" and the speaker took a printed paper from
his pocket.

Stephen tore the document in halves, and threw the
pieces on the floor.

"I won't go!" he exclaimed haughtily.

"Yes, you will."

My brother sprang to his feet.  His face was crimson,
and he angrily demanded what Rakoczy meant.

"Don't lose your temper.  The explanation's simple.
Unless you attend, the committee will brand you either
coward or traitor."

"Rakoczy is right, Stephen.  My advice is to go and
hear what the count has to say."

Stephen examined his pistols and reached down his sword.

"Very well," he answered grimly; "but I'm afraid the
meeting won't be any the pleasanter for my company.
When do we start?"

"The Joyous" laughed genially.

"Not for a couple of hours yet; but if you're tired of
the house we can take a stroll through the town."

Stephen and I considered this a good suggestion, so,
having locked the door, we went out on a tour of inspection.

By this time there was no mistaking the fact that the
city proper was completely in the hands of the insurgents.
The tricolour floated over the principal buildings; the
National Guards patrolled the streets, and directed the
operations of the people who worked feverishly at the
strengthening of the barricades; the gates were guarded
by armed students enrolled as soldiers.  Of the imperial
government not a trace seemed to be left.

Turning back from the Scotch Gate, Rakoczy led us
through several streets, and finally stopped before a house
which, outwardly at least, differed in no wise from its
neighbours.

Our guide, speaking a word to the doorkeeper, led the
way into an ordinary passage, at the farther end of which
a second janitor directed us to a large room.

Several men had already assembled, and others came
afterwards, bringing up the number to perhaps twenty.

They sat in rows facing a raised desk, and we,
being of modest dispositions, took our seats right at the
back.

"How long before the mummery begins?" asked Stephen.

"Don't know.  Never was here before.  Expect they're
waiting for the count.  Choice company some of these
gentlemen, eh?"

"Half of them, at least, are not Hungarians," I said.

"Friends of Hungary, my boy.  A few Magyars like
Beula, half a dozen Poles, several Italians from the
Austrian provinces, a German or two from Munich, and a red
republican from Paris.  Here comes the count;" and a
hum of applause greeted the president as he took his place
at the desk.

He was a man about Rakoczy's age, a true Magyar in
appearance, richly dressed, and exhibiting an air of easy
self-assurance which suited him well.

As soon as the applause subsided, he rose and began in
German to congratulate his associates on the triumph of
the revolution.  The emperor, he said, was a fugitive, the
empire destroyed; henceforth the Austrians were a free
people, and the brave Hungarians would hold out to them
the right hand of brotherhood.

This statement produced frantic cheering, and the president
had some difficulty in restoring quiet.

Much yet remained to be done, he continued; but before
opening the regular business he had a pleasing duty to
perform, to welcome to that meeting, in the name of the
committee, three Hungarians, the possessors of glorious
names--names that would endure while Hungary remained a nation.

This harangue had exhausted Stephen's patience, and
when the speaker went on to glorify the actions of bygone
Rakoczys and Botskays, he sprang to his feet.

"Now for a thunder-clap!" exclaimed my companion.

Unlike the president, Stephen spoke in the Hungarian
tongue, which prevented the majority of his hearers from
understanding a word he said.

The others, however, did not miss a syllable, as their
angry faces showed, and the hand of more than one man
played ominously with his weapons.  But Stephen, in his
passion, heeded nothing.

"I am a Hungarian, but not an assassin!" he cried
boldly.  "We will fight the Austrians on the field of
battle as long as any of you; but we won't help to
slaughter defenceless old men, nor butcher brave soldiers
on the altar of God.  Magyars, I am ashamed of you!
Has the ancient spirit descended so low as to find cause
for satisfaction in a brutal murder?  Let the Viennese
fight out their own quarrel; Hungary is strong enough to
stand alone."

"My brother is right!" I cried, before the men could
recover from their astonishment.  "Only last evening I
stood by the side of Count Latour when he was hacked to
death by brutal savages who shouted, 'Long live
Hungary!'  Have we not been shamed enough by the riff-raff
of our own people in Pesth?  In the olden days we met
our foes in the open.  If we have not the courage to do so
now, let us be quiet, and not try to screen ourselves behind
a petty squabble in the Austrian capital."

"I," said Rakoczy, in his musical voice, "am a Magyar
of the Magyars.  I fight against Ferdinand the emperor,
who takes from us our privileges; but Ferdinand the king
is the lawful ruler of Hungary, and when he restores our
rights I shall hold that man a traitor who raises his voice
against him."

"Well spoken!" cried Stephen.--"And now, Count
Beula, President of the Committee and slaughterer of
old men, you know what at least three Hungarians
think."

Before he had finished speaking, a dozen men placed
themselves between us and the door to bar our passage.

"Are we to be your next victims?" asked Stephen
scornfully.  "Well, every man to his trade."

Rakoczy had levelled his pistols, and I followed his
example, though nearly a score against three made long
odds.  Fortunately the threatened struggle was prevented
by Count Beula, who ordered his men to let us go.

"They will not escape their punishment," he said.  "The
nation shall judge them."

"As it shall judge you," I answered.

"Come," said Rakoczy, taking my arm; "let us leave
before your brother starts on the war-path again."

"The next thing," I remarked, when we were again in
the street, "is to get away from Vienna.  It seems to
me that we are in an awkward fix.  The imperialists
will probably kill us because we are Hungarians, and the
insurgents because we are not."

"We can go to-morrow, unless the count has given
orders to arrest us at the gates."

"Perhaps it will be better," exclaimed Stephen.  "I am
tired of Vienna."

"I hope the fräulein will not be hurt in the scuffle."

"Why not stay behind to protect her?" said Rakoczy
in his laughing way, little dreaming that we should all
three be compelled to remain.

Yet that is what happened, as the next morning the
gates were zealously guarded, and we tried in vain to pass.
It was rumoured that Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, had
arrived within a few hours' march of the town, and the
insurgents were taking extraordinary precautions.

Guns were placed above the gates, and men stood near
with lighted matches; National Guards patrolled everywhere;
ten thousand men--students, Nationals, men in
blouses, and coatless artisans with upturned shirt-sleeves--lined
the ramparts; crowds thronged the steeples, gazing
earnestly for the first signs of the savage Croats.

We spent the day in ineffectual efforts to leave the
capital, and on trying again the next morning found we
had lost the last chance.

Jellachich was actually in sight, and from the roofs of
the lofty buildings we could see the varied uniforms of
his motley army.

The red caps of the Illyrians, the grey blouses of the
Seregranes, and the scarlet mantles of the Croats, formed
a portion of the picture, while in the background could be
distinguished the imperial uniform of the Austrian cavalry
and artillery.

"No running away now," I said.  "We must stay and
see the end of it."

Rakoczy laughed.  His main regret was that we had no
part in the approaching conflict.

"If the Viennese really hold out," Stephen said, "there
will be plenty to be done in caring for the wounded, and
we will help in that."

For the next three or four days the city was in a state
of suppressed excitement.  Of course the air was thick
with rumours, mostly ridiculous, but eagerly believed by
the credulous burghers.  Meanwhile only one thing was
certain--that Jellachich, changing his position, had joined
Count Auersperg in the Belvidere Gardens.

"They'll wait for Prince Windischgratz, who can bring
twenty thousand men from Bohemia," said Rakoczy, "and
then good-bye to the insurrection."

Since the terrible evening when Latour lost his life, the
insurgents had refrained from violence; and although many
robberies were committed, the disorder was far less than
we had expected.

Every day I walked past the residence of the Baroness
von Arnstein, but all was quiet there, and once I met the
ladies returning without escort from a visit to some
friends.

The baroness greeted me kindly, but with a certain
haughtiness which was entirely absent from the behaviour
of her daughter, who showed frankly that she was pleased
to see me.

"You have not paid us your promised visit yet," she said;
"but perhaps you are too busy?  No?  Then we shall
expect you to come with your brother."

Stephen did not greatly appreciate the honour, but he
consented to go, and we passed several very pleasant
evenings with the Austrian ladies.

Of Count Beula and his committee we saw nothing more--they
were busy making speeches; but Rakoczy, in case
of accidents, obtained from Messenhauser, the Viennese
commander-in-chief, a document which gave us, as
non-combatants, the right to assist the wounded.

A fortnight now passed without incident, except for
the arrival of Joseph Bern, the famous Polish general, who
instantly set about the work of defence.

"A marvellous man!" said Rakoczy one evening.  "Over
fifty years old, yet hot-headed as a boy.  You should see
him in a battle with the shells bursting and the bullets
coming down like hail.  He's a regular salamander, and
the hotter the fire the better Bern is pleased."

"He certainly knows how to make the men work."

"Isn't there some gipsy prophecy concerning him?" asked
Stephen.

"Yes, and Bern believes in the truth of it.  An old
woman told his fortune many years ago, and prophesied
he would never come to any harm till 1850.  His body
is covered with scars, but Bern doesn't count these.  The
Poles are fanatical about him, and believe he can't be
killed.

"If the Austrians catch him," said Stephen, "they will
put it to the test by means of a hempen rope."

"Rather a risky experiment, for Bern," replied our
companion with a humorous twinkle.

That same night Prince Windischgratz arrived with a
fresh army, twenty thousand strong; and, having joined
his colleagues, he summoned the city to surrender.

The reply was a curt refusal, and the citizens prepared
for the ordeal of battle.

Three more days passed quietly while the royalists
placed their guns in position; then, at ten o'clock on the
morning of October 28, 1848, the tocsin rang loudly, and
the *générale* beat to arms.  Instantly the citizens ran to
their appointed places, and it must be admitted that very
few showed traces of fear or cowardice.  The men in
blouses, accompanied by hundreds of women and girls,
guarded the barricades; the students formed up on the
ramparts, where all night they had lain by the long line
of watch-fires; and the Nationals, rifle in hand, marched
to their stations.

It was nearly noon when a signal-shot was fired from
the Schwartzenberg heights, and immediately the bombardment
began.

Shot and shell and flaming rockets came hissing and
roaring into the city; but the civilian gunners stood to
their pieces, and answered shot by shot, though without
doing much damage to their opponents.

It was soon seen that the principal attack would be
made by way of the Leopoldstadt and Landstrasse suburbs,
to the former of which I hastened with my brother and
Rakoczy.

The Croats and Chasseurs had already reached the
Prater, from the houses and woods of which they poured
a hot musketry fire upon the defenders of the first
barricade.  Men dropped fast, and we were soon busy
carrying those who were seriously wounded into places of
safety, where their hurts might be attended to by the
surgeons.

.. _`"From the woods they poured a hot musketry fire upon the defenders"`:

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   :alt: "From the woods they poured a hot musketry fire upon the defenders."

   "*From the woods they poured a hot musketry fire upon the defenders.*"  Page 54.]


The bullets fell thickly around us while we ran here
and there with flasks of water to moisten the parched
throats of the stricken men.

Some, alas! were dying, and for these we could do
little but cheer their last moments; others, who possessed
a chance of recovery, we raised in our arms and bore
tenderly away.

We had just returned from one of these sad errands
when Rakoczy, seeing a fallen body on the top of the
barricade, immediately climbed up in order to examine it.

We paused in our work to watch the handsome, bright-eyed
fellow as he stood there, quite cool, the target for
hundreds of rifles.

The insurgents, understanding his action, cheered and
cheered again as he bent over the motionless body; but
his heroism was useless--the man was dead.

Rising slowly, the brave Rakoczy stood for a second,
glancing toward the Prater, then returned to us untouched.

"Dead," he said briefly; "and the Austrians are
preparing for a rush."

Stephen glanced at the handful of insurgents who still
fought doggedly, but their time was almost come.

A savage cry heralded the onslaught of the Croats,
those hardy fighters from the south; and five minutes
later the defenders of the barricade were in full flight,
leaving behind only their wounded and dead.

At first I thought of retreating also; but "The Joyous"
was already giving aid to another sufferer, and the sight
of his calm face brought me to my senses.

So we three stayed, doing what we could; and almost
immediately the enemy were upon us, leaping, shouting,
tiring, and cheering like a body of savages.

A wild-looking lot they were, having little uniform,
save the famous red mantle which hung loosely over the
shoulders, and was fastened round the throat with a small
cord.

For the rest, speaking generally, their costume was a
dark cap carelessly placed on the side of the head, rough
brown jacket almost threadbare, drawers tied in at the
knees, gaiters, and clumsy-looking sandals fastened with
strips of leather.  Most of them wore a gay-coloured sash,
and all were armed with the weapons peculiar to their
country.

Each man carried a stanitza or long gun, a long and
ornamented pistol, a cartouch-box on his shoulder-belt, and,
in a richly-embroidered sheath, a handjar, which is half
yataghan and half carving-knife.

You may be sure I did not see all these things as the
redoubtable warriors came swarming over the barricade,
but later I had ample opportunity of studying the weapons
of the Ban's soldiers.

After them marched a regiment of Austrian infantry,
well disciplined and steady as a rock.

As the Croats went by, I expected every second to be
shot through the head, or to feel one of the murderous
handjars in my throat; but I continued my labour, at
least with outward calm.  Happily, the Viennese had left
the adjoining houses empty, so there was nothing to hinder
the imperialists from advancing, or to further excite their
passions.

The Croats swept by like a furious whirlwind, the
Austrians followed more steadily, and we were left to our
self-imposed task.

When the enemy had disappeared, dozens of women and
men not engaged in the fight came from their hiding-places,
and we were surrounded by a band of willing helpers.

The dead we left where they had fallen, for time was
precious; but the others were all removed into the houses,
and made as comfortable as possible till the surgeons
arrived.

We had just finished our work, and were resting a while,
when the booming of cannon sounded not far off.

"They're taking the second barricade!" I exclaimed.

"It will cost them dear," said Rakoczy; "Bern is there!"

"Let us go and see," said Stephen; "we may be of use."





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.. _`VIENNA IN FLAMES`:

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   CHAPTER IV.

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.. class:: center medium

   *VIENNA IN FLAMES.*

.. vspace:: 2

For the second time the Croats were about to hurl
themselves against the barricade defended by the
daring Pole.  A cluster of bodies twenty yards in advance
of it showed where the first rush had been stayed.

The black nozzles of several guns peeped from the huge
pile, and the gunners stood ready with lighted matches.

Looking at Bern, I remembered Rakoczy's story, and
really it appeared as if the man were bullet-proof.  Others
exposed themselves for a moment, and were shot down;
he, holding a short riding-whip in his hand, stood with
the most perfect *sang-froid* in the hottest of the fire,
cheering, directing, encouraging, and was not hit once.

Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I should have
doubted a narrator who told me the story, for the thing
was almost incredible even to an eye-witness.

But the Croats were ready.  The signal rang out; they
went forward in loose formation, slowly at first, afterwards
more quickly, a few dropping by the way.  Then, with an
appalling yell, they literally flew over the ground,
brandishing their handjars.

Once at close quarters, the Viennese would go down
before them like ripe corn beneath the sickle.

The Austrians in reserve cheered.  Another minute and
their allies would be swarming over the barricade, when
suddenly, from the mouths of Bern's heavy guns, belched
sheets of flame.  There came a tremendous report; the
barricade trembled; the whole scene was blotted out by
a cloud of smoke, which drifted slowly away, and then
the Croats were seen retiring sullenly.

Of all their number, one alone had reached the goal,
and he was a prisoner.

The Viennese cheered like mad; Bern gave some orders
to his artillerymen; the imperialists covered the retreat
of their allies by a sharp musketry fire.

Then both sides paused--the insurgents smilingly secure
in their stronghold, their opponents to get ready for a
fresh attack.  With many other non-combatants, we had
climbed to the roof of a house, from which we obtained
a splendid view.

"The Austrians are going to do the work," said Stephen,
who had a strong prejudice against irregular troops.

"It's throwing life away," answered our companion;
and even I, who knew much less of military matters
than he did, felt that the drilled infantry had little chance
of success.

However, they were forming steadily for the assault.
The officers sprang to the front, holding their swords
unsheathed, the drums beat the advance, and the regiment
moved on with the regularity of clockwork.

They made a brilliant spectacle, those hardy veterans,
with heads erect, and resolute, determined faces, marching
to destruction like one vast machine.

Faster and faster their feet moved, faster and faster
the drums beat, rataplan, rataplan, till the music got
into their bodies, and with a "Vivat der Prinz!" they
broke into a swift run.  I looked at the Polish leader;
he stood like some genius of the conflict, directing and
even controlling the progress of the strife.

The infantry, although advancing so swiftly, never for
an instant got out of hand.  As one man fell, another filled
the gap; and when we last saw them before the thick
smoke shut out the view, they were in even lines, shoulder
to shoulder, as if on parade.

Crash, crash, went the heavy guns, and the shot and
shell ploughed through the solid ranks, making great
gaps, as we well knew, though nothing was visible till the
sulphur cloud lifted.

The attack, like the two preceding it, had failed
miserably.  Would they try again?  It really seemed like it,
though in the three assaults they had been punished fearfully.

"They may keep on like that all the afternoon," said
Rakoczy, "but they won't take the barricade.  These
front attacks are useless.  I wonder the Ban permits them.
Oh, there's the reason!  See!" and he pointed toward
the barricade.

Everything there was in confusion.  While most of the
citizen fighters clung to their posts, many ran or tried to
run away.

In vain the Polish general exposed himself with the
utmost recklessness; the position was lost.

While one body of Croats, supported by the Austrian
infantry, had been attacking in front, the remainder, led
by Ban Jellachich, had fought their way through the
suburb of Leopoldstadt, and clearing the Avenue of the
Emperor Francis, had fallen upon the barricade in the rear.

"Forward, forward!" rang out the cry at our feet, and
the whole force advanced at a run.

The Austrians charged with bayonets levelled; the
Croats, discarding their stanitzas, gripped their handjars,
and with loud shouts hurled themselves against the position.

Between these two forces the Viennese were crushed.
The gunners stood bravely by their guns till they were
cut down.  Bern appeared to be tranquilly giving orders;
half a hundred students, banding themselves into a solid
body, fought doggedly; but from the moment Jellachich's
troops arrived the issue was certain.

A great burst of cheering rose when the black and
yellow standard of the Austrians and the red, white, and
blue of the Croats fluttered side by side on the summit of
the barricade.

The fight, in that place at least, was over; the citizens
had disappeared.  The imperialists embraced each other,
shook one another by the hand, laughed and danced and
waved their caps in the air, shouted for Jellachich and the
emperor, and finally ran on to pursue their victorious
career.  Round the captured barricade the dead lay thick,
and the wounded as usual moaned piteously for water.

We went amongst them, doing the little that was possible
to ease their pain, and helping to remove some into
safer quarters.

To add to the horror, one of the houses caught fire,
and it was feared that the whole street would soon be
ablaze.

Farther off we could hear the booming of the heavy
guns, the sharp rattle of musketry, the shouts of the
combatants, the cheers and counter-cheers which told us how
the battle was going.

From time to time, too, people brought reports of the
fight, and they all boded ill to the insurgents.

The railway station of Gloggnitz, the Hôtel des
Invalides, the Veterinary School, were taken one after the
other by the imperialists, who, when night fell, were
practically masters of the suburbs of Leopoldstadt and
Landstrasse.

And such a night as that twenty-eighth of October
I had never beheld.  The town was on fire in more than
twenty different places.  Half the houses of the two
suburbs were riddled by shot and shell; the flames were
consuming the other half.

Red tongues of fire leaped into the sky, forming a grand
but terrible spectacle.

The homeless people stood in the streets, some
hopelessly dazed and stupid, others fighting the flames as
sturdily as they had fought the Austrians; while a few
philosophers, who had nothing at stake, looked on calmly
at the conflagration.

As for us, our time was fully occupied in removing
the wounded from the burning or threatened buildings.
Throughout the night we toiled, and it was pleasant to see
the genial Rakoczy, with his bright, cheerful face, giving
water here, binding up a wound there, or helping to carry
a sick man to a safer shelter.

A few kind words, a cheery smile, a pressure of the
hand, a look of sympathy, he distributed impartially; and
men of various nationalities must have blessed the
handsome Hungarian, who spent himself so freely in their
service.

Several times we had to face the gravest dangers.
Houses were burning, walls falling; but the helpless must
be rescued, and Rakoczy, never blenching himself, inspired
confidence in others.

Many pitiful little dramas took place in the streets,
where women and children searched, often, alas! in vain,
for the bodies of their loved ones.

Thus the night passed, and the return of day revealed
the horrors of the scene more plainly still.

During the hours of darkness there had been something
grand about the conflagration.  The great red blotches
lighting up the sky, the vivid tongues of fire leaping, as
it seemed, sportively from point to point, darting here and
there, now joining, now separating, throwing into bold
relief some noble building which again was lost in the
black smoke, bringing into view the varied uniforms of
the victorious soldiery--all these things powerfully seized
the imagination, crowding out the more prosaic horrors.

Daylight restored the true proportion of things, and it
was indeed a sorrowful sight on which we gazed.

Charred and blackened walls met us at every turn;
half-consumed houses, battered and ruined buildings, huge
gaps in the streets where the fire-fiend had worked his
will; and, worse than all, the white-faced, sad-eyed women
and innocent children, bereaved alike of home and of the
strong arms that had hitherto been their support.

Some, wringing their hands in despair, cried aloud the
names of their lost ones; the majority, dazed by grief,
sought silently and with an unremitting patience that
touched the hearts of the beholders.

The fighting, as far as we could tell, had long since
ceased, and was not renewed.

A rumour spread that the chiefs had sent to ask for
a suspension of hostilities while they talked over the terms
of surrender, and I thought they acted very wisely.

"Bound to submit," said Rakoczy cheerfully, "they
can't do anything else.  A revolution seldom succeeds
unless the army joins the people."

We spent the day amongst the wounded, and at night, a
capitulation having been agreed on, helped to convey some
of them into the city.

Then, quite worn out by thirty-six hours of continuous
labour, we went to our lodgings, and after eating a little
food, lay down to rest.

Rakoczy, who lived in another house, joined us the next
morning at breakfast, and we sat for an hour talking over
our plans.

Stephen was anxious to leave Vienna at the first opportunity,
and as Rakoczy had finished his private business,
it was arranged that we should do so.

"We will go and see the imperialists march in,"
remarked John; "afterwards it will be easy to slip away."

Accordingly we went out, and found the streets filled
with excited people who were shouting tumultuously, "Long
live the brave Hungarians!"

"What's the meaning of this craze?" Stephen asked,
looking at us in surprise.

"Something up," said Rakoczy, "and something queer
too.  Let us follow the crowd; we shall soon learn."

"Strange there should be so few students and National
Guards about," I remarked.

"They're on the ramparts and at the gates.  They'll
stay till the surrender is formally completed."

Several men in blouses heard the word "surrender," and
immediately shouted, "No surrender!  Down with the
Hapsburg butchers!  Long live the brave Hungarians!"

On all sides the cries were repeated, and we, more
astonished than ever, ran on quickly.

The Place of St. Stephen's appeared to be the rendezvous,
where a wildly-excited mob had gathered round the noble
cathedral.  A cheer rose from the surging mass as a young
man, mounting above the heads of his fellows, read out the
contents of a billet sent down from the summit of the
tower by Messenhauser.

We were too far off to hear the exact words, but they
were to the effect that the Austrians were being attacked.

The thoughts of every one immediately flew to the
Hungarians, and shouts of "Long live Hungary!" once
more rent the air.  A light cloud of annoyance spread
over Rakoczy's face.

"That's no soldier's doing," he said.  "No one but an
imbecile would pit our raw recruits against an army of
veterans."

The Viennese thought differently; and when, two hours
later, a second bulletin was issued, stating that the
Hungarians were advancing, the citizens became wild with joy.

The capitulation was forgotten; flags were waved,
cannon discharged, and paeans of victory sung.

Stephen and I talked largely of Hungarian prowess,
and of what our countrymen could do; Rakoczy smiled
and said nothing, which showed his wisdom.

The fight had drawn nearer; the insurgents were
cannonading the imperialists from the ramparts with their
long-range guns; we stood in the Place of St. Stephen's,
and gazed eagerly at the summit of the tower.

Suddenly a great stillness fell on the crowd.  By what
mysterious means the knowledge of the evil news spread
from the mind of one man to another I cannot say, but
certain it is the cheers and flag-waving stopped before the
vast majority of the crowd even knew that Messenhauser
had sent down his third note.

A yell of rage and disappointment greeted the reading
of the message.

Rakoczy's good sense had proved superior to our
boasting: the Hungarians were in full retreat.

The news produced a startling effect on the Viennese.
Obedience to any power came to an end; the reign of
disorder began.

Shops were looted and private residences sacked;
furniture was thrown into the streets, and the owners were
assaulted; the town went mad.

I thought of the Baroness von Arnstein and her pretty
daughter; and Rakoczy, guessing at the cause of my gloomy
face, proposed that we should go round to their house.

"Von Arnstein is known to be with the army," he said,
"and it is just possible the worthy citizens may wreak
their vengeance on his family."

We found the ladies at home, and very glad they were
to see us.

In spite of her pride, the elder lady showed signs of
fear--not so much, I think, on her own account as on her
daughter's.

"This is terrible," she said, "and just as we hoped the
mischief was at an end.  Your countrymen have much to
answer for, mein Herr."

"Nay," replied Stephen, to whom she spoke.  "The
Hungarians fight against men; they do not attack women
and children."

"But," said the young girl, "the rebels acted very
unfairly in firing on the soldiers this morning."

"And unwisely, too," answered Rakoczy.  "They are in
a worse position now than they were before.  They are
bound to capitulate within a few hours."

"Meanwhile," said I, blushing boyishly, "if agreeable
to you, we propose to remain here till the danger is
over."

The baroness thanked us warmly for what she was
pleased to call our chivalrous conduct, while the fräulein's
eyes spoke as eloquently as her mother's lips.

"My servants are well armed," the elder lady continued,
"and Franz is a host in himself, but we shall certainly feel
more secure, knowing you are with us.  Yet how strange
it is that we should be relying on the services of three
Hungarian gentlemen!"

"Really," exclaimed the fräulein with a merry laugh,
"we ought rather to be afraid of you.  But why do
your people quarrel with us, and drive away our poor
emperor?"

Rakoczy drew out a locket, which hung round his neck
by a fine gold chain.

"Do you recognize that picture?" he asked, releasing
the spring.

"Why, it is the emperor himself."

"It is also the King of Hungary, for whom thousands
of Hungarians would lay down their lives."

The girl knitted her brows, as if trying to solve some
knotty problem.

"I don't understand," she said.  "You fight against the
emperor, yet you profess great devotion to the King of
Hungary, who is the same person."

"Yet it is very simple.  The Magyar's first love is for
his country, his second for the king.  Now, as emperor,
Ferdinand has taken away our rights, which we must have
back.  When we get them, no king will have more loyal
subjects than Ferdinand."

"But I understood you were all republicans," said the
baroness.

"We are royalists, madam," replied Stephen.

"Who will fight for a republic.  That is what Kossuth
wants.  We know here what the pulling of the wires will
lead to.  If your countrymen succeed in this war, they
will become the subjects, not of King Ferdinand, but of
Dictator Kossuth."

"Listen!" I exclaimed.  "The street is filled with
people."

The windows in the lower part of the house were
already secured by heavy wooden shutters, and now we
heard Franz barring the door at the main entrance.

Rakoczy and Stephen ran to aid the servants in case of
need, while I stayed with the ladies.

I suggested it would be well to draw the curtains, but
the baroness would not consent, so we sat looking down
into the street.

The people did not appear to have any wish to do harm.
They passed along singing, and waving flags, and many
were already out of sight when some one raised a cry of
"Von Arnstein."  At the sound of that name the others
stopped, and quickly collecting in front of the house, began
in loud tones to abuse the absent noble.

The baroness gave an expressive little shrug of the
shoulders.

"What poltroons!" she exclaimed contemptuously.  "If
my husband were here they would run like a flock of
frightened sheep."

With this remark I could scarcely agree; nevertheless
I had sufficient wisdom to keep my doubts to myself.

I looked at the fräulein.  Her face was pale, but she was
perfectly cool and collected; as she said afterwards, a
soldier's daughter must learn to face danger.

"It's only a street brawl," I said.  "They will get tired
soon and go away."

But it is always difficult to reckon on what a mob will
do, and this was a case in point.

The words had hardly left my lips, when a man, wearied
perhaps of shouting, varied his pastime by aiming a stroke
at the door with a heavy hatchet.

The effect of that one blow was to change the character
of the crowd entirely.

Hitherto it had been one of merely disorderly citizens,
lawless and unruly, no doubt, but not bent on any definite
mischief.  The ringing of the axe against the door acted
as a signal for the loosing of a flood of evil passions.

Every one struggled to get in a good blow, and instead
of the harmless though bitter language of a few minutes
previously, we heard the more alarming cry of, "Death to
the aristocrats!  Death to Von Arnstein!"

The baroness moved nearer to the window, and I placed
myself in front of her, saying,--

"This is madness, madam!"

She asked me with haughty courtesy to stand aside, and
I, fearful of the risk she was running, appealed to her
daughter.  Her answer was to place herself by her mother,
who opened the window.

The battering at the door and windows stopped while
the crowd looked up curiously.

In a clear, hard, but passionless voice the baroness said,--

"I am Von Arnstein's wife; this is his daughter.  My
servants are armed, my house is defended by friends.  If
you enter, it will be at your peril."

For answer, some one on the outskirts of the crowd
fired a shot, which lodged in the window-frame, and I
drew the ladies back.

"Foolhardiness is not bravery," I said brusquely, and
shut the window.

Then the attack on the door recommenced, and we heard
quite distinctly the thud, thud of the heavy weapons.

I went to the head of the stairs and looked down.

Franz stood by the door with his ponderous club in his
hand; I pitied the man who should be first to enter.

The other servants were on the stairs, and by their looks
I judged they would be of scanty service to their mistress.

My brother and Rakoczy, sword in one hand, pistol in
the other, stood near Franz.

"The Joyous" caught sight of me, and laughed.

"A new way of entertaining guests," he said.  "The
Baroness von Arnstein will become famous for her receptions!"

"The door yields!" exclaimed Franz gravely.  "See to the
ladies, mein Herr;" and he took a firmer grip of his club.

I nodded and went back, though I would rather have
remained; shortly afterwards a yell of delight from the
crowd proclaimed that the door had fallen.

The baroness looked at her daughter, who smiled back
in answer; neither appeared the least moved.

The fighting on the stairs had lasted ten seconds
perhaps, when the servants came rushing into the room in a
body.  Their faces were white; their hands shook so that
the pistols they carried pointed to twenty different places
at once, and I thought it extremely likely that the rioters
would be spared the trouble of killing us.

"Put those things down, you scoundrels!" I cried,
feeling certain they would be more dangerous to us than to
the enemy; and when it was done, I added, "Now, back
to the staircase and fight for your mistress, or I will kill
every man of you!"

"What cowards!" exclaimed the baroness scornfully.
"They will do no good."

"They may form shields for braver men," said her
daughter.

Meanwhile, the sounds of the fighting grew more
acute, and, knowing how far outnumbered my companions
were, I felt compelled to run to their aid.

The servants whom I had driven out were huddled
together at the top of the stairs, doing nothing; but,
half-way down, Stephen and his two companions were still
making a great fight.

Uttering a cry of encouragement, I ran down, and,
discharging my pistol into the thick of the crowd, drew my
sword.

My brother had received a slight cut across the head;
Rakoczy, as yet untouched, was smiling cheerfully, and by
his marvellous skill of sword keeping back the most
dangerous of the assailants.

Franz's right arm was hanging by his side useless; but
he swung his club with the left, and smiled grimly when
a man dropped.

The situation, however, grew desperate.  Force of
numbers compelled us to yield several steps; Stephen had
again been hit, and Rakoczy was bleeding from a wound
in the arm.

I would like to record how, in this last extremity, we
alone, by the aid of our good swords, cleared the house of
the rioters; but that would not be true, as we owed our
safety to quite other means.

In the next chapter I will relate exactly what happened.





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.. _`ARRESTED`:

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   CHAPTER V.

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   *ARRESTED.*

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We were, as I have mentioned, being pushed steadily
back, and the mob had begun to cheer, when a
disturbance arose near the doorway, and a man, elbowing
his way to the front, demanded angrily that the conflict
should cease.

At the sound of his voice many of the rioters fell back
sullenly; and the rest, being thus deserted by their
companions, were compelled to follow, though not without
angry cries and mutterings.

The newcomer, taking his stand directly below us, faced
the mob, and in a sensible speech urged them to withdraw.
The man was evidently well known to his hearers, and it
was plain that he possessed considerable influence.

At first they seemed half inclined to resent his interference,
but by a skilful mixture of flattery and firmness
he finally succeeded in getting them to disperse.

Then he turned to us with graceful courtesy, and I
recognized the handsome young fellow who had so
opportunely come to our assistance outside the hôtel of the
minister of war.

However, before he had time to speak, we were joined
by the ladies, who had watched the progress of the fight
from the stair-head.

The young fellow removed his cap, and bowed deferentially,
almost to the ground.

"I am happy," he began with a stammer, very different
from his former fluent speech, "to be of service to the
Baroness von Arnstein and her daughter."

The elder lady looked at him in scorn, and said coldly,
"Your ragamuffins have much to answer for, Captain von
Theyer."

"And as for the service," exclaimed Theresa, "but for
these gallant gentlemen who have now twice defended
me against my own countrymen, it would be far too
late."

"Were you in your right place, you would be outside,
not inside, the walls of Vienna," the baroness said with a
marked sneer.

"I have done what I believed to be my duty," the
young man replied humbly, "and my influence has always
been used on the side of mercy.  This very night I am
trying to arrange conditions for the entry of the emperor's
troops."

"Conditions!" cried the baroness scornfully; "Windischgratz
will make no terms with the rebels!"

"The night grows late," said Theresa, making him a
mock curtsy, "and we have yet to repair the mischief
done by your friends."

I was sorry to see the humiliation put upon this
blue-eyed young fellow; and though it was no concern of mine,
I felt relieved when, with a confused apology for the
excesses committed by the rioters, he took his leave.

Besides, it was necessary to set Franz's arm, and Stephen
also required attention, though happily he was not seriously
hurt.

The servants, who during the fight had left us in the
lurch, now came forward to help.

While one went to fetch a surgeon, others temporarily
refixed the shattered door, and washed the blood-stains
from the stairs.

Rakoczy bound the arm of the valiant Franz, who, after
receiving the thanks and praises of the ladies, was taken
to his room.

We persuaded Stephen to lie down on a couch, where
the baroness herself washed his wounds, while Theresa
prepared a cooling drink for him.

As soon as the surgeon had paid his visit, the ladies
retired, and Rakoczy and I took it upon ourselves to
watch through the remainder of the night.

We did not think it likely that the rioters would return;
still it was possible, and we resolved upon leaving nothing
to chance.

My brother, weakened by loss of blood, had fallen
asleep; the servants, with the exception of two posted
as guards over the broken door, had gone to bed; the
house was quite still.

Rakoczy walked to and fro very softly, so as not to
disturb Stephen, and I stood at one of the windows
thinking of the yellow-haired fräulein and the dashing
young leader of the insurgents.

The hours dragged by very slowly, but daylight came
at last, and I immediately sent one of the servants into the
streets for news.

He returned in about an hour, smiling and well pleased.
The city was perfectly quiet, he said.  There were no signs
of fighting; the insurgents had once more submitted, and
in a short time the National Guards were to give up their
arms to the imperialists.

With this information we joined the ladies at breakfast,
Stephen looking rather pale but not seriously ill, and the
rest of us little the worse for the night's adventure.

Franz, too, was doing well, and the knowledge of the
capitulation relieved the mind of our hostess from further
fear.

We were still sitting at table talking over the events
of the brief revolution, when the loud report of a cannon
caused us to spring to our feet.

The baroness asked to have a window opened, and a
white-faced servant obeyed with trembling fingers.

"Surely I hear the great bell of St. Stephen's?"
exclaimed our hostess in astonishment.

"Yes, madam," said Rakoczy; "the tocsin is certainly
sounding."

"The people have broken faith again," said she.  "I
wonder the prince stoops to treat with them."

"If you will permit me," said Rakoczy, "I will find
out what is happening, and bring you a report.  My
friends will stay with you in case there should be
danger."

This proposal was agreed to, and as soon as he had
gone we moved to the back part of the building, from
which the southern part of the city could be seen.

It was plain that the terrible struggle had recommenced.
To the clanging of the great bell were added
the sharp fire of musketry, the heavier booming of the
cannon, and the shouts of the combatants.

Suddenly, from the direction of the imperial stables,
came a flight of shells and a line of fiery rockets, which
fell hissing and sputtering on the doomed houses.

It seemed as if the horrors of the twenty-eighth were
to be repeated.  The flames from the burning buildings
illumined the sky in several different parts of the town,
and we anxiously awaited the return of Rakoczy to learn
the reason for these strange doings.

It was one o'clock when he came back, and by that
time the firing had ceased.

"It is all over now," he said.  "The imperialists are
in possession of the gates, and are disarming the National
Guard.  This last fight was a mistake.  The leaders gave
no orders for it; but the people grew excited, said they
were betrayed, and, rushing to St. Stephen's, sounded the
tocsin.  Of course that set all the hot heads in motion,
and very soon they were at their posts on the barricades
and the bastions.  Windischgratz replied promptly, as
you would observe, and the magistrates, hoping to stop
such a senseless fight, took the keys of the city to him
on the glacis.  The troops are working hard to put out
the fires, and I think the Viennese have seen the last
of their insurrection."

"It will be rather awkward for the leaders," I remarked,
thinking of the handsome young captain.

"They are like eels," said the baroness spitefully, "and
will manage to wriggle out of it."

"If they are half as clever as Captain von Theyer, they
will be in no danger," exclaimed Theresa.  "He will
persuade his judges that everything he has done has been
for the emperor."

"A tongue of silver is a very good gift, sometimes,"
observed Rakoczy.

"I should think a steel blade would be of more
importance to a soldier," retorted Stephen.

"It cannot do half as much mischief!" cried Theresa
merrily.  "But, are you going?" for my brother had
risen.

"It is necessary," he answered, with the quiet,
half-pathetic smile peculiar to him.  "You do not need us
longer; your friends are at hand.  We, on the contrary,
have to seek ours."

"Which means you are about to join the ranks of our
enemies?"

"We are Hungarians, and should be disgraced if we
stood idly by while our countrymen fought for liberty."

"I suppose you are right," said the baroness; "but it
is a great pity.  However, I hope the conflict will be
short; and though I must wish for the success of my
own side, I trust that God, who watches over each of us,
will bring you safely through the fight."

"We shall never forget what you have done for us,"
said Theresa softly, and her proud eyes strongly suggested
tears.

We wished them good-bye; and even when in the
street I, for one, looked back to catch a last glimpse of
the pretty fräulein as she waved her hand from the
window in farewell.

"And now for Hungary!" cried "The Joyous," "though
I fear we must travel afoot: horses are not to be had
for love or money."

"We can walk," replied my brother.  "I have had
more than enough of Vienna."

"I believe George is sorry at leaving the pretty
Austrian."

"And her mother," I added, trying to make a laugh
of it.

At this "The Joyous" smiled, saying I was a hypocrite,
and that it would be well to take me away with all
speed.

The streets were filled with soldiers, both Croats and
Austrians, so we felt little surprised at finding a party
of the latter drawn up near the house in which we
lodged.

There were two or three trifling articles belonging to
us in our rooms; so, while Stephen settled accounts
with the proprietor, Rakoczy and I ran upstairs.  My
brother shortly rejoined us, the things were packed in
a small handbag, and we were ready to depart, when
some one knocked at the door.

"Come in!" cried I briskly, and an officer in the
Austrian service entered.

"I extremely regret my errand," said he pleasantly;
"but duty is duty, and you must consider yourselves my
prisoners.  Feeling sure you would not care to make a
scene, I have left my men in the street.  You have simply
to give your parole not to attempt an escape, and I shall
not use force."

"Very kind of you!" exclaimed Rakoczy.  "But isn't
there some mistake?"

The officer took a paper from his pocket.

"Stephen and George Botskay and John Rakoczy," he
said, and proceeded to read descriptions of our persons--accurate,
indeed, but expressed in very flattering language.

"Come!" laughed "The Joyous;" "after that it will be
uncivil to refuse our parole."

"And quite useless," I added in Hungarian.  "If we
escaped the officer, we could not leave the city."

"What do you say, Stephen?"

"Surrender is a poor way of beginning a fight."

"So it is!" laughed our companion; "but, as your
brother remarked, we can't help ourselves.  The question
is, Shall we walk to prison as gentlemen, or be dragged
there as criminals?  So, by your leave, I'll take advantage,
in all our names, of the offer we have received."

Our captor, who was certainly a very polished
gentleman, did all he could to soften the blow.

Very few people noticed us as we walked towards the
infantry barracks, where we were to be detained till
further orders.

The officer did not know the reason of our arrest; but
he assured us the victors were acting mercifully, and,
unless our fault had been extremely grave, we need not
fear.

At the barracks the soldiers offered us no indignities,
which was in striking contrast with their treatment of
some students brought in at the same time, whom they
loaded with abuse and even struck.

They looked on these enthusiastic youths as the authors
of all the mischief, and to a certain extent they were
doubtless right.

Our prison was a small, square room with whitewashed
walls, bare of furniture, but having benches round the
sides.

"Well," said I in disgust, "what are we to do now?"

"Go to sleep, and dream we are in Pesth," replied
Rakoczy, lying down on one of the benches.

Stephen paced backward and forward restlessly.

"I don't understand it at all," he observed.  "Why
have they arrested us?  What can we be charged with?"

"Depends upon who our accusers are," answered
Rakoczy.  "It is plain that some kind friend has
denounced us by name to the Austrian general."

At once I thought of Count Beula, but John shook his
head.

"I think not.  The count owes us a grudge, but he
will pay his debt in Hungary, not here.  My idea points
to a different man altogether--a clever and unscrupulous
fellow, who has no wish to see an Austro-Hungarian
alliance."

He looked meaningly at Stephen, who nodded.

"Don't speak in riddles!" I exclaimed irritably.  "Tell
me in plain words what you think!"

He clapped me on the back, and after indulging in a
little good-humoured chaff, explained that in his opinion
we owed our arrest to Captain von Theyer.

"It's this way," he continued, laughing at my surprised
looks.  "There's no doubt that the captain cares a good
deal for the pretty Theresa.  It is equally certain that he
has no friend in the baroness."

"Well?" I said.

"Don't be impatient.  I'm coming to the point.  Had
this insurrection proved successful, Von Theyer would now
be a very important person, and his influence worth
securing, even by the powerful Baroness von Arnstein.
Unluckily for him, it has fizzled out like a damp squib;
so he has seized the first opportunity of making his peace
with the victors."

"What has that to do with us?"

"Much.  For one thing, he thus shows his zeal in the
cause of the imperialists.  In the second place, he would
not be too pleased at finding how friendly we had become
with the fräulein."

"Do you mean the fellow is jealous of us?" I said,
blushing crimson.

"Of me," replied Rakoczy, curling his moustache and
looking very grave.

I half suspected he was quizzing me, but could not feel
quite certain, till I caught him winking at Stephen, when
they both laughed.

"The jest won't prove quite so pleasant if we're locked
up till the end of the war," I said; but of that Rakoczy
had no fear.

However, we had spent several tedious days in our
temporary prison, when one morning a party of soldiers
came to escort us to the general, who was inspecting the
barracks.

Prince Windischgratz, attended by several members of
his staff, was in a room in the officers' quarters.

He was a noble-looking old man, dressed in full uniform,
with his breast covered by medals and ribbons--mementoes
of many hard-fought campaigns.  His face was mild and
humane, but the firm chin and the latent fire in his eyes
showed that he could be severe when necessary.

Addressing us in a mild voice, he asked us how it
happened that we were found in Vienna with arms in
our hands.

Rakoczy was about to reply when Stephen forestalled
him, which I regretted, as my brother was not remarkable
for the calmness of his language.

"Before answering that question," he said hotly, "we
have a right to know by whose authority three peaceable
travellers have been arrested like criminals, and deprived
of their liberty."

Several of the officers uttered angry exclamations, but
the prince smiled good-naturedly.

"There is some difference between peaceful travellers
and armed rebels," said he; "and you are suspected of
being the latter."

"It is false!" retorted my brother flatly.

"Appearances are against you.  You were seen at the
bridge of Tabor, and at least one of you is supposed to
have joined in the disgraceful murder of the noble Count
Latour."

"Hungarians are not assassins," said Stephen coldly.

"The friends of Count Lamberg speak differently,"
interrupted one of the officers with a bitter sneer.

"You are ungenerous, sir, to taunt the Hungarian
nation with the crime of a handful of ragamuffins," I said.

"Yes, yes," exclaimed the prince; "but that is not the
point.  Can you deny the charges made against you?"

Stephen glanced round him indifferently; he would not
deign to answer, and I followed his example.

Rakoczy, however, still smiling and confident, spoke
for all.

"You have asked a question, prince," he said, "and you
shall have a reply, though it may not be to the liking of
some of these gentlemen.  We were all three present at
the attack on the bridge, and when your general fell, I
by main force prevented my friend Stephen Botskay from
throwing himself single-handed against the rebels.  As to
the murder of Count Latour, George Botskay risked his
life time and again to save him, not from Hungarians, but
from Austrians.  Do you see this wound?" and he bared
his arm.  "That was done by an Austrian pike.  Would
you know why that gallant lad's head is swathed in
bandages?  Ask your fellow-countrymen, prince.  The
answer will show you that not Hungary alone harbours
assassins."

"Talk is cheap," sneered the officer who had spoken
before.  "Why, that very fellow was at the first barricade
in the Prater!"

"Is that so?" asked the prince.

"Yes," said Rakoczy simply; "I was there."

"Which many a poor fellow had reason to be thankful
for," I interrupted.  "More than one man in your ranks
to-day owes his life to John Rakoczy's bravery."

"At this rate, your highness, it will soon appear that
the town was captured by these heroes," chuckled a grizzled
veteran.

I concluded that the speaker was of high rank, as every
one laughed at his remark, as if he had said something
witty.

They were still enjoying the joke when the door opened
and another officer entered the room.

He was a man past the prime of life, with grey hair
and white moustaches, but alert, strong, and vigorous.
His sight was keen, his bearing martial, and the deep
scars of two wounds long since healed bore witness to his
courage as a soldier.

His entrance attracted notice, and the prince himself
stepped forward to greet him.

The others withdrew a little way, leaving the two
chiefs together, and they immediately began talking very
earnestly.  From time to time they both looked at us,
and gradually a pleasant smile spread over the prince's
face.

At length the conversation was finished, and the prince,
turning to his staff, said,--

"Gentlemen, we owe these brave Hungarians an apology
for our suspicions.  Instead of aiding the rebels, they have
acted in a very noble manner, and to them Baron von
Arnstein is indebted for the lives of his wife and
daughter.--Baron, these gentlemen are no longer our prisoners; I
wish they could be counted amongst our friends."

"That would follow naturally," said Rakoczy, "if every
Austrian were a Prince Windischgratz."

"I cannot accept the compliment; it would be unfair to
my brave colleagues," the general replied.  "However, I
can thank you all three for your generous behaviour,
which I do most heartily."

We replied in the same spirit, and, accompanied by
Baron von Arnstein, left the room.

That nobleman could with difficulty restrain his emotion;
he thanked us twenty times while crossing the barrack
square, and urged us repeatedly to return home with him.
I should have liked this famously; but Stephen was
anxious to leave the city, and I did not wish to thwart
him.

Accordingly, after our weapons were restored, it was
agreed that the baron should conduct us through the
Austrian lines.  He had only heard of his daughter's
rescue that morning, and, knowing there were three
prisoners bearing the same names as those mentioned
by his wife, had immediately hurried off to Prince
Windischgratz.

"I do not ask where you are going," he said, as we
passed through the city gate into the ruined suburb, "but
I could wish that your steps pointed westward rather than
to the east."

"Perhaps it will be as well not to tell you," replied
Rakoczy with a smile; "but if ever you need a friend in
the Hungarian army, let one of us know."

"It is a terrible business, but we at least must not
quarrel.  Still, I cannot understand why you and gallant
lads like these should be so eager to fight for a republic.
I should have thought you were royalists to the backbone."

"So we are," said Stephen promptly.  "Royalists and
loyalists too, if the emperor will but grant our rights."

"What do you think, then, would happen, if by any
means the war should end in your favour?"

"We should force the emperor to restore our constitution,
and then return to our allegiance."

"Shake hands all round," said Rakoczy genially.

The baron shook his head.

"Pardon me," he said; "but I am getting an old man,
and years bring experience.  You deceive yourselves, or
rather, have had dust thrown in your eyes.  Kossuth and
his friends are not fighting for a restored constitution, but
to make Hungary a republic.  Victory on your side will
mean an exchange of Ferdinand the king for Kossuth the
dictator."

"Then," exclaimed Stephen sternly, "defeat will be
more welcome than victory, for, if what you say be true,
the land will swim in blood.  Here are three royalists
whose forefathers drew the sword for Maria Theresa, and
there are scores of thousands like us."

"You will hear our armies join battle to the cry of
'Long live Hungary and King Ferdinand!'" said Rakoczy.
"We don't want a republic."

This talk of the baron's, so like what we had before
heard, set us thinking, and it was in rather a sad humour
that we crossed the Austrian or rather imperialist camp.

The baron saw us in safety to the farthest outpost,
where we stopped to wish him farewell.

"Good-bye," he said kindly.  "I cannot pretend to hope
your armies will prove successful, but from my heart I
wish you personally good-luck in your venture.  Our
people will do you no harm, except to make prisoners of
you; but mind the Croats--they are rather bloodthirsty,
and not over well disciplined."

We thanked him for his advice, sent back a friendly
message to his wife and daughter, and then set out on our
journey.

"A fine fellow," remarked Rakoczy, throwing a glance
back.  "I hope we shall never meet him in a charge."





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.. _`HARD WORK AT PESTH`:

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   CHAPTER VI

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   *HARD WORK AT PESTH.*

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"Rakoczy!  Not dead?  Where did you spring
from?  Vienna?  Been helping the *prolétaires*?
No?  Then you must have been plotting treason with
the imperialists.  But come into my tent.  Who are your
companions?  I can see they are true Magyars.  Sons
of the late General Botskay?--Welcome, my lads!  Your
name alone would draw a welcome from any Magyar
in the country."

A tall man, plainly dressed in the uniform of a major
of Honveds, having a strong, wiry, but spare frame, his
hair cut quite close to his head, sharp eyes--their light
half hidden behind spectacles--his face hard and
weather-beaten, with a reddish undergrowth of beard; such in
appearance was Arthur Görgei, who was to become,
without exception, the most famous general in Hungary.

From Vienna we had journeyed to Presburg, and thence
to Raab, following the Hungarians, who were moving back
on Comorn, and overtaking them at Raab.

Rakoczy, who had known Görgei in private life,
immediately inquired for the general, and we were conducted
to him.

"Haven't any refreshments to offer you," he continued,
when we were inside the tent; "but never mind--somebody
has."

He went to the opening, and we heard him say,--

"Here, Sturitz!  Borrow me a bottle of wine or two,
and some glasses.--So, old fellow, you've been watching
the fight?  Didn't you long to join in?  How did the
good citizens like to see our retreat from Schwechat?"

"Not at all.  They were dumfounded.  They couldn't
believe it possible that the Hungarians were running
away."

The general clapped the speaker on the back, and
laughed with the most frank good-humour.

"Run!" he exclaimed; "that word tells nothing!
They rushed headlong over one another; they threw
away what weapons they had and vanished.  Moza was in
chief command, and he sent me with a brigade to attack
Schwechat.  We were a mile and a half from our
supports.  Windischgratz sent his horse-artillery at us, and,
heigh, presto!  the brigade was gone.  Out of nearly five
thousand I saw only one man, and he was an old soldier
on the sick list."

"But what did the other brigades do?"

Görgei pushed up his spectacles and looked at us with a
twinkle.

"The other brigades?  The supports?" he said.  "Oh,
they took to their heels before my fellows did; but they'll
all make capital soldiers after a few months' drill.  Here
comes Sturitz with the wine, and we'll drink their healths."

"Capital chap, this Sturitz, to send borrowing,"
remarked Rakoczy, sipping his wine.  "He brings good
stuff."

"And, better still, forgets where it came from, so that
he can never repay it.  So, my lads, you've come to join
the army?  Well, there's one thing; your father's sons will
never show the men how to run away."

"One moment, general," said Stephen.  "Can you tell
me what we're supposed to be fighting for?"

Görgei looked from my brother to Rakoczy, who said,--

"In truth, general, things seem a little bit mixed.
Over in Vienna they talk as if we wanted to set up a
republic."

"A republic?" cried Görgei.  "What stuff!  Haven't
they read history?  Don't they know that Hungary is
royalist to the core?  Why, if the king came to this
camp, the men would carry him shoulder high from one
end of it to the other.  Why, at Schwechat they ran
away to the cry of 'Long live King Ferdinand!'"

"That ought to be proof enough," replied Rakoczy,
laughing, "and I'm glad to hear it; because, like these
lads, I've no idea of spilling my blood in order to make
Kossuth dictator."

"You're going to fight, my dear fellow, and not bother
your head about politics.  First, though, there's a lot of
work to be done.  We want ammunition and stores of all
sorts, and, as much as anything, we want soldiers; we've
plenty of men."

"You aren't going to turn me into a drill-sergeant?"

"I am though.  'Right!  Left!  Keep your heads up
there!  Close up on the right!'  That will be your work
for the next week or two, while I dodge about here, and
make Windischgratz believe we're burning to fight."

"Where am I to go?"

"Pesth, with the rank of major.  Tedious work you'll
find it, and no glory either; but you'll do more good there
than marching and counter-marching with me.  Now, as
to these lads.  Which is it to be--a showy uniform or
downright hard grinding?"

"Take them on your staff," suggested Rakoczy.  "They'll
get both then."

"Haven't room for more than one."

"Let that be Stephen," I exclaimed promptly.

"Take George.  He is the better horseman," said my
brother.

"Toss for it!" cried the general, taking a coin from his
pocket; "but don't stick to this bit of silver.  I keep it as
a curiosity; it's almost the only one in the country."

The spin of the coin decided in favour of Stephen, and
it was accordingly settled that he should remain with the
army, while I went to Pesth as a lieutenant of Honveds.

We had drunk another glass of wine to the success
of the coming campaign; and Görgei, having made out the
necessary papers, gave Sturitz orders to furnish us with
horses.

Then, with kindly thought, the general took Rakoczy
outside, leaving me to wish my brother farewell.

It was the first time in our lives we had been called on
to separate, and the parting was a sad one to both of us;
but we made a fine show of good spirits, and talked
confidently of seeing each other again in a few weeks.

"There's Sturitz with the animals," said Stephen, as the
clatter of horses' hoofs sounded outside the tent.  "Well,
good-bye, dear old fellow."

"Don't be too venturesome," I replied, and returning the
pressure of his hand, followed him to where the general
stood with Rakoczy.

"Here you are, George," cried the latter gaily.  "Thanks
to the chief, we start the war on horseback, however we
may finish."

"Remember," said the general, "drill, drill, drill, and
plenty of rifle practice."

"We'll bear it in mind, general, and teach the fellows
how to hit a windmill at least.--Now, George, up you
get," and he swung himself into his own saddle with the
ease of a practised rider.

Glancing back, I saw Stephen waving his cap, and
Görgei with his hands behind his back and his head bent
forward, already plunged in deep thought.

The weather was bitterly cold, and the roads were
abominable; but we rode thoroughbred Magyar horses, which
carried us at a rattling pace.

I was, in truth, rather miserable at leaving my brother;
but the crisp, keen air, the sharp gallop, and the merry
spirits of my companion soon chased away my melancholy.

"Wonderful man, Görgei," he said, when the horses,
having settled down to a slower pace, made talking
possible.  "Kossuth did one good thing in giving him a high
command.  Hard as iron, and a born soldier."

"Has he ever seen service?"

"Only for a short time as a lieutenant in the bodyguard.
But he has a spirit which nothing can break, an
energy that never tires; and he can endure as much fatigue
as any man in the country.  I knew him and his brothers
when they were youngsters; in fact, we were boys
together.  They were in good circumstances, but their
mother brought them up to live hard.  They learned
early to take the rough with the smooth, and to laugh
at hardships.  They never felt the cold in the bitterest
winter, and when the rain soaked them through, why,
they just got dry again."

"Where are the others?"

"Don't know; but wherever the hardest work's to be
done, you may be sure.  Stephen will find his job tougher
than ours."

"It will please him the more.  By the way, I wonder if
Count Beula escaped from Vienna?"

"Most likely.  Bern did.  Görgei told me they smuggled
the Pole out, shut up in a coffin.  That's how the story
runs, whether true or not; but, at any rate, Bern's in
Transylvania with 25,000 good fighting men."

"It's very good of the Poles to help us, but I'd rather
see a Hungarian army led by a Magyar chief."

"So would I.  Still, we ought not to grumble with the
bridge that carries us over the stream."

Sound advice, no doubt, though it scarcely satisfied me,
and I was to think a good deal more about it before the
campaign finished.

The journey to Pesth passed without incident, as we
were amidst friends; and the morning after our arrival in
the city we began our new duties.

As the general had stated, there were numbers of men
willing and eager to join the army, but they were without
weapons, except hay-forks and such like implements, and
had not the faintest notion of military drill.

However, they were enthusiastic, and if not patient, at
least tractable; so their instructors hoped to make
something of them before long.

The drill-ground was the great plain or field of Rakos,
behind the city, which in olden days was the meeting-place
of the Diet, when our Magyar forefathers, attended
by their vassals, assembled to discuss the affairs of the
nation.

Once again the place was filled with men who had
come together in thousands--ploughmen, carters, shepherds,
miners--not to talk, but to learn how to fight the
enemies of their country.

To a military veteran the spectacle must have afforded
ample food for fun and amusement.  Rakoczy laughed
without stint.

Thousands of men, grouped in small detachments, were
going through the elementary steps--men drawn from all
parts of the kingdom, and dressed in every conceivable
style, but for the most part true Magyars.

Here a peasant, in loose black linen shirt, black
trousers, embroidered waistcoat, and gay-coloured jacket,
wearing gaiter boots and a large-brimmed Spanish-looking hat,
jostled a neighbour in a sheepskin coat, with a hat made
of rushes, and huge sandals on his feet.

Here one saw a group of hardy fellows arrayed in
embroidered petticoats and kalpags--the national caps,
made of fur and adorned with feathers; there, men from
the south with broad felt hats, leather girdles, gatya or
full white linen trousers, and shirts that scarcely reached
to the waist.

In one respect, however, they were all alike--they were
dreadfully in earnest and bent on learning their new trade.

It was early morning when we went out to the Rakos;
the sun had set when we returned to the city.

All day long we had been hard at work drilling one
squad after another, till our limbs ached and our throats
were parched as the crater of a volcano.

Rakoczy soon threw off the feeling of fatigue, and after
dinner strolled with others of the officers into the town;
but I was thoroughly tired, and slipped off to bed.

Certainly Görgei spoke truth when he described the
work as tedious and without glory; but it had to be
done nevertheless, and for several weeks the unceasing toil
continued.

There was little variety in our lives just at that time.
We went out in the morning, drilled the recruits all day,
and returned at night tired as dogs.

Early in December we learned that the emperor had
abdicated in favour of the young archduke, Francis Joseph,
that Prince Windischgratz was almost ready to march, and
that Jellachich had already started.

Though hearing nothing of Stephen, I did not feel
uneasy, as thus far Görgei had only made a show of
fighting to delay the enemy's advance while we were shaping
an army.

From the second week in December every day brought
a rumour of some sort, which we had more leisure to talk
over, as the darkness made late drill impossible.

Rakoczy and I spent Christmas Day in marching with a
batch of passed recruits to a small village situated several
miles from the city, where a body of troops had been
stationed.

The weather was simply detestable.  First it rained in
torrents, then it snowed, and the snow froze before
reaching the ground, and, but for the bundas or overmantles in
which we were wrapped, we should have perished on the
march.

To add to the charm of the situation, the guide mistook
the route, and we wandered about for several hours, stiff
with cold and hollow from hunger.

When we did reach the village, the welcome from the
troops made us forget the discomforts of the journey; and
as our duties ended in handing over the fresh soldiers to
the commandant, we spent the evening very agreeably with
the officers.

The next morning, before starting for Pesth, we learned
that Görgei, having abandoned Raab, was falling back on
the capital, and that General Perczel was being hard
pressed by the Croats under Jellachich.

Two or three days later the news came of Perczel's
defeat at Moor, and a message from Comorn announced
that Windischgratz had summoned the fortress.

Görgei was now manoeuvring to join the remnants of
Perczel's army, in which he afterwards succeeded; but the
news of these disasters caused great consternation in Pesth,
and the members of the Diet determined to remove the
seat of government to Debreczin.

On the last day of the year 1848, crowds of old men,
women, and children left the city, and my heart ached,
as I watched them toil painfully onwards, to think of the
terrible march that lay before them.

However, as the man in Vienna had said, rose-water and
kid gloves go ill with revolutions; but I wished it was
possible to lift the burden from the shoulders of those so
ill fitted to bear it.

That same night a grand reception was held in the
palace of Count Szondi, and as invitations had been sent
to all the officers still in the city, Rakoczy and I went.

I have often thought since of that magnificent spectacle.
The brilliant uniforms of the soldiers, the sparkling eyes of
the beautiful Magyar ladies, who were all dressed in the
national costume, the ruby velvet dolmans of the wealthy
citizens, the gorgeous dresses of the nobles, the brilliant
lights from burnished chandeliers, the handsome furniture,
the rugs of ermine and sable, the masterpieces of famous
Hungarian artists hanging on the walls in heavily-gilded
frames, the incessant sparkle and play of diamonds as the
guests glided hither and thither, presented a scene that one
does not easily forget.

Hitherto my time had been so fully occupied that I had
not been able to seek out old friends, and now most of
them had departed; but here and there I saw a familiar
face and heard a voice that recalled to me the joys of
bygone days.

Chief amongst the guests, and surrounded by a group of
distinguished men and beautiful women, stood a remarkably
handsome man, above the average height, straight, and
of a fine athletic build.

His black, curly hair hung over his shoulders, his
well-trimmed beard covered his breast.  The manly expression
of his face and the fiery glow in his eyes formed a true
index to his bold, headstrong, and enthusiastic nature.  He
looked fit to be, as he was, the leader of the Magyar
nobles who had taken up arms against the Austrian
oppression.

This was Count Louis Batthiany before the evil days,
alas! so soon to come, fell upon him.

Towards midnight there arose a great stir in the
crowded assembly, a movement of feet, a craning of necks,
a low hum which quickly swelled in volume; and turning
round I saw that another distinguished visitor had entered
the room.

Watching his almost royal progress through the brilliant
throng, I thought of the words spoken by Baron von
Arnstein, and looked on coldly.

But though, unlike the majority of my fellow-countrymen,
I had early been prejudiced against Louis Kossuth, I
have no wish to deny his marvellous and almost superhuman gifts.

A true Hungarian, he loved his country with fond
affection; but his views were not mine, and even in those
days I thought him wrong.

A man of medium height and wiry frame, he passed
through the crowded room with dignified carriage and
grace of movement.  The paleness of his oval face was
very striking, and his high, open forehead betokened keen
intelligence.  His eyes were blue, and though naturally
dreamy, they often flashed fire; his eyebrows were dark
and thick; and over his chestnut hair he wore a wig.  He
had a small, well-formed mouth, fine teeth, firm, round chin,
and delicate white hands with tapering fingers like those of
an artist.

He wore a plain Honved uniform, over which was
thrown a grey mantle.

The count stepped forward to meet him, and the two
talked together earnestly, but in low tones.

"Kossuth is a great man!" exclaimed a portly civilian
standing near us.

"True, friend!" replied Rakoczy, with his ever-ready
smile, "but Hungary has no lack of great men; they grow
as thick as robinias in the gardens."

"Kossuth is a splendid talker."

"Right again, friend," said my companion dryly.  "His
eloquence has created the raw material which Görgei will
fashion into an army.  Some talk, some fight; let each
man stick to his trade."

"I hope," said the citizen mildly, after a glance at our
Honved uniforms, "that Görgei will be able to make
something of you."

Rakoczy laughed so heartily that several people turned
to discover the reason of his mirth, and we thought it best
to move away from the mild-mannered but caustic civilian.

Soon after this Kossuth left, taking Batthiany with him,
and the rest of us moved into the large banqueting-hall,
where refreshments had been laid.

At the last stroke of midnight Count Szondi rose, and a
great hush fell on the brilliant assembly as the old noble
with his venerable white locks faced us.

"Magyars!" he said, and the veteran's voice was firm
and clear as a bell, "the year is dead; we do not mourn it.
The new year is born, and with it a glorious future for
Hungary.  The Magyar is in arms; let those beware who
seek to thwart him.  Magyars, let us drink to the
prosperity of the sacred fatherland."

The words were few and simple--the speaker was no
orator; yet, as he raised the brimming glass to his lips, a
fit of wild enthusiasm seized every man and woman in
that spacious hall.

The men cheered again and again till their voices
were hoarse; the women joined in the plaudits, their eyes
sparkling, their cheeks aflame with excitement.  Handkerchiefs
fluttered and ribbons waved in the air; the scene
became indescribable.

An officer said something, I know not what, but the
next moment Rakoczy was at the farther end of the room,
mounted on a chair.

The sight of his handsome face arrested attention; the
hubbub gradually died away.  Profound silence followed.
The people, thinking he was about to speak, listened
eagerly.

I have mentioned that Rakoczy had a magnificent voice,
but until that night I had not even dreamed of its power.

The lights, the wine, the beautiful faces of the Magyar
ladies, the martial aspect of the men, the stirring
excitement of the time, the dangers surrounding our beloved
country, the knowledge that thousands of our comrades
were in arms against the foe, all helped to enhance the
effect, but much was due to Rakoczy himself.

We stood, I repeat, motionless as statues, gazing at him,
when suddenly there issued from his throat, echoing and
re-echoing through the hall, the first notes of the National
Hymn.

We held our breath; tears were in the eyes of some;
half-choking sobs came from the throats of others; bosoms
heaved and cheeks burned like fire; men, unable to restrain
their emotions, clinched their hands till the finger nails dug
into the palms.

Loud and clear the martial notes rang out.  They spoke
to our hearts; they called us to battle, to death if need be,
in defence of our fatherland.

We hung upon them breathlessly.  Our hands unconsciously
gripped the hilts of our swords.  The hot blood
tore through our veins.  We heard nothing, were conscious
of nothing, but the glorious Magyar hymn whose notes
throbbed in every fibre of our bodies.

The first verse was finished, and as Rakoczy began the
second every voice joined in.  The restrained excitement
had burst its bonds like the Danube in flood.  It could no
longer be held back; it was bound to find a vent, and it
found it in song.

I know little of music, but grander music was never
heard than that in the banqueting-hall of Count Szondi
when the year 1849 was born.

As the last notes died away, the cheering was frantically
renewed.  Women sobbed openly, and there were few men
iron-nerved enough to hide their emotion.

Then, with a ringing "Elijen Szondi!" in honour of our
host, we broke up and passed singly or in groups into the
street.

The night was dark and dreary, snow lay thick on the
ground, a storm of frozen sleet hurled itself into our faces,
and the bitter cold made us shiver beneath our fur-lined
mantles.

"A wonderful contrast this," I exclaimed, setting off
with "The Joyous" and several other officers for the
barracks.

"As great as that between Hungary united and Hungary
divided against itself," replied one of them.

"Or as that between Batthiany and Kossuth," suggested
Rakoczy, after which we lapsed into silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A FIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *A FIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS.*

.. vspace:: 2

"George!"

I had not been in bed an hour, and it was quite
dark, when Rakoczy's voice wakened me from a sound sleep.

"Turn out and dress quickly," he continued.  "We are
ordered to Waitzen; the men are under arms."

"All right," I replied sleepily, and tumbling out grazed
my shins against an iron box.

"Drawn blood already?" Rakoczy queried with a laugh.
"What a desperate fellow you are!" and as he went away
I heard him still chuckling to himself.

After a vain attempt to dress in the dark, I procured
a light, and having made a hasty toilet hastened to the
officers' messroom.

Several men were already there, scalding their throats
with boiling coffee, and eating the next two or three meals
before starting--a very good plan, too, as experience soon
taught us.

As Rakoczy rightly said, on a campaign there is
nothing like being a day in advance of your proper
meals.  Passing me a cup of steaming coffee and pointing
to the eatables, he exclaimed, "Fall to, Botskay.  There's
no ceremony this morning."

"Morning?" cried a youngster who, having burned his
throat, was glad to give vent to his ill-humour.  "You
don't call this morning?  Why, I hadn't got to sleep
before they woke me up again.  Why didn't they tell us
before, and save us the trouble of tumbling in?"

"Don't know," replied Rakoczy innocently.  "Ask some
one else."

We were laughing at Rakoczy's pretended simplicity,
when another man, coming in, said,--

"Jolly, this, isn't it?  It's as black as pitch outside, and
hailstones the size of walnuts are falling.  Anybody know
what it's all about?"

"Which?  The hailstones or the blackness?" asked
Rakoczy.

"This sudden turn-out.  A pity we hadn't stayed at
Szondi's a couple of hours later."

"I heard a rumour that Görgei had sent a messenger to
say he was retreating with the Austrians on his heels."

"He should imitate the horses and kick out behind."

"I expect he will show fight at Ofen."

"With a crowd of peasants?  Not likely.  His best
plan is to fall back."

"What an oversight that the general didn't put us on
his staff!" said Rakoczy.  "We could have given him a
lot of useful information."

"There's the bugle, gentlemen!  Ach!" as some one
opened the door; "what a blast!"

I wrapped my mantle round me closely, took another
pull at the hot coffee, and went into the barrack-yard.

Two or three hundred men were drawn up in waiting.
They were to convoy a huge store of food and ammunition
to Waitzen.

Rather to my disgust, I found that Rakoczy and I were
to look after the carts, and a wretched time of it we had.

For several hours we trudged along in the blackness
of the night, while the hailstorm beat down upon us
in fury.

The roads were execrable, and frequently we were
compelled to stop while the teamsters got their animals out
of the holes into which they stumbled.

This first spell of active service was hardly to my liking,
and even upon reaching Waitzen things were very little
better.

However, a merry heart is a golden cure for most ills,
and it was not easy to be miserable where Rakoczy was.

He laughed at everything, found amusement in the
storm, made light of the bitter cold, professed that half
a dinner was better than a full one, and that he preferred
to sleep on the floor, because there was no chance of falling
out of bed.

After waiting two days at Waitzen we learned that
Görgei, by a sharp manoeuvre, had joined hands with
Perczel, and that the Austrians were marching into Pesth.

Many of us had wondered at being sent with stores to
Waitzen, but now we began to understand something of
our leader's foresight.

Leaving the main army to retreat behind the Theiss,
Görgei, making a great show with his scanty numbers,
turned north to join us, and this drew the bulk of the
Austrians on his own track.

Amongst the first of the advance-guard to arrive at
Waitzen was my brother Stephen; and though he had
little leisure for conversation, the meeting did us both
good.

He was looking a trifle thinner, but in good health, and
related with much glee his experiences with the general.
According to his account, he lived almost entirely in the
saddle, slept at odd times where he could, ate what he
could pick up, and had not once taken off his clothes since
we left him.

Of the general he spoke enthusiastically.

"Görgei never gets tired," he said.  "He is made of
iron, and can do without sleep.  As to riding, I never
saw any one like him.  After a day's hard work he'll
jump into the saddle and ride to the outposts at full
gallop on a pitch-dark night and in the stormiest weather.
At first I used to ache in every muscle, but I'm getting
used to it.  Now I'm off to Kremnitz."

For several days longer we remained at Waitzen picking
up recruits from the north, and then moved on towards
Kremnitz.

Rakoczy and I had been regularly appointed as
major and lieutenant in the 9th Honved regiment, the
men of which were well equipped and in fairly good
spirits.

The recruits had brought our numbers up to about
twenty thousand; and, leaving Kremnitz, we marched in
a south-west direction to make Windischgratz believe we
were striking at Vienna.  In this we succeeded, and thus
prevented the Austrian general from crushing our main
army, then in full retreat to Debreczin, behind the Theiss.

Having accomplished his object, Görgei once more broke
fresh ground, and led us into the mountains, in order to
draw off a part of the Austrian force, and, by a
round-about route, to rejoin the principal army.

I was certainly serving a rough apprenticeship to the
trade of war.

The roads were covered with ice, the valleys were piled
with snow through which we had to force a passage,
sometimes being sunk in it almost to our arm-pits; and as we
stumbled along, huge avalanches thundered down the rocky
cliffs that on either side overhung our path.

The majority of the soldiers, having newly joined, lost
their spirits, which made the officers' work much harder;
but we kept them going somehow, and struggled up and
through the narrow defiles with the Austrians in our rear,
and, for aught we knew, in front as well.

At the beginning of the last week in January, the frost
broke up quite suddenly, and the narrow valleys were
flooded by water, which swept through the gorges,
carrying with it great pieces of floating ice.

As our regiment led the way, we were the first to bear
the brunt of this new danger.

"Steady, men!" cried Rakoczy.  "Plant your feet
firmly on the ground and lock arms, or you'll be carried
away."

The men responded instantly, but for a long time they
could make no headway against the torrent.

Again and again we led them forward, but each time it
was only for a few paces.

The noise of the rushing waters, the blows from detached
pieces of ice, the difficulty of securing a foothold, told on
the men's nerves, and kept them from fronting the danger.

The colonel stormed, Rakoczy begged and prayed,
taunted them with cowardice, mocked at their fears, and
called them frightened children--all in vain; forward
they would not go.

The general himself tried, and failed to put heart into
them.  Then he whispered something to Stephen, who,
with a smile, turned and disappeared.

Suddenly there came a shout from the rear, feeble at
first, but rapidly increasing in volume.

"Push on!  Quick!  Quick!  The Austrians are on us!
The enemy!  The enemy!"

The greater danger swallowed up the less.  The very
dullest recruit could understand what would happen if
the Austrians attacked us in that horrible defile, and in
a short time we were boldly striding through the torrent.
Those who would have lagged behind were dragged on
by their companions; and so, fighting, pushing, struggling,
shouting, we won our way bit by bit till we had safely
passed the most dangerous places.

However, the Austrians did not put in an appearance;
and when I asked Rakoczy what had become of them, he
laughed gaily.

"Gone back to where they came from, most likely!" he said.

"Where's that?"

"Görgei's brain."

"What?  Was it simply a trick?"

"Ask Stephen when you get a chance; he ought to know."

"And I've been expecting every minute to see the blaze
of their guns from the heights!"

"Wait till we get nearer the summit; that's where the
real danger lies.  The Austrian Schlick is coming down
post-haste from Galicia, and he's a tough fighter."

Three days after this conversation the truth of these
words was brought home to us in a very striking manner.

Görgei, who, as usual, was in advance, had sent forward
his scouts.  A few light guns, which by incredible labour
had been dragged up the defiles, came next, and were
followed by the 9th Honved regiment.

Several other regiments followed at intervals, while the
others were ascending by different routes, keeping in touch,
however, with the main body, and all converging on one
pass, which it was hoped the Austrians had not seized.

Unfortunately, Schlick had been too quick for us, and
the scouts returned with the information that the mouth
of the pass was blocked by huge boulders, behind which a
formidable body of troops with heavy guns was stationed.

The regiment halted; Görgei went to reconnoitre, and
at once the artillery were ordered to advance, with the 9th
in support.  The men were weary and footsore, half-starved,
numbed with cold, depressed by this everlasting retreat, and
I doubted very much if they were equal to the work in
front of them.

Suddenly the great guns thundered out, and our own
replied; the unequal artillery duel had begun.

We moved up steadily, and the sharpshooters, running
forward and getting whatever cover they could, picked off
the Austrian gunners.

Our own artillerymen worked their pieces bravely, but
were altogether overmatched.

The place must be taken by storm, and the assault fell
to the share of the 9th.

I thought of the barricade in the Prater, and remembered
how I had pitied the brave fellows who had thrown
away their lives in the attempt to carry it.

Now I was in a similar position, and my heart beat
quickly as I stood there waiting for the word of command.

The men, for the most part, looked downcast, as if they
did not enjoy the prospect, and indeed it was a terrible
trial for young troops.

Rakoczy's handsome face lit up with his usual smile as
he nodded to me pleasantly.

At length the artillery fire on our side ceased, the word
rang out, the regiment moved forward.

The order was that no man should stop to fire; but our
fellows were not veterans, and it was disregarded.

Still, considering that hardly one of us had been under
fire before, we did not do so badly.

Görgei gave us a cheer as we passed the staff; Stephen
waved his hand to me, and we were gone.

Into the mouth of the pass we rushed, so close to the
great boulders that we could distinctly see the muzzles of
the black guns.

"Forward!" cried the colonel, waving his sword.

"Forward!" echoed Rakoczy, still smiling; and we ran
with such speed that the first discharge checked only those
who fell.

The second threw us into some disorder.  The colonel
was killed outright by a cannon-ball, but Rakoczy took
command and led us on gallantly.

We had, however, lost many men; and when, for the
third time, the iron balls tore through our ranks, the
survivors would have no more of it.

Back they went helter-skelter, tumbling over one another
in their eagerness to seek shelter, Rakoczy's orders
being unheeded in the stampede.

The attack had hopelessly failed, and it was plain to all
that the bravest troops would only be thrown back crushed
and bleeding from that lane of death.

The check was a serious one.  To turn the position by
another pass would cause a delay of several days, which
might ruin the whole cause, for we did not know that
Windischgratz was still in Pesth.

The artillery duel began again, while we re-formed our
ranks and looked about us gloomily.

On our right and left huge precipices, covered with ice
and snow, towered skyward.

If only it were practicable to scale them, we might yet
drive the Austrians out.

I could not keep my eyes from the cliffs, nor dismiss the
idea from my head.

Fifty good shots perched up there could pick off every
artilleryman who stood by the enemy's guns.

There were numerous mountaineers in the regiment, and
I myself had always been reckoned a good climber.

I had just escaped death; but unless some other plan
was discovered, Görgei would fling us at that barrier until
those who survived--if there were any--did get over.  In
fact, he could not help himself.

And if death came while I was scaling the cliff, why,
the result was no worse than if it met me in the narrow
path.

I went to Rakoczy and told him what was in my head.

Just for an instant he turned pale, and the smile left
his face, but he soon recovered his composure.

"There are a hundred chances of death in fifty yards,"
he said, "and a thousand when the Austrians see the
dodge."

"There are five thousand in front of us," I answered.
"Still, that isn't the point.  Will you give me an axe and
leave to go?"

"I wouldn't order or even ask you to try; but if you're
bent on it--"

"It may save hundreds of lives."

"Then I'll borrow you a hatchet, and call for volunteers."

He turned to the regiment.  "I want twenty men fond
of mountain-climbing to go on a little excursion with
Lieutenant Botskay."

More than half the regiment stepped to the front, and,
selecting a score, I told them what we were going to do.

The major sent for some hatchets, and then informed
Görgei, who instantly dispatched a cloud of sharpshooters
to distract the enemy's attention.

Unbuckling my sword, I gave it to Rakoczy, and, in
case of accidents, wished him good-bye.

Stephen had been sent on an errand by the general, and
I was rather pleased than otherwise by his absence; the
knowledge that he was below, gazing up at me and
trembling for my safety, might have preyed on my nerve.

My twenty men--all muscular, wiry fellows--laid aside
their rifles, and, axe in hand, stood ready to mount.

Fifty of the finest marksmen waited beneath the cliff,
ready to follow in our track if we should find or cut a
path, and to protect us from the enemy's fire.

Meanwhile, the sharpshooters at the front, snugly
sheltered behind rocks and boulders, discharged their rifles
incessantly, and, without doing much damage, kept the
Austrians well employed.

Our starting-point was a ledge, to which we were hoisted
on men's shoulders, and which was so narrow that we
could barely preserve a footing.

A hum of sympathy rose from the ranks as I cut the
first notch; but for the fear of attracting attention it
would have been a roar of cheering.

Rakoczy had said truly there were a hundred chances
of death in fifty yards.  The cold was so intense that
several times the hatchet was within an ace of slipping
from my fingers; and once, while attempting to hang on
by a jutting ledge, I must have rolled over but for the
man behind me.  The first part of the journey we did in
single file, and of course each climber made the way easier
for the next one, so that it became possible for Rakoczy to
send on the soldiers with rifles.

Up in the pass our light guns had been partly silenced;
but the sharpshooters were busy firing as fast as they
could load, and so making the Austrians believe that
another assault was to be delivered.

To this end, also, the 9th Honveds had been drawn up
and placed in position, but out of the line of fire, as if
they were only awaiting the support of the next regiment
in order to charge.

We had reached an immense wall of ice, perpendicular,
smooth, and of almost unbroken surface, and I was regarding
it with dismay, when the man behind me exclaimed,
"To the right, lieutenant!  There seems to be a tiny path;
we can creep round."

There was a tiny path indeed, so narrow that we had
to press against the wall like flies, and I doubted the
wisdom of attempting to pass.

"It will get wider, sir; and once round, the rest will
be easy."

I gave one last thought to my friends and put my foot
on the ledge.

In spite of the ice and snow and the bitter, freezing
wind I was hot enough now--so hot that my body was
bathed in perspiration.

Placing the fingers of my left hand in a small crevice, I
cut a little nick farther on, and thus, step by step, made
my perilous way.

Half-way across I was seized by a fit of terror, and
clung to the wall helplessly like a frightened child, not
daring to move, hardly, indeed, to breathe.

Something had unnerved me; I scarcely knew what.
There had been a rasping of ice, a sound as of slipping
feet, a groan of anguish promptly suppressed, and I felt as
if the angel of death had lightly brushed me with his
spreading wings.

The sound of an unfamiliar voice brought me to my
senses.  A man was speaking, but it was not Szemere, the
one who had up till now been my close attendant.

"Hold tight, sir.  Szemere has gone over--missed his
footing."

I shuddered to think of the poor fellow's awful fate, but,
strangely enough, the knowledge of it restored my
courage.  I ceased to tremble, braced myself up, and cut
another notch.  Down below, the unequal fight was being
waged in the pass.  We could hear the roar of the heavy
guns, the sharp, crisp rattle of the musketry, the shouts of
the combatants, while we hung like a line of flies to the
face of the cliffs.

At length, with every muscle strained, with aching
limbs, with scratched face, and bleeding fingers, I cut the
last notch, and stood in comparative safety.

The next man, a light, wiry fellow, he who had told me
of Szemere's death, cut the notch deeper, and as he did so
the axe slipped from his nerveless fingers and went
clattering down the abyss.

The brown of his face turned to a greyish-white colour;
his legs tottered; his teeth knocked together; his hold
loosened; in another second he would be gone!

I never could clearly understand what happened then.
I remember dimly that my arms were locked round the
fellow's waist, that our bodies were swaying to and fro,
that by force of instinct I used all my strength to swing
backward.

In this I must have succeeded, for presently I found
myself lying on the flat of my back, still hugging the
soldier.  A pull at my flask of silovitz set me right, and
then I forced some of the liquor into the mouth of my
companion.  Directly the poor fellow recovered from his
stupor he knelt and kissed my hands, saying gratefully,--

"My life is yours, sweet master.  Mecsey Sándor is
your servant for ever and ever."

We in Hungary adopt the plan of placing the surname
first; English-speaking people would call the man Sándor
or Alexander Mecsey.

Several of the others now joined us; and, as the dead
Szemere had foretold, the most difficult part of the journey
was past.  We were no longer compelled to march in single
file, but could spread out, and thus allow the riflemen to
follow closely.

Now walking upright, now crawling on our hands and
knees, we drew near to the Austrian position, when a volley
from the enemy showed they had discovered us.

Bidding my men lie low, I drew a small flag from my
pocket, and, standing proudly erect, waved the glorious
red, white, and green colours to the breeze.

The men of the 9th greeted the flag with a tremendous
shout, which went echoing and re-echoing up the mountain
sides.  The Austrians fired fast and furiously, but in their
excitement they aimed badly.

We with the axes, of course, could do nothing more, but
the riflemen, taking shelter, poured in a terrible fire, against
which the enemy were powerless.

The men at the guns went down one after another; and
every minute our fire became more severe, as Rakoczy
continued to feed us with fresh volunteers.

The Austrian chief made a gallant effort to reach us,
and we saw his white-coated infantry helping each other
to scale the smooth walls.

The attempt proved vain, as it was bound to do.  The
men slipped and scrambled, fell, and rolled to the
bottom--many to lie there for all time.

Those who climbed highest were greeted by the bullets
of my hidden marksmen; and though the white-coats
advanced with their wonted bravery, they struggled and
died in vain.

So plain was this that the leader, while still
maintaining a brave show against Görgei, began to draw off his
troops, and from our vantage-place we watched them
sullenly retire.

Very slowly and steadily they went, while we,
springing to our feet, cheered again and again.

Down below, our comrades secured the abandoned post,
leaving the next regiment, which had suffered hardly at
all, to pursue the enemy.

It was a trying task to descend, especially as we had
several wounded men to carry, but the knowledge of
victory cheered our spirits; and at length, with the loss of
only two or three men, we reached the pass.

How our regiment cheered as we ranged ourselves to
receive the general!  He stood fronting us, his head bent
forward, his hands behind his back as usual.

"Gallant lads, one and all," he said; "yours is to-day's
victory."

We answered with an "Elijen Görgei!" and when he
departed, the men of the regiment crowded round to
congratulate their comrades.

As for me, the "Well done!" of Rakoczy, who was now
colonel, and Stephen's warm embrace, were sufficient
reward; but Görgei thought otherwise, and I, who had
entered the pass as a simple lieutenant, left it as a captain.





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.. _`A DRAWN BATTLE`:

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   CHAPTER VIII.

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.. class:: center medium

   *A DRAWN BATTLE.*

.. vspace:: 2

The taking of the pass, described in the preceding
chapter, was the first really stubborn affair we had
been engaged in, but during the remainder of the journey
the enemy attacked us many times.

Soldiers have told me that, from a military point of
view, the march was a brilliant one, and that it stamped
our leader as a most accomplished general.

To us it was exceedingly wearisome and distressing.
We had very little food, and that the coarsest.  Our boots
were dropping to pieces, our uniforms were in rags and
tatters.  Often we forced a passage through ice and snow
knee-deep.  Frequently the fog enveloped us so thickly
that a man could not see his neighbour, and that in a
place where a false step meant death.

At night our bivouac was the snow-covered ground,
where, wrapping ourselves in our bundas, we tried to
forget our misery for an hour or two in sleep.

In addition, the Austrians gave us plenty of employment
in the fighting line, especially near the summit,
where they occupied the passes in force.

However, as Görgei had resolved to reach Kaschau, to
Kaschau we had to go; and by dint of climbing and fighting
we at length forced the mountain barriers, and began
the descent of the valleys.

During the march I saw Stephen scarcely at all,
but Rakoczy and I were constantly together; and my
friend more than ever justified his old name of "The
Joyous."

The hardships of the journey had no terrors for him.
He appeared warm in the bitterest cold, and when every
one else was soaked through, he, to judge by his smiling
face, was dry and comfortable.

He joked with the men on their troubles till the poor
fellows almost began to believe they were grumbling about
nothing.

"Cold?" he would say.  "Nonsense!  Why, you're
glowing as if you'd just come from a vapour-bath.
Footsore?  I wouldn't like to challenge you to a race for a
hundred gulden.  Andras, how pleased you'll be when the
war's ended to say, 'I went over the mountains with
Görgei.'  Your neighbours will never let you pay for a
bottle of silovitz all the rest of your life.  'The cosiest
seat in the inn for Andras,' everybody will say.  'He is a
warrior, if you like.'  Why, the maidens won't dance with
another man in the room while you're there.  Look at
Janko," as a burly fellow shot head foremost into a
snowdrift.  "I'll warrant he expects to find something good in
there.  Lucky fellow, Janko!"

Sometimes he would start one of the fiery, soul-stirring,
popular songs, when the whole regiment, joining in and
forgetting all else, would swing along quite cheerfully.

At night, while we lay on the snow-covered ground,
our teeth chattering with the cold, he would amuse the
officers by his glowing descriptions of the mountains in the
summer-time.

"The noblest mountains in the world!" he would say with
enthusiasm.  "It is a treat to saunter through the miles of
beautiful pine forests, or to gather the lovely gentians and
forget-me-nots, blue as if they had dropped from heaven,
or to linger by the edge of some boulder-wrapped lake, and
gaze into its clear green waters.  In the early morning,
when myriads of dewdrops sparkle and flash like countless
diamonds, and the sun paints the cliffs with warm gold and
crimson and purple hues, the place is like paradise.  Then
to stand on the summits and gaze over the fruitful plains,
yellow with ripening grain--ah, I tell you it is a treat to
wander amongst the Carpathians!"

Then some one would point out in a jesting spirit
further delights to be enjoyed--the splendid mists, which
drenched us to the bone, and prevented us from seeing the
frightful chasms, down which we might tumble; the bitter
cold, but for which we should not appreciate the comfort
of our bundas; the slippery ice, which provided us with
endless fun and a cracked head occasionally.

Gradually we would drop off into a restless sleep, and in
the morning pinch ourselves hard, to discover if our limbs
still had any feeling.

The march towards Kaschau was marked by a series of
desperate fights with the troops under the Austrian general
Schlick.

Sometimes they took up a favourable position, which it
cost the lives of many brave men to capture; sometimes,
creeping quietly through the darkness, they made an attack
just when, wearied out by the toils of the day, we had
fallen asleep.

The last of these assaults was of a very determined
nature, and for a time had every chance of succeeding.

We were within a day's march of Kaschau, and had
covered many weary miles since the morning.

A thick fog had come up with the night--so thick,
indeed, it was that it closed us in like a curtain.

Most of the men fell asleep directly they lay down,
and very soon there was not a sound to be heard in the
camp.

Towards midnight I was awakened by a wild shouting,
and springing to my feet, found that the Austrians were in
the midst of us.

The fight that ensued was of the weirdest kind.  In
the darkness friend could not be distinguished from foe,
and many a man lost his life by sword or bayonet
thrust without seeing the hand that struck the blow.

Rakoczy's voice kept his regiment well together, and
owing chiefly to the steadiness of the 9th Honveds the
Austrians were finally repulsed.

Like ghosts they had come, like ghosts they vanished;
and but for the groans of the wounded, we might have
regarded the whole affair as a bad dream.

However, for the officers, at least, there was no further
rest; and though the men went to sleep again, we were
kept busy doubling the sentries, restoring order, and seeing
after the poor fellows who had been hurt.

Very glad we were when morning came; and having
eaten our breakfasts, which occupied little time, we set
out for Kaschau.

I think Schlick's daring venture must have cost him
dear; at any rate we saw no more of the enemy, and in
the evening arrived, footsore and hungry, at Kaschau, where
an army corps under General Klapka met us.

Rakoczy pointed out the general to me, and said that,
next to Görgei, he was the finest soldier in the army.

In figure he was rather short, but exceedingly well
shaped, and he had the oval face, black whiskers and
moustache, and fiery, dark eyes of the true Magyar.

His features were refined, his manners those of a
high-born gentleman, and his expression was so mild and gentle
that in private dress he would hardly have been taken for
a soldier.

Yet so brilliant was to be one, at least, of his exploits
that his name will live for ever in the memories of his
Magyar comrades.

At Kaschau we remained several days, both in order to
recover from our fatigue and to obtain a fresh supply of
ammunition, as the men had almost come to their last
cartridge.

From Kaschau we proceeded to Mischkolz, where
Dembinski joined us with another army; and here, to our
disgust, we learned that the Polish leader had been made
commander-in-chief.

"That's Kossuth's idea," said Rakoczy, "and very badly
he'll find it work."

Stephen, who at last had found time to spare an hour
with us, was very indignant.

"A Magyar army has no need of a Polish general," he
exclaimed, "especially when it counts such men as Görgei
and Klapka among its leaders."

"The Pole is a republican," I remarked, thinking of the
talk at Vienna.  "Görgei is a royalist."

"And his proclamation did him little good with the
Kossuth party."

Rakoczy here referred to the address our general had
published, in which he declared his army "would oppose
itself to all those who may attempt by republican intrigues
in the interior of the country to overthrow the
constitutional monarchy."

"If Görgei held up his little finger, the army would
sweep Kossuth and his Poles out of the country!" my
brother cried warmly.

"But he won't, and I'm glad of it," said Rakoczy.  "Let
us settle with the Austrians first; 'twill be time enough
then to fight one another.  It's a good rule not to pick up
more than you can hold."

What Görgei and Klapka thought of the matter I
cannot say; but it took a good deal of enthusiasm out
of the soldiers, who had learned to look on Görgei as their
natural chief.

However, as Rakoczy well said, the Austrians must be
dealt with first; and as Windischgratz was advancing, we
broke up our camp, and marched, forty thousand strong,
with two hundred and twenty-five guns, to Kapolna, on the
road between Pesth and Debreczin.

Here we occupied a strong position on the heights near
the town, each wing resting on a ruined village, with our
splendid artillery and several squadrons of veteran hussars
in the centre.

Daylight had scarcely broken on the morning of the
twenty-sixth of February, when the sounds of heavy firing
announced that the battle had begun.

My regiment was stationed on the left, and at first I had
ample leisure to view the struggle in the centre and on the
right.

Compared with this tremendous fight, our encounters
with Schlick in the mountains were little more than
playing at war.

In the centre, forty great guns on either side, served by
skilful gunners, thundered away at each other.  Farther
along, the Austrian leader hurled battalion after battalion
against our right wing.

By means of a field-glass I saw what happened to the
first, and the fate of several others was like it.

A great, white-coated mass, looking grey, however, in
the early morning, went forward slowly, it appeared to
me, yet firmly.  A few figures in the front formed a
sort of spear-head, which should help the mass to pierce
a way.

These greyish-white dots were officers.  One carried what
might have been a handkerchief; really it was the famous
black and yellow colours.

The mass moved on slowly, steadily, firmly.  On the
right of it shot and shell flew screaming and hissing;
flashes of fire burst from the guns; the earth shook with
the discharges; a curtain of smoke shut out my view.

When it lifted I looked for the battalion.  Yes, there
it was, compact as ever, undisturbed by the terrible fight
going on elsewhere, and marching steadily towards its
destination.

Suddenly some tiny curls of whitish smoke were wafted
from the heights.  The battalion halted.  There was a
movement in the ranks--I could not tell what; then the
mass advanced again.  But as it moved away, I noticed
that some parts of it had, so to speak, dropped off; and
from this point there began a confused line of dots, thin in
some places, thicker in others.

The column had become smaller, and each time the
little puffs of curly smoke appeared, it seemed to quiver,
as if with cold, and the line of dots was made longer.

The spear-head had done its share towards forming the
track.  The sides and base of it had vanished, but the apex
remained.  It was the man with the handkerchief, which
he continued to wave without once looking back.

I watched him with intense fascination, till once again a
thick black cloud drifted across my lens.

When the battalion next came into sight, it was considerably
smaller, and it had left a heap much higher than any
of the others about thirty yards in the rear; but the one
remaining point of the spear-head still waved its black and
yellow folds to and fro.

Suddenly the movement of the mass increased in speed,
but it was still one body, save for that detached point in
the van.

To it something--I could only guess what--at last
happened.

The flag disappeared, the greyish-white figure sank to
the ground.  I choked back a sigh of regret, when flag and
figure came into sight again, only the former had changed
its position from right to left.

Now, too, the white puffs came out quicker from the
heights; and as the pace of the column increased, so did
these curly little clouds.

Then, as I looked, the battalion stopped dead; half of it
sank to the ground; the rest, each part separated from its
neighbour, fell to pieces; and the various atoms, without
any appearance of order, ran back quickly along the track
so recently made.

One figure alone moved slowly--it was the apex of the
spear-head, the shaft of which had broken; and in spite of
the yellow and black colours, I was downright glad to see
the flag returning.

"Steady, my boys, steady!  Don't fire till you get
the word.  Remember our general trusts to the 9th
Honveds."

The words and the cheer that followed them brought
me back with a rush to the reality of my own position.

That which had engaged my attention as a spectator I
was about to take part in as an actor.

Two battalions were advancing at the double across the
plain, and others had formed up in support.

We held one of the keys of the position, and Görgei
himself, trusting to Rakoczy's influence, had placed us there.

If we retreated, the battle would be lost; and no
subsequent victory could ever wipe out our disgrace.

Looking at the men's faces, I did not much fear the
result.  The time had gone by when the 9th would run
away at the first shot, as this very battle was to prove.

Steadily the men waited, trusting implicitly in their
colonel, while the two battalions crossed the plain and
dashed at the heights.

"Fire!"

Sharp and clear the word rang out, and every trigger
was pulled at the same instant, as if the regiment had been
a machine.

Down below, the slaughter was terrible; but we had to
deal with some of the best fighting men who had ever
followed the Austrian eagle into the battlefield.

Only the dead stopped at the foot of the heights; all
the others, even the wounded, pressed on, and the arrival
of the second battalion more than made up for those who
had fallen.

Up they came, scorning death, and contemptuous of the
Hungarian peasants so recently converted into soldiers.

But "John the Joyous" led us, and we had learned many
lessons during our march over the mountains with Görgei.

Standing our ground firmly, we poured volley after
volley into the midst of the climbing Austrians.

Still the survivors advanced, and, fed from below,
maintained their numbers, while many of our fellows began to
drop.

The colonel was everywhere, and his cheery voice
encouraged those under his command.

While most of the Austrians came on, climbing and
firing in the open, many adopted the wiser course of seeking
cover, whence they could pick us off without much risk.

Several men of my company lost their lives in this
way; but the fight came at length to a hand-grip, and
it was no longer a question of bullets, but of bayonets.

Twice by main force we flung our assailants back; but
they returned to the charge, cheering loudly, as if bent
upon turning us out or of losing every man in the attempt.
We on our side would not give way, and so the stubborn
fight continued.

The enemy were continually reinforced; our losses were
not made good, and the longer the struggle lasted the more
unequal it became.

For myself, I feared that the attack would prove too
strong; and, as Rakoczy told me afterwards, he was of
the same opinion.

One would not have thought so, however, at the time
of the fight.  His face was full of confidence; his voice
had not lost an atom of its usual cheerfulness.  To his
troops his presence appeared everywhere as an omen of
victory.

Still the position was growing desperate, and though we
might have held our own for a while longer, the enemy
must finally have captured the heights, as there would
have been no one left to defend them.

The colonel had posted my company at a spot where
the ascent was fairly easy, and, had the white-coats once
broken through, they would have turned the position from
the top.

"You must die where you stand," he had said, "for the
honour of the Magyars," and we had answered with a
cheer.

But the enemy were not at our throats then as they
were now, cutting and stabbing, or, seizing us bodily,
trying to hurl us over the cliffs.

Still we held our ground, though the company was
sadly diminishing in numbers, and every fighting-man
who survived was more or less seriously wounded.

I had twice escaped death myself, through the devotion
of Mecsey Sándor, who, since the affair in the pass, had
taken every opportunity to show his gratitude.

On the second occasion I was engaged hand to hand
with an Austrian sergeant, sword against bayonet, when,
my foot slipping, down, I went, completely at the fellow's
mercy.

Sándor, who though hotly engaged evidently kept one
eye on me, was at my side in a moment, and, parrying the
sergeant's blow, dealt one himself.

My men cheered as I rose to my feet and again dashed
into the thick of the fight.

Then it was that, in the very wreck of our fortunes, a
cry rose from the rear--a cry that made our blood hot,
and victory, at least in that particular corner of the field,
certain.

"Görgei!  Görgei! elijen Görgei!"

Louder and louder it grew, putting heart into every
man; even the poor fellows on the ground, raising
themselves with difficulty, helped to swell the chorus.

Riding along the heights, the general had seen how
terribly we suffered, and springing from his horse without
a moment's hesitation, had run to our help.

The staff, leaving their animals, followed; and I saw
Stephen, his handsome face ablaze with passion, catch his
leader, and side by side with him shoot forward into the
press.

The reinforcement was few in numbers, but Görgei
counted a host in himself, and the sight of his tall, spare
frame and spectacled, weather-beaten countenance inspired
us all with new courage.

The Austrians now gave way slowly, still fighting with
sullen desperation; but we pushed them harder and harder,
broke them up into little knots, forced them into a run,
till, thoroughly disorganized, they reached the plain a
beaten crowd.

Here their misfortunes were by no means at an end.
A regiment of hussars, issuing from a wood on the right,
scattered those who still kept together, and turned what
was already a bad defeat into a total rout.

The cheers for Görgei rose again with tenfold vigour;
but the general, taking Rakoczy by the hand, exclaimed,
"Colonel, you and your brave lads have done to-day what
I shall never forget.  I trusted you to hold this position,
and you have held it.  Through me Hungary thanks the
gallant 9th Honveds."

Then, amidst another wild outburst of cheering, he went
back to the summit.

While his chief talked thus to Rakoczy, Stephen came
to me.

In the struggle he had not received a scratch; but it was
different with me, and my brother's face looked very grave.

"It's all right, old fellow," I said, trying to speak
lightly.  "Not one of these cuts is really dangerous.  I'm
only a little faint through loss of blood.  A night's rest
will put me straight."

He shook my hand warmly and followed his chief, but
I noticed that more than once he turned and looked back
sorrowfully.

The combat, which had lasted for six hours, now ceased
on the two wings, but continued in the centre with
unabated fury.

There the great guns were massed, and the veterans of
both armies strove, the one party to oust its opponents, the
other to maintain its position.

The guns roared, sheets of flame sprang from their
muzzles, shot and shell tore, screaming, through the air.
Occasionally what appeared a solid body of living fire
shot skyward, accompanied by a loud report, as a
powder-tumbrel was struck by one of the flying missiles.

Then for a time everything would be hidden by a dense
bank of smoke, and we waited breathlessly to see it lift.
But though human courage may be inexhaustible, there
is a limit to human endurance; and at last, as if by
common consent, both sides ceased to struggle.

"A drawn battle," said Rakoczy, "and I don't think
we've had the worst of it.  George, you'd better find a
surgeon and have those wounds dressed.  We shall have
to fight again in the morning."

As I had told Stephen, my hurts were not dangerous,
and directly the surgeon had bound them up I returned
to the front.

The men lay on the hard ground with only their bundas
to shelter them from the bitter, piercing cold that crept
into their very marrows.

Rakoczy, with several officers and the least fatigued of
the troops, was going about succouring the wounded; but
he would not allow me to help, insisting that I needed
rest.  So, wrapped in my mantle, I lay down, and sad at
heart watched the myriads of brilliant stars that shone in
the unclouded sky.





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.. _`THE RETREAT`:

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   CHAPTER IX.

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.. class:: center medium

   *THE RETREAT.*

.. vspace:: 2

In spite of the cold I fell asleep at last, and did not
waken until the morning.

The Austrians were already stirring--indeed, they had
been under arms since the dawn; and I saw by the aid of
my glass that three batteries had been pushed forward
nearer the town.

I snatched a hasty breakfast, consisting of a piece of
black bread, a slice of bacon, and a draught of silovitz,
afterwards taking command of my shattered company.

The daylight, alas, showed only too plainly the havoc
caused by the recent conflict.  Many familiar faces were
absent from the ranks, and a large number of those who
answered to their names were wounded.

Still, the satisfaction of knowing we had stood our
ground cheered us, and we looked forward to the coming
attack without much fear for the result.

"Feel equal to another bout?" asked the colonel,
coming up to me.

He had not slept since the fight began on the previous
morning, but his eyes were as bright and his carriage as
jaunty as ever.

"Daresay I shall get through somehow," I answered.
"But what are the others waiting for?  Have they had
enough?  The attack seems to hang fire a bit."

"Windischgratz won't strike till he can make pretty
sure of hitting the mark.  Probably he expects Schlick
to join him."

"According to the scouts, Schlick can't arrive till it's all
over."

"Don't make too sure.  Schlick's a perfect demon when
the guns begin to speak.  His corps would have to march
all night if there was a chance of getting up in time.
Anyway, had I been Dembinski, I should have forced the
fighting directly day broke; but no doubt the old man
knows his business."

Rakoczy walked on, passing along the lines smiling
good-humouredly, joking with the men, praising them for
their behaviour of yesterday, and putting them in famous
spirits.  Certainly one had not far to seek the reason of
his popularity.

Meanwhile the morning advanced, and about seven
o'clock the enemy's heavy guns opened fire at Kapolna.

Evidently the attack was to be conducted on a different
plan, and very soon the cause of the alteration became plain.

Our position not being threatened, we were able to look
about, and from the height obtained a good view of the
field.

It was just eight o'clock when Rakoczy, passing his
glass to an officer, exclaimed, "That's what I feared.  See
the column of smoke there on our right?"

"The enemy are spreading themselves out too far.
Dembinski could easily cut off their left.  The Pole is
getting too old for active service.  Why doesn't he
push forward a couple of battalions quickly?"

Rakoczy smiled.  "You don't know what that column
of smoke means," he said.  "It's a sign that Schlick has
arrived with a fresh army corps."

"Impossible!" cried one of the officers.  "His men
would all have dropped on the march."

In spite of our astonishment, however, the Austrian
general was on the field, and pounding away at our right
wing with terrific effect.

His arrival put fresh heart into our opponents, and
they moved forward in the centre, redoubling their fire on
the wretched town.  The tide of battle set steadily
towards our centre and right, leaving us simple spectators.

I suppose it was important to keep possession of the
heights, yet it seemed a pity to stand thus idly while our
comrades were fighting so desperately.

Of the combat on our right we saw little, but in the
centre we could distinctly see the rush of the two Austrian
battalions as their officers led them against the town.

A fierce musketry fire checked them for a second, and I
thought they would fall to pieces; but no--the two-headed
eagle showed the way, and the brave infantry followed
the national symbol.

On they went, and with an exulting cry swept into
the town, from which there immediately arose tongues of
fire.

The combat was now hidden from us, and we watched
in the greatest excitement for what would happen.

The fight inside the town was of the most bitter nature,
but, little by little, our comrades were forced back, rushing
out at last in a disorderly crowd.

A couple of hundred yards away they stopped their
flight, re-formed, and, led as far as we could tell by
Dembinski in person, made a gallant but unsuccessful
attempt to regain the town.

Three times they returned to the attack; but the
Austrians, now reinforced, proved too strong, and at length,
sallying out, drove the Magyars back to a farm-house,
round which a fierce conflict was maintained.

It was at this time that Stephen rode up with an order
for our colonel, and instantly the regiment was on the
move.

My brother's face brightened when he saw me, and he
stopped to say a word or two.

I asked him how the battle was going, and he replied
in a whisper, "Altogether against us; and only Görgei's
bravery has kept the right.  Good-bye!  In an hour there
will be an avalanche."

Stephen might well have made the time shorter: in
half an hour we were face to face with the signs of the
coming rout.  At first only a few men here and there
scudded away as fast as their legs would carry them,
but their fright was contagious.  It spread from regiment
to regiment, from man to man.

The officers in vain attempted to stay the retreat.  The
infantry broke up in disorder, each man trying to save
himself; the artillery, infected by the sudden panic, wheeled
their guns round and galloped off as fast as the horses
could travel.  The famous hussars, almost alone, retired
slowly and in beautiful order.

Our own regiment, influenced by the sight of the
fugitives, showed signs of unsteadiness; but Rakoczy, in his
usual cheerful manner, threatened to shoot the first who
ran, and thus averted the danger.

Very fortunate indeed it proved that the men kept
their ranks, as we were suddenly assailed by a body of
hussars, who did their best to ride us down.

"Steady, my lads!" cried the colonel.  "Keep shoulder
to shoulder.  If you give way, we're lost."

The leader of the hussars was a handsome young fellow
with fair hair and blue eyes, and even in the stress of the
fight I recognized Captain von Theyer, one of the leaders
of the Viennese insurgents.

He caught my astonished look, and dashed at me sword
in hand; but a bullet struck his horse in the chest, and
the animal reeled over heavily.

A trooper sprang to the ground, and, dragging his
leader free, helped him to mount his own horse, and
carried him out of the fray.

"A gallant fellow and a gallant deed," I said, thinking
of the trooper, as the hussars galloped off.

"Well done, lads!" cried Rakoczy.  "They will learn
to respect the 9th Honveds."

We had, however, not yet finished with the hussars,
who, led by Von Theyer, returned again and again to the
charge, striving desperately to break our ranks.

Met each time by a rain of bullets, they wheeled and
galloped away, though twice Von Theyer brought them
within touch of the bayonets.

It seemed odd that a prominent revolutionist should
thus be leading a charge of Austrian cavalry; but
whatever his politics might be, there was no questioning his
bravery.

Three times we sent them back with many empty
saddles, but their fair-haired young leader was not to be
denied.

"Steady!" exclaimed the colonel.  "Keep your fire!
Here they come!"

They made a brilliant show with their shining breastplates
and helmets and nodding plumes as, holding their
sabres ready, they thundered down on us.

"Fire!"

Steady as rocks, the Honveds kept their ground; the
rifles blazed out; the hussars were checked.

No!  Here they were amongst us, cutting and slashing;
and foremost of them all rode Von Theyer.

A superb rider and a fine swordsman, he was the
*beau ideal* of a cavalry leader, and handled his men
splendidly.

As if I were the special object of attack, he rode straight
at me, and crying, "Remember Vienna!" struck furiously
with his sword.

With difficulty I parried that blow and several others;
but Von Theyer stuck to his work, and the glittering steel
flashed incessantly about my head.

I was kept far too busy to see how the fight went
elsewhere, but every now and then I heard Rakoczy's cheery
voice, and guessed that all was well.

Suddenly there rose a cry in German of "Back! back!"
and Von Theyer, roused to a sense of his men's danger,
reluctantly drew off.

It was high time.  Bearing down from the left, came
two squadrons of our own hussars, mounted on magnificent
horses, which carried them straight through the disordered
ranks of the Austrians.

Then my young opponent showed his value as a leader.
With skill equal to his bravery he got his men together,
and with little extra loss, as far as could be judged, retired
in good order.

"That fellow meant business," said the colonel, as we
continued the retreat.  "See what comes from interfering
in the concerns of other people."

"What do you mean?  I haven't done anything to
make him angry."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Rakoczy.  "What about saving the
fräulein's life?  Do you think this young gallant likes
you any the better for getting into the lady's good graces?
I'm glad to see you blush; it shows there is some blood
left in your body, which I began to doubt."

Later on I thought a good deal of this little speech, for
I had never forgotten the fair young girl in Vienna; but
just then there were many things to distract my attention.

Except for our own regiment and the regular cavalry,
the Hungarian army had become a helpless, drifting mob.

Heavy guns, baggage-wagons, creaking carts filled with
the wounded, infantry without arms, dismounted horsemen,
knots of soldiers separated from their officers, some
running, others moving with a dogged sullenness, were all
jumbled together in extraordinary confusion.

Had the Austrians followed up their victory, they could
have swept us all, bag and baggage, into the Theiss.

Fortunately the pursuit was confined to a single brigade,
and even that we had the utmost difficulty in beating off.

About two miles eastward of Kapolna, Görgei rode up,
attended by his staff, and a ringing cheer greeted his
arrival.

His cap was gone, his clothes bore the marks of close
hand-to-hand fighting, there was blood on his cheeks, yet
he did not look downcast--only savagely determined.

"Colonel," he said, "do you see that wood?  Your
regiment must hold it for the next two hours--three, if
possible, but two for certain."

"We'll hold it, general, living or dead," replied Rakoczy.

"Good!  If I can stop any of those wretched runaways,
they shall support you."

"We'll do it by ourselves, general," cried an old
sergeant; and the men, repeating his words, cheered loudly.

The general's face lit up with a proud smile.

"I'll trust you, my fine fellows!" he said, and off he
dashed at full gallop, the officers of the staff trying in
vain to keep pace with him.

We reached the wood and took up a position, just in
time to receive the attack of a lancer regiment, which
came on with gaily fluttering pennons.

Down toppled the first rank, horse and rider, as the
rifle fire blazed out.  The others, wheeling to right and
left, galloped off in two long lines.

Again they came, but it was cruel work for them.
Hardly an enemy could they see, yet the bullets sped
fast and true, and hardly a lance-point reached the line
of rifles.

Then, to complete the misfortune of these gallant
fellows, the hussars, making a brave show in their gaudy
trappings, again came to our assistance, riding up from
the left, and, before the lancers had time to re-form,
scattered them in all directions.

"A cheer for the hussars, my lads!" cried Rakoczy,
and we sent up a shout that might have been heard a
mile off.

The brave fellows waved their sabres in response as
they galloped past to their former position on the left of
the wood, out of sight, but ready to lend us a helping
hand.

The time dragged on very slowly.  The lancers had
disappeared, but a regiment of Croats took their place,
and peppered us from a distance with their long guns.

Then we heard on our left the rattle of sabres, the
clash of steel against breastplate and helmet,
"Forward! forward!" in German, and knew that our friendly hussars
were engaged in fierce conflict.

At the same time the Croats, like savage dogs
unleashed, bounded across the open ground.

The Honveds stood firm, and fired as fast as they could
load; but in the excitement the bullets flew wide, and
though many of the southern warriors fell, we could not
stay the onslaught.

They had left their stanitzas behind, and with wild
yells came on, their famous red mantles fluttering in the
wind, their terrible handjars gripped tightly.

Our men continued firing till the very last instant, then
a hand-to-hand struggle began.

The active Croats jumped like wild cats at our throats,
and it was a case of life or death with every man thus
attacked.  None asked for quarter, none thought of giving
it; it was a terrible life-and-death struggle between Croat
and Magyar.

Had half a battalion been sent to the help of our
assailants, we must have been driven out, so evenly were
the scales balanced; fortunately they were left to do the
work by themselves, and just failed.

Every minute after the first rude shock helped us, for
the hot fit of the Croats cooled, while the Magyars fought
with increased stubbornness.

Finally, we pushed them out of the wood, and the ping
of the bullets was heard again as the Magyars, reloading
their rifles, poured a volley into the midst of the
fugitives.

I watched them go, and then, faint from loss of blood,
leaned against a tree.

Another victory such as that, I well knew, would clean
out the 9th Honveds, and so did Rakoczy; but he didn't
say so.

On the contrary, I heard him praising the men for their
bravery, and telling them that with another good regiment
they could drive the Austrians back to Vienna.

When he caught sight of me he said softly,--

"Hurt, George?"

"Another scratch," I replied faintly; "but, I say, colonel,
what has become of the hussars?"

"Vanished.  Beaten off by numbers, I expect.  We shall
have those lancers gliding amongst us soon; but come and
lie down behind a tree for a while.  The two hours are
nearly up, and we shall be moving."

"No, I shall be all right; but isn't that a cloud of fog?"

"It is, my boy--the jolliest fog you've ever seen, and
just in the nick of time.  That will stop the Austrians
better than a thousand bayonets.  Well, if you won't lie
down, you won't.--My lads, I don't think Captain
Botskay's company need hang their heads when the battle of
Kapolna is mentioned;" and he went on his way, carrying
encouragement to every part of the line.

Rakoczy had blessed the fog; and, indeed, it proved of
the utmost service to us.

Without our knowing it, the situation had become critical.
The friendly hussars had been compelled to retreat; the
Austrian lancers were working round our left; the Croats,
mad for vengeance, were clamouring to be led to the
attack; and two light batteries had been pushed up to
shell us from the wood.

At the very first discharge of the cannons, Rakoczy
retired the greater part of the regiment, confident that the
enemy would not attack for some time.

My company was left to further the deception, and
between the discharges of the big guns the men kept up
a vigorous musketry fire, which, though it did little or no
damage, warned the enemy we were still in our places.

It was gloomy work standing there in the thick fog,
while the shot and shell screaming over our heads lopped
the branches from the trees or tore great holes in the
ground.  Occasionally a man would sink with a deep
groan, but for the most part we were untouched; and
when at length the colonel sent us word to withdraw,
we were able to carry off all our wounded.

The fog by now had become so thick that we could
not see the trees, though we felt them frequently; but
out of the wood the marching was easier.

We tramped on in the midst of the darkness like a
regiment of lost souls.

The earth was blotted out completely.  It was worse
even than what we had encountered in the mountains.
We could see nothing, and hear nothing beyond the
muffled sound of our own footsteps.

As far as I could tell, we might be marching right into
the midst of the Austrian troops.

The fog filled our nostrils and throats, almost choking us.

The intense silence was appalling.  For my part, I
should gladly have welcomed the roar of hostile cannon,
just to be sure we were still in the land of the living.

The wound in my shoulder, which Mecsey Sándor
had bandaged, bled afresh; my head grew heavy; my
eyes ached with pain; I felt hardly able to keep
upright.  Once my foot slipped, and the man against whom
I stumbled, taking my arm, supported me.

I was ashamed of my weakness, yet it was good to
lean upon a strong arm, and for a time I walked quite
steadily.

An extraordinary accident put an end to my powers
of endurance, and left me with no more strength than
that of a baby.

We were walking step for step, my companion and
I, when suddenly I brought my foot, not to the ground,
but into the air, and pitching forward, fell into icy-cold
water.

My companion came too.  Others followed us, some
dropping clear into the water, some breaking holes in
the coating of ice that before our arrival had covered its
surface.

In the thick fog we had walked into a stream.  Fortunately
it was of no great depth, the water being only
up to our waists; but the shock, the bitter cold, and the
struggle for breath took away all my remaining strength.

The soldier, however, kept firm hold, and pulling me
on my feet, pushed and dragged me till we reached the
opposite side, when another man pulled me out.

Concerning the rest of the inarch I remember very
little.  Two men seemed to be carrying me cradle-fashion,
and occasionally a tall, dimly-seen figure put some food
into my mouth.

Sometimes they placed me on the ground, where I
stayed for hours; then raising me again they carried
me as before.

The fog went with us all the time, so I could not divide
night from day, and no sound ever broke the weird silence.

At last there came a time--how long or short soever
from the beginning of the journey I did not know--when
I saw the burning of many lights, as of huge watch-fires,
and heard the shouting of men.

My bearers joined in the noise, and then, putting me
down, fell to waving their arms violently, and the black
shadows going to and fro across the lights looked like
windmills.

After that they took me to some covered place, where,
being warm and comfortable, I straightway fell asleep.

From then my impressions grew more distinct.  I remember
seeing Rakoczy's face, which looked less cheerful
than usual, and the spectacled countenance of Görgei.

I thought Stephen also looked sorrowfully at me, but
that was a dream, as I afterwards discovered.

It would have suited me to lie thus snug and cosy for
ever; but the march was not ended, and one day I was
carried into the open and placed in the bottom of a cart.

Several other men were already there, and one in
particular groaned most miserably at every jolt of the clumsy
vehicle.

Of course, I saw little of what went on, but the fog
had departed, and the blessed light of day itself cheered
me, while it was good again to hear the different sounds--the
rumbling of wheels, the neigh of horses, the shouts
of the drivers, the steady tramp, tramp as of the marching
of thousands of men.

That ghostly regiment, gliding through the blackness,
unseen, unheard, had in my weakened state preyed on my
nerves.

Now I was really in the land of living beings again,
and I smiled to myself at hearing the crack of the carter's
whip, and the familiar words addressed to the horses.

Somewhere on the journey we halted a long, long time,
and at length proceeded very slowly and cautiously.

We were crossing the Theiss on a narrow and temporary
bridge, though the infantry had gone over on the ice.

Soon after this the wounded man at my side ceased his
groaning, which enabled me to go to sleep; but I did not
guess that the poor fellow would never disturb any of us
again.

The next time the wagon halted, a man, clambering into
it, brought a flask, from which several of us drank.

The stuff, whatever its name, had a strange flavour,
something like new milk; but it warmed me all over, and
even before the cart again started I was sound asleep.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ON THE SICK LIST`:

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   CHAPTER X.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *ON THE SICK LIST.*

.. vspace:: 2

I awoke to find myself lying on a heap of straw in
a mud hovel, having one very narrow door, and a
window about a foot square, through which the daylight
tried to force a way.

The meagre light from two candles showed that I was
not the only inmate of this poverty-stricken dwelling.

Ranged round the walls were five other figures, each
on a bundle of straw and wrapped in a bunda.

The air was very close, and there was a strong smell
of pigs, which made me think that some unfortunate
animals had been turned out, or perhaps converted into
pork, to make room for us.

However, I felt warm, and warmth in those days was
the greatest happiness.

I positively shuddered at the mere remembrance of the
intense cold of the last week or two.

It was all very calm and still, when a man in the
opposite corner sat up, and in a high-pitched voice began
to sing with all his might the well-known revolutionary
song of Petöfi--"Rise, Magyars, rise!"

He was evidently in a high state of fever and perfectly
delirious, but he went right through the song without a
mistake or a pause, and finished by cheering lustily for
Hungary.

Seen by the dim light, the spectacle was wonderfully
striking.  The bandages stained with blood, the face
deadly white, the large, dark, fiery eyes burning with
fever, the thin arm, freed from its covering, energetically
beating time--all these moved me profoundly.

"That's Petreskey," said the man next to me.  "He
takes a fit every now and then and makes that row.  We
came from Kapolna in the same cart, and if the black and
yellow dogs hadn't shot my arm off, I'd have pitched him
out.  Who wants to hear that stuff?  Lie down, will you,
and let a fellow go to sleep."

"Shut up, Janko!  Can't you see the chap's out of his
mind?  Let the poor beggar sing.  It does him good."

"Shut up yourself!" growled my neighbour.  "D'you
think I want to lie here listening to that rubbish when
my good right arm's gone from the shoulder?  'Rise,
Magyars, rise' won't put that on again."

Meanwhile Petreskey, staring round the room with his
wild eyes, broke out again, and sang till he was too weak
to utter another note.

The two other men had taken no notice of the incident,
but lay on their straw like logs.

I tried to get into talk with the surly Janko, but he
only grunted morosely and covered his head with his
bunda.

The next man, however, told me we had crossed the
Theiss, and were now encamped at Tisza-Fured, on the
road to Debreczin, but more than that he did not know.

Towards noon a surgeon paid us a visit; but before that
we had been fed by two soldier-servants, and I for one
thoroughly enjoyed the hot, nourishing broth which they
brought.

The surgeon seemed a tender-hearted fellow, and had a
kind word for every man in the room, even the
bad-tempered Janko.  He came to me last, and asked if I
were not George Botskay, a captain in the 9th Honveds.

"What there is left of him," I answered; "but there
doesn't appear to be much."

"Nonsense!  You'll be marching to Pesth in a week or
so.  Now you're fit to be moved, we must take you out of
this.  I'll see your colonel."

I was glad to hear Rakoczy still lived, and inquired
anxiously after Stephen.

"On General Görgei's staff?" asked the surgeon
pleasantly.  "Oh yes, but he is hardly ever to be found; the
general keeps him galloping about the country day and
night.  At present I believe he is at Debreczin.  Keep up
your courage; you've pulled through the worst of it."

This was pleasant hearing, and when the surgeon finally
departed I nestled down on my heap of straw with quite
a feeling of content.  The day and night passed without
further incident, except that the poor, crazed Petreskey
woke me up from a sound sleep by another vigorous
performance of "Rise, Magyars, rise!"

Soon after breakfast the door opened, and Rakoczy
entered, his face beaming with smiles, his eyes bright and
sparkling.

Stephen had once compared him with a sunbeam, but to
me that morning he seemed more like a million sunbeams
rolled into one.

At the sight of him even Janko forgot to look sulky,
and saluted with his remaining arm.

None of the patients belonged to his regiment, but he
went to each in turn, soothing the excited Petreskey, and
speaking kindly words of sympathy and cheer to all.

When, having satisfied himself that not one of the poor
fellows would feel himself neglected, he came to me, he
was fairly bubbling over with pleasure.

His lips twitched nervously, and I believe his eyes were
moist; but he carried the matter off in his usual jocular
way.

"Well, George," he exclaimed, laughing, "I hear the
silovitz got into your head, and you pushed poor Mecsey
Sándor into the river.  There's nothing like a cold bath
when the brain's heated; but 'twas rather rough on Sándor,
who had drunk none of your plum brandy.  However, the
poor fellow bears no malice, and will be glad to see you in
your sober senses again."

"Then it was Mecsey who saved my life?"

"Truth, you may say that.  He hauled you out from
under the ice, and pushed you on to dry land."

"What a night it was!  I should think the whole
regiment had a drenching."

"Yes, but they didn't go at it in your hot-headed way.
After your company had found the stream, the others
walked in quietly, and out at the other side.  Görgei says
he didn't think you were in such a hurry to retreat."

"Don't poke fun, but tell me what happened.  Were
there many lives lost?"

"At the water-jump?  No.  A few ugly bruises covered
the mischief.  We lost heavily in the wood though, and
have had to fill up the gaps with raw material.  You'll be
sorry to miss the chance of drilling the recruits."

"Had quite enough of that at Pesth," I replied, laughing.

"And a very fine drill-sergeant you'd have made by
sticking at it; but I'm keeping the men outside waiting.
They're going to take you to another hut.  It's quite as
dirty as this; but you'll have more room, and be with the
officers of your own regiment."

He went to the door and called two men, who carried
me out tenderly to an ambulance, and then, helped by two
comrades, bore me some two hundred yards over very
rough and uneven ground to a hovel which might have
been twin brother to the one I had just left.

There were the same narrow door and square foot of
window, while the furniture consisted of three bundles of
straw, two being already occupied.  My nose also
informed me that the former inmates of the place had
been on terms of social intercourse with the pigs.

"Gentlemen," said the colonel, "I have brought Captain
Botskay to share your apartment."

At the sound of the colonel's voice the figures on the
straw showed signs of life, stirred, and finally sat up, when
I recognized them as two young lieutenants named Thurzo
and Dobozy.

"Glad to see you, captain," said the first, adding quickly,
"That is, sorry you've been hurt, but right glad of your
company."

Dobozy had been wounded in the wood, and I had sent
him to the rear, which he remembered and now gratefully
acknowledged.

"I must be off," said the colonel, "but will look in
to-morrow.  Meanwhile I'll send Mecsey Sándor to wait
on you; he'll be delighted, and you can't very well push
him into another river."

The soldiers had carried me with great care, but even so
my limbs ached with the jolting, and after a little talk
with my companions I was glad to drop into a sound
sleep.  Towards the evening Sándor arrived, and I thanked
him warmly for what he had done.

"'Twas nothing, captain," replied he stolidly--"nothing
at all compared with what you did for me in the
mountains.  You risked your life; I didn't."

"You saved mine, though, and I shan't forget it."

Neither of us spoke on the subject again; but I resolved
that, when the war ended, the honest fellow should have
reason to remember his brave act.

The two lieutenants were already strong enough to
hobble about, but several days passed before I was able to
join them.

Rakoczy called every morning, sometimes in the evening
as well, and his visits did more toward our recovery than
all the doctor's stuff.

One day, however, he came to say good-bye.  The
regiment had received orders to recross the Theiss.

"We're going to drive the Austrians out of Szolnok,
unless they take it into their heads to drive us back
to Tisza-Fured.  Bern has done wonders in Transylvania.
The white-coats called the Russians in to help them, but
the Pole has cleared the country of the lot.  The news has
put heart into Vetter, and he intends to move forward
with the whole army."

"What has Vetter to do with it?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know.  He's the new chief.
There's been a bit of a squabble, and Dembinski had to
stand down; but it's all right now.  Make haste and get
well, or you'll have no share in planting the red, white,
and green colours on the walls of Vienna;" and he went
out, laughing merrily.

I asked my comrades what the colonel meant by a
squabble, but neither knew what had happened.  Both,
however, rejoiced at the fall of Dembinski; and Dobozy,
who had been wounded at Poroszlo, said there was some
angry talk among the officers of Görgei's brigade at that
place.

We questioned Sándor, but he knew little beyond the
fact that there had been a general kravalle, or brawl, which
brought Kossuth post-haste from Debreczin, and ended in
Vetter being proclaimed commander-in-chief.

The doctor told us the same story, but with few fresh
details; and it was not until Stephen found time to hunt
me up that we learned the truth.

My brother had altered much in the short time since
the war broke out.

From a boy, he seemed to have become a man all at
once, and I cannot say that I liked the change.

To me he was the same loving brother he had always
been, and we embraced each other with every mark of
affection; but there was a sternness of purpose in his face
and a determined courage that I thought ill suited one
who was really little more than a lad.

The two lieutenants had very considerately gone
outside, but now I called them in and introduced them to my
brother.

"The general gives you little leisure time," Thurzo remarked.

"Very little," replied Stephen; "but then he gives
himself less.  I doubt if even Kossuth works harder."

"Glad to hear you give the dictator his due."

"Oh, I don't deny that Kossuth is an extraordinary
man, a genius of the first water, and in his way a devoted
patriot.  Whether we win or lose the game, Kossuth's
name will live for ever.  Without his marvellous eloquence
we couldn't have carried on the war; but though I admire
the man I doubt his object.  Kossuth the patriot deserves
well of his country, but Kossuth the democrat is another
person.  We don't want a French revolution in our country."

"Bravo!" cried Dobozy.  "Hungary a kingdom is my
motto; and not Hungary a republic."

"The 9th Honveds are all royalists," remarked Thurzo
quietly.

"And every regiment in the brigade," said Stephen.
"Kossuth discovered that not very long ago."

"Tell us about it, Stephen.  We've only heard just the
bare outline."

"Well, the fuss began at Poroszlo during the retreat.
As you know, Görgei's brigade did the covering work, and
halted at Poroszlo.  The place was strongly entrenched
and fortified, and Dembinski sent orders that we were to
occupy a position in front of the guns.  You may be sure
Görgei wasn't such an idiot as to obey, and the general
talked about putting him under arrest.  He sent off a
messenger full speed to Debreczin, but by the time Kossuth
arrived the game was over."

"What had happened?"

Stephen smiled grimly; he seemed to have forgotten
how to laugh.

"We promptly shut the Pole up," he said; "and Kossuth
found his chief general a prisoner."

"And he submitted?"

"What else could he do?  We were all in one mind.
So the upshot of the matter was that the Diet gave the
command to Vetter."

"Not to Görgei?"

"No," said Stephen bitterly.  "It's my opinion they're
jealous of him.  By the way, your regiment has distinguished
itself at Szolnok.  It led the attack, and fairly
drove the Austrians out of the town."

"Well done, 9th Honveds!" exclaimed Thurzo.  "Wish
I'd been with them!"

"There will be enough and to spare of fighting before
the war ends," said my brother.  "The army moves in a
few days for Pesth."

I asked him to look in again before they left, and he
promised to do so if Görgei gave him a chance.

When he had gone, my comrades talked over the news,
and it was plain that, like myself, they foresaw trouble in
the future.

Thurzo put the matter very straight.

"If the Austrians win," he said, "we shall all have to
pay, and a very dreary performance it will be.  If the
victory falls to us, we shall very soon be flying at one
another's throats."

"The army is with Görgei," I said.

"But Kossuth has a powerful following, and the Poles
will help him to a man."

"Worse still," said Dobozy.  "Hungary is fast becoming
the dumping-ground for the republicans of every country
in Europe.  Germans, Italians, French are all swarming
over here like carrion-crows to a dead horse."

"They wish to help the cause."

"By forming a republic," replied Dobozy angrily; "and
we won't have it.  I'm like your brother, and think
Kossuth a great genius; but he isn't the only man in
Hungary."

I record these remarks, because they serve to show how,
even at this early period of the campaign, a wide gulf
was opening between the two parties in the country.
Later, it formed a deep grave in which we buried our
hopes.

Before the war ended we proved up to the hilt the
truth of that old saying, "A house divided against itself
cannot stand."

Another day passed, and then Stephen came to say
good-bye.

"I'm off with an important order for General Damjanics,"
he said.  "The camp breaks up to-morrow.  Why do you
look so gloomy?  You're mending nicely, and will be fit
to travel in another week."

"I hope so.  It isn't pleasant to be left behind when
others are going to the front."

"Fortune of war, George, and it's no use grumbling.
Well, good-bye; we shall meet in Pesth."

I embraced him rather sadly, and, going outside, watched
him mount and ride away.

All that day we looked on at the preparations for the
march, and early the next morning went to see the
breakup of the camp.  The men, who were in good spirits, sang
at their work, cheered the generals--Görgei and Klapka
in particular--and showed a willing eagerness to be led
against the enemy.

There must have been fifty thousand of them altogether,
besides a host of camp-followers, and they were filing past
till late at night--batteries of artillery accompanied by
smart, keen-looking gunners; dashing hussars in their
showy uniforms; veterans who had made good many a
desperate fight under the black and yellow banners;
home-trained Honveds drilled into decent soldiers; raw recruits
indifferently armed, but supposed to be valuable on account
of their enthusiasm; while over all flew our glorious red,
white, and green colours.

We went back to our hovel, where the patient Sándor
had prepared supper, and drank a glass of silovitz to the
success of our comrades.

I pass over the chronicles of the next week.  They
would prove but dreary reading, since we had nothing to
do from morning till night but grumble at being left
behind.

The unfortunate doctor was so baited and badgered
that at last, I verily believe, in sheer self-defence, he
reported us as fit for service; and one fine morning, though
the weather was still bitterly cold, we left Tisza-Fured
with about a hundred soldiers, who were going to rejoin
their various regiments.

Having plenty of provisions, we followed in the track
of the army, as being the safest and most direct route;
and everywhere the inhabitants of the villages through
which we passed gave us a hearty welcome.

At Kapolna, the scene of our former defeat, we made
a long stay, having arrived there about noon, and not
leaving till next morning.

The town presented a very melancholy appearance.
Many of the houses were burned to the ground, and in
every direction traces of the fierce fight were plainly
visible.

Still, the sufferings of the people had not weakened
their loyalty to the cause, and the leading citizens feasted
us generously.

For the first time since leaving Pesth I slept in a real
bed, and the sensation was quite novel.

It was so extremely comfortable that I did not wish to
turn out the next morning, but Sándor kept up such a
tremendous hammering at the door that I was compelled
to rise.  I learned from my host that Görgei, with the
seventh corps, was marching towards Hatvan; while
Vetter, commanding the main army, was trying to push
himself in between Jellachich's corps and Windischgratz,
the latter of whom lay at Godolo.

Where we should find the 9th Honveds I could not tell,
but decided to join Görgei, on the chance that they were
with him.

After a hearty breakfast, I went into the street, where
the men were already assembled under Thurzo and Dobozy.

Hitherto there had been little fear of danger; but now
I took some precautions, since we might likely enough
meet with the scouting parties either of Windischgratz or
Jellachich, the latter of whom made very free use of his
cavalry.

Many of the inhabitants assembled to give us a parting
cheer, and we set off in high spirits.

The governor had provided me with a couple of trustworthy
guides, as he feared the Austrians held the
highroad, and we had no wish to run into their arms.

The ground was covered with snow over a foot deep,
and we stepped out as briskly as we could, to keep
ourselves warm.  I had left the heavy carts which had
contained our provisions at Kapolna, dividing what was left
of the food equally amongst the men; and this proved
fortunate, as the lumbering vehicles would have hindered us
greatly.

In the evening we reached an isolated village, and nearly
terrified the good people out of their wits, as, in the gloom,
they mistook us for the enemy.

However, the matter was soon put straight.  The men
were willingly received into the houses and made welcome;
while I, having posted the sentries, went to sup with the
curé--a very hospitable and obliging host.

Twice during the night I visited the sentries, finding all
quiet; and on the following day the guides told me they
thought the most dangerous part of the journey was past.
This proved right; nowhere did we meet with a trace of
the Austrians, while the villagers assured us we should
soon overtake Görgei.

The guides again took to the highroad, which after-events
showed we need not have left, and we continued
our march until within a mile or two of the village called
Hort.  Here we came upon a number of camp-followers,
who said Görgei was attacking the Austrians in the village,
and almost at the same time there fell on our ears the
roar of heavy guns.  My men were fatigued by a long
march, but they brightened at the sound of the familiar
music, and were for running forward to help in the fight;
but I thought Görgei might be trusted to win the battle
without the aid of my scratch detachment, and proceeded
at the ordinary pace.  By the time we reached Hort, our
comrades were driving the Austrians through the streets
of Hatvan, and finally over the river Zagywa.

"Just our luck!" grumbled Thurzo, as I halted the men
in the town and looked about for a responsible officer;
"half a day sooner, and we should have been in the thick
of it.  Listen!  There's a big fight going on down by
the river."

"Our fellows trying to capture a bridge, most likely,"
observed Dobozy, which was really the case.

"Beg pardon, captain," said Sándor, "but there's a man
of our regiment going to the rear; perhaps he can tell us
where the colonel is."

This was a good idea, and I put the question to the
man, whose arm was gashed by a sabre cut.

"Outside the town, captain," he replied.  "In a field to
the right."

After thanking the man, I set my detachment in motion
once more, glad at the thought of again meeting my genial
friend.





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.. _`GÖRGEI TO THE RESCUE`:

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   CHAPTER XI.

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.. class:: center medium

   *GÖRGEI TO THE RESCUE.*

.. vspace:: 2

The noise of the battle died away as we left the town
and made for the field where the 9th Honveds
were resting after their exertions.  As usual they had
been pretty roughly handled; but Görgei had found time
to thank them for their bravery, and that paid for everything.

Some were eating and drinking; others, wrapped in
their bundas, were already fast asleep.  The colonel was
just returning from visiting the wounded.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed; "what are you doing here?
Thought you were at Tisza-Fured.  Who are those
fellows?"

"They've just come from hospital to rejoin their
regiments.  I thought perhaps you'd tell me what to do with
them."

"All right.  I'll attend to it.--Glad to see you, Dobozy.--A
little bit too late for the fight, Thurzo.  We've had
another turn at our old friend Schlick.  Hot while it
lasted; but we carried too many guns for him.  Plucky
chap, though.  I'd invite you into my tent if I had one;
but you can take your choice of the ground--there's
plenty to choose from.--Any of my fellows amongst that
lot, Botskay?  Thanks.  Let them stand out.--Back
again, my lads?  Good-luck to you.--Now, George, come
along and we'll dispose of the others; they look as if
they want a rest."

The colonel rattled on in his lively strain, passed the
men on to the proper authorities, stopped here and there
to joke with his friends, and then took me back to the
regiment, where we joined the other officers at their
evening meal.

"Yes," he said cheerfully, in answer to some remark,
"things are shaping well at present.  If only Görgei had
a free hand, the white-coats would soon be bundling out of
Pesth."

This seemed to be the general opinion, though here and
there one heard a word in praise of Vetter, and even of
Dembinski, the late chief.

It was the second day after the affair at Hatvan when
Stephen rode up to the quarters of the 9th Honveds.

"I expected to find you here," he exclaimed cheerfully.
"Feel all right again?"

"Thanks, old chap; I'm as well as ever.  As for you,
this soldiering seems to suit you perfectly.  Haven't seen
you look so smiling for ages."

He actually laughed.  "Not heard the news?  Well,
it will be known in an hour or two.  Vetter's resigned,
and Görgei has been made chief."

"Then we can begin to pack up?"

"Yes.  There won't be much rest for any one till we're
in Pesth."

"And not much then."

"No.  Of course, I don't claim to be in the general's
secrets, but I know him well enough to feel sure he won't
stop till we get to Vienna.  By the way, that reminds
me of a queer circumstance.  Do you remember Von
Theyer?"

I nodded briskly.

"He's turned imperialist, and is either a captain or
major in the hussars.  The fellow made a dead set at me
the other day, and I should advise you to be careful."

Thereupon I related what had happened at Kapolna,
upon which Stephen repeated his warning more seriously,
saying that in Von Theyer I had, no doubt, a special and
determined enemy.

"If possible, he will do you mischief," he continued;
"so be on your guard.  Plainly he is a very clever fellow,
or he would not so easily have hoodwinked the
authorities, and he has courage enough for anything."

"Yes, he makes a dashing cavalry leader; but why
should he be so bitter against us?  We haven't harmed
the fellow."

Stephen smiled, and made almost the same remark as
Rakoczy at Kapolna.

"Have you forgotten the fräulein?" he asked.  "No, I
see you have not by the blush on your face.  Well, my
boy, Von Theyer wants to keep the fräulein's favours for
himself.  Understand?"

I nodded lightly, and Rakoczy coming up at the
moment, the talk took a fresh turn.

Stephen's news soon spread, and, in our part of the
army at least, gave general satisfaction.

Officers and men alike had perfect confidence in Görgei's
judgment, and the only fear expressed was that he would
be hampered by the orders of the civil government.

For a time, however, we were too busy with the work
of preparation to think much of anything else.

Exactly what was in hand, of course, we did not know;
but on the night of the third of April a rumour spread
through the camp that the army would march at daybreak.

Directly after breakfast the regiments mustered, arms
were examined, instructions issued to officers; and as soon
as it was well light we moved out in three divisions by
the highroad running to Pesth.

Görgei commanded in person, and under him were
Generals Klapka, Aulich, and Damjanics.

Our regiment formed part of the first corps, which
advanced by the right, keeping in touch, however, with
the two others.  Görgei had left fifteen thousand men at
Hatvan, but we were still nearly thirty thousand strong;
and our object apparently was to prevent Jellachich from
joining the main army under Windischgratz.

"There's the first move," cried young Thurzo excitedly,
as away on our left one of Aulich's batteries opened fire.

"And the answer to it," said I, as the enemy responded
with a terrific storm of shot and shell.  "It must be warm
over there."

The battle soon developed, not reaching us, however,
though occasionally we caught glimpses of it as we
marched on to take up our position near the village of
Tampio-Biscke.

From a mounted messenger sent in search of Klapka we
learned that the Croats, by a brilliant charge, had captured
four guns, but were afterwards driven back, and could now
barely hold their own.

Jellachich was anxiously awaiting aid from the Austrians.
Should it not come, his army would almost certainly be
destroyed.

"Rather uninteresting work this," grumbled Thurzo.
"Why, we were almost as lively down at Tisza-Fured."

"Can't make out exactly why we are here," answered a
comrade.  "We aren't actors, for certain; while, as
spectators, we get a very poor view of the performance."

"Listen!" I interrupted as a thunderous roar of heavy
guns broke out apparently close upon us.  "The Austrians
are over the river."

"Hurrah!" cried Thurzo; "now for our share in the fight!"

Poor fellow!  I have often wondered since if he would
have shown such eagerness had he known what was coming.

Rakoczy spoke a word to the men, exhorting them to
be steady; then we stood awaiting orders.

They did not come.  The roar of the guns was unceasing,
drowning the rattle of musketry and the shrieks of the
wounded; the blinding flashes played perpetually round
their muzzles; our advanced guard was nearly annihilated,
though that we only guessed.

We leaned on our swords and wondered, while the men
fumbled impatiently with their firearms; Rakoczy alone,
smiling and genial, showed neither uneasiness nor concern.

Suddenly an officer dashed up, hatless, bleeding, and
holding his reins in his right hand.  He spoke to the
colonel, who, without a moment's delay, gave orders that
the regiment should advance at the double.

From that moment the horror of the fight began for us.

Moving out from the low sand-hills that had hitherto
sheltered us, we found ourselves very shortly in the thick
of it.

The Austrians had placed their batteries in such an
admirable position that not only were our guns partly
silenced, but the head of the column was blown clean
away.

One battery pumped shot and shell into our flank as we
went by, while another continued to draw lines through
the troops in front of us.

I concluded that we were required to support an attack
on the guns, when a loud cry from the men announced that
something was happening.

I have never seen a more peculiar sight.

The remnant of the column began to bend from one side
to the other, for all the world like a boat rocking in the
water.  The movement was slow at first, but it soon
increased in speed, and then the column broke in pieces.

At this the Austrians, plying the guns with renewed
vigour, literally swept the plain with their fire, which put
an end to the shattered column.

In an instant a fine body of disciplined soldiers was
changed into a fear-stricken mob flying for dear life.

Away went bayonet and rifle, cartridge-pouch, and everything
that by impeding flight might lessen the chance of
safety.

A shiver of indecision passed through our regiment at
the sight; but Rakoczy's calmness stopped the mischief, at
least for a time, and, under his directions, we opened our
ranks to let the runaways through.

On they came, shouting, yelling, and so blind with fear
that I believe many of them did not recognize us.

To stop them just then would have been impossible; it
would be well if they did not carry the regiment off in
their wild career.

With heads bent and muscles stretched to breaking-point,
they thundered along, seeing nothing, caring for
nothing, except to get away.

Young Thurzo, mad with shame and rage, shook his fist
and called them bitter names, any one of which at another
time would have cost him his life.

Now they passed unchallenged; the fugitives heard
nothing but the hissing of those terrible Austrian shells
that had cost the column so dearly.

Chiefly through the colonel's influence, the regiment
stood firm, and, directly the runaways were past, proceeded
to re-form its ranks.

A moment's glance to the front, however, showed that
another disaster was in store.

Windischgratz, noticing the break-up of the column,
ordered the battery to cease firing, and immediately launched
two cavalry regiments--one of cuirassiers, one of
hussars--to finish the work.

We were, as I have already said, in the very act of
reforming when they dashed at us.

With five minutes' grace we might have made somewhat
of a stand, but now they were too quick for us.

I heard the colonel's "Steady, lads, steady!  Stand your
ground!" and then a blazing volley of musketry that
brought down many a stalwart trooper.

The cuirassiers were astonished by this warm reception,
but they could not turn back if they would--their speed
was too great.

Helmets and cuirasses flashed in the sunlight as the
horsemen sprang into our ranks, cutting and slashing on
all sides.

There are many safer places than a broken square in a
cavalry charge.

Before the Honveds found a chance of running away
they fought desperately, stabbing with their bayonets at
men and horses, or making serviceable weapons of their
clubbed rifles.

In such a *mêlée* it was almost necessarily a case of every
man for himself; but a few of the officers stuck together,
and by degrees gathered round them the steadiest of the
men.

The colonel was at their head, and I joined them with
young Thurzo, who was wild with grief.  He had taken
part in two battles, and each had ended in defeat.

By this time the larger part of the regiment was in full
flight, and the cuirassiers, finding the way open, followed
in pursuit.

We formed ourselves into a square, officers and privates
shoulder to shoulder, with Rakoczy on foot to lead us.

I had caught the colours as they dropped from the grasp
of the man who bore them, and they still fluttered bravely
overhead.

I have said that Windischgratz sent out two cavalry
regiments, and the second now charged hotly on our poor
remnant.

Amongst the officers Von Theyer showed conspicuously,
and, as before, he paid me special attention, which was
flattering but uncomfortable.

However, we beat the hussars off time and again, and
continued to retire steadily, though not without great loss.

It was pitiful to see man after man drop dead or
grievously wounded, but the others closed up and ever
showed an unbroken front.

Poor Thurzo, whom I had learned to like well, and who
marched out so gaily to the fight that morning, met his
death here.  Two troopers dashed at him with uplifted
sabres: one he shot dead with his pistol; the other cleft
him from head to chin.

Poor fellow!  He had been much afraid that Aulich's
corps would get all the fighting.

There he lay dead, and his greatest friend could do no
more than give him the fleetest of passing thoughts.

Back we went steadily; and, though death was busy
in our ranks, yet the square grew larger, for many
fugitives belonging both to our own and other regiments
joined us.

How the battle went elsewhere it was impossible for
us to guess, but the utter rout of our corps was painfully
apparent.

Once we set up a cheer as a small party of cuirassiers
went galloping back, but the cheer changed into a cry of
rage when we saw they were dragging a captured gun.

Another and another followed.  The hussars yelled
exultingly, and, nerved by the sight, made another effort
to break the square.

Instantly we halted; the front rank men kneeled down;
the rifles were levelled; there was a line of light, a loud
report, and once more the hussars were thrown back.

It was just after this that a shout arose which put heart
into the most depressed.

From the throats of thousands there leaped a cry of
"Görgei!  Görgei!"  The runaways stopped in their headlong
flight.  A part of Damjanic's division hurried to the
scene, and flung themselves across the path of the victors.

The rout was stayed.  The Austrians who had followed
in the wake of their cavalry were brought to a standstill;
the battle, which had passed us, now began to return.  Our
eyes danced with joy as we saw the white-coats come back
at a run.

Following them closely, Görgei and his staff rode at the
head of Schwartzenberg's Hungarian regiment.  Rakoczy,
seizing his opportunity, led us forward to join them.

The tide had turned with a vengeance.

Back went the Austrians--horse, foot, and field-guns--not
exactly broken, yet in extreme disorder, and seeking
shelter under their two fixed batteries.

Now we had a taste of the reception our advanced guard
had met with earlier in the day, and understood how it was
they failed to hold their ground.

Görgei quickly made up his mind what to do.

We saw him speak to his staff, and two officers darted
off, one towards us, one towards the rear.

Our messenger was Stephen, his face flushed, his eyes
glowing with excitement.

He dashed up to the colonel, saluted, pointed with his
sword, delivered his message, threw me a kindly look in
passing, and was gone.

Rakoczy lost not a moment, but, pointing to the battery,
exclaimed quietly, "My lads, the general says we are to
take that battery; the sooner we reach it the better."

The men cheered in reply; but many a lip twitched
nervously, and more than one face paled, for the colonel's
words were a message of death.

The colonel knew it too; and, as we started, he gave my
hand a slight pressure as in token of farewell.  But his voice
was firm, his face full of quiet confidence, his glance proud
and smiling.  The sacrifice was for his country: let it be
made.

Then away we went, and at the same moment the
veterans from Damjanic's division started for the second
battery.

Unfortunately, there was little cover on our route; and,
as the colonel had said, our best plan was to reach the
sandhill where the battery was posted in the shortest
possible time.

A terrible fire opened on us at once, but the first flight
of shells passed harmlessly; the second killed a few men
and smashed the flag-pole I carried; at the third we flung
ourselves into a gully of sand, Rakoczy alone remaining
upright.

Then, springing to our feet, we ran on, cheering frantically
as a regiment of hussars dashed up from the right
straight at the flank of the battery.

The horsemen were still a long way off, but they rode
hard, and would reach the guns in time to give us help.

"Forward! forward!" shouted Rakoczy; and the brave
fellow, fleet of foot as a deer, led the way several yards
in advance.

Still carrying the shattered pole, I toiled on, while the
great guns, belching forth fire and flame, poured their
deadly missiles into the midst of us.

Once, tripping over a prostrate body, I fell to the ground
heavily, and lay for a moment half-stunned; the next I
was on my feet, and running with all my might to get a
place in the front.

"The flag!" I gasped, overtaking the rear.  "Make
way for the flag!"

Everywhere now the Austrians were making a stubborn
last stand.  If only they could roll us back ever so little,
the day would be theirs.

Through a rift in the smoke-cloud I saw a hussar
regiment ride out from behind the battery, and guessed they
intended to meet the charge of our own horsemen half-way.

The curtain dropped again; I could see no more.  Rakoczy
was still unhurt, for his voice sounded clearly above
the din, and the men responded to his cry of "Forward!"
with a cheer.

Then we were there, so unexpectedly that I stared
amazedly at the long, black monsters which the gunners
could not spike.

I sprang on one and waved the colours, while the men
cheered madly.

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, there went by a
ragged line of horsemen, spurring hard, and leaning over
the heads of their animals that, with foam-splashed
lips, distended nostrils, and heaving sides, strained every
muscle.

We gazed open-mouthed at the apparition, and then
gave ourselves up to renewed cheering as our own
hussars--Stephen riding neck by neck with their colonel--dashed
in pursuit.

Farther away on the left, the regiment of veterans,
having captured the battery, was engaged in fierce conflict
with a body of infantry.  Now from all sides our friends
were hurrying up, and the Austrians, overwhelmed by
numbers, fled over the Tapio River towards Koka, where
they sheltered behind the sand-hills.  As for us, we halted
on the ground it had cost us so dear to win; and the colonel
immediately sent me to collect the runaways from the
regiment, and bring them back.

This I did with exceeding difficulty, as the whole of
Klapka's corps was in a terrible state of confusion.  Then,
with Dobozy and half a dozen soldiers, I proceeded to
search for the body of the hapless Thurzo.

I picked up the sword which had dropped from the
nerveless fingers, while Dobozy cut a curl from the dead
lad's raven hair.

"For his mother," he said softly, not attempting to hide
the tears that gathered in his eyes.  "He was her only
son, and she is a widow."

The men carried the body to a small wood nearly half a
mile away, and there, with the sweet-smelling pines
swaying mournfully overhead, we buried him, marking the place
by a rude cross.

"It will comfort *her*, when the war is ended, to come
and pray beside it," said Dobozy, as we turned sorrowfully
toward the spot where our regiment was stationed.

We were not very cheerful in camp that night.  We
were tired out with marching and fighting, saddened by
the loss of many brave companions, while the shame of
that morning's rout hung over us like a pall.

True, the Austrians had finally been repulsed; but the
credit of that was not ours.  That belonged to Görgei and
the veterans of the second division.

The runaways were sulky and ashamed; the officers--some
of whom had been literally carried off by the crowd
of fugitives--were furiously angry.

For myself, I was on fatigue duty till a late hour, and
Dobozy volunteered to help me: hard work would divert
his mind somewhat from dwelling on the death of his
comrade.

It was nearly midnight when we rejoined our brother-officers,
who, wrapped in their mantles, lay in a ring on the
ground.  Some had forgotten the disaster in sleep, others
were still chatting quietly over the events of the day.

Rakoczy was absent; he had been sent for by the chief,
who wished to consult him, or more likely, perhaps, to give
him some orders for the morning.

Dobozy and I lay down side by side, wrapped ourselves
in our mantles, and tried to snatch an hour or two's sleep.

In this my companion happily succeeded, but I was less
fortunate, being weighed down by a sense of uneasiness as
to my brother's fate.

After that momentary glimpse of him riding at the head
of the hussars, he had vanished, and no one seemed to
know what had become of him.

True, he might have rejoined Görgei, and been sent with
a message to Aulich; but the general gloom of the day
made me nervous and fanciful, and I lay awake until
Rakoczy returned.

"Stephen?" he said, in answer to my anxious questioning.
"No, I certainly didn't see him; but what of that?
Görgei's *aides* flit about like ghosts in a stage-play.  They
aren't supposed to be like ordinary mortals, who want food
and rest.  Cheer up, my boy; I really don't think there's
any reason to worry.  If Stephen had come to grief,
Görgei would have known and told me, you may be sure.
Clear your head of these notions, and go to sleep.  We're
likely to have a hard day to-morrow."

This was sensible advice, and I tried to act on it; but
after all, I must confess, there was little sleep for me
that night.





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.. _`A SORROWFUL VICTORY`:

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   CHAPTER XII.

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   *A SORROWFUL VICTORY.*

.. vspace:: 2

"Conquer to-day, or back behind the Theiss!  Such
is the alternative; I know of no other.  Damjanics
still continues the battle.  Aulich advances; Klapka has
stopped his retreat.  Forward!  We *must* conquer!"

These were the words which greeted us from our brave
chief, when once again we stood in battle array, and they
warmed our blood like a draught of generous wine.

I understood little of the general's plans, except that at
all costs he purposed keeping Jellachich and the Austrians
apart.

On the extreme left, Aulich and a part of the second
division advanced through a spur of the Isaszeg forest; in
the centre our cavalry and artillery had gathered; we of
Klapka's corps, with a small part of the second division,
occupied the most northern spur of all.

As we reached our positions, Görgei rode down, attended
by his brilliant staff.

I looked eagerly for Stephen, and my heart sank when
I saw he was not there.

Görgei was no orator like Kossuth.  As a rule he spoke
with his sword, and very clearly did he make himself
understood.

This morning he treated us to a little harangue.  It
was not long, but very effective.

"My lads!" he said, and his voice rang out like a
trumpet-call, "there is only one thing I ask you to do--stand
where you are till the sun goes down.  Will you do it?"

Like one man, the broken remnant of Klapka's corps
shouted their answer; and the general, whose face beamed
with pleasure, rode off amidst enthusiastic cries of "Elijen
Görgei!"

In the centre, a part of the forest had burst into flames,
and the wind, blowing from the south, spread the smoke
over our right like a curtain.

At times it was so thick we could neither see nor be
seen.  Again it would lift, and reveal to our straining eyes
some portion of the battle.

The artillery duel in the centre proceeded with the
utmost vigour, but it seemed to us that the Austrian fire
gradually grew weaker and slacker.  Two tremendous
explosions, one after the other, announced the blowing up
of a considerable quantity of ammunition, and for a while
the fire ceased.

Aulich's corps was by this time hidden from view in the
forest, but by the sound of his light guns we could tell he
was making uninterrupted progress.

Thus far we ourselves were merely spectators of the
battle, but now several infantry regiments appeared on our
right, and poured a destructive fire into our ranks.

We paid back what we could of their favours; but they
had the advantage of us, and Klapka had just given orders
to turn them out when they themselves rushed forward to
the charge.

The onslaught was sudden and violent, but the Magyars,
burning to atone for yesterday's panic, actually left the
shelter of the trees in order to engage their enemy the
sooner.

So eager, indeed, were the 9th Honveds that they got
entirely out of hand, and having defeated a body of the
enemy, chased them much farther than was prudent.

A well-directed cavalry charge would at this moment
have cut the regiment in pieces.

As it happened, Klapka's men were successful all along
the line, which helped us to return without mishap.

The tremendous cannonade in the centre, which had
partly died away, now broke out afresh.  The wind, veering
again, swept the smoke from the burning forest right across
our position, shrouding us completely.

When next we were able to catch a glimpse of the
battle, our men raised a loud cheer and flourished their
rifles excitedly, to the great danger both of themselves and
their comrades.

Far in advance of us, and on our left, the soldiers of
Aulich's division were pushing the Austrians before them,
and thus far Görgei's plans had proved a success.

At this sight our own opponents made a desperate effort
to drive us from the spur of the forest which we held, and
for a while longer the fight raged with great fury.

Görgei's words, however, still rang in our ears, and not
a man made a backward step.

About this time my anxiety concerning Stephen was
relieved.  The general, seeing what tremendous efforts the
enemy made to roll us back, rode up to give us some little
encouragement, and amongst his staff I saw my brother,
apparently unhurt, but looking very tired.

Stephen gave me a bright nod as the general cantered
along, praising the men, bidding them hold out a little
longer, and assuring us all that the battle was practically
won.

Görgei had hardly gone when our opponents rallied for
a final attack.

It was growing dusk by now, and we felt sure that
everything in our part of the field depended on the next
half-hour.

An Austrian success would wipe out all the advantage
Aulich had obtained; while if we stood firm, the enemy
must retire in every part of the field.

The part to be played by the 9th Honveds was very
simple, yet I must admit we did not like it.  A shadow of
annoyance passed over even Rakoczy's face when the order
was brought from Klapka.

Every man in the regiment burned to advance, instead
of which we had to stand still and supply a steady target
for the enemy's fire.

Fortunately the attack did not last long.  The other
regiments, turning on us as on a pivot, swung round in a
flanking movement, and presently the Hungarian cry of
"Forward! forward!" told that our comrades were driving
the enemy before them.

"Now," exclaimed our colonel genially, "if Aulich has
taken Isaszeg, the affair is over."

But had he?  No one could tell.  His corps had vanished
completely, and the fast-approaching night swallowed
everything in gloom.

Two hours longer we stood to our arms, ready at
any moment either to advance or to repel any fresh
attack.

It was dreary work waiting, and the men were so tired
that many fell asleep while standing in the ranks.

Suddenly there rose a sound of cheering, a vigorous
"Elijen Görgei!  Elijen Aulich!" and the welcome news
flashed from regiment to regiment, from man to man, that
Aulich had chased the Austrians out of Isaszeg.

The knowledge of this success made new men of us.
We forgot our fatigue, and lay half through the night
joyfully discussing the probable results of the battle.

Every one agreed that the Austrians would now be
compelled to fall back on Pesth.  Very few, if any, suspected
that from our victory was to spring the ruin of the
national cause.

Görgei was not the man to let the grass grow under
his feet, and the next day Klapka and Damjanics received
orders to march on Waitzen, the town standing on the
bend where the Danube sweeps round to the south, while
one corps remained behind to hoodwink Windischgratz.

Nothing of interest occurred during the march, and we
reached Waitzen on the morning of April 9 without
having met a sign of the enemy.

The town was unfortified; but the Austrian general,
Gatz, commanding two brigades, had resolved upon a
vigorous defence, as we soon found.

The 9th Honveds formed part of the vanguard, and
after a sharp struggle we succeeded in forcing a way into
the streets.

Here our progress was instantly checked.  The old-fashioned
lane in which we found ourselves was so narrow
that the inmates of the houses, by leaning out of window,
could almost shake hands with their opposite neighbours.

Across this lane three barricades had been constructed
in such a manner that, while the second commanded the
first, the third overawed both.

Carried away by what was, perhaps, a natural impulse,
the men, without waiting for orders, rushed at the nearest
barrier, and were mowed down in scores.

I suppose it is the sense of being shut up in a corner,
with little chance of escape, that makes street fighting so
savage.  Certainly I have never seen so furious a
conflict in the open field as behind the barricades in Waitzen.

From the shouts and cries of the combatants, and the
firing of guns, we recognized that our comrades were
fighting their way, step by step, in other directions, and I
for one hoped some of them would come to our assistance
by taking the barricades in the rear.

The attack having failed, the men came dropping back
in disorder, being exposed not only to the fire from the
barrier, but also from the windows of the houses, which
were garrisoned by soldiers.

Meanwhile, the pressure behind being relieved, the colonel
rallied the regiment into something like order again.

"It's no use trying for the barricade like that, my lads,"
he exclaimed cheerfully; "we're only knocking our heads
against a stone wall.  What we have to do is to clear the
houses one by one."

This was really the only workmanlike way of doing the
business, though it added much to the horrors of the
combat.

The Austrians inside the buildings forced us to fight for
every room in each house.  They made a barricade of
every article of furniture, and a fortress of every staircase.
While we fought those below, their comrades in the upper
stories picked us off with their rifles; and when their
ammunition was exhausted they clambered over to the next
house, or dropped into the street.

In this fashion we worked our way to the buildings
overlooking the first barricade, which now became useless,
and was immediately abandoned.

The last man to leave was their leader, and at sight of
him my heart beat fast.

He stood on the barricade, coolly directing the movements
of his men, while the bullets fell round him like
hailstones.

In one hand was his sword; in the other he carried the
black and yellow flag of his country.

He did not seem in any kind of hurry, but waited
patiently till the soldiers had entered the houses; then,
and not till then, he left his post.

He had not seen me; but I recognized him at once, and
trembled for his safety.

I had never met this noble veteran since leaving
Vienna, and had hoped the war might end without our
coming face to face.  How could I ever look into the
pretty fräulein's eyes again if by any chance my sword
should cross that of her father's?

For this Austrian leader, whose bravery even the
Magyars applauded, was Baron von Arnstein, and it was plain
he would yield that narrow passage only with his life.

Happily, perhaps, I had little leisure for thinking.  The
first barricade being down, the fight continued with
redoubled fury.

And now, adding new horror to the scene, fire broke
out; and by the time we had fought our way to the second
barricade, it was necessary for both sides to abandon the
houses.

The third barrier must be taken by a rush along the
narrow lane, or not at all.

By this time the regiment had lost half its strength.
Both the majors were down--dead or wounded, we knew
not which--and many other officers; but the survivors,
instead of being cowed by this great loss, were only the
more eager to go on.

So, in the midst of the smoke and the flames from the
burning houses, we took our lives in our hands and ran,
Rakoczy leading.

"Forward!" he cried.  "Forward!" echoed the
Honveds, and a spectator would have thought our fierce rush
alone must have swept the Austrians into eternity.

But on the barricade, still grasping the black and yellow
flag, there stood a man to whom fear was an unknown
quantity, and whose one idea was to do the duty entrusted
to him.

I watched him with the keenest interest as he collected
his forces to withstand the shock.

Rakoczy saw him too, and his genial brow clouded.  It
grieved him sorely to think he must fight against his old
acquaintance; but, like the Austrian baron, the Magyar
had a duty to perform, and there was no trace of faltering
in his voice as he urged his men to the assault.

.. _`190`:

The next moment the white-coats poured in their volley.
Many of our fellows dropped, Rakoczy amongst them.
The rest of us rushed on wildly, to be stopped by a second
volley more destructive than the first.

Then some one shouted lustily that the colonel was
dead; and the Honveds, with victory within their grasp,
ran back, while the enemy cheered exultingly.

Sad at heart, I returned to the spot where my gallant
friend had fallen and, with the help of Mecsey Sándor,
who followed me everywhere like a shadow, bore his body
back.

It was terrible to think I had not time even to find out
if he were really dead!

We laid him down reverently, and I immediately began
to re-form the broken regiment; for so fierce had been the
fighting, that of the officers able to enter action I was the
senior.

Very gladly I would have yielded the honour and
responsibility to another; but as that could not be, I
resolved to do my best.

"Will you follow me, my lads?" I cried, when we were
again ready.

"We will!" they answered, with a shout.

"Then come on!  Over the barricade this time!"

It is curious how a phrase, or sometimes even a word,
will work on a number of men acting together.

There is nothing very striking in "Over the barricade
this time!" yet the words were caught up by the soldiers,
repeated again and again, and more than one man died
with them on his lips.

They sounded high and clear above the noise of the
first volley, and as we pressed on the wounded sent them
after us feebly.

I really believe they kept us going after the next volley
fired at close range, and certainly they were roared out
most lustily as the first of the stormers appeared on the
stronghold.

It was Dobozy carrying the colours; but he missed
his footing and fell down, half stunned, but otherwise
unhurt.

A little, muscular fellow picked up the fallen flag, and
sprang with it to my side, while the others rushed
pell-mell after us.

I had purposely avoided Von Arnstein, who was to the
right of me; but, like a true leader, he soon scented where
the danger was greatest, and cut a way to that part of
his stronghold where the red, white, and green proudly
waved.

Twice we went back to the very edge of the barrier,
and once the colours were snatched from our grasp by a
grizzled veteran, who laughed defiantly as a Magyar cut
him down.

To right and left of us the flames of the burning
buildings threw a lurid glare on the scene, and some one
excitedly shouted that the barricade was on fire.

We heard the shout, but it had no effect on the fighting.
It did not prevent a blow being struck, nor cause the foot
of Magyar or Austrian to move an inch backward.

We had gripped one another, as it were, by the throat,
and hung there like bulldogs.

When I look back at that terrible fight, I find the
picture for the most part blurred and indistinct; but there
is just one tiny part of it whose colour is vivid and its
drawing bold.

It will always be so, I suppose, though I do not care to
see it.

Over and over again I had gone out of my way to avoid
the gallant leader, had plunged with foolhardy recklessness
into the greatest dangers, and he had followed my steps
with strange persistence.

I do not think he had a moment's suspicion who I was
until at last the chances of the fight brought us face to
face.

That is the one corner of the picture where the colours
have not faded.  All around is a blur; but two figures
stand out lifelike.

One is that of a youth with torn uniform, his
smoke-begrimed features working with excitement, his sword
held in the most awkward manner either for attack or
defence.

The other is the figure of an old man, his breast covered
with medals and decorations, of commanding carriage, and
with a proud look in his keen blue eyes.

Close by, my fancy paints the face of a beautiful girl
gazing mournfully at the youth and the old man--the
Magyar and the Austrian.

I know it is not really there, yet I see it as plainly as I
did on that terrible day in the years gone by.

The tide had at last turned in our favour; the Austrians
were yielding slowly, when their leader made his final
effort.  Cheered by his voice, they rallied once more,
and then it was we met.

The look which flashed from his eyes to mine occupied
the merest fraction of a second, yet I shall never forget it.

I read there astonishment and sorrow, then a certain
hardness, as if the brave old warrior were calling duty to
his aid.

With him the struggle ended, and the soldier, not the
friend, gained the victory.

I saw his determination quite plainly, and yet could not
bring myself to parry the blow.  Who could tell what
might happen if once our swords crossed?

Theresa was looking into my eyes, and, as I lowered
my weapon, she smiled upon me approvingly and vanished.

Perhaps the baron would have drawn back; but he was
in the very act of delivering his stroke, and I nerved
myself to meet it.

The sword shone red in the glow of the flames; but
before it descended another piece of steel flashed past me,
and pierced the baron's chest.

Mecsey Sándor had no scruples in killing any one to
save his master's life, which the faithful fellow undoubtedly
had done.

At the fall of their chief the Austrians abandoned the
position, upon which I ordered the regiment to fall in a
little beyond the burning houses.

Just then a man clapped me lightly on the shoulder,
saying, "Thanks, George!" and, turning, I beheld the
colonel.

The men recognized him too, and broke into hearty
cheering.

"We have suffered so severely," I said, "that I stopped
the pursuit."

"Quite right.  Let others follow; we must see to the
wounded, or they will be burned to death.  The barricade's
in a blaze, and--"

"The baron!" I exclaimed.  "He lies there, dead or
dangerously wounded.  Let me have some men."

"As many as you please.  Dobozy--"

I hurried off at once, and, selecting a score of fellows,
ran to the barrier, which appeared to be enveloped in
flames.  True, it was not quite as bad as that, but we had
barely time to remove the injured and some of the dead
when the whole pile fell in with a crash, and the heavens
were reddened by a broad sheet of flame.

I found Von Arnstein just where he had fallen, and had
him carried to a house some distance off, where I went,
immediately the work of rescue was finished.

Our comrades had been equally successful in other parts
of the town, and Waitzen was in our hands, though we
had paid a heavier price for it than was reckoned on.

In a state of utter dejection I entered the room where
the baron lay on a bed, and it scarcely needed the surgeon's
significant gesture to kill the tiny germ of hope in my
breast.  I crossed the room with noiseless steps and looked
at the dying man.

The surgeon had cut away a part of his coat and shirt,
the more easily to get at the wound, but a glance showed
even to me that all his skill was vain.

Mecsey Sándor's arm was strong, and in defence of his
master he had struck with all his might.

The veteran's face was bloodless, but he lay quite still,
and I rejoiced to think he suffered little pain.

As I bent over him his eyes opened, and he gazed at me
languidly, but without a sign of recognition.

"Baron," I said softly, "don't you know me, George
Botskay, the young Hungarian you saved from prison?
I was once able to do a little service for your daughter."

How much of this he understood I cannot say, but the
last word certainly made an impression, for a happy smile
lit up his wan face, and he murmured to himself what
sounded like "Tessie."

This I took to be an endearing name for his daughter.

His strength was soon exhausted, his eyes closed again,
and I thought he was dead.

"No," said the surgeon, "he will rally at the end; it
cannot be far off."

"An hour?"

"More likely two.  He is a strong man, or he would
have gone before this."

Borrowing a piece of paper from the owner of the house,
I wrote a note to Rakoczy, requesting leave to stay with
the baron, and sent it by a soldier.  Then I sat down by
the bedside to wait for the end.





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.. _`A VISIT FROM STEPHEN`:

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   CHAPTER XIII.

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   *A VISIT FROM STEPHEN.*

.. vspace:: 2

The surgeon, who could do nothing further, slipped
out quietly, asking as he went if he should send
any one to bear me company.

I shook my head, preferring to keep that solemn watch
alone.

In truth, my heart was exceedingly sad both for the
dying man and for his dear ones in Vienna, who would
await his return in vain.

The manner of his death also sorely grieved me.
Certainly my hand had not struck him down, but Sándor had
slain him to save my life.

It was foolish, perhaps, to dwell on the thought, but I
could not thrust it out.  I felt that but for me the baron
would still have been at the head of his regiment.

The house was very still, and even the noises from the
captured town failed to reach me.

The fires in the street had been extinguished, but now
the glowing crimson of the setting sun flooded the room,
and as its light fell athwart the bed the dying man moved
restlessly.

"Let it burn!" he muttered.  "All the better for us.
Ready?  Mind your aim!  Fire!"

His eyes were wide open, gazing with intense keenness
across the room.

"Ach!" he continued.  "They have it now!  Who?
The colonel?  That will stop them!  Sorry--knew him--Vienna.
What?  Again?  Steady now!  Here they come!"

His brow was wet with perspiration, and, as I bent over
to wipe it off, the dying glory of the sun shone full into
my face.

At this the baron's excitement increased, and he muttered
to himself at a great rate, while I, dipping a rag in water,
bathed his forehead continually.

By degrees he became calmer; the wild light died from
his eyes; he ceased to mutter, and presently looked into
my face with a reasoning though puzzled expression.

"George Botskay," I said, trying to help his memory.
"Don't you know?  You stood my friend in Vienna."

He smiled faintly, but with intelligence, and, moving his
hand, pointed to the window, as if wishing to direct my
attention to something outside.

"The barricade?" I ventured questioningly.

He smiled again and dropped his hand in mine.

"Good lad," he murmured; "I saw and understood--afterwards."

"I am sorry," I began; but he checked me, saying,--

"A soldier's death, my boy.  That is best--for me."

He was getting very weak now, and I heard him with
great difficulty.

Some words I did not hear at all, and others only
imperfectly; but I managed to understand what he wished
done, and promised to do it.

His requests, poor fellow, were very simple.  He desired
only that the miniature of his wife, which hung round his
neck, should be given to Theresa, and his massive
wedding-ring to the baroness.

As I gently drew the latter from his finger, his mind
wandered once more, and he talked to himself of bygone
days and events of which I knew nothing.

From the delights of peace he passed to the horrors of
the battlefield, and then right back to the time of his
childhood, when he was a happy, careless boy at his
mother's side.

Here he ended, and, rather to my surprise, just as the
last gleam of the setting sun faded, he died with the sacred
name of "mother" on his lips.

Taking a long look at the face now so calm and still, I
covered it reverently, and went away on tiptoe, as if the
noise of my footsteps could disturb the dead.

Outside I met the colonel, and returned with him to the
room.

"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed, after gazing a moment at
the white face.  "What a blow for the pretty fräulein!
I'll warrant he made an idol of her.  War's an awful
thing, George, when you come to strip the gilding off.
I would not like to have the responsibility of one on
my shoulders, though I'm a soldier born and bred.  How
many thousands of widows and orphans are cursing us at
this very moment!  Well, well; we must give the baron a
decent funeral in the morning," and he led me away.

The town seemed very quiet after the tremendous
uproar of the day.

The fires had been put out; the Austrians were in
retreat; and our army was chasing them into that very
mountain district where Görgei had led us in January.

Our own regiment, having suffered so severely, was left
behind, and I really felt glad of the change.

The colonel had taken up his quarters in a decent house,
and there at supper we were joined by the surviving
officers of the regiment.

Several of the absentees were dead, but the majority
were in hospital, and, though badly wounded, expected to
recover.

"Just like our luck!" said the colonel, as we sat
chatting over what had happened.  "We took the very
strongest street in the town.  The other fellows had a pleasure
jaunt, compared with our march."

"Who was the Austrian officer?" asked a sublieutenant.
"I hope he escaped; he was a splendid chap."

"That was Baron von Arnstein," the colonel replied.
"I'm sorry to say he was killed.  I mean to bury him
to-morrow with military honours."

"He deserves all the respect we can show him," Dobozy
chimed in.

"There's one thing puzzles me, colonel," I said, "and
that is, how you escaped.  I saw you fall, and thought
you were dead."

For the first time that night Rakoczy's face lit up with
his genial smile.

"I carry a bullet-catcher," he answered pleasantly; and
taking a massive gold watch from his breast-pocket, he
handed it to me.

"They've spoiled it as a time-keeper," he continued,
"but it will come in as a curiosity."

The watch had a double cover, and was enclosed in a
bag of thick chamois leather, a part of which had been
forced into the case by the impact of the bullet.

The case itself was badly battered and the works
smashed.

I passed it to the other fellows, who examined it in
profound astonishment and warmly congratulated the colonel
on his marvellous escape.

"Yes," said he brightly; "but for that watch Görgei
might have looked for a new colonel."

"We prefer to keep our old one, though he does wear a
watch that won't tell the time," I remarked.

Dobozy asked if it could be mended, but the colonel
said he preferred keeping it as it was, which I certainly
should have done.

We did not sit long, having to rise early; and in the
morning, as soon as it could be managed, Rakoczy turned
out the regiment to pay the last honours to our valiant
opponent.

We buried him in the Catholic cemetery, where I made
arrangements for a handsome stone to be erected in his
memory.  It stands there to this day.

When all was over, the men marched back to the strains
of martial music, while I felt as sorrowful as if we had
been assisting to bury a valued friend.

Fortunately, a soldier on active service has little leisure
in which to indulge his grief, and thus it was with me
now.

So greatly had the regiment lost in officers that the
survivors were compelled to do more than double duty, and
for several days I had not an hour to myself.

One event, though not exactly bearing on my story,
must be chronicled, since it shows the generosity of Görgei's
nature.

During the fierce fighting on the ninth of April the
Austrian general, Gatz, had fallen while at the head of his
men, and our chief, anxious to honour the memory of a
gallant adversary, did on a large scale what we had done
for Von Arnstein, and accorded him a magnificent military
funeral.

The display was of a most imposing description, and
when the body of the brave Austrian had been laid to rest,
the ceremony was concluded by the discharge of a hundred
guns.

Meanwhile, grave events were taking place.  Just as
the battle of Isaszeg had cut off the Austrian right wing,
so now their left was completely broken up, and it
became plain that Windischgratz must evacuate Pesth.

"Another stroke like the last," said Rakoczy one evening
as we sat chatting in his room, "and the thing will
be done."

"Unless Kossuth's party should try to drive too hard a
bargain."

"Oh no," replied the colonel cheerfully.  "The Austrians
know exactly what we want.  The emperor has only to be
crowned King of Hungary, and swear to restore our
ancient rights.  He will do that as soon as our army appears
under the walls of Vienna."

"It isn't much, especially when--"

A loud banging at the door cut the sentence short, and
in walked my brother, looking flushed and excited.

Neither of us had seen him since the meeting at Isaszeg,
and we had not the faintest notion he was in Waitzen.

He shook hands with us warmly, drank a glass of wine
which Rakoczy poured out, and sat down.

"Care to turn in?" asked the colonel.  "My bed's
doing nothing, and you look tired."

Stephen shook his head.  "I'm off in a couple of hours;
only waiting to rest my horse."

"There's nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Nothing wrong!" exclaimed my brother.  "Everything's
wrong!  Haven't you heard the news from
Debreczin?  Here, read this!" and he drew a printed
paper from his pocket.

The colonel spread it on the table, and as he read the
contents aloud I began to understand the meaning of
Stephen's words.

The document, signed by the members of the National
Diet, proclaimed in vigorous language the independence of
Hungary.  The House of Hapsburg-Lorraine was deposed,
its members banished from the country, and Hungary, as a
free state, was to be governed by Kossuth.

"What do you think of it?" asked Stephen testily, as
if we had drawn up the proclamation.

"'Twould be rather more to the point to know what
Görgei thinks of it," the colonel replied in his cool way.
"I suppose he wasn't consulted over this--waste paper?"

"Yes he was, and went dead against it.  Kossuth came
to Godolo, and there was a very stormy meeting, I can
tell you."

"What did Görgei say?"

"That we didn't want a republic, and wouldn't have
one.  That our soldiers were royalists, and in arms to
defend the constitution--not to depose the king.  In
short, that Kossuth's scheme would plunge the country
into misery."

"It means a Russian invasion," remarked Rakoczy.  "It
means the loss of all the Sclavonic states, and Hungary
dragooned into another Poland."

My brother tossed his head contemptuously.  "We
would chance all that," he said.  "A Magyar doesn't stop
to count the odds against him; but we aren't going to
spill blood like water, just to make Kossuth dictator!"

"We can't draw back now," I said.

"That's just it.  We must either continue fighting, or
desert our country when it has the greatest need of us."

"Stuff!" said Stephen.  "Were I Görgei, I would
settle the matter in a month."

Rakoczy bubbled over with laughter; but, seeing how
much in earnest my brother was, he tried hard to keep
a straight face, and asked how he proposed to do it.

"It's very simple," Stephen replied.  "The army is
devoted to Görgei, and will do what he wishes.  Let
him swoop down on the Austrians, win another battle--which
would be easy enough--and then offer to close the
war, on condition that our ancient rights are restored."

"And what of this?" I asked, laying my hand on the
declaration of independence.

"Pooh!  It will be useful to the people for wrapping
up parcels."

"I believe the plan would work out all right," said
Rakoczy thoughtfully, "but we mustn't try it.  Don't
you see, my boy, that it would open a civil war, and we
should have to join the Austrians in crushing our own
people.  No, no.  Rather let Hungary become an
Austrian fief than that Magyar should destroy Magyar."

"The other side doesn't study that."

"All the more reason why we should.  How would you
like to help the Austrians burn down Pesth, because Louis
Kossuth was inside it?"

Stephen turned away with a shudder.  "It seems that
we must tie our own hands," he remarked gloomily.

"You've hit it exactly; but we can untie them to fight
against the enemy.  By the way, our acquaintance, Baron
von Arnstein, is dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  What a blow to his pretty
daughter!"

"And to the baroness.  But come; in the general
excitement I quite forgot to ask you to eat," and the
colonel ordered supper to be laid immediately.

We had barely finished when a clatter of hoofs was
heard outside, and a soldier brought word that Captain
Botskay's horses were ready.

"Then I must go," exclaimed my brother, "though
that wretched paper has taken the heart out of my work."

"Yes," said the colonel, after he had gone.  "This
precious document will work the cause more harm than
the loss of a dozen battles."

Now I would not have you suppose we bore any ill-will
to Louis Kossuth and his party; but we did not belong
to them, their aims were not ours, and, in addition, we
believed they were grasping at more than they were
able to hold.

Of Kossuth's genius and marvellous eloquence, of his
untiring energy, his passionate love for Hungary and
hatred to Austria, I have already spoken.

He caused the raw material of armies to start from
the soil; he created money, manufactured guns, turned
the ploughshares into swords and bayonets, stored
ammunition, roused the people to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm, and was, in short, the mainspring of the revolution
amongst the civilians.

He did not profess to be a soldier, and the taunts that
he never appeared on the battle-field, except to run away,
I held to be both unjust and ungenerous.  His place was
at the council chamber, not in the camp.  Whether he
was ambitious for himself, I know not; and it matters
little, as the gulf between us was so vast that it could
not be bridged.

We, the party of the nobles and most of the old
soldiers in Görgei's army, wished only to regain our ancient
rights.  Kossuth and his friends openly endeavoured to
make Hungary into a republic.  In the days of our
adversity the little rift was not seen; now it suddenly became
a yawning chasm.

From the general to the private arose murmurs of
discontent, and I verily believe that, had Görgei done what
my brother proposed, he would have carried the army
with him to a man.

Some even to this day blame him for not exerting his
strength at the critical moment; but when I think of the
awful misery which must have followed, I am glad that he
acted as he did.  Each day now brought us news of some
further success.  Everywhere the Austrians fell back, until
at length we heard that our centre had entered Pesth,
which the enemy had evacuated on the previous day.

Much to our surprise, there came with this information
an order for the 9th Honveds to fall back on the capital.

Rakoczy, of course, instantly set about obeying, but he
was obviously ill at ease, as Görgei was still chasing the
flying Austrians to Presburg.

"It seems to me we ought to march forward to Vienna,
not back to Pesth," he exclaimed.

I pointed out that the Austrians had probably left a
garrison in Buda.

"Well?  What of it?" he asked.  "You don't suppose
we're going to waste precious time there, while the
imperialists rally?  Why, all we have to do now is to keep
them running till they reach Vienna.  I really thought
you were a better soldier than that, George."

"I daresay you will find me up to the government
standard," I replied, laughing at the wry face he made.

Several of the officers and many of the men were by
this time fit to resume duty, but numerous familiar faces
were still missing when the regiment started on its way
to Pesth.

We found the capital filled with citizens and soldiers in
a state of high glee.  Now that the Austrians had really
disappeared, they thought that the war was over and done
with.

Our regiment, which received quite an ovation from the
crowd, was quartered in the barracks, and during several
days we had leisure to roam about the bright and beautiful city.

The red, white, and green stripes fluttered proudly from
the tops of the magnificent palaces.  Nobles and ladies
rode by in handsome carriages drawn by fine Hungarian
horses.  The streets were crowded by soldiers in uniform
and citizens dressed in the national costume.  Every one
was in the highest spirits and the utmost good-humour.

One blot existed on the pleasant scene--the black and
yellow flag floating from the Buda fortress (on the other
side of the river), which sheltered General Hentzi with
3,000 veterans and 90 guns; but for the moment it was
ignored.

"What a magnificent spectacle!" exclaimed Rakoczy,
as we strolled one morning along the river embankments,
and gazed at the blue waters of the mighty Danube.  "I
sometimes think there can scarcely be a finer sight in the
world than the twin cities present.  Look at the
Blocksberg on the other side of the river."

"A fine place to batter the fortress from," I said.

"Oh! let us forget the war a bit; we shall soon be in
harness again."

"Very well.  We'll talk about the feats of civilization.
There's a fine example!" and I pointed to that triumph
of engineering skill, the noble suspension bridge built by
an Englishman named Clarke; it joins the two cities by
spanning the river.

I had rarely seen my friend so strangely moved.  His
face became quite sad, his eyes were dim, and when he
spoke his voice was husky.

"Hungary owes that, as she owes almost everything
else in modern years, to as true a patriot as ever lived,"
he said softly.  "You did not know Count Stephen
Szechenyi?"

"Only by repute," I answered.

"No; his best work was done before your time.  He
was Hungary's great man, George.  Kossuth, Batthiany,
and Görgei have simply entered into the fruits of his
labour.  He built the foundations sure, and firm, and
strong.  It was in '25 that he rose in the Diet, and
addressed the assembly in the Magyar tongue; till then
the debates had been conducted in Latin.  He toiled early
and late, in season and out of season.  He gave his
fortune, his brains, his leisure, to his country; even his reason
was sacrificed; and now, a broken and helpless wreck, he
is an inmate of an Austrian lunatic asylum.  Patriot and
martyr, he has been cast aside like a broken reed.  The
people have a fresh hero now--one who can tickle their
fancies and flatter their vanity by his burning
eloquence--a brand-new hero, my boy.  Let the old one go rot."

We walked on a little way in silence, and then with his
usual cheery smile my companion added,--

"The fit doesn't come often, and is soon over, but it's
hot while it lasts.  Really, though, when I think of
Count Stephen's ruined life, and how he was tossed aside
at last, I feel awfully wild.  Now let us turn back;
there's still time for a stroll in the town before we are
due at the barracks.  Hallo! there's Count Beula.  Pass
him with a nod if you can; I don't like that fellow."

However, the count, whom we had not seen since the
revolt in Vienna, had no mind that we should pass unrecognized.

He was dressed in the uniform of a staff officer, and
walked with a military swagger that was not without a
certain grace.

At first he affected astonishment at seeing us in the
Honved uniform, saying he thought we had joined the
Austrians.  Then he congratulated us on the declaration
of independence, and hoped we should have a part in the
capture of Buda.

All this he spoke in the smoothest tones, choosing his
words so that they might wound and yet afford no handle
for offence, smiling when he hurt us most, pretending he
thought we were pleased, and inquiring for Stephen,
whom he hated, as if the two were the closest friends.

I, being young, could not conceal my annoyance; but
Rakoczy gave the count smile for smile, jest for jest,
praise of Kossuth in return for praise of Görgei, and, in
fact, as the French say, a Roland for his Oliver every
time.

"A clever, smooth-tongued rascal," exclaimed he, when
at length the count took himself off.  "I wonder where
he has been."

"At Debreczin, most likely; he's just the sort of man
to do his soldiering in the drawing-room."

"I'm not so sure of that.  A boaster isn't always a
coward.  Did you hear what he said about the taking of
Buda?"

"Yes."

"That comes from Kossuth, you may depend; and if
so, all is lost."

"Unless Görgei interferes."

"Ah!" said the colonel, "he loves his country too much
for that," and we walked on without further conversation.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE QUARREL WITH COUNT BEULA`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *THE QUARREL WITH COUNT BEULA.*

.. vspace:: 2

One result of the declaration of independence was
an inrush of foreigners: Poles, Germans, French,
Italians swarmed into the country on all sides.

These men were all red-hot republicans, and, except the
Poles, fought not so much out of love to Hungary as from
hatred to the Austrian government.

Naturally they helped to swell Kossuth's party, and
talked loudly of maintaining the struggle till Hungary was
acknowledged an independent republic; while some, going
still farther, demanded that the Russians should be
expelled from Poland, and the two countries joined together.

At first, however, the real dispute centered on the next
step in the war.  Görgei, who had returned to Pesth,
pointed out that by staying to capture Buda we should
lose our only opportunity of crushing the Austrians while
they were still weak and feeble.

Kossuth, on the other hand, had resolved that Buda
should first fall; and at length the general reluctantly
yielded.

It was a great mistake, and we of the army felt it to
be such; but a soldier's duty is to obey, and not to
question.

Amongst ourselves and in the city we talked hotly
enough, and many passionate words were spoken in the
heat of anger.

On our side, none were so furious as Stephen, who had
come to Pesth with his chief.

He expressed his opinions freely, gaining thereby no
love from the foreigners, and openly boasted that he
would not be chained to the triumphal car of Louis
Kossuth.

Several times I begged him to moderate his language;
but he only laughed, saying that, now Kossuth had made
Hungary free, there was no need for him to be silent.

I was the more amazed at my brother's behaviour,
because it was so much out of harmony with his real
character; but there seemed to be a kind of spell on him,
which he was unable to shake off.

One evening he was holding forth to Rakoczy, myself,
and several others in a restaurant, when Count Beula
entered with some friends.

The count nodded to us all very politely, and, seating
himself at the next table, ordered wine for his company.

Whether the man really meant to create a disturbance
or not I cannot say, but, filling his glass, he cried, "Here's
to the Hungarian republic!"

His friends drank their wine and applauded boisterously,
while Stephen, springing to his feet, exclaimed in ringing
tones,--

"Gentlemen, this is a free country.  Let us drink our
own toast, 'Hungary and the constitution of '48!'"

"Bravo!" I said, feeling compelled to back him up,
though not desiring a quarrel.  "That is what we are
fighting for."

"And more than we shall get," added the colonel
good-humouredly.

"Thanks to Kossuth's meddling!" said Stephen.  "If
he had left the general alone, we should be over the
frontier by now."

"The young man carries messages for Görgei," the
count explained to his associates in a tone of amusement.
"That is how he comes to know so much about fighting."

"Even that gives more training than talking rubbish in
a back room," I put in hotly, thinking of the scene at
Vienna.

"Perhaps the count has come out of his shell since
then," said Rakoczy, with a merry twinkle.

"It must have been to get into a safer one," exclaimed
Stephen contemptuously.

The quarrel, like a fire, once started, blazed furiously,
and but for a shaggy-haired German, we should speedily
have come to blows.

He was puffing vigorously at a tremendous pipe, and,
coming through the dense volume of smoke, his voice
sounded like a fog-horn.

"Ach!" he grunted, "the quarrel is stupid; let it rest.
The count has made his reputation with General Bern; he
can afford to laugh.  As for the boys, they seem very nice
boys--ach!" and the oracle faded behind a cloud of
smoke of his own construction.  This was like a douche of
cold water on the fire; but though the flames were put
out, the embers smouldered, and presently sprang into a
fresh blaze.

I hardly know how it happened, but the conversation
once more turned upon the siege of Buda, and Stephen
maintained, quite rightly, as after events proved, that
even a successful assault must be attended by immense
slaughter.

"The boy speaks sense there!" growled the smoke-hidden
Teuton.  "I know Hentzi well; he's just the man
to strike hard and to strike often."

"Well, well.  Our young friend need not be afraid,"
broke in the count sneeringly.  "We shall find men
stout-hearted enough to storm the breach when it's made."

"I do not fear for myself," Stephen answered proudly.

"No, no," said the count, laughing insolently.  "It
isn't likely, since you won't be there till the danger's over.
Most men are brave enough when they haven't to do the
fighting."

"Perhaps," said I quickly, stopping an angry outburst
from Stephen, "that accounts for your coolness."

"A good thrust, my boy," said the benevolent
Teuton.--"Count, he had you there."

Count Beula laughed again, showing his white teeth,
refilled his glass, and answered brightly, "The thrust was
parried before it was delivered.  I have already been
named as the leader of one of the storming parties
whenever a breach is practicable.  Kossuth's friends fight as
well as talk."

"They do more than their leader then," said Dobozy,
who formed one of our party.

The count's statement fell on me like a thunderbolt.
I had thought him an arrogant, conceited fellow, having
nothing of the soldier about him but his uniform and his
swagger, yet here he spoke calmly of leading a forlorn hope.

He saw his triumph, and glanced at us, but particularly
at Stephen, with an insolent patronage for which I could
have kicked him.

"Oh no," he said loftily, in answer to a remark from a
companion; "I take no merit for it.  The opportunity
offered, and I accepted--nothing more.  Of course our
young friend has his fixed duties, otherwise we might have
seen him at the breach."

The words were simple and harmless, but the sneer was
so open that it could not be mistaken, and my brother's
face flushed crimson.  "And so you shall," he cried hotly.
"I cannot claim so high an honour as Count Beula, but I
can and will enter the fortress as soon as he."

The count smiled, drained his glass, rose to go, and
then, looking round at the company, said pleasantly, "A
challenge before so many witnesses must be accepted;
but"--maliciously--"perhaps before Görgei's guns have
made the breach our young friend will have had time to
repent his hasty words."

Then he and his friends went out, and left us looking at
one another gloomily.

"What's the matter, George?" my brother asked gaily.
"One would think I had been condemned to death."

"Not at all," I answered, shaking off my gloom.  "I
was only thinking how we were deceived in that fellow.
Fancy Beula at the head of a body of stormers!"

"It will be a night attack, so perhaps he'll lose his way
in the dark," my brother answered, and later on the words
acquired a strange significance.

"How you youngsters chatter!" exclaimed Rakoczy
cheerfully.  "The place hasn't been summoned yet, and
Hentzi may surrender."

This, of course, was possible, though not probable,
and the very next day the idea had to be put aside
altogether.

"The emperor, my august master, has entrusted to me
the keys of Buda; I will return them to him alone.
Meanwhile my honour and my duty command me to
defend the fortress, and I will do so to the last man.
Should the twin cities perish in the conflict, I declare you
responsible for their ruin.  I appeal to God, my right, and
my sword."

That was Hentzi's reply to the summons to surrender,
and I could not but admire the writer of it.

"Brave words these," said Rakoczy, "and he's a brave
man if he makes them good, though I don't exactly see
why he should bombard Pesth, when our guns will be on
the Blocksberg."

It was the fourth of May when the answer came, and
Görgei, who had established his headquarters at
Schwabenberg, immediately gave orders for the beginning of the
siege operations.

For the next week the fighting was mainly confined to
outpost engagements, in which our regiment had little
share; then the batteries were opened between the
Stuhl-Weissenberg and Vienna gates.

This being the weakest part of the defence, Hentzi had
strengthened it with twenty-five guns, which thundered
away at our artillery day and night.

For the greater part of another week the terrible
cannonade continued, and as we lay on the hillside we
saw with intense grief the beautiful twin cities wrapped
in flames.

During the second week we had much more of Stephen's
company than usual, and I heard with regret that the
general had given him leave to volunteer for the attack.

He rallied me on my sober looks, saying it was no more
dangerous for him than for me, as the 9th Honveds were
to form one of the assaulting columns.

It was the evening of May 17, and several officers,
including Stephen, were watching the heavy guns at work,
when Count Beula came up.

The story of the quarrel in the restaurant had spread
widely, and the officers waited with much curiosity to see
how the meeting would go off.

"Well," said the count, bowing all round in his finicking
way, "I hear that the breach is nearly practicable."

"We shall most likely start in a few hours."

"Then you have not drawn back?"

"My place is with the first column," said Stephen calmly.

"Ah!  I lead the fourth.  I am going now to see the
general, but, as you say, we shall meet in the fortress," and
he lounged off.

As the count had stated, the breach was considered
practicable, but the great guns thundered on, doing as
much damage as was possible before the assault took place.

Our regiment, being the farthest off, was to start first;
but the evening wore away, and Rakoczy had not received
any definite orders.

Always careful of his men, he made them turn in early;
but we officers sat or stood about in groups, talking over
the chances of the coming assault.

It was nearly midnight when Stephen, who had been
sent for by the chief, returned, and we crowded eagerly
round him, anxious to know what had been decided.

My brother first delivered his message to the colonel;
but as no secret was made of it, we soon learned that the
assault was fixed for the first streak of dawn.

Several of the officers now went to get an hour's rest,
but Stephen and I passed the time with the colonel, who
maintained a cheerful conversation.

Just at the last he left us alone, and it was only then I
discovered the real state of my feelings.

Stephen, too, was much affected; but he carried it off
well--not lightly or vaingloriously, but as a brave lad
should.

I thought, and think still, he was greatly to blame for
getting into such a scrape; but no one could blame his
conduct afterwards.

"Let us say farewell, dear old fellow," he whispered,
"in case one of us should not return.  If I fall, remember
you are the head of the Botskay family, and that our
father died fighting for his king."

"I don't forget; and if my time has come, take this
ring and portrait to the ladies at Vienna, and say a word
of farewell to the fräulein."

At this he threw off his grave air, and joked me
pleasantly, so that when the signal was made to fall in,
we took our places in quite a cheerful humour.

My brother, of course, went with the stormers, while we
followed closely in support.

It was still dark, but we trusted the guides to keep us
straight, and calculated on arriving at the breach as soon
as dawn broke.

No one spoke, and hardly a sound was heard as the
column wound its stealthy way along.

By this time the cannonade had ceased, and it seemed
also as if the sorely-harassed garrison had ventured to take
a short rest.  Tramp, tramp, we marched along, pausing
at intervals to give the rear of the column time to close up.

The men with the scaling-ladders were out of sight, but
we kept on in the weird and eerie darkness, expecting
every moment to see the flash of the rockets, and to hear
the thunder of the guns.

All was, however, silent, and I wondered we had come
across no sign of the other columns.

I don't know why it should have done so, but the
truth suddenly flashed into my mind--we had lost our way.

I spoke to the colonel, and it was obvious he shared my
opinion.

"Yes," said he quietly.  "We certainly ought to be in
touch with them by now.  Run forward and question the
guides."

I did so with difficulty, but might have spared myself
the trouble.  They had lost their heads completely, and
were painfully groping their way, now in this direction,
now that.

Remembering Stephen's scornful words about Count
Beula losing the route in the dark, I dared not speak to
my brother, but hurried back to Rakoczy.

I had barely told him the story, when far on the left
the guns roared out.  Bright flashes of flame leaped
from their muzzles, telling us that the garrison was on
the alert, and that we were not at hand to help our
comrades.

I hardly heard the colonel's orders.  My head was in a
whirl.  I walked or ran just when and where the others
did, wondering all the time what Stephen would do.

What a triumph for Count Beula!

Hitherto I had feared for my brother's life; now I would
have cheerfully laid down mine that he might have a
chance of risking his.  Guided by the flashes of light and
the sound of the guns, we ran on, hoping we might yet be
in time to strike one blow.

The dawn was breaking; we could see our way more
clearly, and were getting near enough to hear the shouts
and cries of the combatants.

"Forward, my brave lads! forward!" I cried excitedly.
"We shall do it yet!"  But alas for my hopes!  Suddenly
there came a wave of cheering, and then, as if to
herald the first pink streak of the opening day, the
triumphant notes were heard of a song well known to
most of us.  The attack had failed.  The victorious
garrison were jubilantly singing the Austrian National
Anthem, "Heil, unser Kaiser, heil!" as our three
shattered columns hastily fled.

Seeing that for the present all was lost, Rakoczy halted
his column, and in shame and confusion we retraced our
steps.

Really it was a fortunate circumstance we had thus
blundered, as the breach was not fit, and the
scaling-ladders had been found too short for their purpose.

Our comrades, whose losses were enormous, had
struggled gallantly, and by common consent the bravest
man among them was Count Beula.

Everywhere we heard the most marvellous tales of his
daring and recklessness.  He had fought in the very front,
had cheered his men again and again to the attack, and,
while they fell around him in scores, had himself remained
unharmed.

He had not got his foot inside Buda, but his reputation
was established, and it was acknowledged he had made his
vaunt good.

Rakoczy, who knew how terribly my brother suffered
under what he deemed a disgrace, tried to cheer him.

"Don't fret about it, my boy," he exclaimed brightly;
"'twas not your fault.  The count had the luck--that's
all.  No one who knows you will question your courage."

"It's very kind of you to speak like that," my brother
replied, "but all the talking in the world won't alter the
facts.  Perhaps I shall feel better after the next attempt."

"There's no need to try again," I said stoutly.  "You
did your best, and can't be blamed because the guides
missed the route."

"Do you think I will let a shadow of reproach rest on
our name?" he said.  "Don't try to turn me, George; it
is useless.  My mind is made up, and, with or without the
general's leave, I mean to take part in the next assault."

The colonel signed to me to let the subject drop, which
I did, and presently we all sat down to breakfast.

After the meal and an hour's sleep, Stephen said he
must report himself to the general, and Rakoczy made an
excuse for us to go with him.

"He may drop across Beula," whispered the colonel,
"and if we're there the meeting will be less awkward."

Rakoczy guessed rightly.  We found the count near
Görgei's tent, the centre of an admiring group of officers,
to whom he was relating the events of the previous night.

He carried himself with his usual swagger, and catching
sight of us, cried jovially,--

"Ah! here comes my young friend who lost his way in
the dark."

There was a laugh at this, which made me hot and
angry; but Stephen's behaviour was, to my thinking,
admirable.

His face was very white, and his lips twitched a little,
but he spoke quite calmly.

"Count Beula," he said, "permit me to add my
congratulations to those of your brother officers.  What you
did last night will never be forgotten by this army.  We
are not good friends, you and I, but that doesn't prevent
me from admiring your bravery.  Last night I failed to
keep my promise; next time I may be more successful."

"Well spoken!" said Rakoczy, and a familiar voice
behind us echoed the words.

The second speaker was Görgei himself, who had come
from his tent in time to hear what was said.

The count smiled, showing his white teeth.

"Captain Botskay must have been terribly annoyed at
finding himself out of reach of danger," he said sweetly.

Here again it was impossible to take offence at his words,
though they might, and most likely did, convey a false
meaning.

Görgei, however, came handsomely to the rescue.

"It would be something of a novelty," he said bluntly.
"I doubt if he has been out of danger before since the
war began.--But I say, colonel, somebody made a horrible
mess of it last night.  You'll have to put your fellows in
the front next time."

Rakoczy saw his chance of getting in a counter-stroke
on the count, and seized it.

"Yes," he said, smiling pleasantly, "I was afraid the
affair would fall through without us, though I hear Count
Beula did not fail through want of trying."

"There's praise for you, count!" cried Görgei with a
broad laugh.  "But we'll have another try soon, and then,
if you don't succeed, I'll lead the stormers myself.--Captain
Botskay, you're just in time to take a message to Pesth;"
and he carried Stephen off to his tent.

The colonel and I stayed awhile chatting, but not being
over fond of the count's company, we took the first
opportunity to go.

As soon as the wounded were brought in, the gunners
resumed the bombardment, while Hentzi, on his side, not
only replied to our fire, but sent hundreds of shells
hurtling across the water into the town.

Stephen told us that the state of the city was pitiable.
Whole quarters had been destroyed, and hundreds of people,
not only homeless but in imminent danger of their lives,
were camping on the Rakos, whither they had carried the
wounded soldiers, both Hungarian and Austrian.

Meanwhile Görgei thundered day and night at the
walls, while the stout-hearted garrison worked like slaves,
repairing the breaches, erecting breastworks, and doing
everything possible to strengthen their position.

All the officers who were not of Kossuth's party grumbled
openly at this waste of time and loss of valuable lives; but
since the fortress had to be taken, every one felt the sooner
the better.

During the evening of the twenty-first of May we
marched to the trenches and lay on our arms, once more
waiting for the signal to rush forward.

"The general means to get in this time," said Rakoczy.
"There are nearly twenty thousand of us, all told, in the
trenches."

"He can't afford to risk a second repulse," remarked my
brother, who, in spite of all our efforts, had insisted on
joining us.  "By the way, Aulich has driven the Austrians
back to Presburg."

"But for this folly we should be under the walls of
Vienna now."

"What time is the attempt to be made?" I asked.

"Midnight, I believe; so we've some time to wait yet."

After that, relapsing into silence, we sat in the
gathering gloom, each busy with his own thoughts; and sad
enough mine, at least, were.





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.. _`HOW STEPHEN CARRIED THE FLAG`:

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   CHAPTER XV.

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   *HOW STEPHEN CARRIED THE FLAG.*

.. vspace:: 2

"George!"

"All right, old boy," I answered in a whisper,
rubbing my eyes.  "I believe I've been asleep."

"I'm sure you have.  But wake up now; the word to
be ready has come."

At the very moment of waking I knew something was
wrong, but it was not until my brother spoke the second
time that I remembered where we were.

By some odd chance I had been dreaming of the years
gone by, when Stephen and I were merry children playing
in the old home at Gyula.

The past had returned to me so vividly--the sound of
my father's voice, the picture of my mother's beautiful face
and loving smile--that even now I could scarcely grasp
the truth.

I had forgotten all about the cruel war, the trenches,
the coming assault, and the near danger of death, so that
the shock of awakening unnerved me for the moment.

The word had come!  What word?  Where was I?
Ah! my memory returned with a rush, and I sprang to
my feet.

"Steady, old fellow," said my brother cheerfully; "we
mustn't make a noise yet."

I pressed his hand and whispered,--

"I had forgotten.  I was dreaming we were children at
home again."

"Don't, George; you hurt me," said he sharply, as if
in pain, though I only pressed his hand gently.

It was past midnight, and the men were in their places,
while the bands stood massed behind the lines.

The colonel came to us, and shook each by the hand.

"One never knows what may happen," he said.  "There
will be a fearful struggle.  After Görgei's words the other
day, my regiment can't go back; so, in case of accidents,
you know--"  And he shook our hands again.

Rakoczy seemed much graver than usual, but I think he
was filled with pity on his men's account.

Stephen was, on the contrary, much more cheerful.

"George and I had a solemn leave-taking the other
night," he said gaily, "and yet we didn't see a shot
fired."

"Ah!" exclaimed the colonel, responding to his humour;
"we have no chance of missing our way this time."

He moved off to his place, and again all was still.

The silence and the darkness got on my nerves.  I
dreaded yet longed for the signal at the same time.

We did not see the count, but he had sent a sarcastic
message to Stephen during the evening, appointing a
meeting inside the fortress.

I leaned on my sword, staring into the darkness.

"Dreary work this!" exclaimed a voice in my ear, and
Dobozy joined me.

Like the rest of us, he looked forward to a terrible
slaughter, and had come to say a word of farewell.

"I hope we shall soon go," he continued, after a pause;
"the men are getting nervous."

"The general's keeping up a tremendous cannonade," I
whispered.  "The guns must be nearly red-hot.  Why,
it's actually getting lighter."

"Nearly two o'clock," said Stephen.  "I suppose the
general's been waiting for the engineer's report."

Dobozy left us, and we resumed our watching.

Although two-thirds of May had run out, it was bitterly
cold in those early morning hours, and several times I
shivered violently.

The night was passing, and we could now see our own
men, the still shadowy outlines of surrounding objects, and
the ramparts of the fortress.

At length the moment arrived.  A flight of shells and
fiery rockets went hissing and trailing over the stronghold;
our men changed from figures of shadow-land into beings
of flesh and blood; a hoarse whisper of command
circulated through the trenches; the massed bands stationed
behind broke into soul-stirring music; almost without
knowing it we were advancing.  Stephen, with a last
hand-shake, a murmured good-bye, darted to the front.  I
headed the company; Rakoczy, to whose eyes the sparkle
had returned, led the regiment.

We moved forward unopposed; Hentzi was saving his
ammunition.

Of the conflict to the right and left I am not
competent to speak; I know only the doings of our own
regiment, and of the battalion led by Count Beula, which
chance or fate brought close to us.

Concerning the Austrians, or rather Croats, who held
the fortress, it would be unjust to attempt to belittle their
stubborn bravery.  At the beginning of the siege General
Hentzi had made a proud boast, and no man ever fulfilled
a vaunt more truly.

As the men with the scaling-ladders ran to plant their
burdens, the great guns of the fortress boomed out, and
instantly the place became like a babel.

Cries of rage and pain rent the air, almost drowning the
rattle of the musketry and the roar of the cannon.

Through the smoke-cloud that shut out our view the
white flashes pierced more and more quickly, as if the
artillerymen were not giving themselves one moment's
breathing space.

A man at my side exclaimed "Oh!" in a surprised sort
of way, and dropped, while I barely understood he was
dead.

A few paces farther a bursting shell knocked over half
a dozen.

We were rapidly approaching the thick of the firing.

"Forward! forward!" cried our colonel cheerfully.
"The safest place is at close quarters."

I remember laughing to myself and thinking it would
be even safer at Debreczin with Kossuth and the members
of the Diet.

Bang! bang!  The firing grew heavier, and our losses
more considerable; but, as Rakoczy had said, there was no
retreat for the 9th Honveds.

After the mess we had made of it before, we were bound
to get inside the fortress--that is, if any of us survived to
reach the walls, which seemed doubtful.

Meanwhile most of the ladder-men were dead or
disabled.  The stormers had taken their places, and were
trying to rear the ladders against the ramparts.

Stephen was with them, his face aflame, his eyes
burning with excitement.

We were quite near when he got one planted, and
instantly began to climb.

The light was breaking now, and our fellows cheered
madly as they beheld the lithe, graceful figure springing to
the top.

A group of Croats, led by an officer, waited patiently
with bayonets fixed, and I groaned at the thought of what
must happen.

Inspired by his example, the men crowded behind him
eagerly--too eagerly, as it proved; for the ladder,
groaning and creaking beneath their weight, snapped
off, and the whole party dropped with a crash to the
ground.

Several never moved again, and I must confess I hoped
Stephen was hurt, since it would save him from a sadder
fate.  To our astonishment, however, he jumped up from
the wriggling mass, and was soon cheering on the survivors
to fresh efforts.

A loud shout on the left proclaimed that something of
importance was happening there, and then it was I beheld
Count Beula.

The Croats were yelling with savage joy.  Out of a
dozen ladders not one remained upright, and the remnant
of the assailants was in retreat, with the exception of the
count.

I always disliked the man, and indeed to this day I
hate him, yet I must admit that here at Buda and
elsewhere he proved himself a first-class fighting man.

He stood now alone, save for the dead and wounded;
but though the bullets fell around him fast, he never
budged an inch.

The distance was too great for me to see his face clearly,
but I felt quite sure his lips were curled in a sarcastic
sneer.

Enemy of mine though he was, I cheered with the rest
when, as if tired of waiting for the runaways to come
back, he coolly advanced alone.

What occurred next, or who induced the battalion to
return, I cannot say, as the colonel immediately gave the
signal for the assault.

The men responded with a cheer.  They burned to be
on the walls, where they could meet the defenders on more
equal terms, and the regiment bounded forward like one
man.

Now, too, I missed Stephen, for the fighting became so
fierce and confused that it was impossible to see anything
beyond what took place close at hand.

The fire from the great guns continued steadily; but it
was less violent, and we afterwards learned that three of
the pieces had blown up.

The bullets, however, rattled down faster than ever, and
man after man fell.

The rest of us rushed on.  We were at the breach.
Already some of the stormers were entering, and my heart
leaped to my mouth as I saw Stephen foremost.

.. _`"My heart leaped to my mouth as I saw Stephen foremost"`:

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   "My heart leaped to my mouth as I saw Stephen foremost."  Page 233.]


Plainly he was determined that the count should have
no cause to crow over him this time.

I caught a brief glimpse of Rakoczy.  He had been
hurt, but his voice was still cheerful as he encouraged
his men forward.

On and up we went, sometimes packed together, then
separated into small groups, while frequently one of the
foremost came crashing backward, falling at the foot of
the battlements.

Though numbers dropped, the survivors pressed on
doggedly.  Whatever our loss, every one knew now that the
assault must prove successful.

Vainly the Croats poured in their murderous volleys;
they could not keep us back.  We were getting into close
touch with them, where steel would take the place of lead.

I was a short distance behind the colonel when he
suddenly paused, waved his sword, and cheered vigorously.

The Honveds took up the cry, and the sound of their
voices drowned all else, while I stood spell-bound.

The first of the assailants had put foot inside the fortress;
the first Hungarian flag fluttered on the ramparts.

For one moment I was the proudest, as I was soon to
be the most miserable lad in Hungary; for the flag
belonged to the 9th Honveds, and the soldier guarding it
was my brother.

"That's one better than Count Beula!" shouted Dobozy,
when another cheer arose.  A little to the left the count
appeared--the second to mount the walls.

Perhaps I lost a second--not more--enjoying my
triumph; then I shot past the colonel, and reached my
brother's side.

He had already received several hurts, but was still
gallantly holding his ground against long odds, when I
joined him.

"Bravo, old fellow!" I cried, parrying a fierce thrust
from an Austrian officer.

"It's all right now, George!  I beat him!" he shouted.

At the same moment a savage-looking Croat sprang at
him; but there was the rapid gleam of a bayonet, a sharp
cry, and the fellow fell dead.

A swift glance showed me Mecsey Sándor, who throughout
the fight had, as usual, followed my steps like a dog.

Every moment now strengthened us, while it weakened
the enemy, who, seeing this, made a desperate effort to hurl
us back before the rest of our forces arrived.

A tall, fine-looking veteran, with huge snowy moustaches,
led the charge, cutting his way almost to the walls.

The others were beaten off; but they came at us again
and again, till scarcely a single officer remained alive to
lead them.

It was cruel work, and I rejoiced with my whole heart
when at length the brave fellows, overwhelmed by
numbers, sullenly gave way.

Stephen, forgetful of his wounds, leaped forward with
the flag, and we all followed, panting like hounds with the
quarry in sight.

Count Beula, who had fought his way well to the front
without receiving a scratch, ran with the main body; but
in front of every one was my brother, with Sándor and
myself next, and the wounded Rakoczy a foot or so behind.

The flag danced and waved in the reddening dawn; then
suddenly it fell, rising again the next instant as proudly
as before, but now, alas! stained with newly-shed blood.

The Croats, as if ashamed of retreating--though they
had little cause for shame--once more drew together, and
those who had loaded rifles fired into the midst of us.

A few men fell, but they were mere drops in the ocean.
The crowd closed up solid and compact as before, and it
was seen that the enemy had made their final effort.

A wild cheer greeted the hoisting of a white flag on the
summit of the citadel; a wilder one still was raised when
Stephen planted the glorious red, white, and green colours
beside it.

My loved brother stood there a few moments, his face
white, save where the red blood trickled, his eyes bright
and burning, his bearing proud and defiant.

But, alas!  I saw that he held the staff with effort, and,
climbing up, was just in time to catch his swaying body
as it fell.

"Dear old George!" he murmured, "I meant to do it,
and succeeded."

Then his eyes closed, his head sank, and I laid him
gently on the ground in the shadow of the flag he had
borne to victory.

The noise of the conflict ceased.  The Croats, yielding
their arms, were granted quarter, and marched off as
prisoners.  Buda was ours!

I heard later how fearful the struggle had been.  Of
the twenty-five guns near the breach but one remained of
service, and near the spot where we forced an entrance lay
a group of no less than thirty-six Austrian officers.

The foremost was Hentzi himself, who, in the very
front of the fight, had gained imperishable renown, both
for himself and the flag he had so stubbornly defended.

Many hard words had been said of him when, lying out
on the hillside, we had watched our beautiful Pesth half
ruined by his artillery; but he had fought and died like
a brave soldier and loyal subject of his emperor.

These things were far enough from my mind on the
morning of the storming; in fact, I forgot all else in
tending my wounded brother.

Several men came and looked at him sorrowfully.
Rakoczy was one, I know; and I believe, but am not sure,
that one was Count Beula.

Then a little group approached, the leader being a
surgeon, who stooping down shook his head in grief.

The others brought water and bandages, and he washed
away the blood, leaving the face wan and colourless.  Then
he loosened my brother's jacket, uttering a hasty
exclamation at sight of something beneath.

I sat stupid with grief beside the wounded lad, nothing
rousing me till I beheld the closely-cropped hair and rugged
features of General Görgei.

"My poor boy!" said he, in a tone soft and caressing
as a woman's.  "Stephen, don't you know me?  I am
Arthur Görgei.  Look at me, my dear young friend," and
he gently chafed my brother's hand.

At the general's words Stephen opened his eyes, and
looked at Görgei with a feeble smile.

"It's--all--right--general," he murmured very softly,
and his eyes closed again.

Görgei stooped and kissed the boyish face tenderly.

"As gallant a youth as ever fought for Hungary,
and worthy of his honourable name!" said he with deep
feeling.

Then, turning to me, he spoke some kindly words, and,
having questioned the surgeon privately, went his way.

The master of legions has little time for private griefs;
and indeed this visit to my brother, taking place as it
did before anything else was done, furnished matter for
much talk in the army.

When the general had gone, the surgeon came to me.
He had a pleasant face, and the horrors of war had failed
to blunt the natural kindness of his heart.

"Captain Botskay," he began, "this is a very sad event;
but you must be brave, and nerve yourself to bear the
blow.  Your brother is seriously hurt--so seriously indeed
that I dare not venture to move him."

"Do you mean he is dying?" I asked hoarsely.

"One ought never to despair," he answered; "and yet I
cannot hold out false hopes to you.  Only a miracle, my
poor boy, can save your brother's life.  I have done what
I can for him.  He is not in pain, but his wounds are
fatal.  It may not be for an hour or two, but certainly
he cannot live through the day."

"Thank you," I said simply, turning again to my task
of watching.

At the end of an hour some one placed an open flask
in my hand, saying, "Drink, my sweet master; it will keep
up your strength."

It was Mecsey Sándor who had brought me food and
drink.

I shook my head.

"I cannot take it," I said.

The faithful fellow insisted.

"You are weak, my sweet master," he urged.  "In a
little time you will become faint for want of food, you
will grow delirious, and perhaps just then the captain will
ask for you."

I stretched out my hand for the food eagerly, alarmed
by Sándor's suggestion, as the worthy fellow intended I
should be.

It must have done me good, though I ate and drank
mechanically, hardly knowing, indeed, what I did.

The morning passed very slowly.  Twice the
kind-hearted surgeon returned; but, as he had said, nothing
could be done--we had only to wait for the end.

Towards the middle of the afternoon I discovered
Rakoczy standing near me.

He had been badly wounded, and his proper place was
in the hospital; but, like a stanch friend, he had come
directly his hurts were dressed to share my grief.

"Is there no hope?" he asked.

I shook my head.  "The surgeon says he will die before
the day is out."

"Poor old Stephen!"

That was all--not a long rigmarole of words, but just a
few that came from his heart.

Then we sat and watched the dying lad in silence.  Even
now the pain I felt was more like that caused by a horrid
nightmare than by a proper understanding of the truth.

Could this swathed and bandaged figure really be my
bonny brother--he who so short a time back was full of
life, and hope, and energy?

So motionless he lay, so still, that I frequently pressed
my lips to his to find if he still breathed.

Had it been possible, I would willingly have changed
places with him; for Stephen had ever been the object of
my fondest love.

"George!"

The sound almost brought the tears to my eyes, it
was so feeble, and recalled so vividly the memory of our
childhood.

I gazed lovingly into the dear face, already taking the
hue of death.

"I am dying, George, but don't grieve for me.  With a
good conscience, death is not hard, and I have tried to do
my duty.  Our father is smiling on me, and I am content.
Is that Rakoczy?  Dear old friend!  True as steel!  Is
it evening?  My sight is dim.  Closer, brother; let me
feel you.  Ah!"

I thought he had drawn his last breath, but presently
he rallied.

"Rakoczy," he said very feebly, "good-bye!  Tell the
general.  Remember me sometimes.  What's that?  John,
you are weeping!  'John the Joyous' in tears--and for
me?  Good-bye, brother; God bless you."

I placed my arm tenderly round his neck, and kissed
him.  I could not make answer in any other way; the
words choked in my throat.

Just at the last he whispered,--

"George, stand by Görgei.  He is the true patriot."

As we bent over him, he smiled at us with infinite
tenderness; then his eyes closed, and his breathing became
hard; he tried to speak, but only one word escaped his
lips, and that so faint we could not tell if it were my
name or the general's.

Rakoczy touched my arm.

"God has taken your brother to Himself!" he exclaimed
solemnly.

I heard him in a dazed way, and with true thoughtfulness
he retired, leaving me alone to battle with my grief.

I will not dwell upon the despair that wellnigh
overwhelmed me.  There are secrets of the heart that one
does not betray even to the dearest of friends; but all
who have lost some loved one will readily enter into my
sufferings.

When Rakoczy returned, I wiped away my tears and
stood up, ready, though my heart was nearly breaking,
to act in a manner worthy of him who had gone from me.

The general, who, since the opening of the campaign, had
grown very fond of my brother, gave orders that he should
have a grand military funeral, and assisted at the
ceremony himself.

We wrapped the dead lad in the flag he had carried so
bravely to the front, and buried him on the very spot
where he fell.

They told me afterwards that Count Beula was there to
show respect to his late opponent; but I did not see him,
and had no wish to do so.

I cannot pretend that Stephen was blameless in the
matter, but, rightly or wrongly, I looked on the count as
being partly responsible for my brother's death, and hated
him.

The last volley was fired, the band struck up a spirited
air, the troops marched off the ground, and after a while
I was left alone to indulge my grief at the side of the
newly-made grave.





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.. _`I JOIN THE STAFF`:

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   CHAPTER XVI.

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.. class:: center medium

   *I JOIN THE STAFF.*

.. vspace:: 2

The fortress of Buda fell on the twenty-second of
May.  It was now the fifth of June, and the twin
cities, though sorely scarred by the terrible bombardments,
had dressed themselves in gala costume.

All the troops--the 9th Honveds amongst them--stationed
in the two towns were assembled under arms;
and the men of the artillery on both sides of the Danube
stood to their guns.

A glance at the streets, however, showed that the
citizens did not anticipate any fighting.

The scene was a most animated one, and under happier
circumstances I should doubtless have enjoyed the brilliant
spectacle.  Hundreds of gay flags--the red, white, and
green stripes predominant--fluttered from the cupolas of
the buildings; arches of garlands stretched across the
streets; the people, dressed in their best finery, and many
of them carrying splendid bouquets, promenaded to and
fro, or occupied good positions from which to view the
coming pageant.

All along the route from the railway station the
windows were crowded by richly-dressed ladies and
children, craning their necks to catch the first sight
of the hero.

As our regiment marched to take its place, I could not
help thinking of the many ruined families and the
hundreds of wounded soldiers to whom this pageant must
seem little more than a hollow mockery.

"I don't think this triumphal entry shows good taste on
his part," I remarked to Dobozy, after we had halted.

"Suit him capitally!" declared he.  "It's just like a
stage-play.  Did you hear how he is coming from
Szolnok?"

"By rail, I suppose."

"Yes, and in the emperor's private carriage.  Anything's
good enough for a thorough-paced republican."

"I suppose his wife accompanies him?"

Dobozy laughed and said we should see.

Suddenly the guns roared out their brazen welcome;
the people, waving their flags, cheered loudly; the bands
played Rakotzy's patriotic march, and a company of
guards issued from the station.  Then the cheering became
louder and wilder, and shouts of "Elijen Kossuth!" rose
as Count Karoly's handsome chariot, drawn by four
magnificent Hungarian horses, made its appearance.  In it,
his head crowned with laurel, sat the observed of all
beholders, Louis Kossuth, Dictator of Hungary, and on his
right a tall, haughty-looking woman with black hair and
eyes, pointed nose, long chin, and regular mouth.

This was the dictator's wife, Madame Theresa Kossuth,
and I thought, though perhaps wrongly, that the light in
her eyes was one of satisfied pride.

Behind the chariot rode a long line of Magyar nobles,
making a brilliant show in their national costume, though,
for the country's sake, I would rather have seen them at
the front in simple uniform.

As Dobozy truly remarked, patriotism required very
little sacrifice if it was satisfied by riding about the streets
of the capital in gala attire.

However, the procession passed, the hero was withdrawn
from sight, and we were at liberty to return to barracks.

The festivities continued all day, and in the evening
the city was illuminated in honour of the dictator.

"Foolish people!" said the colonel sadly, as we strolled
along the river-bank that night.  "One would think, to
see their transports, that the war is over, while it is really
only beginning."

"I can't understand why the general doesn't make a
forward move, and drive the enemy out of Presburg."

"Because he's waiting for ammunition and men," put in
Dobozy, who was walking with us.  "I saw Juranics
yesterday--just come from the front, wounded in some
outpost affair, I believe.  He says only half the recruits
have been sent on, and they don't even know their drill.
Besides, they haven't any weapons, if they knew how to
use them.  Lively sort of army, eh?  Juranics said
plainly he believed Kossuth's party was jealous of Görgei's
success."

"They're afraid he'll topple their brand-new republic
over," said the colonel; "which is just what he would do
if the Austrians were cleared out.  However, it's too late
now.  While we've been wasting our time, the enemy has
been getting ready."

"They say we shall have 160,000 Russians, besides the
Austrians, to tackle."

"That's so," replied the colonel cheerfully; "while we
are split up into two factions, each fighting for a different
object."

Matters were, indeed, in a more desperate state than we
thought.  The Austrians, thoroughly frightened for the
safety of the empire, had begged the assistance of Russia.

They had already twice changed their chief, and were
now led by Baron Haynau, an officer who had won
distinction in several campaigns, but whose name was
hereafter to be linked with acts of savage cruelty against
which all Europe cried out in horror.  He was now at
Presburg with 60,000 men, waiting for the arrival of a
veteran Russian division, which had been dispatched to his
assistance.

The principal Russian army, 76,000 strong, and led
by the famous field-marshal, Paskewitch, was in Galicia,
ready to descend on Central Hungary by way of the
Carpathians.  A third Russian army was to invade
Transylvania, while Jellachich covered Croatia.

However, there were gay doings in Pesth for one day
at least, and when we turned in at night the city was still
*en fête*.

I think it was the third evening after Kossuth's
triumphal reception when the colonel sent word that
he wished to see me.  Being off duty, I returned with
the messenger, little dreaming how great a change in my
prospects the next half-hour would produce.

"Come in," cried Rakoczy pleasantly, as I knocked at
the door.

He was standing by the window overlooking the
barrack-yard with another man, whom I immediately
recognized as Görgei.

"All well?" cried the general genially, stretching out
his hand.  "That's right.  Bit tedious hanging about
Pesth, eh?"

"I think we should all be glad of a change, general."

"You'll all get one soon, when the white-coats drive you
out, and even then you'll grumble--eh, colonel?" and he
gave Rakoczy a playful dig in the ribs.

"We'd much rather help you get inside Vienna," replied
the colonel.

The general's smile vanished.

"Too late!" he said shortly.  "That should have been
done a month ago.  Take my word for it, old comrade,
the game is lost; but we'll play it right out all the same,
and only give in when we must.--Botskay, can you ride?"

"Fairly well," I answered, not wishing to boast.

"Would you like to come with me?"

"The general means on his staff," explained Rakoczy,
smiling.

Now, I should have liked this very much indeed, but
for leaving Rakoczy, and this made me hesitate.

The colonel, seeing my difficulty, laughed, and said,--

"I'll answer for him, general.  The berth will suit him
capitally.  The campaign has made him pretty hardy, and
he'll soon learn to do without sleep."

"Well," said the general kindly, laying his hand on my
shoulder, "I shall be glad to have you.  I was very fond
of your brother, and miss him more than you would think.
So just pack up anything you may want.  I'm leaving by
the steamer in an hour."

I hurried to my room and called for Mecsey, who
received the order to pack without betraying the least
surprise.  He would have taken it quite as a matter of
course had I been appointed commander-in-chief.

Then I went to say farewell to the officers of my
regiment, had a last chat with Dobozy, who was sorry to
lose me, and finally returned to the colonel's room.

"Good-bye, George," exclaimed my old friend warmly.
"Sorry we're parting, but it will be better for you.
Besides, we shall often see each other, and the war can't last
long.  From what the general tells me, we haven't the
slightest chance.  His army's in a wretched state, and the
other leaders are all pulling different ways.  However,
we must keep our heads up and do the best we can; but
don't take too many risks, my boy.  Görgei will keep you
well occupied, and there's no sense in knocking your head
against a stone wall just for the fun of the thing."

"Not a bit!" cried the general, coming in at the
moment, "even if you have a wooden one.  Well, good-bye,
old fellow.  We shall soon begin to move now, one
way or the other.  Get the regiment into trim as soon as
you can; every man will be wanted.--Ready, Botskay?
Come on then."

Rakoczy pressed my hand, and accompanied us to the
gates, where Sándor was already in waiting.

With another warm hand-shake we left the colonel, and
walked sharply to the embankment.

Görgei had thrown an ample grey mantle over his
sombre uniform, and had pulled his hat over his brow as if
not particularly wishing to be recognized.

He did not speak till we reached the landing-place, where
a boat lay with steam up, ready to cast off at a moment's
notice.

"Jump aboard," he exclaimed sharply.  Then, to a
sailor, "Help this man with the baggage.  Are you
right?--Go ahead, captain."

The ropes were cast off, as I could tell by the movements
of the steamer, but it was now too dark to see
much.

Görgei disappeared, while I, going to the bow of the
boat, gazed ahead into the gloom.

Here and there a light shining from the river's bank
roused my interest for the moment; but taking it altogether,
it was dreary work, and I thought regretfully of the snug
barracks.

Presently, however, Görgei joined me, and in his
company I lost all sense of weariness and discomfort.

Though burdened by such a load of care, and ready at
any moment to assume the sternness of the chief, he
laughed and joked with me as if we were equals, his
cheerful gaiety making the time pass quite pleasantly.

Indeed the general was a splendid companion, but he
had two foibles--he thought sleep was a mistake, and
eating a luxury one should try to do without.

With these opinions I did not altogether hold, so I
inwardly blessed the captain of the boat when he suggested
we should go below and have a snack of supper.

Having made a good meal, I wrapped myself up warmly
and lay down, leaving Görgei poring over some maps and
making calculations.

I cannot say what occurred during the night, but when
I awoke next morning the general was still intent on his
work and looking fresh as ever.

About mid-day the steamer slowed down; a boat was
lowered, into which Sándor put my baggage; then Görgei
got in, and we followed.

We were not near any town, but the general had
evidently made his arrangements, for as the sailors pulled
us ashore, a body of soldiers--some on foot, others on
horseback--came down to the water's edge.

Görgei sprang out briskly, and held a hurried conversation
with the leader of the party.  Then he directed a
soldier to give me his horse, mounted his own--a beautiful
grey--and we all set off for headquarters.

The appearance of the army confirmed my feeling of
despondency.  The men who had served throughout the
campaign were in good trim, but those newly drafted to
make up for our previous losses looked anything but soldiers.

I discovered, too, that the officers were secretly uneasy,
and their anxiety increased when, a few days after my
arrival, Görgei's scouts brought word that a Russian
division had joined Haynau at Presburg.

This was on the fourteenth of June, and two days later
witnessed the beginning of what may be called the second
campaign.

Our engineers had built several bridges over the river
Waag, and on the fifteenth of June the army crossed to
the farther side.

"Ah!" exclaimed one of my new comrades regretfully,
"if we could have done this a month ago!"

"We should be in Vienna now," said another gaily; "but
we aren't, and it's no use grumbling.  Here comes Bethlen.
Klapka has sent him with an important message, to judge
by the state of his horse's flanks."

The rider approached at a gallop, pulled his horse up
sharply, and having saluted, handed a note to Görgei.

The general, glancing at the contents, put the crumpled
paper into his pocket.

"Tell General Klapka I'm much obliged, but I don't
think anything serious will happen to-morrow."

Bethlen saluted again, nodded to several of his acquaintances,
and rode away at a quieter pace.

Görgei had made his calculations accurately, and
although several desperate outpost affairs occurred, it
was not until the morning of the seventeenth that the
two armies really joined battle.

On the very same date, although we did not know it
then, Field-Marshal Paskewitch emerged from the
Carpathians on his march into Central Hungary.

The battle began with a terrible artillery fire, which was
directed against our centre; and Görgei himself, followed
by the staff, galloped down to encourage the sorely-tried
soldiers.

At the same time he sent me to the colonel of a hussar
regiment with an order to break up a mass of infantry,
which was preparing to hurl itself on our weakened
centre.

"Directly it's done, ride back as hard as you can," he
said, and I dashed off.

The colonel listened to the order, well pleased.

"Tell the general we will do it," he said with quiet
confidence.

"He wishes me to stay and take back your report," I
answered, and the colonel kindly agreed that I should ride
with him.

The regiment was composed of seasoned warriors, who
hailed the sound of the trumpet with delight.

With swords bared, we started at a trot, increasing the
pace as we approached the enemy.

The ground for the most part was flat, but there were
several sandhills or banks, and from one of these a storm
of shot ploughed into us as we rode by.

The fire was so severe and unexpected that a regiment
of young soldiers would have been thrown into confusion;
but these veterans only shook their fists, vowing to capture
the battery on their return.

Our horses had got into their stride now, and we were
fairly racing over the level ground.

It was the first time I had taken part in a cavalry
charge, and the blood ran hot in my veins.

The colonel rode upright as a dart and stiff as a poker,
but I, more accustomed to a horse's back on the broad
plains than in a military riding-school, rode in a much
easier though less dignified position.

That men and horses were thoroughly well drilled one
glance would have shown.  In spite of the artillery fire
and the speed at which we rode, there were no gaps.
The horses raced neck by neck, with equal strides, and
the whole regiment went forward like a piece of machinery.

The Austrian battalions stood quite firm to receive us,
and as we got nearer I doubted very much if we could
break through that solid mass.

But Görgei had not sent us to do the work alone.  On
our left, farther down the field, several squadrons, springing
up unexpectedly, were riding straight at the battalions,
and we, seeing this, cheered excitedly.

"Forward!" shouted the colonel, rising in his stirrups,
"and keep together!"

Whatever was going on elsewhere, the Austrians before
us stood like a stone wall till we were well within range.
Then came a blinding flash, a loud report, a greyish cloud
of smoke, and, from behind me, fierce shouts and cries
of pain.

But above all rang out the stirring "Forward!" of the
colonel, and almost at the same instant we were amongst
the bayonets.

Crash! we went, driving into the very centre of the
mass, splitting it up into groups, pushing it this way and
that, till a ringing cheer announced that the enemy were
in full flight.

The hussars, flushed and excited, would have gone
pell-mell in pursuit, but fortunately the leader had his men
well in hand, and made them re-form their ranks.

Our comrades farther along the field, carried away by
excitement, dashed after the runaways, and were soon
widely scattered.

Then, through a gap in the sandhills beyond, there
suddenly issued a close, compact body of cavalry, which
charged down upon us like an avalanche.

Our horses were already blown; we ourselves were
spent by the fierce fight; our losses had been severe, and
many of the men still in the ranks were wounded; yet the
colonel did not hesitate.

Flight would result in our being cut to pieces; to stand
still would give the enemy a tremendous advantage; there
was nothing for it but to charge afresh.

The colonel, waving his sword, sprang to the front; the
bugles rang out; the men, cheering loudly, dug their spurs
into their horses' flanks.  Once more the regiment was in
motion.

The distance to be covered was short, but enough to get
our animals well into their stride before the crash came.

Fast as we rode, the Austrians rode still faster; and, but
for the superior strength of the Hungarian horses, we
should simply have been swept away by the furious shock.

As it was, we charged them gallantly, and soon steel
met steel as swords crossed or rang on the polished
breast-plates.

Our colonel--evidently a magnificent swordsman, and
mounted on a powerful animal--drove his way through the
serried ranks; but my passage was barred by the Austrian
leader, who seemed to have singled me out specially.

I wondered at this for a moment; then in a flash
remembered who this handsome, blue-eyed fellow was.

"Von Theyer!" rose to my lips as, sitting his horse
with a natural gracefulness, the former rebel rode straight
at me.

From that moment I lost sight of the general conflict.

Round us rose the cries and groans of wounded men,
the cheers and counter-cheers of the combatants, the
sound of clashing swords; but to all I gave but a passing
thought.

This Von Theyer, who by some means--probably reckless
bravery--had already risen high in the Austrian service,
meant to kill me.

His deadly purpose shone in his eyes, and it was obvious
he expected to have an easy task.

However, though he was by far the better master of the
sword, I knew the more of horsemanship, and by swerving
aside at the proper moment, caused his stroke to fail.

Before he recovered I had pricked him in the arm.  It was
a slight wound, but it drew blood and made him angry.

This was all in my favour, as he lost his caution, and,
throwing away the advantage of his superior skill, attacked
furiously.

Again and again I avoided his weapon almost by a
miracle; but at last I made a fierce cut which he failed to
parry, and my sword slashed him right across the face.

He threw up his hands with a cry of pain, falling in a
heap on his horse's back.

At the same instant a shout of alarm was raised; the
hussars in advance, wheeling about, came dashing back,
separating me from Von Theyer.

Since I had left Görgei the aspect of the battle had
entirely changed.

While we had broken the Austrian battalions, our
centre, fearfully weakened by a heavy cannonade from
twenty-four guns, and furiously assailed by two brigades
on its right flank, had given way.

Worse still, the Russian general, seeing that the tide
was turning, sent a splendid body of cuirassiers and two
field-batteries to change the retreat into rout.

It was the rapid approach of these famous horsemen
that made us turn back.

The colonel was angry, but he could not hope to pit his
broken regiment successfully against the cuirassiers, while
a prompt retreat might enable him to cover the flight of
the infantry.

So he gave the word, and we retired in good order, but
at a gallop.

Meanwhile the Austrian gunners received their allies
with a roar of welcome, and the cuirassiers in glittering
helmets and breastplates swept proudly on.

With a message from the colonel, I made the best of my
way to the chief, who as usual was in the thick of the
fight, risking his life as freely as the humblest soldier.

But the day was lost.  We were outnumbered both in
men and guns, and the Russian division had converted a
possible victory into a disastrous defeat.

For a time we made a desperate attempt to hold the
village of Pered, but it was simply throwing men's lives
away to no purpose; and at length the general, who,
however much he objected to be beaten, did not believe in
knocking his head against the wall, issued orders for a
retreat.

"Find General Klapka," said he to me, "and tell him to
withdraw his men across the Waag; but he must do his
best to hold the bridges.  If he doesn't, the enemy will
chase us back to Pesth without a stop."

I turned my horse's head, and dashed off along the line
of fire; but time being precious, I could not afford to go
a long way round.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE WOUNDING OF GÖRGEI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *THE WOUNDING OF GÖRGEI.*

.. vspace:: 2

"All right, Sándor.  It's only a pin-prick; but I've had
it bandaged, though the surgeon said 'twas a waste
of lint.  Rub the horse down, and give it a good feed;
there may be fresh work soon."

The battle was over.  The army, including Klapka's
division, had retired beyond the river, though we still held
possession of the bridges.  I had just returned from my
dangerous ride, and the worthy Sándor had given me up
for lost.

I was dead tired, and wrapping myself up cosily, lay
down, expecting to fall asleep instantly.

In this I was wrong, for though my eyes closed, I
could not make my brain rest.

I thought of my chivalrous brother lying wrapped in his
country's flag in the citadel at Buda; I thought, too, of
the gallant Rakoczy at Pesth, and wished the old regiment
had been in the field that day; but, most of all, my mind
dwelt upon the Austrian leader with whom I had been in
deadly conflict.

The hussars had retreated too quickly for me to find out
if I had killed him.

Somehow I hoped the poor fellow was not dead; though,
had the case been reversed, I suppose he would not have
wasted a thought on me.

From Von Theyer my mind naturally drifted to the
beautiful Theresa, and I wondered how she had borne the
news of her bereavement.

At least it would be some comfort when I could restore
the baron's memento, and tell how we had buried him
in the quiet little churchyard.

My heart grew sadder and sadder as I lingered over
the details of this cruel war, which the day's fighting
conclusively showed we could not carry to a successful
issue.

It was not that a single defeat caused me to despair,
but I saw clearly that we had thrown away our chance of
victory.

Against the Austrians alone we might even now recover
our position, but the arrival of the Russians had made the
struggle hopeless.

Even united we should fail now, and we were not united.
Envy, jealousy, and distrust had crept into our councils,
and every day the breach between the two parties became
wider.

Not that I would have you imagine there was more
than one party in Görgei's army.  We were all of one
mind; but the general was hampered by the orders of the
Diet, and in addition had to shape his course by the
movements of Dembinski.

Thinking over these things, I lay awake till the dawn,
when I at last managed to fall into a sound and refreshing
slumber.

The days following our defeat at Waag were days of
extreme misery.  All the time we fell back, pressed by
Haynau's victorious troops and their Russian allies, till we
reached Raab.

Even here Görgei could do no more than make a feint
of defending the place, which delayed the enemy two or
three days, while our main army pushed on towards Waitzen.

I now understood more clearly the kind of life Stephen
had enjoyed.

Görgei was here, there, and everywhere, directing and
encouraging the men, and of course we were with him.

We slept where and when we could, and did not expect
dainties--to any great extent, at least--at meal-times.
Our banquets were for the most part consumed in the
saddle, and consisted of bread or biscuit, cheese, and a
drink of wine.

Occasionally the cheese went astray and the wine was
missing; then we munched our bread thankfully, and
praised the sweetness of the water.

Görgei's spirits never once gave way, though I believe
that from the hour of turning our backs on the river
Waag he knew in his heart the contest was hopeless.

Careful of his men, he was utterly reckless of his own
safety, and several times during the retreat his staff were
within an ace of being cut off.

Our old opponent Schlick led the pursuit, being well
supported by the veteran Russian division which had
caused our defeat on the Waag.

On the morning of the third of July Görgei halted his
troops in the forest of Harkaly.

During the previous night he and I, unknown to
almost every one, had retraced our steps as far as the
village of Acz, which we found occupied in force by the
Austrians.

Having by good-luck managed to return safely, the
general spent the rest of the night making plans for
striking a blow at the dogged Schlick, who seemed to be
ever-lastingly hanging on our rear.

I do not know if any one else on the staff went to bed,
but I lay down for an hour in the morning, and was
wakened by Sándor just before the combat began.

Some of the troops were sent on ahead, where they could
be seen by the enemy; while the main body of infantry,
with the guns, had been secretly posted in advantageous
positions.

The first blow was to be struck by the cavalry, and the
various regiments presented a magnificent sight as they
waited in the cover of the forest for the word to advance.

The mere notion of a fight had restored the men's spirits.
They might be beaten again, but anything was better than
the continual running away we had practised for the last
fortnight.

Görgei, alert and vigorous, had placed himself at the
head; and though we feared for his life, it was impossible
not to admire his courage.

He had sent me with a message to General Klapka, and
while returning I caught a glimpse of Schlick's corps
moving up from Acz through the open country.

Our decoys had served their purpose, and the Austrians,
thinking us still in full retreat, swung along merrily.

I hastened to the general, and from the look on his face
guessed he had already heard the news.

"Yes," said he; "it's working out nicely.  We'll give
Herr Schlick a little surprise presently."

And we did.

The affair was over so quickly that I hardly realized it
had begun.

At the word of command we issued from the forest, broke
into a trot, then a gallop, finally bursting with a loud
cheer upon the astonished foe.

The surprise was complete.  Before they had time to
make a stand they were running away.

Hatless, but unhurt, Görgei pulled up; sent Nicholas
Szondi with an order to Klapka; ordered the pursuit to be
continued as far as the village of Acz; and rising in his
stirrups, took a further survey of the field.

"Botskay," said he quickly, "we must have half a dozen
guns planted on those sandhills.  See them?  Off you go,
then, to Benitzky, and don't lose a second."

I put my horse to the gallop, and having found the
chief of artillery, delivered my message, and rode back.

At this moment the day was ours.  Schlick's corps was
routed, our fellows were hot in pursuit, and a few
enthusiasts were already dreaming of Vienna.

But we reckoned without the Russians.

Before our artillery could get there, the sandhills were
occupied by Russian guns, whose murderous fire sent our
cavalry back.

At the same time our cuirassiers dashed forward on the
right, and then we saw a body of infantry advancing at
the double.

In half an hour the situation had become critical.
Nothing could save us but the most desperate effort.

Our general, as usual, rose to the occasion.  Placing
himself in front of the hussars, he delivered a short
but stirring address, and led them against the Russian
infantry.

Twice we dashed at them in gallant style, being thrown
back each time; the third time, we resolved, should pay
for all.

Nicholas Szondi and I rode on either side of the general,
who once more gave the word to charge.

Away we went in the midst of a cloud of bullets, while
our ranks were ploughed by shot and shell.

A man somewhere behind me dropped, and his frightened
horse, breaking from the ranks, rushed to the front.

With a cry of pain the colonel of the regiment fell, but
I afterwards heard that the gallant fellow used what
strength he had left to urge on his men.

Crash!  It seemed too good to be true, but we really
had driven the charge home; and the riderless horse, the
first to make a gap, was lashing out furiously with its
heels.

Görgei was the first man inside, but Nicholas Szondi and
I followed closely, while it seemed as if the whole regiment
was treading on our heels.

The Muscovite soldiers fought gallantly enough, but I
think they would not have lasted other ten minutes, when
a terrible misfortune happened to us.

The general, as I before remarked, was fighting like a
common trooper, and several Muscovites had already felt
the weight of his arm, when, suddenly slipping from his
saddle, he fell to the ground.

Instantly I jumped down and ran to him, while Szondi
and Mecsey Sándor, who, unknown to me, had joined in the
charge, kept off a crowd of foot-soldiers.

I raised Görgei in my arms.  His face was covered with
blood; he was quite insensible, or dead.

A trooper came to my assistance, and between us we
lifted him to his saddle.

All this time Nicholas Szondi and Sándor fought like
demons in order to preserve breathing space, and by the
time we got the general on his horse they were joined by
several others.

The trooper held Görgei while I remounted, then Szondi
joined me, and between us we cut our way through the
press.

The news of the disaster quickly spread, and the hussars,
disheartened by the loss of our gallant leader, drew off from
the fight.

On the other hand, the Muscovites, imbued with fresh
spirit, redoubled their efforts; the infantry resumed their
advance, firing volley after volley into our retreating
ranks.

Görgei made neither sound nor movement.  He sat
huddled up just as we placed him, and but for our support
would have fallen helpless.

Szondi looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head.
It was impossible for either of us to tell the extent of the
mischief.

We rode fast till we were out of the line of fire, and I
then suggested to my comrade that he should seek Klapka.

"He is in command now," I said, "and should be told
at once."

Szondi nodded, and asked if I could manage alone; but
the faithful Mecsey, who was close behind, volunteered to
take his place.

This he did; and while Szondi galloped off to find
Klapka, we proceeded with the general.

Everywhere now the battle was over, and the Muscovites
had again saved their allies from destruction.

But our men retreated in fairly good order, and it was
evident that, although Görgei had fallen, the army still
possessed a capable chief.

Halfway through the forest the surgeons had set up an
ambulance, and thither we took the general.

"Görgei?" cried the chief surgeon, when I told him
what had occurred.

"Here, Moritz!  Take him gently--so.  Now let us
see.  Plenty of blood, at all events.  Bring me some water.
Open his jacket, Moritz, and see if the heart beats.  Yes?
That takes a load off my mind.  Now to find the wound.
Ah!  I thought so.--Don't look so scared, Captain Botskay:
the general will be all right in a fortnight or so.  The
blow has made him senseless for a time, but there ought
not to be any real danger.  I would let the soldiers know,
if I were you; 'twill raise their spirits."

I started at once to find General Klapka, and on the
way spread the welcome intelligence far and wide.

The men cheered as heartily as if we had gained a
brilliant victory; for they looked on Görgei not only as
a general, but as a personal friend, and there were few
amongst them who would not willingly have given their
lives to save his.

General Klapka was busy directing the retreat, but he
found time to question me closely about his wounded chief,
and was unaffectedly glad on hearing the surgeon's report.

"Görgei is just the one man Hungary cannot afford to
lose," he said in his mild way, and turned again to his duties.

Having failed to stop the pursuit, the only course open
to us now was to fall back upon the entrenched camp
before Comorn, and this Klapka at once set about doing.

By nightfall we had completely abandoned the forest of
Acz, and the vanguard had taken up a strong position
several miles eastward.

I did not see Görgei again till the last man had turned
into the camp at Comorn, as Klapka kept me pretty busy
during the march; but I heard from time to time he was
progressing favourably, and that the doctors had no doubt
of his recovery.

It was strange to see him lying in his tent, his head
bandaged, his face white and bloodless, his body still.

"Ah, Botskay!" said he, smiling, when I went in the
first time, "I have to thank you.  Szondi's been here and
told me all about it.  Lucky for me that I took you away
from Rakoczy, eh?"

"Szondi had as much to do with it as I, general--more,
in fact, for he kept the Russians off while I picked you up.
There's a trooper, too, who--"

"Klapka saw to him--made him a sergeant.  There's
your man as well; what of him?  Would he like to have
the stripes?"

I shook my head smilingly.  To be a sergeant, Mecsey
would have to leave me, and this I was sure he would
not do.

"Never mind!" exclaimed the general.  "I'll find some
means of doing him a good turn.  He's a fine fellow, and
not over free with his tongue.  Well, it seems likely
you'll soon meet Rakoczy again."

"Is the old regiment coming to join us?" I asked
eagerly.

"No," said he; "but we are rapidly making our way
back to Pesth," and he looked at me with a faint
smile.

"We shall turn westward again soon," I exclaimed;
but he shook his head with the air of a man who had
no wish to disguise the truth from himself.

The very morning after this conversation a rumour
crept through the camp, though no one seemed able to
trace its origin, that Field-Marshal Paskewitch, driving
Moritz Perczel's troops before him like a flock of sheep,
had entered Debreczin in triumph.  In the men's presence
the truth of the story was contemptuously scouted, but
before night the officers of the staff were made aware that
for once rumour had not lied.

The great Russian army, under its famous chief, had
captured Kossuth's stronghold--the headquarters of
Hungarian republicanism.

This was a serious blow, and I did not wonder that our
leaders looked grave.

With Paskewitch at Debreczin, and Haynau forcing us
back upon Pesth, we were awkwardly placed, the more
especially as we could only look to ourselves for help.

But this peril was absolutely trivial compared with the
astounding information that Nicholas Szondi brought me
one morning.  I had been out all night seeking news of
the enemy's movements, and was breakfasting alone, when
my new crony joined me.

"Glad to see you busy," he said chaffingly.

I finished the steaming coffee made by the worthy
Sándor, and nodded.

"General better this morning?" I asked.

"Much.  Able to walk about and give directions.  Can't
ride yet, though; can't stand the jolting.  Going to have
another smack at the Austrians in a day or two--at least
that's what he intended; but I suppose it won't come off
now."

"Why not?" I asked curiously.

"Ah!" exclaimed my comrade eagerly, "I thought you
hadn't heard the news.  Count Beula's in the camp."

"Well?"

"Comes from the Diet, or Kossuth--one and the same
thing, I fancy--with a letter or proclamation, or whatever
you call it.  Expected to find Dembinski here, it appears."

"You make a first-class story-teller, Szondi, only you're
in such a dreadful hurry to get to the end.  Still, the
narrative's wonderfully exciting, so far."

"Keep your chaff, old fellow.  You'll find the finish
exciting enough."

"There is an end then?  That's something to be thankful for."

Szondi took no notice of the interruption, but continued
steadily,--

"This Count Beula, then, arrived last night, expecting
to find the Pole; but of course we knew nothing of
Dembinski."

"Not likely."

"He made himself very agreeable, and we had a pleasant
evening."

"While I was sitting on my horse's back for hours, like
a dummy!"

"Well," said Szondi, without even a smile, "that wouldn't
be such hard work--for you."

"Not half as difficult as listening to this story."

"The story?  Ah!  I'm just coming to the climax.
What do you think was in the letter that Beula brought
for Dembinski?"

"One of Kossuth's brand-new bank-notes."

"Don't talk rubbish, Botskay.  The letter is an official
document proclaiming Dembinski commander-in-chief, in
succession to Arthur Görgei, deposed."

"What?"

"Thought you'd get interested at the finish," said he,
laughing harshly.

"How have they wrapped it up?"

"You may be sure they've sugared the pill nicely.  His
wound's the excuse, and he's to be made war minister, or
something of that sort."

We looked hard at each other, and I saw my own
thoughts reflected in Szondi's eyes.

"All right," said he.  "I can tell we're both in one
mind, and we'll find a good many others to join us."

"All the staff for certain."

"And every man in the army.  Dembinski, indeed!"

"What does Klapka say?"

"He'll stick to Görgei through thick and thin; so will
Nagy Sándor.  I'm off now.  See you again this evening,
and tell you more about it."

Szondi's news soon spread amongst the officers, causing
the greatest consternation.

To remove Görgei was to take away the very life and
soul of the army.  To replace him by the Pole would be
rank folly.

As the day wore on, I became convinced that unless the
Diet--or Kossuth, as rightly or wrongly the officers would
have it--withdrew the order, there would be mischief.

Towards the end of the afternoon Szondi came to take
me to a meeting of the staff.

"The fellows are furious," he said, "and want to sign a
paper refusing to serve under any one but Görgei.  What's
your idea?"

"I'll put my name down fast enough."

"So will the others.  Then we'll take it to Klapka, and
he'll bring Kossuth, or whoever the mover of the affair is,
to reason.  Here we are at Mizvy's tent."

The discussion which took place was rather monotonous,
as every one spoke on the same side, and the keynote was
that Görgei should not go.

After that Mizvy drew up a counter-proclamation, and
I, being the youngest officer present, was invited to sign
first, which I did.  The others appended their signatures,
and then Mizvy was deputed to carry the document to
General Klapka, and explain matters.

"The general is sure to be with us," said one man, "but,
if he needs stiffening, tell him there isn't an officer in the
army who wouldn't gladly put his name to the paper."

"Nor a soldier either," added a second man.

"That will make some of them draw long faces over at
Pesth," said Szondi gaily.  "I don't think we shall hear
much more of Dembinski as commander-in-chief."

Szondi was right.  The Diet, interviewed by the two
generals, Klapka and Nagy Sándor, saw it had gone too
far; and Görgei was restored to his rank, almost without
knowing he had been deprived of it.  But the more I
looked at the incident the less I liked it.

Görgei was the great chief to whom all who did not
wish separation from Austria looked for guidance; and
the attempt to take him from the army showed very
clearly the wide gulf between the two sections of the
Hungarian nation.

Meanwhile, matters were becoming very serious in all
parts of the country.

In the south, Bern, who seemed to grow stronger after
each defeat, still made headway against the enemy, but
elsewhere our prospects were cheerless.

Field-Marshal Paskewitch was making a military
promenade with his army, and it was likely that we should
soon be crushed between him and Haynau.

Certainly our entrenchments were very strong, and every
day--for Görgei had a great belief in pick and spade--made
them stronger; but they could not keep out Haynau
and the Russians.

The chief was still prevented by his wound from riding
about; but he had long and anxious talks with Klapka,
and it was finally decided we should make one more
attempt to defeat the Austrians before Paskewitch could
send them help.

It was the tenth of July when this decision was made,
and none of the staff went to sleep that night till
everything had been put in trim for the approaching conflict.





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.. _`GÖRGEI FORGETS HIS WOUND`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII.

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   *GÖRGEI FORGETS HIS WOUND.*

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"It's make or break to-day, Botskay.  Of course we
shall keep on fighting, but unless our fellows smash
Haynau up our chance is gone."

Szondi and I were standing behind Görgei on a piece of
rising ground from which we could obtain a view of the
battle.  The chief's face showed how annoyed he was at
having to remain behind, and I nudged my comrade, who
shrugged his shoulders.

"Wound or no wound," he whispered, "if the fight goes
against us you'll see him in the thick of it.  Look!  He's
waving his hand to the hussars we charged with the other
day.  They'd be glad to have him at their head now."

Our hearts beat high as the cavalry passed in numerous
bodies, our hopes being largely placed on these gallant
fellows.

Klapka had posted twenty batteries in the forest of
Harkaly, and it was his plan, or rather Görgei's, by a
combined attack of infantry, horse, and artillery, to break
the Austrian centre, and push it back beyond the village
of Czern.

It was nine o'clock in the morning when the infantry
moved out, and very soon we heard the thunder of the
heavy guns.

This was the beginning; I asked myself what would
be the end.  The soldiers knew how much depended on
their exertions, and I judged by their set faces that
the enemy would have all their work cut out to beat
them.

Görgei stood looking intently through his glass, occasionally
giving a smile of satisfaction as the troops took up
their positions.

"It ought to answer," he muttered.  "Upon my word,
I believe we shall beat them; Klapka's handling his men
beautifully.  They want more guns, though, on the right.
Szondi, tell Benitzky to move some of his guns to the
edge of the forest.--Botskay, ride to General Klapka,
and wait to see what happens in the centre.  Come back
the instant he drives the Austrians from the village.--Mizvy,
tell Prince Leiningen to hold--"

I did not hear the rest, being already on my way to
General Klapka.

The battle was now in full swing, but the thick volumes
of smoke made it difficult to see what was going on.

Soon I met wounded men dropping to the rear, and
from one of them gathered that the Austrian centre was
getting a terrific pounding.

"They'll have to go, captain," said the man.  "Flesh
and blood can't stand it much longer."

After giving him a drink from my flask, I rode on,
finding myself at length amongst Klapka's staff.

I delivered my message to the general, who said
smilingly, "I don't think you will have long to wait;" and
turning to one of his officers, he sent him off somewhere
with an order.

Everything around me was bustle and excitement.  Men
came and went in endless succession, and almost without a
pause.

One young fellow, whose horse's nostrils were laced
with foam, dashed up at a gallop, and saluted with his
left arm, his right being shattered by a musket-ball.

The general said something to him, but he shook his
head, smiled gaily, and was off again in spite of his broken
limb.

Meanwhile the fight in the centre was fast approaching
a crisis.

That the Austrians would break I felt sure, my only
wonder being how they had managed to hold out so long.

Shot and shell made gaps in their ranks, a fearful
musketry fire swept them away in scores, while hussars
and dragoons thundered down upon them almost without
intermission.

As the wounded Magyar had said, flesh and blood could
not stand it much longer, and Klapka's keen eye saw that
the critical moment had arrived.

Another officer darted off like lightning; and we, looking
on, saw our cavalry draw up in one immense body.

We could not hear, but we knew they were cheering,
and then we watched them move forward.

Walk, trot, gallop!  It was a superb spectacle as the
sun shone down on the beautiful horses, the forest of
glittering swords, the lithe and muscular horsemen.

We held our breath as they flew over the ground, and
in our intense excitement almost felt the shock as they
crashed into the enemy.

So certain was the result that I asked Klapka's
permission to follow, knowing how eager Görgei would be to
learn every detail.

As I expected, that last charge broke the Austrian
centre through and through; and the men who had
stood up so bravely against the pick of our army were
thoroughly beaten.

Back they went, helter-skelter, anyhow--men and guns
and horses all mixed together!

Here half a company; there part of a squadron; yonder
a field-gun, the horses clattering and tearing along like
mad.

Back they went pell-mell into their lines, into the
village, and through it; at which I turned my horse's
head, and rode, cheering like a maniac, to Görgei.

"Make or break," Szondi had said.  Well, we were
made, and the Austrians were broken.

Good little horse!  On you go, straight as the crow
flies.  Never mind obstacles.  We'll think of these
to-morrow; for we're carrying good news, my beauty.

Cheer, my lads!  You have the right.  There's the
general!  How pleased he will be at the news!

I dashed up, breathless, while my horse trembled all over.

"Czern is ours, sir!" I panted.  "The Austrians are in
flight!"

There were several officers near, but my head was so
dizzy that I could scarcely distinguish them.

One, whom I took to be Szondi, then helped me to dismount.

The ride, the excitement, and possibly an accidental
blow, though I could not remember one, had made me
feel quite strange.

The men around me became shadowy figures, their
conversation mere disjointed scraps, such as, "Klapka--key
of position--pay for Acz--Vienna--next to Görgei,"
which I heard without understanding.

Then Szondi put a flask to my lips, and I took a deep
draught of something which stopped the shivering in my
limbs, and enabled me to stand firm.

A messenger had arrived from Klapka.  He was telling
the story of the Austrian flight, but with more detail, and
our general's face beamed with delight.

Some of the officers had disappeared; others remained;
and these, like the general, were filled with joy.

Into the huge gap which I had seen made our fellows
were pouring at the double, and the battlefield rang with
shouts of victory.

I had put my arm through the bridle, and stood leaning
against a hillock of sand, waiting for the next order.

Suddenly there came the sound of a report so tremendous
that the earth shook, and we gazed at one another
aghast.

Again and again it broke forth, while the field was
hidden from sight by dense curtains of thick smoke.

At a word from the general Szondi darted off, but
almost before he had gone a mounted officer dashed up
to us.

He came from Klapka, and told his tale briefly.

Every man and every gun of the Austrian reserve,
every man and every gun of the Russian division, had
been flung across the path of our victorious columns.

Eighty pieces of cannon were vomiting death; thousands
of rifles were pouring deadly volleys into our vanguard.

What the Austrians had suffered during the earlier part
of the morning our people were suffering now, only on a
more fearful scale.

Yet we gathered from the messenger that they had not
retreated a foot, though it was impossible for them to
advance.

Our sole hope now lay in Prince Leiningen and the
reserve which he commanded.

Klapka had already sent to him, and now Szondi
returned with the information that the prince was advancing
with reckless bravery against the Austrian left.

Görgei could no longer contain himself.  Go forward he
must; go forward he would; and if his wound burst out
afresh and killed him, as the doctors feared, well--he
would not be the only man to die!

I jumped into the saddle and went with the others.

The awful cannonade continued without intermission,
and every man who had ever seen a battle felt his
heart sink at the thought of the havoc it was committing.

But we did not altogether ride without hope.  Another
messenger had found the general to tell him that the
gallant Leiningen had broken the Austrian left, and we
cheered the news heartily.

The story of the fight, as it thus came to us piecemeal,
was a succession of ups and downs.

Ill news, it is said, travels apace; and hardly had we
finished cheering when a fresh officer brought word that
the Russians, by a sharp manoeuvre, had trained their guns
on our reserve, and were decimating it.

Perhaps it was as well that those who forced us to
waste those precious weeks before the arrival of the
Russians were not on the battlefield outside Comorn.

At the Waag, at Acz, and now here, the Muscovites had
actually snatched victory from our grasp.

As we plunged together into the conflict the soldiers
caught sight of their gallant leader, and for a moment
ceased fighting, while they rent the air with shouts of
"Görgei!  Görgei!"

Had it been possible to save the battle, the presence of
this one man would have accomplished the feat; but it
was not.

The men died willingly enough, but they could not
advance in face of those awful guns.

In vain our artillerymen worked at their batteries like
slaves, vainly footmen and cavalry threw themselves
against the solid mass; they came back every time baffled,
broken, and in sadly-diminished numbers.

Of my personal share in the fight there is little to tell.

Görgei, forgetful of his wound, threw himself into the
thick of it, and where he went I followed.

Now we charged at the head of a shattered remnant of
a cavalry regiment; again we were in the midst of an
infantry square, encouraging the men to stand firm; then
we were making a desperate attempt on a battery.

The staff had their fill of fighting for once, but to no
avail.

Even Görgei acknowledged the truth at last, and
reluctantly gave the order to withdraw.

We were fairly beaten, but not routed; and the enemy
had been too severely handled to follow up their success.

Taking our wounded, we retired slowly, the men, in
spite of their terrible punishment, being unwilling to
leave the field.

I had lost sight of Szondi in the heat of the conflict,
but he returned later to the entrenchments unhurt, save
for an odd scratch or two of little account.

Fortune had dealt less kindly with several of our
comrades, and we missed more than one familiar face.

"That's the worst bout I've ever been in," said Szondi.
"I thought at one time not a man would come out alive."

"We might as well have stayed out there," said Mizvy
gruffly.  "The game's up."

"Oh, come!" I cried cheerfully.  "It surely isn't as bad
as that!"

"Well, my young wiseacre, if you can show me one
single loophole, you've more brains than I ever gave you
credit for."

There was a laugh at this, but Mizvy went on sulkily,
"We can't stay here--that's certain; and where are we to
go?  It will take 20,000 men to garrison Comorn, and
what's Görgei to do with the rest?  Fight Haynau and
Paskewitch together?"

"There's our army in the south," I began, but Mizvy
pulled me up.

"Army in the south!" he echoed scornfully; "why,
Bern, brave old fellow as he is, can hardly hold his own
head above water!"

"But there's Dembinski.  He'll make a big effort to
join us."

Mizvy looked at me with a grin.  "Dembinski's off to
Szegedin with the Diet," he said.  "It's a handy place to
slip over into Turkey from, when the crash comes."

Several of the officers cried "Shame!" but Mizvy took
this mark of displeasure with admirable coolness.

"All right," he said quietly.  "But just wait till any
of those fellows venture north."

"What then?" I asked, laughing.

"Why, then you can sew me up in a sack and drop me
into any river that's handy!"

"We'll do that with pleasure," said Szondi.  "But
there's the general beckoning to you."

Mizvy took himself off, but he left an unpleasant
sensation behind him.

He was a level-headed man, with plenty of shrewd
sense, and having no prejudices to warp his judgment.

I am not sure that personally he cared the toss of a
button for either Görgei or Kossuth, the constitution of
'48, or independence; but he was a thorough soldier, and
did care very much about beating the enemy.

In his eyes, a man's chief if not sole merit lay in his
ability to win battles, and I remember hearing him more
than once unfold his pet theory about the treatment of
generals.

Mizvy had little sympathy with unsuccessful leaders,
and his scheme would hardly have proved popular amongst
men of weak minds; yet, as Szondi often pointed out to
scoffers, promotion would become rapid.

The foundation of the theory was that no responsible
officer should ever be beaten; if he so far forgot himself,
the authorities were to have him shot, and give his
command to another.

"Cruel?" growled Mizvy, when a listener offered that
objection.  "Not half as cruel as the present system.  It
would soon weed out all the duffers, and the peacocks,
whose only idea of soldiering is to strut about in gold
lace.  Now, here's a fellow--goodness knows where he
comes from, but he has influence; give him a brigade,
and set him to do something.  Back he comes in a day or
two with a handful of men; the enemy has accounted for
the others.  He wouldn't do that trick often, if you shot
him the first time.  Think a second duffer would want to
fill the vacancy?  Hardly.  None but the best men would
try to get the pick of the berths in my army, I can tell
you."

Mizvy was not exactly popular with his fellows, but
he was a man whose opinions claimed some attention,
and his remarks concerning our allies were far from
comforting.

We did not dream for an instant, of course, that any of
them would be frightened, but at the same time there
were various little matters concerning which we felt
doubtful.

Nicholas Szondi summed up the case very clearly.

"There's no question of Bern's courage," he said, "or of
Dembinski's either; but we needn't pretend they're in love
with Görgei, or he with them.  Now, if we joined forces--and
that's the only way to save Hungary--we should only
want one chief."

"Well, Görgei isn't likely to yield his command to the
Poles."

"Just so; and they won't be too eager to serve under
him.  That's where the difficulty lies."

"If old Mizvy's plan were in working order," said one
man lazily, "'twould save a lot of bother at present."

"We certainly shouldn't suffer from having too many
generals."

Szondi agreed laughingly.  "Görgei and Klapka look
very solemn over there."

"They're discussing the new plans, and it's my belief
we shall find Mizvy wasn't far out in his forecast."

That same night our general told us he had resolved on
retreating to Waitzen with a portion of the army, while
Klapka, with 76 guns and 18,000 men, was to throw
himself into Comorn.

I now learned that one Austrian army corps was
marching straight on Pesth, from which our troops had
withdrawn, and I looked forward with pleasure to again
meeting my old friends of the 9th Honved regiment.

Since joining the staff I had not heard from Rakoczy,
but as there had been no fighting at the capital I
concluded he was still alive and well.

Early on the morning succeeding the stubborn fight
we said farewell to our friends in Klapka's division, and
before it was really light began the march.

Two days later, having picked up various bodies of
troops on the route, we halted a few hours' distance from
Waitzen.

Here the 9th Honveds were assembled, and as soon as
the general had finished with me, I rushed off to find
Rakoczy.

I really don't know which of us was the more pleased
at the meeting, though the genial colonel could not forego
his chaff, and pretended it was a great honour to receive a
visit from one of the staff.  Then he took me into his tent
and sent for Dobozy, from whom I had another warm
welcome.

"The accounts from the front frightened us a bit," said
Dobozy.  "We began to think you would have been better
off in Pesth."

"Been pretty warm, hasn't it?" asked Rakoczy.  "But
there, you shall tell us all about it.  You must be getting
pretty used to playing a losing game by now, eh?"

"Still, I don't know that I like it any better than at
first.  By the way, have you seen Count Beula lately?"

"Cleared out the same time as Kossuth.  Paid you a
visit at Raab, didn't he?"

"Yes, with a proclamation from the Diet in his pocket.
But I had better begin at the beginning, and tell you the
story properly."

"Much better.  Make yourself comfortable.  You may
be sure of an interested audience, though a small one."

He was right in that remark, for both he and Dobozy
listened most attentively, only interrupting by an
occasional exclamation.

"You certainly can't complain of having been dull
yonder," said Rakoczy at the finish.

"Did you kill that Von Theyer fellow?" asked Dobozy.

"I hope not, though I'm afraid he got a nasty slash
across the face."

"Pity that, being a handsome sort of chap.  'Twill spoil
his beauty."

"In that case," said the colonel, "our friend Botskay
must take care of himself.  This Von Theyer, though a
splendid soldier, is vainer than any woman, and he won't
easily forgive the man who disfigured him."

"Aren't we getting on a bit too fast?  The fellow may
be dead and buried, for aught I know.  When our troopers
came back from the Russian guns, they didn't give me too
much time for investigation."

"That Russian division seems to be the mainstay of
the army."

"It has been, so far; but now tell me what you've
been doing in Pesth."

"Putting the regiment straight again," said the colonel.

"And forming guards of honour," added Dobozy.
"We've had a very pleasant and agreeable time."

"A wonder you left."

"We had such very pressing invitations to leave that
the colonel could hardly refuse.  The Diet, you know, has
gone to Szegedin with the army of the north."

"Yes.  We heard that."

"Well, directly Haynau had you beaten up yonder, he
sent an army corps hot-foot for Pesth.  At the same time
Paskewitch dispatched a Russian corps from the east, and
we thought it time to move."

"How was it you didn't go south with the others?"

"Because, fortunately, we had orders to join Görgei
here."

"Shall we make a stand at Waitzen?"

The colonel shook his head.  "May stay for a bit of a
fight," he replied.  "Nothing more."

"Then what do you think Görgei will do?"

"Retreat through the mountains, and threaten to strike
at Galicia.  That will bring Paskewitch back in double
quick time, and Dembinski will have only the Austrians
to tackle.  Oh, we shall lead them a lively dance yet!"

"If we aren't caught here," said Dobozy, "which seems
rather likely."

"I see you are still wearing the baron's ring," remarked
Rakoczy, as I rose to go.

"Yes.  I thought it would be as safe on my finger as
anywhere else, till I am able to take it to Vienna."

"Unless you happen to be badly wounded and left on the
field.  There are a good many prowlers who would willingly
finish you for the sake of a stone like that."

"They would be counting without Mecsey Sándor, who
follows me everywhere like a dog; but I really must go
now.  We shall move again at daybreak;" and, bidding
my two friends good-bye, I walked across to the general's
quarters.

The first man I met was Nicholas Szondi, who had just
returned from a long ride with Nagy Sándor.

"Better get a bit of supper and a nap while you've the
chance," he said.  "We're likely to be off before long."

"Anything serious?"

"Only that the Russian cavalry are close at hand."

"Then we're in for another fight?"

"I expect so, unless the general prefers to run."

Taking my comrade's advice, I had some supper; and
wrapping my mantle around me, I lay down to snatch an
hour's sleep.





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   CHAPTER XIX.

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   *SENT SCOUTING.*

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As Szondi had predicted, reveille sounded before day had
fairly broken, and an hour after dawn the whole
army moved to the ridge of low hills outside the town
of Waitzen.

Here we halted, and immediately set to work making
our position as strong as possible.  The artillery was
posted on the hills, earthworks were hastily thrown up,
extra ammunition was served out, and everything prepared
to give the enemy a warm reception.

Most of the work was finished when Görgei's scouts
came in with the information that the Russian cavalry,
supported by an infantry brigade, was approaching.

"They're just come to have a look," said Szondi cheerfully.
"They aren't likely to attack till their main body
arrives."

This was the general opinion, and we could hardly
believe our senses when the Russians were seen preparing
for an assault.  I suppose it was a very gallant action, but
it certainly had not the slightest chance of success from
the beginning.

On our side the battle was fought by the artillery, and
the bravest cannot stand before a cannon-ball.

Again and again the Russians charged desperately, only
to be hurled back in utter confusion; and at length their
leader admitted his mistake by drawing his men off altogether.

"So far, so good," remarked Rakoczy, with whom I
spent half an hour that evening, "but we mustn't expect
to win so easily to-morrow."

"I thought we should probably slip away during the
night."

"That's possible, of course; but I fancy Görgei intends
trying to hold the town.  However, we shall see before
long."

The Russians had been so badly beaten that they made
no further effort to molest us, and the night passed away
peacefully.

Nor did they renew the struggle in the early morning,
but waited for the arrival of the main body, which had
made a forced march of eight German or forty English
miles in twelve hours.

"They make a fine show," exclaimed Szondi, as we stood
on a hill with the general, watching the heads of the
columns as they approached.

"They make stubborn fighters," growled Mizvy.

"Just like dogs," added another fellow: "as long as you
whistle them on, they'll go."

These Muscovites were indeed wonderful soldiers, and
far different from our own men.

The Magyars were full of fire and dash.  They rushed
to death with a cheer and a shout, or to the rattle of a
song.  When the warning blast rang out, their faces flushed,
their eyes burned with a fiery glow, the hot blood sped
more swiftly through their veins--they were real live
human beings.

On the other hand, it seemed to us, as we gazed from
the hill, that there were no individual Russians--only
companies, or regiments, or brigades.

It was a weird sight to witness one of these regiments,
compact and grey-coated, come gliding up towards the
guns.

As Szondi put it, one forgot the men in watching the
movements of the machine.

It advanced silently, steadily, and in one piece; it--not
they--moved faster; suddenly a curious shiver passed
through it, a curtain of smoke was spread over it, and
presently you saw the one piece, only very much smaller,
moving back again, leaving bits of grey lying here and
there, as if chipped from the mass.

Farther along, another machine, similarly constructed,
was going through exactly the same performance, becoming
smaller in the same manner.

One such I saw more distinctly still, having carried a
message from the general to the artillery chief just as it
approached.

The fate of that regiment was so terrible that even
now I sometimes shudder at the remembrance.

Like the others, it came on regularly and without
noise.  The great guns at my feet roared out as if in
fright; the smoke cleared away, showing the grey mass
diminished in size, but nearer; the guns cried out again,
the smoke-cloud settled and lifted, discovering the grey
mass very much smaller, but still moving nearer, until at
length it reached the very muzzles of the guns, and
then--well, then it simply vanished!

Some parts of it doubtless returned in safety, though to
me, watching from behind the cannon, it seemed as if the
whole body had been swept away.

Yet, although the Russians lost men so terribly, it
was plain that in the end they would be able to oust
us from our position, and our chief began to make
arrangements for the retreat.  Owing to this, I saw little
more of the battle, having been sent into Waitzen by the
general.

Here, while our comrades held the Muscovites back,
we were sending off the sick and wounded, provisions,
ammunition, and the troops that could be spared from the
fighting.

From time to time we heard news of the combat, which
grew fiercer with every hour; yet, in spite of the most
furious assaults, the Magyars stood their ground.

"The men must hold the field till dark," was the
order passed round to the different leaders; and Görgei
knew that, whatever happened, it would be obeyed.

During the early part of the afternoon the noise of the
battle died away, but the lull was only for a time.  The
uproar began again, increased in volume, and came so near
to us in the town that we thought the enemy had carried
the defences.

They had indeed got to hand-to-hand fighting, being
repulsed only after a desperate encounter.

How our poor fellows out there on the ridges must have
prayed for the coming of night!

Meanwhile, carts and wagons were rolling through the
town and away into the mountainous country beyond.

Once riding out with some special message to the general,
I found him standing with his arms behind his back and
his head bent forward, surveying the fight.

The bullets were dropping around, but of these he took
no notice, though two of the staff had already been seriously
hurt.

"Lucky fellow!" remarked Szondi, as I repassed him on
my way back.  "You're well out of it;" and, seeing how
the general was exposing himself, I thought so too.

I could not see the 9th Honveds--they were somewhere
on the left--but I earnestly hoped my two friends were safe.

Once more the fury of the battle lessened.  It was
growing dusk, and even had the light lasted, neither
side could have fought much longer.

The Russians naturally were the more fatigued, but
when the last shot was fired many of our own fellows
sank down exhausted.

Yet the general could grant them but small time for rest.

Many, indeed, tired and hungry as they were, marched
straight off the ground.  All the night through, the streets
of Waitzen echoed to the tramp of infantry, the rumbling
of baggage-wagons, the clatter of horses' feet, and the roll
of artillery.

Hour after hour, while the Muscovites lay wrapped in
peaceful slumber, the sad procession filed through the town,
and daylight revealed to the astonished enemy only an
abandoned camp.

It was night before I learned anything of Rakoczy; and
then, to my great joy, I discovered that both he and
Dobozy were unhurt.

Our position had now become practically hopeless.

The allies had joined hands in the centre of the country,
while our armies were scattered in all directions, and
completely out of touch one with the other.

Bern still battled hard in Transylvania; Dembinski was
on the borders of Croatia; while we, trudging through the
lower spurs of the Carpathians, were separated from both
by over 100,000 veterans.

Rakoczy and a few of his stamp still put on a brave
show, talked cheerily to their men, and prophesied that
Dembinski was about to do great things; but most of the
officers privately admitted that our final defeat was certain.

Görgei himself shared this view, though it did not
prevent him from doing all in his power to avert the
calamity.

"We're bound to draw the Russians after us," he said
cheerfully, "and that will take them from Dembinski's
shoulders.  If only we can outmarch the Russians and
join the Pole anywhere near Debreczin, there may still be
a chance."

But could we?

That was a question time alone could answer.

One corps was toiling hard after us through the mountains,
but what was Paskewitch doing with the rest of his army?

One morning, about the fifth day of the retreat, the
general suddenly told me to go and find where the Russian
chief was, and what he was doing.

"The reports of the scouts are very unsatisfactory," he
said.  "I can't make head or tail of them.  Just find out
all you can for yourself, and catch me up at Miskolcz."

Taking Mecsey Sándor with me, as he knew the country
much better than I did, I started immediately, being in a
short time out of sight and sound of the retreating army.

Knowing that Paskewitch had stopped his southward
march, we concluded he would try to prevent Görgei
crossing the Theiss.

My best course evidently was to ride due south,
questioning the country people as I passed.

"We shall learn something at Gyongyos," said Mecsey,
"and we ought to reach there by nightfall."

It was a dreary and disheartening journey.  Of men
we saw hardly a sign; only women and children remained
in the little villages, or worked hard in the fields to save
the ripening crops from destruction.

These poor people could tell me nothing of the enemy.
They only knew that their own men-folk were far away
fighting for the land of their birth, or haply already lying
at peace beneath the sod.

Evening fell before we reached Gyongyos, but I resolved
to push on in the gathering darkness, although Mecsey
very much doubted if we could find the way.

At the village of Kis-Palaty we learned that the Russians
were in the neighbourhood, but whether they constituted
an army or only a scouting party it was hard to tell.

Here, as elsewhere, the population consisted of women
and children, and a few old men who shook their heads
sadly, and mumbled words that had no meaning.

After a long talk with the most intelligent of the
women, I came to the conclusion that the enemy were
simply a cavalry detachment out scouting.  Then came
the question what was best to be done.

It seemed equally dangerous to go or stay, and I was
still turning the question over in my mind when a man
on a splendid horse galloped up to the inn door.

His speech told me he was a Magyar, and by his dress
I judged him to be a servant in some nobleman's family.

At first he glanced at us suspiciously; but, discovering
I was an officer in Görgei's army, he became very friendly,
and answered my questions readily enough.

"You cannot venture into Gyongyos," he said.  "The
town is filled with Russians.  The general is there with
his principal officers, but I hear they start for Kapolna in
the morning."

"Will they come this way?"

The Magyar shook his head.  "No," he replied; "I wish
they would.  It would keep them clear of my master's estate."

"Is your master with our army?"

"Alas, no!  My sweet master is a cripple, paralyzed.
He never leaves the house.  But why not ride there with
me?  The count, my master, is a great patriot, and will
make you welcome."

"But it might lead him into trouble."

"Not at all.  The Russians are not likely to pay us a
visit.  If they do, we can easily hide you."

"And Paskewitch will march that way?"

"The Russian general?  Yes; the highroad passes the
edge of the pine-wood.  You had better come.  The count
thinks a great deal of General Görgei, and will be delighted
to see one of his officers."

"You have not told me who your master is."

"Count Arnim Kemeny."

"Well, Mecsey," I said, "what do you think?  Shall we
be likely to run the count into any danger?"

"How?  The Russians will be gone to-morrow."

"Then if you will ride on," I said to the servant, "we
will follow."

"In one minute.  I have a little business to transact
first," and making a respectful bow, he went into the house.

"All right, Mecsey?" I asked.

My servant tapped his pistol significantly.  "I'm sorry
for our friend if it isn't," he answered.

When the count's man came out again it was quite
dark, and we had some difficulty in following him over the
execrable roads.  It was even worse when, leaving the
highway, he struck across country; but after a couple of
hours' hard riding we arrived at his master's residence.

We rode into the courtyard amidst the barking of
numerous dogs; but the servant silenced them, and several
men came running quickly to take charge of our horses.

Then our guide led the way to the front of the house,
and ushered us into a small room which served as an ante-chamber.

"I go to inform my mistress," he said, and in two or
three minutes there entered the room one of the loveliest
women in Hungary.  She was a brunette, with a
complexion so clear that the warm blood could be seen beneath
the delicate skin.  Her hair was beautifully wavy, her
eyes were large and shaded with long, silky lashes, her lips
red as a rose, her teeth glistened like pearls.

She greeted me with ease and graciousness, and I knew
in a moment that the welcome was a genuine one.

"I must apologize for my husband," she said sweetly.
"He is, alas! an invalid, and I must welcome the guests of
the house."

"It is I who should apologize for thus intruding," I
replied, "but that I see it will not be necessary.  I am
George Botskay, a captain in the army commanded by
General Görgei.  This is my servant, and we are in the
neighbourhood on special duty."

"Exactly," said my hostess, "and you must be in need
of refreshment.  Supper is almost ready, and meanwhile
you would like to go to your room."

Mecsey was now handed over to the care of our guide,
and a servant conducted me to a bedroom, where I was
able to make myself more presentable.

The house was a one-storied building, very similar to
my own at Gyula--built on much the same plan, but
rather more extensive.

After I had washed and dressed, a servant showed me
to the dining-room--a fine, spacious apartment, the walls
of which were hung with pictures painted by Hungarian
artists.

As before, the countess stepped forward, smiling, and
led me to her husband.

"Arnim dear," said she sweetly, "this is Captain Botskay,
whom a lucky chance has sent us as a guest."

While she spoke, I gazed with the deepest emotion at
the count.

He partly sat, partly reclined in a wheeled chair drawn
close to the table.

He was a wonderfully handsome and athletic-looking
man, with a massive, well-shaped head firmly set on broad,
sturdy shoulders.  His face was frank and open, his eyes
smiled, though with a suggestion of sadness, his mouth was
firm, his chin square and determined.

I pictured him charging at the head of a squadron of
horse, and thought what a magnificent cavalry leader he
would make.  As it happened, the poor fellow could not
cross the room, could not put foot to the ground, could not
move a single muscle of his legs; from the waist
downwards he was practically dead.  Yet he made no moan,
no complaint, but once, and then it was to regret that his
infirmity prevented him from joining Görgei.

"Forgive my apparent lack of courtesy, Captain Botskay,"
said he; "but I am somewhat of an invalid, and my wife
kindly does the honours of the house in my stead."

"I shall not readily forget madam's kindness," I replied.

"Nay," answered the countess, "it is we who are your
debtors, since you will be able to tell my husband the
truth about the war; but first we will have supper," and
she rang the bell.

I was certainly very hungry, and did ample justice to
the good things placed before me, while the pleasure was
heightened by the appearance of the table with its cloth
of snowy whiteness, beautifully-cut glasses, nicely-chased
silver, and tastefully-arranged flowers.

This was unusual experience for a soldier in Görgei's
army while on active service.

It was delightful also to watch how fondly my hostess
waited on her crippled husband, how swift she was to
anticipate his wants, how lovingly she performed every
little service--every action showing how thoroughly the
invalid was centered in her heart.

Then, when we rose from the table, it was her hand that
guided his chair into the drawing-room; her pretty fingers
that made him comfortable; her eyes that looked lovingly
into his, questioning if there was aught else that could be
done for him.

On his part, the count worshipped this beautiful woman
who thought only of him.  His eyes followed her
everywhere; and when, drawing forward a cosy chair, she sat
down beside him, his face lit up with a smile of sweet
content.

Of course I was pleased to find the count was of my
way of thinking, and had no sympathy with the republican party.

He listened with the greatest interest to the story of the
campaign, and asked several questions which showed he
was not ignorant of military matters.

"Görgei has made a wonderful fight of it," he remarked;
"but, in my opinion, he can do very little more.  This
Field-Marshal Paskewitch is a clever general, and, from
what I hear, he has an overwhelming number of men."

"That is what I wish to find out.  Your man tells me
they will be en route again to-morrow."

"Nicholas is generally right, and in that case you will
have a fine chance of obtaining your information with
little risk.  A quarter of a mile away the wood stretches
right down to the main road.  The trees are close together,
and just now, of course, are in full leaf.  One in particular,
which we generally speak of as the Eagle's Nest, would
afford you fine shelter, and from it you could see everything
which passed.  It will be a tedious affair, but--"

"Oh, that's nothing!" I exclaimed quickly.  "The only
thing I'm afraid of is a chance visit of the enemy to you.
My horse would tell tales, and there is my man to be considered."

The count looked at his wife and smiled.

"Do not fear for us," said she.  "We have hiding-places
here that would not be discovered even if they burned the
house down."

"The trappings of the horses can be put in one of these,"
added the count, "and in case of danger we can put your
servant there as well."

"But if they find me in the Eagle's Nest?"

"They will shoot you and ask no questions, so I hope
you'll not be discovered."

After a little further conversation it was arranged that
my host's servant should call me at daybreak, and take
me to the Eagle's Nest before the Russians began their
march.

Mecsey was to remain at the house, as he could not be
of any use in the tree, and might possibly do harm by
attracting attention.

Having settled this matter, we sat chatting another
hour, when my host said pleasantly, "Captain, I am going
to play the commanding officer and order you to bed.  As
it is, you will have a short rest, while there is a heavy
day's work in front of you.  Of course, if I considered
myself only, I should wish the pleasure of your company
half the night."

"It's very kind of you," I answered, "and really I would
rather sit here and talk, but I might feel drowsy to-morrow."

"And we do not wish you to fall out of the Eagle's
Nest," said my hostess merrily.

"I fear the general would obtain little information from
me afterwards."

Bidding them good-night, I went to my room, and once
more enjoyed the luxury of lying down in a real bed.

As the count had observed, there was not much time
for sleep, and a portion of that I wasted thinking of my
host's terrible affliction and his wife's goodness.

Then, too, I wondered how the next day's adventure
would turn out, and whether Görgei had been forced to
stand at bay again.

At length my brain ceased working, and I fell into a
sound sleep.





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   CHAPTER XX.

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   *NEARLY CAPTURED.*

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I seemed to have slept scarcely five minutes when a
knocking at the door wakened me, and I rubbed my
eyes dreamily.

It was Nicholas, with the information that breakfast was
ready; so, jumping out of bed, I quickly washed and
dressed.

In spite of the early hour, the countess had risen to see
that I had a comfortable meal, and to wish me success in
my enterprise.

While I ate she superintended the packing of a wallet
which was to bear me company to the Eagle's Nest, and
for which, later in the day, I felt very grateful.

After a hearty breakfast I thanked my kind hostess
again, and promising, if all went well, to return at dusk,
joined Nicholas, who had slung the wallet over his shoulder.

The faithful Mecsey was waiting in one of the rooms
through which we passed, and he begged very hard to go
with me.

I would have taken him gladly, but he could do no good.
There was no question of fighting or even of strategy.  I
had simply to sit in a tree and watch.

Nothing could save me if the Russians discovered I was
there; if they did not, I was perfectly safe.

Mecsey was shrewd enough to see the reasonableness of
this, but he had attached himself so strongly to my fortunes
that he hated the idea of my going into possible danger
alone.

He yielded at last, however, kissed my hand, and stood
on the top of the steps gazing mournfully at me as I
trudged off with Nicholas.

The new day was breaking gloriously as we entered the
wood; hundreds of songsters carolled gaily, and the
undergrowth was alive with game.

"Your master has plenty of shooting," I remarked to my
companion.

"Ah!" replied he, with a wise shake of the head, "the
count has been a mighty hunter.  But we must hurry; it
will be broad daylight soon, and you must be in the Nest
before then."

Accordingly we walked faster, Nicholas leading me by
tracks well known to him and the rest of the count's
household.

At last he stopped and, pointing to a giant tree,
exclaimed, "There is the Eagle's Nest!  Near the top you
will find a snug sitting-place formed by the branches, which
will give you a splendid view of the highroad."

He took off the wallet, strapped it on my back, and
waited to see me climb the tree.

I had done little climbing for years, and the unusual
exercise made my muscles ache; but I had not altogether
lost my old skill, and gradually mounted to the spot which
Nicholas had described.  Perhaps it was a trifle less
comfortable than his memory pictured, but in one matter at
any rate he had been right--there was a splendid view of
the route the Russians must take if they were trying
to prevent Görgei from crossing the Theiss.

I removed the wallet, and fastened it carefully to one of
the branches; then I took out the notebook which Count
Kemeny had provided, and waited.

An hour passed uneventfully, and then in the west there
rose up a cloud of dust, which swept towards me at a rapid
pace.

It was a body of cavalry--Cossack irregulars, by the
look of them--mounted on shaggy, little horses and armed
with long lances.

I caught a glimpse as they dashed up, a fuller one as
they passed beneath me; then the sand-cloud swept on to
the east, and the van of the Russian army vanished in the
distance.

Those rough, uncouth riders formed the head of a
procession that occupied all the day in filing past.

It was a splendid spectacle, but my eyes grew tired of
gazing at it.

Provision-wagons, baggage, ammunition, and stores were
followed by field-guns, large masses of infantry, hussars,
lancers, and dragoons; then more guns, wagons,
foot-soldiers, and cavalry in what promised to be an
interminable succession.

As they passed I calculated their numbers, making my
entries accordingly; while, about noon, a sudden stoppage
of the procession gave me a capital opportunity of
investigating the interior of the wallet.

The halt lasted two hours, when the march began again,
and evening had fallen before the last stragglers went by.

Then I put away my notebook, strapped the empty
wallet to my back, and prepared to descend.

I moved very slowly and with the utmost caution, as my
limbs were terribly cramped, and I was half afraid of
missing my footing and slipping to the bottom.

However, I succeeded, and found Nicholas ready to pilot
me back to the house.

"Your master has not been troubled by the Russians?"
I asked.

"A friendly visit from half a dozen officers," replied he;
"nothing more."

"And Mecsey Sándor?"

"Kept in the background while they stayed."

Mecsey ran out from the courtyard at my approach to
make sure I had returned unhurt; but once certain of that,
he became stolid as ever.

"Get the horses saddled," I said, before entering the
house.  "We shall start soon."

"Not to-night, captain, surely?" cried my hostess, whom
I had not noticed standing on the steps.  "The count will
be so disappointed.  He has reckoned so much on your
company this evening."

"And I would very much like to stay; but in a matter
of duty a soldier has no choice."

"That is what Arnim feared you would say.  However,
you cannot go until after dinner."

"It's rather a queer way of entertaining one's guest,"
laughed the count as we entered--"to set him on a perch
all day long.  I hope you have not suffered martyrdom in
vain?"

"No.  Thanks to your kindness, I can take the general
the fullest particulars of the enemy's force."

"And Captain Botskay wishes to go at once," said my
hostess.

The count sighed.  "We must not keep him," he said.
"His information may be of the utmost importance to the
general.  But you will dine before going, captain, will
you not?"

Now to this I readily consented, as it gave me a little
further time with my host, for whom I was beginning to
feel a warm friendship.

After dinner I sat half an hour longer, while Mecsey got
the horses ready, and then I was reluctantly compelled to
say farewell.

"Take care of yourself," said the count, "and come and
see us whenever you have a chance.  We are rather lonely
here."

"Good-bye, Captain Botskay," said his wife; "and I hope
sincerely that no harm will come to you in this cruel war."

I promised to visit them again should opportunity arise,
and, with a last hand-shake, joined Mecsey, who had the
horses ready.

Nicholas, too, came to guide us a few miles on the
road, and amidst the cheers of the domestics the three of us
set off.

Mecsey and Nicholas were good company for each other.
I rode a short distance behind them, wondering if I should
find Görgei in time for my information to be of use.

The night was fine, calm, and still.  There was no moon,
but the stars glittered in myriads overhead, serving to show
the route.

In those days our best roads were shocking to a stranger,
but the cuts across country were simply abominable.

Several times that night I escaped a nasty--perhaps
fatal--accident solely through the intelligence of my horse.

Having accompanied us five or six miles, and given
Mecsey full directions as to the way, Nicholas pulled up,
wished us farewell, and started for home.

"He's dreadfully afraid of leaving the count long at a
time," said Mecsey.  "He looks on himself as a sort of
bodyguard."

"He's evidently an affectionate and faithful servant.
Now, if you know the road, we'll go a little faster.  The
horses have had a splendid rest and plenty of corn; they
ought to carry us well."

Of course there was always the danger of falling in with
a detachment of the enemy's troops, but I thought this less
likely to happen at night than in the daytime.

From his own knowledge of the district, and helped by
some directions from Nicholas, Mecsey found the way with
little difficulty, and for several hours we rode at a brisk
pace over a broad plain.

Thanks to the kindness of the beautiful countess, we had
plenty of provisions for man and beast, and about six o'clock
we stopped for rest and breakfast.

By this time I was so tired that my eyes would hardly
stay open, and Mecsey pressed me to have an hour's sleep.

"We shall save time in the end," he urged.  "The animals
will be fresher for an hour's rest; in fact, they won't travel
much farther without."

"And what about yourself?"

"I had a long sleep yesterday."

"Then keep a good lookout for the enemy, give the
horses a feed, and call me in an hour."

I lay down, drew my cloak round me, and lost consciousness
almost before my head touched the ground.

Mecsey wakened me, according to promise; we then
ate a hurried breakfast, and started again, now in broad
daylight.

The brief halt had done me a world of good.  I was
much brighter, and felt capable of riding all day.

As it chanced, however, the Russians did not give me the
opportunity of trying.

We had left the great plain and entered a mountainous
district when Mecsey, who was in front, suddenly stopped
his horse and held up a finger in warning.

"What is it?" I asked in a whisper, getting close to him.

"Soldiers!" he answered promptly.  "Russians!"

We were half-way through a narrow gorge, with huge
limestone cliffs on either side of us, and with no way of
escape but by going straight on or turning back.

Mecsey's sharp ears had detected the noise made by the
soldiers before they were in sight.

"They are behind us," I said quietly.

"And on our right.  There must be a regiment."

"Well, there's no going back, so we must keep straight
on.  If once we get out of the gorge they can whistle
for us."

Mecsey shook his head, saying, "We can try."

This did not sound very promising; but Mecsey, though
brave as a lion, was not the most cheerful of men.

"Let us go," I said.  "It's our only chance."

The Russian leader, unfortunately for us, was a man
who knew his business; and, before the main body of his
troops marched through the gorge, he had sent a detachment
along the cliffs in search of a possible ambuscade.

A loud shout and the discharge of many muskets
proclaimed that we were discovered.

"Push on!" I exclaimed.  "We must get through somehow."

It was a poor place for fast travelling, but we went
as rapidly as our horses could take us.

The shouts from the cliffs were now repeated in our rear,
and several bullets whistled unpleasantly about our ears.

Still we kept going until Mecsey came in sight of the
outlet from the gorge; then he pulled up once more with
a gesture of despair.

There was little need for questioning or speech of any
kind; a body of grey-coated infantry was drawn across the
narrow exit.

Just for one moment I thought of making a dash at
these stolid warriors and trying to cut my way through;
but I had sufficient sense left to recognize the madness of
the scheme.

Without speaking, we turned and rode back in our tracks.

We could now see the head of the column approaching,
and I felt like a rat in a trap.

The Russians, understanding how completely we were in
their power, treated the matter as a rich joke, and the men
on the cliffs stopped firing.

"Let me have the book for the general," said Mecsey,
"and I will try to escape.  If you surrender they won't
harm you."

"But what can you do?"

"Leave the horse and try to scale the cliffs."

"All right.  We'll both try.  I mean Görgei to have
that list.  Swing yourself off.  Now!"

I did not like abandoning the gallant animal that had
carried me through so many dangers, but there was no
help for it; and, indeed, I had little time to spend in
regrets.

Directly the Russians saw our plan, those on the opposite
cliffs discharged their muskets, while the head of the column
quickened its pace.

Whiz! whiz! came the bullets, singing overhead or
chipping the rocks beside us--much too near in either case
for comfort.

At first we managed to dodge them pretty well behind
the boulders, but we should soon have to move out into a
more exposed position, and it did not require an extra
amount of brains to foretell what would happen then.

However, we were having a try for our lives, and that
was more satisfactory than sitting still to be killed; but
we were rapidly approaching the end of our tether.

The men on the opposite cliffs could not fire now for
fear of hurting their comrades, who came after us in full
cry for all the world like dogs on the track of a boar.

Suddenly Mecsey's foot slipped and he fell, but he was
up again in an instant.

"Hurt?" I asked anxiously.

"It's nothing," he said--"nothing.  Look!  Look just
above us!  There is a hole in the rocks.  If we could get
inside there we might hide."

I did look, and saw a huge fissure in the cliffs several
yards in length and about six feet in depth.

Certainly it might help us, but I hardly thought so.

The soldiers would see us enter, and would follow.  It
was not as if they numbered only a half-dozen or so.

Still, it might be worth trying for; and we pushed on
recklessly, running, climbing, jumping, scrambling--any
fashion, so as to get there.

The Russians had been shouting and jabbering behind
us, and it was much easier to understand the meaning of
the bullets than of the words; but now the noise stopped,
and a strong, clear voice shouted in German,--

"Surrender yourselves!  I pledge my word that you
shall not be hurt."

"Come, captain," cried Mecsey, who did not understand
this offer; "here we are.  In you go.  It's dark at first,
but you'll soon get used to it."

"For the last time," cried the Russian officer; "will you
surrender?"

We were inside the cavern now, but I showed myself
at the mouth and asked for five minutes' grace.

For myself there was but one course open--to return
to Görgei.  Death alone could absolve me from that duty;
but there was no need to sacrifice my trusty servant.

Accordingly, I told him of the Russian's offer, and urged
him to accept it.

"You will save your life," I said, "and there is really
no sense in your getting killed.  Let me tell the Russian
officer that you surrender."

Mecsey looked at me proudly.  "I am a Magyar," he
said, as if that settled the question.

And it did with me.

I urged him no more, but turned again to the enemy.

They, meanwhile, by command of their leader, had
halted, and were gazing at us curiously.  It seemed
strange to them to be called off their prey at the moment
of running it to earth.

The officer was well in advance, and I saw by his face
that he would gladly save our lives.

"You will surrender?" he questioned; but I shook my
head.

"That is stupid.  You cannot escape.  I shall send my
men in there, and you will be--  Ach! what folly!"

"Many thanks for your offer," I said lightly, "but we
must refuse.  Now you are at liberty to fire," and I sprang
back into the shadow.

As far as I could judge, we were in a cavern of vast
extent, having a low roof; and I began to think that,
after all, we stood a good chance of escaping.

It was hardly likely that a large body of soldiers would
be set to search long for two runaways; and, of course,
I was well aware that some of these limestone caves
extended for miles into the very heart of the mountains.

Had this immense rock-chamber a second outlet?

I asked myself this question as we rushed over the
damp, uneven floor, and a sharp exclamation of joy from
Mecsey answered it.

Just as the Russians entered, we made our exit by way
of a narrow passage, through which a stream ran.

We dashed on, followed by, perhaps, twenty of the
enemy, who carried torches; the others were searching
the cavern.

Gradually the passage became wider, then it contracted
once more, and finally opened into a second chamber, from
which two passages branched.

We had little time for choice.  The Russians, yelling
and waving their torches, were not far in our rear.
Whatever we did must be done at once.

Mecsey was for turning to the right; but I, pointing
to the stream, said, "Where that goes we can go," which
was true, but not in the sense I meant.

Mecsey nodded.  It was for me to give orders, for him
to obey.

We ran on, with the roar of the water in our ears, the
yell of the enemy behind us, but in front a chance of
safety.

The Russians had traversed the narrow passage; they
were in the second chamber.  I looked back and saw
their torches, some turning to the right, but the majority,
unfortunately, keeping straight on our track.

They were creeping nearer and nearer, while Mecsey
was slackening his pace.

The long ride and the absence of sleep had told upon
him; he was tired; he could not keep on; surely he was
stopping--had stopped.  I sprang forward to catch him
in case he fell, and my heart almost ceased beating.

The river had taken a sudden dip downwards and
disappeared.  The chamber had come to an end; we were
caught.

"We can kill three or four," said Mecsey quietly.

At sight of us standing there the Russians set up
a yell of triumph, waving their torches wildly; but we
were not in their hands as yet.

"Mecsey," I said, "do you hear me?"

"Yes, captain."

"We've come to the end of our tether, and you must
give yourself up.  That's not advice, but an order from
your officer.  The Russians will treat you kindly; and
when you are set free, carry news of me to the general
and to Colonel Rakoczy."

"Where are you going, captain?"

"To Görgei or to death.  I don't know which."

"I am not to fight?"

"No.  Put your weapons down, and mine."

The Russian officer must have seen this performance, as
I heard him calling off his men; and though I had not
intended to deceive him, his mistake gave me a little extra
time.  This I utilized to take off my boots, a proceeding
which greatly interested Mecsey; and then the Russian
leader approached us.

"You have made a plucky attempt," he said in
German, "but the luck is against you.  Now, you yield
yourself prisoner, and we will return together like good
friends."

He was a nice fellow, that Russian officer, and I learned
later that his courage equalled his generosity.

His German was far from good, but I understood him,
and smiled.

Then, with a last word of farewell to Mecsey and a
friendly gesture to my courteous enemy, I jumped into
the river, which disappeared beneath the rocks.

Before striking the water I had filled my lungs with
air, and it was well for me that I had done so.

I was a strong swimmer, but strength could avail
nothing in this desperate venture.

The waters seized and swept me along, whither I knew
not.  There was a roar of thunder in my ears; my lungs
felt like bursting.

Once, and to my recollection only once, my head was
above the water, and I took a good deep breath.

The black flood caught me again and rushed on,
swirling and eddying, holding me helpless as an infant in its
grasp.  Then, when the agony became wellnigh
insupportable, I was able to breathe again, and, to my
astonishment, saw the blue sky above my head.

At this I tried to smile; but all was suddenly blotted
out.  Something seemed to take me under the shoulders,
to give me a push forward, and after that I lost consciousness.





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.. _`THE LAST BLOW`:

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   CHAPTER XXI.

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   *THE LAST BLOW.*

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"What shall I do with this Russian, captain?"

It was Mecsey talking, Mecsey very wet and
bedraggled, but prompt and soldier-like.

"Russian!" I echoed, sitting up.  "What Russian?"

Mecsey pointed to a half-drowned figure at his feet, and
I recognized the officer who had led the pursuit in the
caverns.

"He followed us, then?" said I, in a tone of wonder,
for I had not dreamed of any one being foolhardy enough
to jump after me into that horrible pit.

"We came together," replied Mecsey, nearly laughing.
"He leaped at my throat as I went over the side, and
only loosened his hold when we shot out from the
mountain."

My faithful follower now helped me to rise, and
once fairly on my feet, I felt very little the worse for
the adventure.

With the Russian, however, things had gone much
worse, and it took us the best part of half an hour to
restore him.

He was very weak and dazed, but sensible; and pointing
to his jacket, said, "Vodka."

I nodded in answer, and searching his pockets discovered
a flask filled with spirits, of which he swallowed a mouthful,
and by signs intimated that we should do the same.

It was fiery stuff, and took away my breath; but Mecsey
appeared to relish it, though it was very unusual for
him to drink anything half so strong.

However, the liquor was warming, and I thought it
would be well, while its effect lasted, to take our new
companion on with us, believing that the exercise would
the better restore his circulation.

At first he leaned all his weight upon us, but gradually
his steps became firmer, and before long he walked with
very little assistance.  Still, it was evident he could not go
far, and this made the situation awkward.

Travelling at his pace I should not reach Görgei for
days, when my information would be useless; yet I could
not leave the brave fellow utterly alone in a strange land,
where he would be far more likely to meet with enemies
than friends.

Mecsey must stay with him.  I could see no solution
but that, and yet I had depended on Mecsey to guide me
to Miskolcz.

However, it had to be done; and at the first halt I
explained the matter to the Russian.

"It is very kind of you to think of me at all," he said.
"I am grateful."

"You seemed so very anxious for my society," I said,
laughing, "that I am bound to take an interest in you;
but, seriously, my man will remain to look after you.  He
is an honest fellow, and to be trusted.  Of course, there is
a chance of falling in with your own people.  In that
case, I trust you to do everything in your power to set
him free."

"I promise that willingly."

"Then I will say good-bye; it is possible we may not
meet again."

"I hope we shall, if only that I may have the chance
to return your kindness.  Will you not tell me your
name?

"George Botskay."

"And mine is Michael Popkoff."

"I shall remember it; but now I must go.  I am on
special service; and since you have deprived me of my
horse, I must do the journey on foot."

He laughed at that, and we parted very good friends.

Mecsey, of course, disliked the arrangement; but, as
the only alternative was to leave the Russian to die, he
loyally accepted the inevitable.

I left them there on the lonely mountain side, and set
off resolutely with my face towards Miskolcz.

Mecsey believed this mountain stream which had so
nearly cost us our lives flowed into the Sajo River; if so,
I had but to walk along its bank--unless, indeed, it took
another subterranean excursion, when it would lose my
company.

It proceeded now with a rush and a rattle towards the
plain, and its rocky course reminded me of my shoeless
feet.

For a staff officer, I was in a pretty plight.  My cap,
of course, had gone; my feet were bare; I had flung off
my attila with my weapons; and I was wringing wet.

The notebook was a mass of pulp, and so entirely useless
that I threw it into the stream; but I had previously
committed the most important facts to memory, so that
its loss mattered little.

Then my thoughts wandered to Mecsey and his
companion, and I could not help laughing.

My servant knew not a word of any language save
Magyar; his companion, in addition to Russian, could only
speak bad German, and I wondered how they would
get on.

The ludicrousness of their position kept me merry for
a long time; and when the stream, leaving the mountains
behind, debouched into an open plain, the journey became
much pleasanter.

I was now growing desperately hungry, but even in this
matter good fortune stood by me, as I had the luck to
stumble against a zingari encampment.

The gipsies were wretchedly poor, their tents were
patched and dirty, they themselves were clothed in rags
and tatters, but they had a fire and a big round pot with
something savoury in it.

They did not wish to share their meal with me, and
warned me off with scowling looks and surly words; but
I was far too hungry to be got rid of so easily.

If they would not give me a dinner, I would buy one;
and after a good deal of angry squabbling we made a
bargain.

The wrinkled old dame in charge of the cooking
operations ladled out enough of the hot stew to fill a huge
platter, in exchange for which I gave the head man of the
party my gold-braided jacket.

Elsewhere it would have been a dear dinner, but under
the circumstances I was quite content.

In addition, they told me that by following the stream
I should certainly come up with the army before
nightfall, which was very cheering news.

These poor folk were often on the verge of starvation
themselves, and they showed no surprise at the ravenous
way in which I gobbled up the plateful of food.

The men sat about lazily and smoked; the women
continued their labours; the naked children played their
uncouth games without even a glance in my direction.

When the plate was empty, I rose to go, and no one
even took the trouble to say good-day.

"Lucky that Görgei is so near," I thought, "if every
meal is to cost me a garment," for I was now reduced to
a shirt and pair of trousers.

However, the hot food had set me up, and I walked
rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of my
friends.

Afternoon had passed into evening, and darkness was
falling, when an alert "Who goes there?" in Hungarian
brought me to a halt.

"A friend," I answered promptly.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

"Pass the word for your officer," I said.  "I am
Captain Botskay of General Görgei's staff."

"Stand quite still.  If you move an inch I'll shoot you."

I could not see the speaker, but his voice told me he
was a man of his word, so I stood still.

Presently I heard the clatter of hoofs, and in a few
minutes a party of horsemen rode up.

I guessed at once that the general was visiting the
outposts, and it was no surprise to hear him calling, "Botskay,
where are you?  Come this way!--Bring a torch, some
one.  Quick!"

The light showed my strange attire, and the general, in
spite of his genuine distress, could not forego his joke.

"Ach, Botskay!" cried he good-humouredly, "I'm
afraid we've disturbed you.  Just going to bed, eh?  Here,
take this," and removing the bunda which lay across his
saddle, he threw it over my shoulders.

"Thanks, general," I replied gratefully.  "That feels
more comfortable."

"Have you brought any information?  Yes?--Szondi,
lend Botskay your horse.  He can tell me his news as we
go back."

My brother-officer jumped down at once, and I mounted
in his stead.

"Now," said Görgei, as he and I rode in advance, "what
have you learned?"

In reply I related how I had watched the march of the
Russian army, and gave him the approximate numbers of
their men, horses, and guns.

He listened very attentively, put numerous questions,
most of which I was able to answer, and appeared exceedingly
thoughtful.

"Well, well," he at last exclaimed, "we must do our
best; but unless Dembinski joins us from the south, I
don't see how we're to escape.  Other three weeks, my
boy, will see the end of it."

It was perfectly plain that the general's common-sense
prevented him from hoping any longer, but he kept his
knowledge to himself; and when, later on, we gathered
round his table for an hour, he was the life and soul of
the party.

Fortunately, my personal effects were in the camp,
so that I was able to join the others properly dressed,
though, of course, I had to endure much good-humoured
raillery.

After supper we lingered for a half-hour's chat, and the
general asked me to relate the story of my personal
adventures.

At the part where we abandoned the horses, Görgei
exclaimed laughingly, "Now we are on the track, gentlemen.
It seems to me that our friend has been hunted by
wolves.  First, he sacrifices the animals; then he empties
his pistols; next, his servant gives up his life; then,
one by one, he discards his garments to the ravening
pack."

"It's the wrong time of year for wolves, general."

"Ach, so it is.  Well, go on, Botskay.  We're all
wondering what it means."

As the story unfolded bit by bit, the fellows craned
forward eagerly, being loud in their applause when I told
how Mecsey and Popkoff followed me into the dark waters.

"That Mecsey is a servant worth having," said Görgei;
"and the Russian proved a very plucky fellow."

"His men showed the white feather, though," growled
Mizvy, who always fastened on the seamy side of things.

"I think I should have done the same," cried Szondi,
with a laugh.  "This underground travelling isn't much
to my liking."

"Some of these Muscovites would have been none the
worse for a good bath," chimed in another fellow.

"But Mecsey Sándor and the Russian--what became of
them?" inquired the general.

"Oh, Mecsey saved my life;" and I told how the
trusty fellow had dragged both Popkoff and myself from
the river.

At the idea of Mecsey and the Russian, neither of whom
understood a word the other said, being left together,
they all laughed heartily, being no less amused at my
method of procuring a dinner.

However, in spite of their fun, I knew they were very
pleased at my safe return; and the general's "Well done,
Botskay!" as I left his tent, was ample reward for what
I had gone through.

Early the next morning we were again in retreat, and
on the twenty-fifth of July crossed the Theiss at Poroszlo,
after a sharp engagement with the Russian advanced
guard, commanded by Prince Gortschakoff.

Mecsey had not yet returned, but his absence did not
alarm me, as Colonel Popkoff was not in a condition to
travel very fast.

During the retreat I had seen Rakoczy several times,
and also Dobozy, who had recently been made major.

The former retained his joyous spirits, came up with a
cheery smile after each misfortune, and professed to believe
that before long we should gain a tremendous victory, and
drive both Austrians and Russians out of the country.

All this was only for outside consumption, but Dobozy
assured me that the colonel really had not the slightest
hope of success.  In fact, a general depression settled down
on the army.  The soldiers began to grumble and to ask why
they were fighting.  The old grievance broke out afresh,
and men said openly it was a folly to sacrifice their lives
for a cause in which they had no part.

They were not republicans, and if Görgei had had a free
hand, all they wanted would have been granted long before.

Still, they trusted implicitly in their great leader, and if
he told them to fight on, why, fight they would.

Occasionally we heard accounts of Bern's gallant exploits
in Transylvania, where in the face of heavy odds he
astounded his opponents both by his daring bravery and
his military skill.

Yet we all felt that, whatever the result of the campaign
in that quarter, it could have little effect on the real
struggle.

If we could join our forces with those of Dembinski,
there remained a chance of striking at the Austrian and
Russian armies separately, but it was as difficult to join the
Pole as to avoid the enemy.

However, Görgei persevered, and, leaving Nagy Sándor
to cover the approach to Debreczin with 18,000 men,
continued his march, hoping by a wide circuit to deceive the
Russians and reach the fortress of Arad.

There, if anywhere, we should be joined by Dembinski;
and if he could not or would not meet us, we could either
surrender or die where we stood.

It was, if I remember rightly, on the fourth morning
after leaving the Theiss that the general sent me back in
hot haste with a note for Nagy Sándor.

"Another journey, Botskay?" cried Szondi, as I rode
past.  "Don't forget to bring your clothes back this time."

There was a hearty laugh at this from his comrades, and
one said it would be easy to track me, were I missing, by
looking for my abandoned garments.

Indeed many years went by before I heard the last of
that unlucky incident.

I answered their chaff in the same strain, and rode off
in good spirits, though sorry that the trusty Mecsey was
not with me.

Everything went well on the journey.  There was no
likelihood of meeting with the Russians, and my worst
enemies were the bad roads.

At night I slept three or four hours in a peasant's hut,
entering Debreczin about noon next day.

The city was in the greatest uproar.  The people
crowded the streets talking excitedly, and the word
"Russians" was on the tongue of every speaker.

Being fairly well acquainted with the district, I expected
to find Nagy Sándor posted on the sandhills about a mile
from and covering the town.

I had just cleared the city when a tremendous cannonade
opened from the hills.  It was Nagy Sándor's artillery
showering grape and canister upon the enemy's advanced
guard.

Spurring my horse vigorously I overtook the general,
with several officers, riding to the scene of conflict.

He glanced at Görgei's note, thrust it into his pocket,
told me to wait till the end of the battle, and dashed on to
the hills where he had posted his masked battery.

Forty guns were belching forth canister and grape on
the advancing Russians, who appeared to be taken by
surprise.

They came on, however, in dense columns; but the iron
hail was too much for them, and at last they went back
beaten, amidst the cheers of our infantry massed behind
the guns.

The advantage, however, did not remain with us long.
Four heavy batteries, placed in good positions, replied
to our guns, and a short time afterwards we saw the
horse artillery galloping to the front.

"The odds are too great," said the man next me
savagely.  "The enemy must have forty against our
eighteen thousand, and we shall be beaten again."

"We're getting well used to it," muttered his comrade,
laughing harshly.

"Our fellows are sticking to their guns grandly for all
that," I said; and indeed for several hours the cannonade
continued without the Russians gaining a step.

Having no special duty to perform, I busied myself in
attending to the wounded, for the enemy's fire was
committing havoc in our ranks.

Late in the afternoon I again found myself near the
general, who had sent off all his aides-de-camp, when I
saw a movement on our right which told me that the
battle was lost.

Nagy Sándor saw it too, and his face grew black as
night.

"Paskewitch has brought up his reserves," he exclaimed,
"and we have only a handful to oppose them.  Well, we
must do what we can."

He looked round for a messenger, and, seeing me, said,
"Botskay, ride to the rear and tell Torot to bring up
every man he has.  You see that?" and he pointed to the
Russian movement on our right.

I bowed, and rode off to find Torot.

Two infantry divisions, supported by four field-batteries,
were preparing to attack us in our weakest place; while
far away on the right a column of infantry and a division
of cavalry were marching by a wide circuit towards the town.

As for us, every man except the reserve had been
fighting for hours against overwhelming odds, and there was
not one to be spared from his place.

With a heavy heart I told Torot what was happening,
and glanced disconsolately at his small body of troops.

"The Muscovites will swallow us up," said he cheerfully.
"However, there's the order; so off we go."

I placed myself with the cavalry, and we moved out in
good order from the shelter of the hills.

In the centre our guns maintained an equal conflict, but
our right was terribly weakened, and incapable of resisting
this fresh attack.

The poor fellows so sadly harassed greeted us with loud
cheers, though really we could do little more than swell
the number of dead and wounded.

I do not know who led the cavalry charge, but he was a
gallant fellow and deserved a better fate.

The nearest battery was our goal, and few of us that
survived will ever forget that terrible ride.

It was almost the last blow we were to strike in defence
of our flag, though we did not know it then.

The colonel pointed to the battery that was dealing out
death to our comrades.

"My lads," he said simply, "it is for us to take those
guns."

The men shook their swords, answering by a savage cheer.

The battle had got on their nerves.  They were desperate,
and cared nothing at all for the fact that three-fourths
of us were going to meet death.

It was the culminating point of the fight.  All around
rose the roar of the guns, the cheers and groans of the
combatants, the tramp of rushing feet, the rattle of artillery.

A blaze of light on the left marked where a powder
tumbrel had exploded.  Yells of victory and defiance came
from the same spot, but we rode on steadily with the fixed
idea of capturing the guns in front of us.

A decimated infantry regiment, going goodness knows
where, paused to cheer us; but we sped onward, gathering
speed at every stride--gathering such momentum that I
doubt if we could have stopped.

The colonel was a horse's length in front, going straight
for the battery, when the first crash came.

The shot tore holes through our ranks, and men shrieked
with pain; but the survivors never drew rein, and in an
instant our dead were left behind.

At the second discharge the gallant colonel reeled to and
fro in his saddle; but he kept his seat, though I knew he
must be mortally wounded.

Again the guns spoke, and this time both horse and man
dropped; but I took our leader's place, and still we went on
like a company of mad furies.

I dared not look behind, I dared not even think.  I
could only shake my sword and cry "Forward!"

Then we were in the midst of the guns, slashing at the
artillerymen, who fought us till the very end.

But we did what we had been sent to do, and cheered
exultingly as we emerged on the other side.

Alas! that cheer was the death-knell of many.

Whiz! whiz! sang the bullets as a battalion of
infantry, hitherto hidden by a depression in the ground,
sprang to their feet and poured volley after volley into us.

Broken by our charge, disordered, panting, we waited a
moment irresolutely, then tried to form up and return.

Only the maddest of madmen would have faced this
fresh enemy.

But the horror was not yet at an end.

As we rode back, a mere handful of wearied men, a
dense mass of heavy cavalry barred our path.

Flight was impossible.  There were but two
alternatives--surrender or death.

The Magyars chose the latter, and, gripping our swords
firmly, we went straight at the grey-coated mass, and were
instantly swallowed up.

There was no time for parrying of blows; we had to
take our chance, and, cutting and thrusting, try to force a
passage.

"Follow me, my lads! follow me!" I shouted, as long
as my voice held out, but before the end of the fight I was
past speaking.

I do not know how many of us got through.  My head
was dizzy, my sight dim.  I heard a babel of sounds
without being able to distinguish one, and sat my horse only
by mechanically gripping the pommel of my saddle.

Then a number of black figures surrounded me; and in
the midst of this, to me, phantom army I swept on into
the land of darkness.





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.. _`THE SURRENDER`:

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   CHAPTER XXII.

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   *THE SURRENDER.*

.. vspace:: 2

It seemed perfectly natural that the first face to meet
my waking senses should be that of Mecsey Sándor.

I was lying on a bed in a little room, rather bare of
furniture, but scrupulously clean, and my trusty servant
stood looking at me.

On seeing my open eyes, he placed himself at attention,
made a rigid military salute, and said with all seriousness,
"I am sorry to report, Captain Botskay, that the Russian
officer left in my charge has been rescued by his friends."

At first I stared hard at him without understanding,
then I broke into a hearty laugh that must have done me
a world of good.

"Hang the Russian officer!" I exclaimed; "tell me where
I am and how I came here."

"A few miles from Debreczin," Sándor answered gravely.
"I found you in the town light-headed, charging a Russian
battery that wasn't there."

"Where's our army?"

Sándor puckered his lips and blew; he could not have
given a more significant answer.

"Then it's all over?"

"Thereabout, unless Dembinski can reach Arad.  Bern's
troops have been broken into little bits at Hermanstadt,
and Dembinski has been chased out of Szegedin."

I groaned at this, and closed my eyes.

"General Klapka has done well, though," Mecsey
continued in his stolid way.

I opened my eyes again, saying, "Klapka is shut up in
Comorn."

"So the Austrians thought till the general taught them
better.  The day you were being beaten at Debreczin he
came out of the fortress, smashed the Austrians, chased
them to Presburg, took a thousand prisoners, thirty pieces
of cannon, and enough ammunition to last him a year."

"Well done, Klapka!" I cried delightedly.

"Of course it won't make any difference in the end,"
said Mecsey composedly; and his words were like a douche
of cold water.

"Go away, you rascal!" I cried.  "But no; tell me first
what became of Dembinski after he was driven from
Szegedin."

"I don't know.  Perhaps he's trying to join the general
at Arad."

"If so, we still have a chance.  Now help me to dress;
we must find our way back to the army."

"Not to-day," replied Mecsey, "nor to-morrow.  The
next day, perhaps, if you're stronger.  Just at present,
twenty miles in the saddle would leave you weaker than
a child."

This was perfectly true, and I let Mecsey have his own
way.

So for three days longer I lay in my comfortable bed,
waited on by Mecsey and the good woman of the house,
whose husband and two sons were in Görgei's army--at
least she hoped so.

Then, early in the morning of the fourth day, we set out
to ride to Arad by a circuitous route, as the main road was
barred by the Russians.

The people of the villages, who freely gave us food and
shelter, were filled with strange rumours which totally
contradicted one another.

At one place we heard that Kossuth was at Arad with
Görgei; at the next it was believed he had fled into
Turkey.  Each man, I think, believed the report which
best fitted in with his inclination.

At last we struck the trail of Görgei's army, and all our
informants agreed that the fearful forced marches had told
on the troops terribly.

They were short of provisions and forage; the men
were half-starved, the horses like skeletons.

This we learned from the villagers, while I knew for
certain there could be but a small supply of ammunition.

Then shock followed shock in quick succession.
Dembinski, who had never tried to reach Arad at all, was
totally defeated by the Austrians under the walls of
Temesvar, which had held out against part of our forces
for one hundred and seven days.

Following this came the news that Kossuth had resigned
his office and fled, leaving Görgei to act as he thought
proper.

"That's a good dodge," said Mecsey.  "Our general's
bound to surrender unless he wants all his men slaughtered;
and then everybody will throw mud at him--call him a
traitor, very likely."

I laughed at this prophecy, little dreaming how my
heart would ache at its fulfilment.

Long afterwards Rakoczy told me that my servant was
far from being alone in his foresight.

Many gallant officers thought the general should refuse
to be made the figure-head, now that everything was in
ruins; but Görgei was a true patriot.  He thought of the
welfare of his distracted country, and manfully threw
himself into the breach.

He had sacrificed everything for his countrymen; now
he was prepared to lose even their goodwill and esteem.

The chance had come too late.  Paskewitch, with his
two corps of veterans, was pressing on one side; General
Luders barred the way into Transylvania; Görgei's old
opponent, Schlick, at the head of the Austrian advanced
guard, was hurrying from Temesvar to hem him in, and
there was none to help.

On the twelfth of August he wrote a letter to the
Russian general, offering to capitulate, and laid it before
his chief officers, who sorrowfully acknowledged that
nothing else could be done, unless they were willing to
fight a battle which would be only a massacre.

These details were told me later by Rakoczy, for at the
time of their happening I was riding with Mecsey over
villanous by-roads to Arad, and only arrived on the
morning of the thirteenth of August, the date fixed for
the surrender.

Mecsey urged me to turn back at once; but although I
could do no good, I determined to proceed to Vilagos,
where the laying down of arms was to take place.

As it chanced, a robe which Mecsey had procured
completely hid my uniform, and I was wearing a kalpag--a
round fur cap ornamented by a white heron's plume.

Crowds of peasants swarmed in the country roads, while
people of higher degree rode on horseback or in light
latticed-side wagons to witness the mournful spectacle.

And it was mournful in the extreme.

To a high-spirited nation this blow was almost worse
than death.

Hardly a word was spoken among all the sad company.
Women wept, strong men bowed their heads and shuffled
along like felons.  Even I, who loved Görgei, felt a spasm
of indignation that he had not chosen to sacrifice his
country rather than consent to such humiliation.

Yet the sight of his broken army showed he could have
done nothing else.

Ragged, shoeless, half-starved, without ammunition,
exhausted by hundreds of miles of terrible marching, hemmed
in on all sides by the victorious enemy, what could these
brave fellows have done?

There was only one answer, which came from a woman--hardly
more than a girl, in fact--who stood near me.

"They should have died!" she cried passionately.  "I
have a brother and a sweetheart over there, and I would
willingly have lost them to spare our country such disgrace."

A murmur of applause arose from the bystanders, and
when one--an old man who had seen many years and
much sorrow--ventured to object, I thought the crowd
would have torn him in pieces.

The disputes, the endless squabbles, the different aims of
the insurgents, the bitter enmity between the national
party and the republicans, were all forgotten in this sad
hour.

"O land of the Magyars! land of the Magyars! that
it should ever come to this!" cried another woman in
heart-breaking accents.  "I would give husband, father,
brother, sons, everything to wipe out this eternal shame
from my native land!"

"And cry your eyes out for them afterwards!"
exclaimed Mecsey roughly.  "What good will twenty
thousand dead men do Hungary?  Let them live, woman, and
bide their time.  The turn of the black and yellow dogs
will come."

This plain talk would have provoked disorder; but just
then our attention was distracted by the sight of Görgei
riding alone to meet the Russian general.

He was simply dressed, the only bit of colour being the
collar of gold braid attached to his brown blouse.  His
heavy riding-boots reached above the knee, and he wore a
round black hat, with a waving white feather.

The staff followed, conspicuous in short green attilas,
with heavy gold trimmings, and with herons' plumes in
their hats.

The Russian leader, similarly accompanied, advanced
from his lines, and we watched the two generals exchange
hand-clasps.

I sat my horse and gazed spellbound while they talked,
pitying the chivalrous Görgei from my heart.

Meanwhile, the Hungarian troops were still marching to
their appointed places, while the Russian army stood in
two long lines on the plain of Vilagos.

The conference between the leaders ceased; they returned
to their posts, and we waited impatiently for the end.

At length all was ready.  The Magyars were drawn up
in two lines opposite their Muscovite foes--the infantry in
the first, with the cavalry on the wings; the artillery in
the second.

Once again Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where
the Russian generals met them.

.. _`"Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them"`:

.. figure:: images/img-338.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them."

   "*Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them.*"  Page 338]

The two leaders saluted, and then along the whole line
sounded the beating of drums.

My eyes ached, my brain grew dizzy, my heart throbbed
violently as I strained forward, eagerly watching.

That rolling of drums was the death-knell of all our
hopes.

At its signal the Russians presented arms, proudly but
not vaingloriously, and then--

There was a low wail, a cry of despair from the
spectators, an outburst of grief such as I had never heard,
shall never hear again.

Strong men shook with grief, women sobbed as if their
hearts were broken, as our gallant infantry laid their
useless weapons on the ground, the cavalry on their saddles.

As for me, I crouched low, hiding my face in my horse's
mane.

I have known much of happiness since then, but no joy
has ever effaced the impression made on that sorrowful day.

Even now, as I sit dreaming many years after the event,
the picture rises before me fresh as ever.

With eyes open or shut, I see as in reality the pyramids
of muskets; the cannon drawn close together, and without
gunners; the dismounted cavalry, with their swords on the
pommels of their saddles; the loved flags and standards,
that had fluttered so proudly on many battlefields, lying
in the dust.

I see the glorious red, white, and green stripes dirty
and in rags, and think of the one that wraps all that
remains of my gallant brother.  I see the thousands of
brave men who have fought and bled for Hungary, now
disarmed and impotent, but still undaunted even in that
hour of bitterness.

Then again the rolling of drums pierces my ears, and I
see the breaking of the ranks as the men, under strong
escorts, are marched off to their various destinations.

I hear, too, the first whisper, which afterwards swelled
into a loud roar, that Görgei is a traitor, and has sold his
country to the Russians.  My ears burn like fire, and I
blush for my countrymen.

It is not given to us to probe the secrets of the human
heart, and I was absent from my general in the latter days;
but I had marched with him, toiled with him, fought at
his side, seen him go again and again to almost certain
death, in order to rally his failing soldiers, and I judge a
man by his actions.

But my dreams run away with me.  I must return to
that sorrowful evening of August 13, when Mecsey, plucking
at my sleeve, brought me back to real life.

"It's all over," he said brusquely; "and now that the
prey is secured, the Austrian jackal will come to pick the
bones."

"The Austrians will not dare," I began; but he stopped
me with a mirthless laugh.

"Görgei has saved the army at the expense of the officers,"
he said.  "There will be a fine feast of death before long."

These words added to my misery, for I thought of my
light-hearted friend Rakoczy, and wondered if he would be
counted amongst the victims.

I expressed my fears to Mecsey, who promptly proposed
that we should discover where the colonel had been taken.

This, however, was more easily said than done, as we
soon found.

Russian troops in charge of their prisoners were marching
in all directions, and it was impossible to scan them all.

We went about hither and thither, asking questions of
the crowd to little purpose; but at length we had the good
fortune to meet with a number of soldiers belonging to
the 9th Honveds, who had slipped from the ranks at the
very moment of surrender.

They were all looking miserable and dejected; but one,
catching sight of me, ran up eagerly.

"From the colonel, sir," he cried joyfully; "though
neither of us ever expected I should have the luck to meet
you."

He took a folded paper from his pocket, and I pounced
on it quickly.  Here, no doubt, was the very information
we sought; but in this I was disappointed.

The dear, unselfish fellow, indifferent to his own fate,
had used the last moments of his freedom to send me a
warning.

"Look out for yourself," the note ran; "your name
alone will get you into trouble.  Give Gyula [that was
my home] a wide berth till the wolves are gorged.--J.R."

Not a word either of hope or fear for himself; all his
cares were for me.

That was just like "John the Joyous," and my eyes were
dim as I placed the paper in my pocket.

The faded characters, barely legible now, meet my eyes
as I write; for that scrap of soiled paper remains one of my
most sacred treasures, and it lies in a little golden casket
on my desk.

"Have you found him, captain?"

The speaker was Mecsey, and when I shook my head
sadly he immediately began to question the soldiers.

Here, again, we were at fault.  No one really knew
where the colonel was, some asserting he had been taken
to Gros-Wardein with Görgei, others saying he had gone
south with his regiment to Nagy Kikinda.

We spent another hour in questioning various men who
had escaped from Vilagos, but could gain no news of the
colonel, though several stated positively that the 9th
Honveds had marched southward under a strong escort.

Then I held council with Mecsey, and we decided to
separate, he to reconnoitre Gros-Wardein, while I followed
my old regiment.  At the end of a week we were to meet
again at Arad, by which time it was likely that one of us
would have discovered my missing friend.

"Good-bye, captain," said Mecsey, grasping the hand I
held out to him, "and take the colonel's advice.  It's easier
to get into an Austrian prison than out of one."

"All right, my trusty fellow; I shall keep my eyes open,
though I'm not tall enough for the Austrians to cut down."

So we parted, guessing little of the events which would
happen before we met again.

Night was fast closing in by now, and in the darkness
I missed the bridge over the Maros River, which made me
lose nearly two hours, and prevented me from striking the
trail of the 9th Honveds.

However, I found the bridge at last, and, crossing to
the other side, pursued my way at hap-hazard as long as
my horse could keep going; then I sat down by the
roadside and waited for the morning.

At sunrise I started again, leading the animal by its
bridle, until a lucky chance brought me to a village.

It was a small place, containing not more than twenty
houses at the outside; but it boasted an inn, where I might
haply procure food for myself and horse.

Four men dressed in peasants' clothes, but having a
distinctly military bearing, sat on the "word-bearer"--the
bench placed against the wall of most Hungarian country
houses--gossiping.  At sight of my uniform (for I had
unfastened my mantle) they sprang to their feet and
approached me with bare heads.

My suspicions were at once verified, and I exclaimed,
"You have done well, my lads.  A free Magyar is worth
more than an imprisoned one.  Only, should the Austrians
pass through, slouch your shoulders and stoop a little; you
bear the marks of the drill-sergeant too plainly."

They smiled at one another, and one taking my horse led
it through the courtyard into the stable behind the inn.

Another spoke my name, and though I could not remember
their features, they claimed to belong to the old
regiment.

He who had attended to my horse was the keeper of
the inn, which he now respectfully invited me to enter.

Bidding the others come too, I questioned them concerning
their colonel, while the hostess prepared a meal.

Fate was, perhaps, against me, for they could tell little
beyond what I already knew.

The 9th Honveds had passed through in the night
without a halt, and all the country round was covered
with our disarmed troops marching to prison in charge of
their Russian captors.

All this they told me eagerly; but as to Colonel Rakoczy
they could tell nothing.

Naturally I was much disappointed; but comforting
myself with the thought that I was at least on the track of
the regiment, I made a hearty breakfast, took a look at
my horse, and having sent the men to act as sentries, lay
down for a couple of hours' sleep.

At the end of that time my host wakened me, and I
rose, greatly refreshed by the brief rest.

My horse, too, was all the better for its food and grooming;
and I mounted quite gaily, having first thanked the
keeper of the inn for his kindness.

"Take care you don't run against the Austrians, captain,"
the man answered.  "From what I hear, their cavalry can't
be far off."

"All right, my good fellow; though they aren't likely
to interfere with me."

The innkeeper shook his head.  He had little faith in
the mercy of the Austrians.

The other men now came to say a word in parting, and
then I rode slowly past the little gabled, whitewashed
houses, and so again into the open country.

It was a glorious day, and under other circumstances
I should have enjoyed the ride immensely; but my good
spirits sank at thought of Görgei's surrender, and of John
Rakoczy's personal danger.

Everywhere the people whom I met or overtook were
ready to answer my questions; but the day ended
without my having seen any sign of the 9th Honveds.

From time to time, however, it was told me that the
Russians were in the neighbourhood; so towards night I
went warily, not wishing to be taken prisoner.

Between nine and ten o'clock I entered the street of
another village, and pulled up at the inn--the only house
that showed a light.

A huge hound lying in the courtyard barked violently,
the noise bringing out several men, who eyed me with
suspicion.

Inquiring in sharp tones for the landlord, I ordered him
to take my horse to the stables, and without paying any
attention to the others entered the kitchen of the inn.

The men followed closely, and by the light of the
candles I was able to see the kind of company I had got
amongst.

There were six of them altogether, each wearing a
cuirass and armed with a pair of pistols; while the room
was littered with sharp lances and loaded hatchets.

The fellows stood looking at me with broad grins, as if
amused at my surprise; while I, on the other hand, had
more than a passing doubt as to what might be the upshot
of this adventure.

It would be rather a melancholy end to my campaigning
if I were knocked on the head by these "poor lads,"
as the country folk called the bandits, whose profession
my new companions evidently followed.

Thinking the sight of my uniform might inspire
respect, I unfastened my mantle carelessly; and, as I had
half expected, the men at once assumed a respectful
bearing.

"An officer of the staff who has escaped from the
Russians!" cried one.  "We must tell the chief."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"At supper in the inner room, my master."

"Then tell him Captain Botskay will be pleased to bear
him company."

The man knocked at the door separating the kitchen
from the next apartment, held a conversation with some
one inside, and returned to say that Batori Gabor would
be happy to give me greeting.





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.. _`COUNT BEULA DISLIKES HANGING`:

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   CHAPTER XXIII.


.. class:: center medium

   *COUNT BEULA DISLIKES HANGING.*

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Batori Gabor stood at the door of the inner room,
and with the instinctive courtesy of the Magyar
bade me welcome.

This famous brigand, who for years had lived an outlaw's
life, was tall and strongly built, with massive limbs
and deep, capacious chest.  His face was bronzed and
rugged; his black hair hung in curls over his shoulders;
his eyes were dark, fiery, and searching.

He had laid aside his steel cuirass; but a brace of
pistols peeped from his richly-ornamented girdle, and I
doubted not they were both loaded.

"The Austrians overload me with favours," he exclaimed
laughingly.  "You are the second guest I am indebted
to them for.--Count, I think you said Captain Botskay
was an acquaintance of yours?"

Hitherto I had not noticed that Batori Gabor had a
companion in the room; now I saw a man in military
uniform sitting at the table.

At the outlaw's words he rose, and, turning toward me,
showed the blue eyes and handsome, cynical features of
Count Beula.

"This is a surprise, count," I said coldly.  "I thought
a clever man like yourself would by now be over the
border with Kossuth."

"How strange!" he answered lightly.  "I concluded you
had found refuge with Görgei's Russian friends."

"Yet you are both with Batori Gabor," broke in the
brigand cheerfully; "which is stranger still, since a month
ago either of you would have had him shot like a dog."

"Not I, my dear Gabor," murmured Beula sweetly.  "I
appreciate your courage too much."

"And my knowledge of the country," added Gabor slyly.

"Well, yes.  I think that may be turned to very good
account, till Haynau has grown tired of his butcher's
knife."

"Which will not be soon.  We are, however, keeping
Captain Botskay from his supper--an unpardonable
offence."

Opening the door, he ordered an extra knife and fork.
Then he invited me to sit, saying, "The table's rather
crowded, captain; but we have all our courses laid at
once.  It isn't a banquet, but you'll find it better than
black bread and bacon.  Help yourself.  I can recommend
the salmon, because one of my fellows caught it
this evening.  I fancy the veal has done a breadth or
two of ploughing in its time; but the chicken's tender."

The outlaw certainly proved a most attentive and courteous
host, and enlivened the meal by relating some of the
most humorous and inoffensive of his adventures.

During the war he had turned patriot, and had really
done the enemy a great deal of mischief by cutting off
convoys and intercepting mounted messengers.

After supper he went to give his orders for the night;
and I, not caring to remain alone with Count Beula,
borrowed a lantern, and strolled out to the shed which served
as a stable.

There were nine or ten horses in the place, and I noticed
that saddles and bridles were all hung so that they might
readily be got at.

My own animal had received an ample allowance of
food, and, after a night's rest, would, I reckoned, be in
capital trim.

I might have stayed longer to get a better look at the
robbers' horses, but the big dog sniffed so longingly at my
legs that I thought it best to remove temptation from his
path.

Batori Gabor returned at the same time, and one of the
band brought in some wine of a quality rarely found
outside a nobleman's house.

"Been to look at your horse, captain?" he asked.
"Sensible that, seeing you may have to trust your life to
its speed.--Well, count, I think we may reckon on a quiet
night.  Andras has returned, and says the Austrians are
sound asleep.

"I should feel easier if we were twenty miles farther
on," answered the count.

"So should I, for that matter; but the horses were
bound to have a long rest.  Meanwhile we may as well
make ourselves comfortable.--Captain Botskay, a glass of
wine?  By the way, you have not yet told us how you
come to be in this part of the country.  I should fancy
this a very unhealthy spot for persons of your habits of
life," and he laughed at his little joke quite pleasantly.

"The tale will not take long in telling," I said.  "The
general sent me to Nagy Sándor at Debreczin, where I had
a nasty knock which laid me up for several days.  Then I
followed the army, arriving at Vilagos just in time to see
the surrender."

"But after that?"

"I started for Nagy Kikinda, where they say the 9th
Honveds have been taken."

"Looking for Rakoczy?" asked the count, and I nodded.

"You wouldn't guess what a hero our friend is," remarked
the count to Batori Gabor.  "He is actually risking
his life on the chance of finding out what has become
of John Rakoczy, colonel of the 9th Honveds."

"Then you're a very gallant fellow, Captain Botskay,"
said the outlaw; "though I must stop you from playing
such a mad prank.  Do you know that every road in
your path is barred by Austrian troops?  You cannot
possibly get past them; and if you could, the journey
would be useless."

"Still, I intend trying."

Batori Gabor shrugged his shoulders.  The count
laughed in the sneering manner which always made me
anxious to pitch him out of the window.

"You must be fonder of a hempen rope than I," he said;
"but perhaps your name isn't on the proscribed list?"

"I don't know."

"Well, mine is."

"And mine," laughed Gabor.  "It's been there for
years.  It doesn't hurt me in the least.  I look on it as
an honour."

"Every man to his taste," said the count.  "I have no
fancy to die in a hempen collar.  I am no coward, but
the thought of being hanged like a dog by these Austrian
butchers puts me in a bath of perspiration."

"You came pretty near it yesterday."

The count shuddered.

"Don't," said he; "it gives me an ague fit to think of it."

I pointed out that he was probably alarming himself
without reason, as the Austrians were not likely to do
more than put him in prison for a few months.

Batori shook his head.

"You're wrong there, captain," cried he.  "The count
and I row in the same boat, and capture means death.
We are to be strung up to the nearest tree or beam
capable of bearing our weight by those who catch us.  The
very notion of it puts the count into a flutter."

Now I had once thought Count Beula a coward, and
had been obliged to own my mistake; yet at this talk of
Austrian vengeance his face became white, and he trembled
like a leaf.  He tried to laugh it off, saying that
Görgei was in the right of it, surrendering to the Russians.

"He would have done a sharper thing by slipping into
Turkey with Kossuth and his friends," I made answer.

"There you are," exclaimed our bandit friend.  "That's
what lost the war before it began.  Two sets of leaders,
and two objects to fight for; why, it's worse than having
two captains over one band.  However, it's done now, and
not worth quarrelling about.  We have to save our
heads--a far more important matter."

"I am going to look for Colonel Rakoczy in the
morning."

"Are you?  Well, excuse the plain speech, captain--you're
a fool.  The exercise of my profession has made
me acquainted with this part of the country, and even
I could not venture a mile southward without being
captured.  The Austrians are stopping every pass and blocking
every hole; they think Kossuth is still in the district.
Why, but for me, our friend here would at this very
moment be swinging in the wind, and, at the best, we half
foundered our horses in getting him away.  However,
they are recovering, and to-morrow night will see us safe.
You'd better join us, and wait your chance."

"You may spare your breath," sneered Count Beula.
"He'll go his own way in the end.  He comes of an
obstinate race."

"Well, well, we'll give him the chance to ride with us,"
replied Batori.  "If he prefers being killed, that's his
affair.  Now I'm going to sleep for an hour, and advise
you to do the same."

He lay down in a corner of the room, pulled his cloak
round him, and in less than two minutes was sleeping
soundly.

"Behold!" exclaimed the count, laughing in his detestable
manner, "the beauty of possessing an easy conscience."

I made no reply, being engaged in wrapping myself up;
and apparently no reply was expected.

The count was evidently in a state of great anxiety,
and several times during our brief rest wakened me by
passing into the next room, as if he went to see that
all was right.

I could not understand the man.  He was so different
from the Count Beula who had displayed such gallantry
at the storming of Buda.  In the breach no danger
had unnerved him; here he blenched at the hint of
it, and I attributed the difference to his dread of being
hanged.

However, in spite of his restlessness, I managed at last
to fall into a sound sleep, and was dreaming that Rakoczy
and I were safe at Gyula, when some one pulled me
roughly to my feet.

The candles had burned out, but the dawn was stealing
through the one little window, and by its light I
recognized Batori Gabor.  His face was flushed and excited;
he had put on his cap and cuirass, had buckled on his
sword, and was equally ready to fight or fly.

"Quick!" cried he, not in panic, but in such tones as
you might expect from a man accustomed to carry his life
in his hands.  "To the stables!  The Austrians are out!"

I looked for the count.  He had already disappeared.

Picking up my mantle, I ran into the kitchen.  It was
empty, save for the frightened innkeeper and his wife, who
stood half-dressed, wringing their hands and shivering.

I was rushing to the door when the man, as if in
desperation, seized a piece of rope which lay in the corner
and flung himself before me.

Thinking he meant mischief, I touched my sword; but
his action was the effect of fear.

"My lord," he cried, "we shall be murdered.  Have
mercy, for the sake of Heaven, and bind us.  Then they
will know that we harboured the 'poor lads' unwillingly."

"You have a kind face, my sweet master," added the
trembling woman; "may your heart match it."

I thought the proposed stratagem a clumsy one; but the
poor people were in such deadly earnest that I took the
rope and proceeded to tie the woman.

In the midst of it the door was flung open violently,
and quick as thought I drew my pistol and covered the
intruder.

It was the outlaw, who had come to seek me.

"Well," cried he; "of all the fools!"  Then, checking
himself, he got another coil of rope and bound the
inn-keeper deftly.

"One makes more," said he, finishing as soon as I.
"Come on.  There's no time for philanthropy.  The men
are howling with impatience, and Count Beula's nearly off
his head."

The band was mounted, and one of them at his leader's
command had saddled my horse.

They looked a rough set with their lances and loaded
axes and lassos, which they carried before them on their
saddles.

The chief sprang into his seat; I followed suit, and off
we went--Count Beula well to the fore.

I looked down the road, expecting to see the Austrians;
but, thanks to Batori's sentries, we had fully two minutes'
start before they appeared.

There were perhaps fifty of them, and they rode like
men secure of their prey; but our horses were fresh, and,
being all picked animals, easily increased their lead.

A pistol shot or two came singing after us, but without
doing mischief, and Batori laughed derisively at the enemy's
efforts.

"Take it easy, my lads," he shouted.  "Those old screws
wouldn't catch us between this and Debreczin, if we
walked all the way."

This, of course, was not exactly correct; but there
could be little doubt that, by putting our animals to their
utmost speed, we could shake off our pursuers at almost
any time.

Even Beula noticed this, and, though his face was still
pale, he dropped back to us.

"Another miss of the halter, count," cried the brigand
cheerfully; "you're in luck's way.  But I'll tell you what
it is--you set my men a very bad example;" and I fancied
there was a note of anger in his voice.

The count shook off his strange fear for a moment,
saying with some of his old jauntiness, "They are more
familiar with the noose than I."

"Bah!" cried the robber in disgust; "if you had not
gained praise from Bern, I should say you were a rank
coward."

"As a bandit, perhaps I am," he replied; a remark at
which Batori, instead of showing anger, only laughed.

That Count Beula could on occasion be brave as a lion
I already knew, and he was yet to give me another proof.

We were, as I have said, distancing the cavalry in our
rear, when a loud shout proclaimed a new and more serious
danger.

The Austrians, by dividing their forces, had cleverly
placed us between two fires.

A second body, instead of entering the village, had
worked round to the right, and now debouched into the
road in front of us; while their comrades, who had
purposely held their horses back, dashed up at full speed.

The robber chief took in the situation at a glance.

"Trapped!" said he; "and in the very worst place.
Smart fellow, that Austrian."

At the certainty of a desperate fight Count Beula lost
his paleness.  His face glowed with healthy excitement;
he looked round on the band of brigands as if he were
leading a regiment.

At the first sight of the enemy we had, almost without
thinking, slackened our pace, and now Batori halted us
altogether.

Riding to the front, he turned to his men.

"My lads," said he, "we're in a hole; but it isn't the
first.  You know what happens on these occasions.  Those
who get out will ride with me again; those who don't--"  And
he concluded with a pantomimic gesture which made
Beula shudder.

"Elijen Batori!" shouted the bandits, and their leader
smiled.

The Austrians in the rear were spurring hard; but we
took no notice of them, our attention being fixed on those
in front.  Could we break them?

I had taken part in more than one cavalry charge
against long odds, and to me the feat seemed impossible.

Batori, however, showed little anxiety; while his men
were almost as cool as he was.

Sword in hand, Count Beula took his place on the right
of the leader; I rode at his left.

There were no unnecessary orders.  Every man knew
he had to pierce that body of cavalry somehow, or be
hanged to the nearest tree; and if the knowledge did not
bring true courage, it at least sent every one into the fight
with a determination to get through.

The bandits couched their lances, and dug their spurs
deeply into the horses' sides.  Batori, who was evidently
a superb horseman, rode without using the reins, having a
sword in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other.

The Austrians bided their time; and, as we drew nearer,
it flashed into my mind that their leader, who, but for a
terrible scar across his face, would have been a handsome
man, was none other than my old opponent, Von Theyer.

There was likely to be a very short shrift for me if
I fell into his hands; and, unfortunately, my uniform
rendered me conspicuous.  However, I had little time to
think about what might happen; I was too much engaged
in what was happening.

Count Beula struck the enemy first, and, but for a shot
from Batori's pistol, that moment would have ended his
career.  I wished later it had.

Crash we went into the midst of them, the long lances
boring a passage for their owners.

Von Theyer made a dash at me, but was thrown back;
and we did not get within sword-arm of each other during
the fight.

Still, I had ample work without troubling the Austrian
leader, as several hussars, attracted no doubt by my
uniform, made a desperate attempt to hem me in.

A loud cry announced that one man had got through.

It was Batori; but he dashed back into the *mêlée* in
order to rescue a wounded follower.

His men, raised to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by
this sight, shook their opponents off and spurred to the
spot.

A young Austrian officer--a sublieutenant, I judged--rode
at me furiously, leaving me barely time to parry
his stroke.

Turning, he came again, when a terrific blow from
a loaded hatchet brought his horse to the ground--dead.

The youngster scrambled to his feet and attacked his
new enemy; but the bandit pushed on to join his leader,
and I followed with Count Beula.

We two were the last to leave the press, and the
Austrians were hot on our heels.

Von Theyer led the van, though he had been badly
wounded, and his face was covered with blood.

Now that the brunt of the fight was over, my companion
seemed again to fall under the spell of his strange
fear, being blind to everything except escaping.

He spurred his horse cruelly, until the animal, maddened
by pain, darted ahead, and I was left alone.

Von Theyer, yards in advance of his hussars, galloped
on; and I heard him shouting, but could not distinguish
the words.

Fortunately, my pistols were still loaded, and, drawing
one from the holster, I turned in my saddle and fired.

Von Theyer was not hit; but his gallant horse,
staggering forward a dozen paces, reeled and fell.

The hussars stayed to extricate their leader, and the
delay gave me a little breathing space.

Once again I wheeled and rode on in pursuit of Count
Beula, while a shot from a carbine whistled past my
head.

Two others followed in quick succession, doing no
harm--at least, that was my impression.

Rather strangely though, it appeared to me that the
count was slackening speed, and soon I became certain
of it.

The distance between us decreased.  I was catching him
up hand over hand; the thing was amazing.

I hoped at first his manhood had come back to him, and
that he waited purposely for me; but soon I recognized
the truth.

One of the shots intended for me had struck his horse
in the haunches, and the poor animal, losing blood at every
stride, was growing feebler each succeeding moment.

The bandits--at least those who survived--were a little
ahead of us; the pursuers were closing up again; my
companion was doomed.

He knew it too.  His face had become ashy grey, his
eyes were wild and staring; the Count Beula of the
breach and the battlefield had disappeared.

"They will hang me, Botskay," he wailed--"hang me
like a common thief on the roadside."

The terror of the hempen noose, about which Batori had
chaffed him, had affected his brain--upset his balance, so
to speak.  I can give no other explanation of his strange
behaviour or of what happened immediately afterwards.

Batori, looking back, waved his arm to bid us ride
faster; but Beula's horse was totally exhausted, and with
one last ineffectual stagger forward it rolled over,
entangling its rider in the reins.

A shout from the Austrians greeted this downfall, and
the count's white face looked up appealingly.

"They will hang me, Botskay!" he cried, and I regarded
the cry as one for help.

The Austrians were close upon us.  There was barely
time even to set him free; and what then?

Was I to die because the man I hated asked an impossible thing?

It was monstrous; it was out of all reason.  I would
push on and save my own life.  Count Beula had no claim
on me.

The struggle was keen and full of bitter anguish, but it
was over in a second; the next I had slipped to the
ground and was tugging at the fallen man.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE END OF COUNT BEULA`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   *THE END OF COUNT BEULA.*

.. vspace:: 2

You who have read my story know that from the very
beginning I disliked this Count Beula; and the
death of my gallant brother, which rightly or wrongly I
laid at his door, changed my dislike into downright hatred.

Yet throughout this narrative I have, I trust, never
shown myself unfair to him.  I have told freely how Bern,
himself the most reckless of fighters, had praised his
courage, and in my account of the storming of Buda I made
no attempt to hide his gallantry.  Even in this last fight
I have mentioned how bravely he rode at the Austrian
hussars, and how the glow of health had returned to his
cheeks as he bared his weapon for the fray.

No, I am fully persuaded in my own mind that Count
Beula did not fear death, but only the manner of it.

Leading or repelling a desperate charge, cheering his
men to the deadly breach, or hurling the enemy from the
ramparts of an assaulted town, he would have met death
cheerfully and without flinching.

Here, on this lonely road, he was not even a soldier.
The Austrians regarded him merely as a plotter, an
accomplice of the conspirators in Vienna, an instigator of Count
Latour's murder, the boon companion of a brigand whose
life was forfeit even to Hungarian laws.

Thus the fiat had gone forth that Count Beula, the
representative of a noble family, the head of a house
celebrated long before the days of Arpad, was to be taken and
hanged straightway like the vilest malefactor in the land.

The very thought of this terrible disgrace had, as he
admitted, unnerved him; its imminent approach drove him
crazy.  This, I am fully convinced, was the real reason
for his astounding conduct.

The robbers were by this time too far off to render
any aid, though several glanced over their shoulders to see
what was happening.  The hussars had got very close to us.

My horse quivered with excitement, but did not move
while I, after several attempts, set the count free.

Exactly what was to be done I had not determined,
though it occurred to me that my animal must carry
double, or that while Beula rode I must hang on by the
stirrups.

In either case, no doubt, I should have been killed or
taken prisoner; but the count solved the difficulty in his
own way.  He looked a strange object as he sprang to his
feet.  Blood from a wound in the head trickled down his
ashy-grey cheeks; his blue eyes stared wildly; he seemed
like a man possessed, as I really believe he was.

He glanced at the approaching Austrians and shuddered;
then, without a word of warning, he leaped into my saddle
and was gone.

It all happened so suddenly that I stood dumfounded.
That one of my race and nation could be guilty of such
black treachery had never entered my head.

.. _`364`:

Wild, unreasoning anger succeeded stupor, and I shook
my sword at the retreating figure; then anger yielded to pity.

Poor fellow!  When the cloud had passed from his
mind, what would life be worth to him, even if the story
of his cowardice were never made known?

What misery each recurring day would bring, as he
thought of the terrible price he had paid for his
life--manhood, honour, chivalry, all irretrievably lost in that
one mad moment!

For the count's own sake I almost wished that a shot
from the enemy would bring him down.

Had I been able to look into the future, the half-wish
would have changed into a whole-hearted prayer.

But apparently luck was with the count.  My horse,
having recovered his wind, bore him gallantly, gaining at
every stride upon the last of the robbers.

All this takes long in the telling; in reality it lasted
but a little time, though to me it seemed an age.

With Count Beula and my horse had vanished every
hope of escape.

Flight was impossible, and how could I stand against a
hundred hussars?

Then I remembered Von Theyer, and gnashed my teeth
at the thought of how he would gloat over my capture.

Would he kill me?  It was likely enough, since I had
been found in company with a notorious outlaw, and not
many questions are asked concerning the victims of an
unsuccessful revolution.

The bandits had disappeared, and I was standing beside
the body of the count's dead horse when the leading hussars
galloped up.

Von Theyer was not amongst them, I saw at a glance,
and smiled.

The leader was the young sublieutenant who had
attacked me so furiously in the fight.

He had mounted a fresh horse, but his sword was
sheathed, and he looked at me quite good-naturedly.

"You must surrender!" cried he genially.  "You have
made a good fight, but the odds are against you.  One
man, though a Magyar, cannot overthrow a hundred."

He spoke in German, and I replied in the same tongue,
giving him my sword, and acknowledging myself his
prisoner.

Just then Von Theyer arrived, and with a savage scowl
exclaimed harshly,--

"Tie that fellow up.  Make sure of him, Ober, and put
him on your horse.  If he gets away, you'll swing in his
place."

Ober, a spare but muscular hussar, saluted respectfully,
and, helped by another fellow, tied my arms tightly.

Then they lifted me into the saddle; Ober sprang up
behind, and we were all galloping hard after Batori and
his men.

Von Theyer was in the front again, where I could not
see his face; but the one glance had shown I need expect
no mercy from him.  Even if he forgave my making
friends with the pretty Theresa, he must always hate the
author of that disfiguring scar across his cheeks.

The wound had in truth spoiled his good looks for ever,
and Von Theyer had been a very handsome youth in the
days of the insurrection.

The excitement of the ride, however, soon blew these
thoughts out of my head; and, as well as my cramped
position would allow, I looked eagerly for any signs of
the fugitives.  Of Batori and his men we did not catch
another glimpse; but the brigand chief left us a specimen
of his handiwork on the roadside.  Von Theyer was the
first to see it, and as he stopped the others did the same.

It was a ghastly object, and my blood ran cold at sight
of it.

From the bough of the very first tree we reached
Count Beula hung lifeless.

Across his breast was fastened a sheet of paper, on
which some one had written in Hungarian and German
characters the words: "Hungary has no need of cowards."

"The brigand has saved us a job," exclaimed Von
Theyer.  "If we catch him we'll hang him on the same
tree."

Now you may be sure I had no wish to ask a favour of
Von Theyer, yet the spectacle of the hapless count
swinging there in the breeze nerved me to ask that the body
might be cut down and decently buried.

"Buried!" cried Von Theyer scornfully.  "Let the dog
hang.  The kites will bury him fast enough when we are
gone."

"You are a brute!" I cried hotly, caring little in my
indignation for the consequences.

He raised his hand to strike me, but dropped it again.

"We will square our account later," he said, and gave
the word to trot.

We rode on accordingly, but I could not drag my mind
from that dreadful place.

I saw nothing of the country through which we passed.
I could only see the grey face of the dead count staring
down upon me from that primitive gallows.

I never met Batori again, but one of his men years
afterwards related just how the tragedy happened.

The bandits, seeing me jump down to the count's assistance
when his horse fell, and thinking my animal would
have to carry the two of us, slackened their speed, so that
we might the more easily catch them up.

When Count Beula arrived by himself, and they, looking
back, saw me standing alone beside the dead horse, it was
easy to guess what had happened.

The count, who was dreadfully excited, made no attempt
to hide what he had done, but explained that had the
Austrians captured him they would have hanged him on
the nearest tree.

"Or beam," added Batori coolly.

"Tree or beam," answered the count.  "That's the order
which refers to both of us."

"Well," said the brigand, with the laugh his men
dreaded to hear, "we shall have to ride a bit farther before
we find one or the other.  Come on, count!  I'll pledge
my word that the Austrians shall never hang you!"

Count Beula, little dreaming of the inner meaning of
these words, galloped along with the band, and not
another word was spoken till they reached the first tree.

Here the robber-captain called a halt, and making a
sign that some of the party should surround the count,
said to him,--

"This is where the Austrians would have hung you;
but now, perhaps, they will hang Captain Botskay instead."

At this Beula, discovering a little shame, replied
falteringly that they would only imprison me for a while; but
as for him, he would never have got one step past that tree.

As soon as he had made an end of speaking, Batori
raised his hand.  The count was seized, torn from his horse,
bound, a noose put round his neck, and he was placed
directly beneath the fatal bough.

"Count Beula," cried the bandit, "you are a coward,
and Hungary has no need of cowards.  You have left that
lad, who risked his life for you, to die.  Now you shall
die yourself.  Though the Austrians have not caught you,
you shall be hanged all the same."

The unhappy man begged piteously--not for his life, but
that he might be shot.

Batori, however, remained inexorable, and while the
poor wretch was still pleading gave the order.  The men
pulled at the rope, and the body of Count Beula hung
swinging in the wind for the vultures and carrion crows
to devour.

Thus, in the strangest way imaginable, it came to pass
that Count Beula did hang like a common criminal by the
roadside, though the Austrians were not his executioners.

I pitied the poor fellow from my heart, feeling sure that
when he left me to face the enemy alone excitement had
carried him out of his right senses.

As we rode from the spot I could of course only guess
at the details of the tragedy, and indeed years passed
before I met one of the actors; but the outline of it was
so bold and clear that no one could mistake the general
drift of the story, especially with Batori's sign-manual to
help.

It gladdened me in after years to learn that the
unfortunate count did not really fear death, but only the
manner of it, as that was how I had read his conduct.

Wrapped in thoughts of this terrible tragedy, I did not
at first notice that my captor's horse had dropped to the
rear; for though neither Ober nor I carried any superfluous
flesh, the double weight told heavily upon the animal.

The difference was more marked when Von Theyer
changed the trot into a gallop; and I suddenly became
alive to the fact that were my arms free, I might yet make
an effort to escape.

But how was I to work this miracle?

The cords were strong, the knots skilfully tied, my arms
were in a vice, while close behind me sat the Austrian
trooper armed with sword and pistol.

However, life is sweet, and I set to work under cover
of the horse's movements to try, by contracting my muscles,
to ease the bonds.

I cannot say how long the attempt lasted, but the
knots on my wrist were certainly looser, when a grim
"Very sorry, captain, but the game won't work" blew my
newly-formed hopes to the winds.

"It isn't that I want you hanged," continued the hussar,
"but I'd rather see the rope round your neck than mine,
and the colonel's in such a very ugly temper there's no
knowing what might happen."

The fellow spoke so coolly that I could hardly keep
from laughing, though, from my point of view, there was
little humour in the situation.

However, my disappointment was not very keen, as I
had hardly allowed myself to hope for success.

The Austrian, frightened a bit perhaps at seeing I did
not think escape an impossibility, urged on his horse,
resolved to keep within easy reach of his comrades.

Towards evening we entered the village where I had
stayed the previous day, and Von Theyer ordered a halt.

The brigands had disappeared entirely, leaving no trace,
and our horses were thoroughly done up.

I looked round eagerly in search of my four acquaintances,
but in the whole place there was not a man except
the landlord of the inn to be seen; evidently the male
villagers did not appreciate a visit from the Austrian
cavalry.

Von Theyer was, as my jailer had remarked, in a very
ugly temper, and scowled at me savagely as Ober pulled
up his weary horse.

"Put him in there," said he, pointing to the kitchen of
the inn.  "And don't forget it's your life or his."

Ober saluted and grinned.

"I'll take precious care it isn't mine, colonel," he
answered.--"Here, Franz, lend me a hand."

The hussars dispersed, and entered the cottages in search
of food, while I was pushed into the kitchen and dumped
down not too softly on the floor.

Ober and the man called Franz remained on guard, and
very kindly gave me a share of the black bread, fat bacon,
and sour wine which formed their supper.

The food was hardly suitable for delicate stomachs, but
my last meal had been supper on the previous night, and
I was not in a mood to be particular.

Von Theyer, I suppose, went to see that everything was
made safe, as he did not come in till nearly dark, and then
passed with two other officers to the inner room.

He spoke a word to Ober, but took no more notice of
me than if I had been a log of wood.

"Colonel's in one of his black fits," grumbled Ober to
his comrade.  "He'll make us smart for not catching that
brigand."

"Wait till he does.  Time enough to grumble then,"
replied the other coolly.  "Who's going to take the first
watch--you or I?"

Ober leaned over to examine my fastenings.

"Ach!" growled he.  "We might as well both go to
sleep.  The Magyar's safe enough, and I'm as tired as a dog."

"All right.  It's your head at stake--not mine.  But
we'll make doubly sure;" and getting some more rope, he
tied me to himself.

Ober did the same on the other side, and then lay
down so that I was between the pair of them.

Presently the door opened, and half a dozen hussars
coming in, wrapped themselves in their long coats, and
settled down to sleep.

I cannot say how they had fared in the matter of food,
but their breath made it plain they had discovered plenty
of liquor.

Night came.  The sound of conversation in the colonel's
room died away.  In the kitchen all was silent save the
loud snoring of the half-drunken men.

In the silence and darkness I made an effort to set
myself free; but a few trials convinced me that Ober
had made no mistake.

True, he and Franz were so exhausted by their forced
marches that even a smart tug failed to waken them; but,
on the other hand, the knots were so skilfully tied that it
was impossible to loosen them.

At last I abandoned the attempt and tried to sleep, but
the haunting face of the dead count and anxiety on my
own behalf made that no easy matter.

It was strange that Von Theyer had not hanged me
at once, and I wondered why he should wish to save my life.

I felt sure it was not out of kindness, and concluded he
was governed by the same feelings that lead a cat to play
with its victim.

Just here my reverie was broken by an astounding circumstance.

One of the hussars, turning about in his sleep, had brought
himself close to the feet of the Austrian Franz, and by
a series of wriggling movements was constantly changing
his position.

Of course I could not see him plainly, but I could tell
that the dark figure was moving, though very, very slowly,
until it reached my head.

I lay perfectly still, save for the violent beating of my
heart, which would not be controlled.

What did this by-play mean?

Naturally, perhaps, my first thoughts flew to Von
Theyer.  But then he had no need of foul play.  By twisting
his orders a little he could easily justify himself in
swinging me up, and who was ever likely to question his
action?

No, it could not be Von Theyer; but that only
deepened the mystery.

Very stealthily a hand crept from the folds of the cloak,
and in the fingers was something which glistened.

At this my heart gave one great throb, and then seemed
to cease beating.

The glittering object was a long, straight knife, and as
the sheen of it fell across my eyes I tried, but tried in vain,
to shout for help.

"Be still!"

The words were spoken in Hungarian, hardly above a
breath, and I fancied there was a somewhat familiar ring
in the voice.

I lay quite quiet, not attempting to speak, and the knife,
creeping down, began to rub edgewise against the cords
that fastened my wrists.

The steel was sharp, the worker a master-hand, and
the hempen threads fell apart as if by magic.

A sharp jerk would have set my wrists free, when
Franz stirred uneasily, and though not even half awake,
tugged at the rope which bound me to him.

Then he turned over again and was as soundly asleep
as ever.

It was a terrible moment for the three of us, but most
terrible of all for the unconscious Franz.

The dark figure at my head lay motionless, but the
hand underneath that innocent-looking coat held, firmly
grasped, a sharp, keen blade.

However, the danger past, the knife again slid down
and finished its work.  The fellow then wriggled round to
our feet, and cut the cords on my legs; only the ropes
binding me to my guards remained to be severed.

My excitement grew to an intense pitch; I had to force
myself into silence.  I wanted to jump up and scream
aloud.

My unknown rescuer had apparently no nerves.  The
steel was pushed forward steadily, without a tremor, and
the rope which bound me to Franz was cut.

One link alone remained, and I thought my brain must
give way under the strain.

Several of the hussars tossed restlessly, muttering unintelligible
words, while here in the very midst of them, within a
few yards of their leader himself, was this daring adventurer
calmly setting free the victim of that leader's vengeance.

Twice, owing to a trooper's restlessness, he had to stop;
but my unknown saviour was as patient as daring, and
after each halt he resumed his work.

With the snapping of the last thread I felt as if I
really must break into a fit of hysterical laughter, or
waken Von Theyer by a defiant taunt; but, alas! my
childish glee was soon over.  As I was stealing cautiously
away, Ober sprang to his feet.

In an instant two dark figures were grappling with each
other, swaying this way and that; then a loud cry of
"Treachery!" came from the Austrian; there was a swift
flash of steel, and poor Ober sank, groaning.

"This way!" shouted my rescuer, and I darted after
him towards the door.

The troopers jumping up tried to stop us, but the
stranger knocked down several with some heavy weapon,
and cleared a passage.

The confusion was tremendous, and the officers, coming
from their apartment, vainly endeavoured to find its cause.

We were at the door, outside, free!

"Follow!" cried the stranger, without wasting words;
but as he turned for the open country, dozens of troopers
poured into the street.

My guide dashed away, and was lost in the darkness,
and I should have got clear but for one of the hussars,
who flung himself right across my path.

Down I went with a crash, and though rising quickly, a
smart blow on the head behind sent me sprawling, and
the next instant I was in the midst of the angry crowd.





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.. _`IMPRISONED AT ARAD`:

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   CHAPTER XXV.

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   *IMPRISONED AT ARAD.*

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Von Theyer met me at the inn door, but he was
busy giving orders that a detachment of troops
should mount and scour the district.

Candles and flaring torches burned in the kitchen, and
by their light I saw three men, all badly wounded, lying
side by side.

At the farther end of the apartment lay Ober, and the
hussars pulled and hustled me towards his body.

Poor fellow!  He was quite dead, and close by I saw
the keen blade, now stained with blood, that had slain
him.

His comrades uttered loud threats of vengeance, and one
man, pressing the muzzle of his pistol against my forehead,
swore he would shoot me.

Another pulled him back, saying he might safely leave
me to the colonel, who would not fail to avenge the dead
hussar.

For myself, I was in a state of utter bewilderment, and
looked at the brawny, rough-voiced men like a dazed child.

The long-continued excitement and the dramatic close of
the incident had for the time clouded my brain, and,
beyond the fact that Ober was dead, I grasped nothing
clearly.

Then above the babel of sounds I heard a voice ordering
in tones of command that my arms should be bound afresh.

This the men did very willingly, and in their anger
they tied the knots so tightly that the pain almost caused
me to faint.

Then two of them led me into the next room, where
Von Theyer sat, with a pair of pistols on the table beside
him.

"That will do," he exclaimed harshly.  "Leave him
there.  Now go outside and wait.  Don't be frightened if
you hear the report of a pistol.  I'm in no danger."

The men saluted and withdrew, leaving me facing their
colonel.

At the sight of that face with the hideous scar my
senses and my manhood returned to me.  I remembered
that I came of a race of Magyar nobles, and resolved to
show myself worthy to bear their name.

"George Botskay, once a so-called captain in the rebel
army, but now an associate of thieves and murderers, I
demand to know the name of the villain by whose aid you
have stabbed an unoffending man to death."

At this implied accusation of a cowardly crime my face
flushed, and I cried hotly,--

"I throw the lie in your teeth, Colonel von Theyer.
My hands are free from innocent blood, as you well know,
though it may suit your purpose to declare otherwise."

Von Theyer laughed, and his lips assumed a cruel curve
that was not pleasant to see.

"You are right," said he coldly.  "It does suit my
purpose.  Can you guess why I did not hang you by the
side of your friend Count Beula?  I had another plan, and
this night's work has made its success certain.  Look at
me, George Botskay, and see for what I have to thank you.
In Vienna you worked me harm enough, but this, this--"  And
he half choked as he laid his hand on his scarred cheek.

"I am truly sorry for your disfigurement," I replied,
"but it happened in the heat of battle and with no malice
on my part."

"Perhaps when I have made you suffer I shall be sorry
too," he said flippantly.  "We shall see.  I could hang
you now--your life is forfeit to the laws; but that is not
my wish.  I am going to brand your name, so that it shall
be carried to Vienna as the name of a common thief and
assassin.  I will make the Austrian government your judge
and your executioner.  When you have been publicly
disgraced and hung, Fräulein Theresa may not be quite so
proud of her Hungarian friend."

"You are a coward and a scoundrel," I cried contemptuously,
"and may do as you please;" but for all my brave
words the barbed shaft had struck home.

Von Theyer saw this, and was beginning to laugh, when
he caught sight of the locket, which showed through my
disordered apparel.

Apparently he recognized it, as he sprang forward to
remove it; and then he saw the baron's ring.

"Oh, oh!" he cried; "this is famous!  So you have
been robbing the dead!  I think this will add an extra
spice to my revenge."

Dragging the ring from my finger, he called his men to
take me away and guard me closely.

By this time day was breaking; and the soldiers, unable
to sleep, got ready their morning meal.

As no one offered me any, I went without, which was
not an agreeable method of beginning the day.

However, they gave me plenty of rope instead, and I
was firmly fastened on Ober's horse, while two men with
levelled pistols rode one on either side of me.

The detachment sent out during the night met us
a few miles from the village, and the officer reported
they had been unable to find any trace of the mysterious
stranger.

Talking amongst themselves, the hussars declared that
the daring intruder must have been Batori Gabor, and I
held that opinion too.

Rakoczy was a prisoner, and Mecsey Sándor far away,
so that unless one of the disbanded soldiers had performed
the deed, the robber-captain was the only person left to
suspect.

However, the scheme had failed, and I was more
strongly guarded than before.

Von Theyer gave the strictest orders to the two troopers,
one of whom was Franz, the comrade of the dead Ober.

This man eyed me most maliciously, and I felt sure he
would be a splendid tool in furthering the colonel's scheme.

From boyhood, riding had been one of my chief
pleasures; but this new style, tied hand and foot and
bound to a horse's back, was a novelty I did not appreciate.

Towards noon we halted beside a pleasant stream, a tributary
of the Maros; and having attended to the animals,
the men sat down to their frugal dinner.

Now, since there is no satisfaction to be obtained in
hanging a dead man, Von Theyer was compelled to give
me some food; and this, with the temporary freedom of
my arms, was a great relief.

Having finished their black bread and cheese, most of
the men began to smoke.  Some rolled out their greatcoats
and went to sleep, while others played strange games
with packs of well-thumbed cards.

The halt lasted perhaps two hours, when the bugles
sounded, and we were again in motion.

By this time Von Theyer had evidently abandoned all
hope of catching the robbers, as we rode at a sober pace,
and finished the day's march long before sunset.

Our new quarters were in a fair-sized village, and I was
rather amused by the precautions taken to ensure my
safety.

Six men were placed in the same room, and a sentry
was posted outside the door.

If any accident occurred during the night, the colonel
promised to hang them all without exception; and as Von
Theyer was a man of his word, the troopers regarded his
threat with respect.

Poor fellows!  In spite of my own risky position I
pitied them; they were like men suffering from a bad
form of nightmare.

After a meagre supper, quickly dispatched, my arms
were rebound, and I was bundled into a corner, the sergeant
in charge of the guard warning me not to move, which was
rather unnecessary advice.

Two of the hussars stood over me with drawn swords,
the others sat on a bench waiting for their spell of duty.
I don't think any of them went to sleep.

About midnight Von Theyer himself paid us a visit;
and the guard, springing to their feet, presented arms.

He glanced round the room with an approving smile,
and said,--

"Well, sergeant, I think your prisoner will have small
chance of stabbing any one to-night."

The sergeant smiled at the compliment to his vigilance,
and the colonel came over to my corner.

Not caring to bandy words with him before his men, I
closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep, and after a minute
or two he went away.

The night passed wearily enough, for although I managed
to sleep, my rest was broken by feverish dreams, and I
gladly welcomed the coming of another day.

For some reason unknown to me we did not set out till
ten o'clock; and when, after an uneventful journey, we
rode into the town of Arad, the autumn afternoon was
fast blending into evening.

The inhabitants of the old market-town swarmed out to
see the Austrian cavalry, and many glances of compassion
and pity were directed on the bound and helpless prisoner
in their midst.

A few expressed their sympathy audibly, but for the
most part men, women, and children stood mournful indeed
but silent.

Alas! the glory of the Magyar had departed.  Henceforth
my unhappy countrymen must bend beneath the
whips of their Austrian masters.

Once we were startled by a mocking laugh from some
one in the crowd, and Von Theyer frowned angrily as a
clear voice sang out, "Let the colonel look to his guards.
'Twill be his turn next."

The Austrian dashed towards the spot whence the words
came, but he met only the innocent faces of terrified people,
and for very shame's sake he dared not punish them.

The voice roused me, for it was that of the man who
had slain Ober in the kitchen of the inn; and now I knew
the daring intruder had been Batori, the robber-captain.

Others also guessed the secret, and Franz riding up to
the colonel whispered something in his ear.

Immediately the troopers were ordered to disperse, and
in small parties to search every nook and cranny in both
the old and the new town.

Meanwhile Von Theyer, with half a dozen men who
acted as my escort, rode to the bridge which spans one arm
of the Maros, and connects Arad with the spit of land on
which the fortress is built.

The last time I had passed that way the red, white, and
green stripes waved proudly from the ramparts.  Now the
black and yellow flag hung from the walls--an outward
and visible sign of our defeat.

A group of citizens stood on the river-bank to watch us
go past, and my heart gave a great leap as I recognized
amongst them the faithful Mecsey Sándor.

He had discarded his uniform, and was dressed in
civilian costume, though he could not altogether disguise
his military carriage.

His eyes looked straight into mine, and by a kind of
dumb show he made me understand that Rakoczy was
confined in Gros-Wardein.

Then our little cavalcade swept by, the gates were
thrown open, and we passed behind the frowning walls of
the fortress.

Here Von Theyer left us, and I soon received ample
proof of how effectually he had blackened my character to
the governor.

Instead of being treated as an honourable though beaten
enemy, I was roughly thrust into a small, dark cell, bare of
furniture, and left to my own reflections till the morning,
when a jailer, attended by several soldiers, brought me
some food and untied my bonds.

For this last attention I was extremely grateful, and ate
my lump of dry black bread in an almost cheerful spirit.

But as day followed day without change, the gloom
and monotony oppressed me like a heavy weight.  I grew
moody and depressed, and in spite of a hard struggle was
gradually driven to look upon the dark side of things.

No news of any kind came to me in my narrow prison.
The jailer refused to answer a question, saying the
only matter I need trouble about was the date of my
execution.

At first I dreamed of making my escape, but this idea
was soon abandoned, as I saw how hopeless any attempt
must be.

The cell door was of iron, the walls were strong and
massive, and I had not so much as a nail to work with.

Almost my sole dependence lay in Mecsey Sándor, yet
what he could do I could not imagine.

However, I tried hard not to despair, and resolved, if
need be, to meet my fate bravely.

In this manner more than a fortnight passed, when one
morning, about two hours after my breakfast of black
bread and water, I was surprised to hear the tramp of
marching feet, which stopped opposite my cell.

The key turned in the massive lock, the door opened,
and I was harshly ordered to step outside.

A number of soldiers with bayonets fixed waited.  I was
placed in the midst of them and hurried away.

These men belonged to an infantry regiment, and were
strangers to me, but it was plain they had formed a very
unfavourable opinion of my character.

Crossing the square, they halted in front of a low door,
and the officer in command of the party signed to me to
follow him.

An antechamber was filled with soldiers, fully armed
and standing at attention, while their faces were about
as human as chiselled stone.

Passing through, we entered a second apartment, where
a dozen officers were seated round a baize-covered table
littered with writing material.

Recognizing that these men held my life in their hands,
I looked at them eagerly.

The president's chair was occupied by a tall old man
with slightly-stooping shoulders, scanty white hair, and
long, drooping, white moustaches.

His face was bronzed, and his breast covered with
numerous ribbons and medals, but his blue eyes were
rather dreamy, and I thought he had much ado to keep
himself awake.

The officers who flanked him on either side of the table
were of various ages, and belonged to different branches of
the service, but they all sat as immovable as statues.

The silence was so weird and oppressive that I welcomed
the sound of the president's voice when he began the
proceedings by asking my name.

"George Botskay," I proudly answered.

"Captain in the rebel army?" he went on, reading from
a slip of paper.

"Captain on the staff of General Görgei, commander-in-chief
of the Hungarian national forces," I replied.

One of the stone griffins started into life at this, but the
president petrified him again by a wave of the hand.

"Why did you not surrender with your leader?"

"Because I was absent on special duty."

"It is stated here," said he, tapping the paper, "that
you were at Vilagos on the thirteenth of August."

"I was, but not with the army."

The other stone men showed signs of life now, and the
old warrior continued his examination.

"Was it not your duty, as a soldier of honour, to obey
your chief's orders, and to give yourself up to the proper
authorities?"

"That view of the question did not strike me," I
answered, and quite honestly too.  "I was not with the
army, and therefore did not consider myself included in
the surrender."

"You preferred instead to join the band of a notorious
robber?"

"That is false," I cried--"utterly false!"

The president, though he did not look like a merciful
man, was exceedingly polite.

"I am afraid," he said, "that the facts are against you.
Colonel von Theyer, one of our best officers--"

"A rebel turncoat," I interrupted angrily.

"I do not think, Herr Botskay, that abuse of a trusted
officer will do your case any good.  His report expressly
states that you were discovered with this band of robbers.
Do you deny the truth of the charge?"

"I cannot; but my being there was the result of blind
chance."

The griffins actually smiled, which convinced me I was
getting deeper into the mire, and that feeling was not
lessened when the president said softly, "An unlucky
chance for you, Herr Botskay, I fear."

"It is the truth for all that," I said stoutly.

"Did Count Beula meet the robbers by accident also?"

"I cannot say.  I know nothing of him."

"Here again my information differs from your statement.
The count was well known as an abettor of the massacres
in Vienna, and it is laid down here that you were in
personal communication with him at the beginning of the
insurrection.  Is that so?"

The ground seemed to be slipping from under me.

"Count Beula was never a friend of mine," I said.

"One does not always make a friend of an accomplice,"
replied the president suavely.  "But here is another
question.  Is it true that on any single occasion you
attended a meeting of the Hungarian Committee?"

"That is easily explained," I began.  "When--"

"Pardon me, general," interrupted one of my judges,
"but I should like the prisoner to give a direct answer--yes
or no--to the question.  It is a simple matter.  Did he
or did he not, in October of 1848, attend a meeting of the
Hungarian Committee?"

"If you will not allow me to explain, I shall refuse to
answer at all," I exclaimed.

"Then," said the man who had spoken, "we shall be
forced to draw our own conclusions;" and he sat down very
red, but triumphant, amid a hum of approval.

"There is one other matter on which you might like to
say a word," remarked the president blandly, "and that is
the doing to death of the trooper Ober."

To this I replied that the unfortunate man had not met
his death at my hands, nor was I in any way responsible
for the striking of the fatal blow.

Here again I was confronted by further proof of how
finely my enemy had woven the meshes of my net.

According to the sworn evidence of the man Franz, he
had seen the knife in my hand, and he had also seen me
stab the hapless trooper to the heart.

On the evidence supplied to them my judges could so
easily find me guilty of almost any crime that I took little
interest in the rest of the proceedings.

Von Theyer had made such a skilful blend of fact and
fiction that his story had all the appearance of unadulterated
truth.  On one point alone he had not fulfilled his
threat; there was no allusion to the ring and miniature of
the dead baron.

I believe the president did mention vaguely some other
charges, but as I could not be shot or hung twice over,
these did not much matter.

When he had finished his speech I bowed courteously,
saluted the officers in military fashion, and followed the
leader of the escort from the room.

Once again I was placed in the midst of the soldiers,
and marched back to my cell, where they left me without
a word.  I sat down on the wooden bench which was
my sole article of furniture, and tried to think over my
position.

It seemed gloomy and hopeless enough, and turn which
way I would, the only outlook was towards the scaffold.

As far as I could understand, the Austrians claimed the
right to hang me on either of two grounds--the refusal to
surrender with Görgei at Vilagos, and the fact that I was
caught in the company of a notorious band of robbers.

The other points, such as my acquaintance with Count
Beula and the slaying of the hussar, were mere garnishings,
added by the wily Von Theyer to prejudice my judges,
and prevent them tempering justice by mercy.

In this there could be no doubt he succeeded perfectly,
and I felt certain that whatever I might put forward in
my defence would prove of no avail.

Indeed it was likely enough my sentence had already
been pronounced, and that at any moment I might be led
out to execution.  Every sound which reached my ears
startled me, and a dozen times I stood up trying to calm
the beatings of my heart.

But the day passed, and at night the jailer brought my
black bread and water, and went away again as usual
without saying a word.  I ate and drank feverishly, and
then lay down on the narrow bench wondering what would
happen before the next setting of the sun.  Very slowly
and wearily the dark hours crawled along, until, utterly
worn out, I fell asleep, to be awakened, it seemed almost
immediately, by the rattling of keys and the creaking of
the iron door.  In an instant I sprang to my feet, and
waited with taut-strung nerves for the final ordeal.

My visitor was the jailer, and as he placed my breakfast
on the ground, I burst into a peal of hysterical laughter.





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.. _`LED OUT TO EXECUTION`:

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   CHAPTER XXVI.

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   *LED OUT TO EXECUTION.*

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I pass rapidly over the period of suspense which
succeeded my examination.

Even now it is painful to look back on the time when
I fully expected every hour of each ensuing day to be
my last.

Yet night and morning came and went, and I still
remained in the dark cell, unable to learn anything
concerning my fate.

The only relief to the monotony was the coming of the
jailer, and he was such a surly fellow that his visits gave
me more pain than pleasure.

A whole week passed in this way, and then I was again
taken from the cell and marched to another part of the
fortress.

At every step I gazed round anxiously, expecting to see
the preparations for my execution.

Young, strong, and healthy, I had no wish to die; yet
this horrible uncertainty, this alternation of hope and fear,
was actually worse than death.

The faces of the soldiers were stolid and
impassive--nothing could be learned from them; while the officer did
not even look at me.  We crossed the courtyard, and my
pulses throbbed with fresh hope as I was led into a spacious
room, where a stout, florid man in military uniform sat at
a table writing.

Only two of the escort had entered with the officer, and
these stood with fixed bayonets.

The florid man left his chair, and pointing to another,
said coldly,--

"Sit down there, Herr Botskay.  By order of the general
commanding, you are to answer these questions in writing,
an hour being given you for the task."

To all appearance I was quite cool, but the blood surged
through my veins like a rushing torrent, and I could not
see the questions on the paper for dizziness.

Apathy and despair vanished.  The latent spark of hope
kindled into a fresh flame.  Here was another chance of
life and freedom.  Alas! my new and beautiful castle
was built on very frail foundations.

The questions numbered nearly a dozen, and were framed
in such a manner that by answering them without adding
the fullest explanations I should only make my case worse.

A quarter of an hour passed, and I still sat staring
stupidly at my blank sheet of paper.

The soldiers stood grimly at attention, the officer leaned
on his sword, the stout man sat writing stolidly; no sound
but the monotonous ticking of the clock and the beating of
my own heart broke the silence.

At last, seizing the pen, I began to write--not in answer
to the questions, but a short account of what had passed
between Von Theyer and myself, and an explanation of
how I came to be in the company of Batori Gabor.

It was rather a lame performance, its chief merit being
to afford a reason for Von Theyer's persecution; and when
the official came to witness my signature, I felt it would
do me but little good.

Another week passed--a week of heart-wearing
suspense--before I was again called to attend the court.

A single glance at the faces of my judges extinguished
the tiny spark of hope which struggled to keep alive in
my breast.

The president spoke in impressive tones, every word
sounding distinctly in the quiet room.

It was a long speech, but the whole of it might easily
have been compressed into a dozen sentences.

On the first two counts--refusing to surrender at Vilagos,
and joining a band of notorious outlaws--I was unanimously
found guilty, and sentenced to death.

After this, one would have thought the rest to be of
little interest, but the president gravely continued his
remarks.

The unlawful killing of Ober was also considered proved,
and on the various other charges laid against me the court
expressed no opinion.

"Therefore," concluded the president in a solemn voice,
"it becomes my painful duty to tell you, George Botskay.
that on the second morning from this you will be led out
to execution in the market-place of this town, that your
death may act as a warning to all those who vainly hope
to oppose the imperial government."

My limbs trembled, the blood left my face, but, managing
to control my voice, I said calmly, "As a soldier,
general, you will know a soldier's feelings.  I do not plead
for mercy, but there is one favour I would like to beg."

"Speak on, Herr Botskay.  It may be in our power to
grant it."

"Then I ask that you will at least permit me to die
the death of a soldier, and not that of a criminal."

"That," responded the old man, "is impossible, since you
ceased to be a soldier when you joined Batori Gabor.  As
a brigand you were captured, as a brigand you must suffer;"
and he waved his hand, directing that I should be removed.

Back again in the lonely cell, my first feeling was one
of relief that the period of suspense had ended.

I could no longer be tortured by swift alternations of
hopes and fears.  The worst had come, and with it a
feeling of apathetic stupor.

But the next day, as I sat measuring off the hours by
guess-work, a revulsion of feeling set in.

Life was sweet, and all the throbbing vigour of my
youth protested hotly against this violent and disgraceful
death.

Had it come when I charged with Görgei at the head of
our cavalry, or when beside my noble-hearted brother
I scaled the ramparts of Buda, the glow of patriotism, of
devotion to my outraged country, would have removed half
its terrors; but now, in this guise!

Then my thoughts turned to the faithful Mecsey; to
John Rakoczy, my true and gallant friend, whom I should
never again see; finally passing to the Austrian maiden,
whose fair face had never faded from my memory.

Would she believe the untruths which Von Theyer
would but too surely circulate?

I shuddered to think what terrible stories his fertile
brain might invent when I was no longer able to give
them the lie.

Yet, through it all, I never quite lost hope that the
beautiful girl would keep her faith in my truth and honour;
and this feeling sufficed to raise me from the slough of
misery into which I was sinking.

Night came at length, and the surly jailer brought my
last supper, which I forced myself to eat.

Then, after a solemn hour spent in prayer, I lay down
on my hard bench and slept peacefully as a child.

I had no means of telling the time, but the jailer
apparently wakened me earlier than usual, and I was led
into a room where, instead of the usual bread and water, a
proper breakfast was laid.  The apartment was filled with
soldiers; and when I had finished, two of them, stepping
forward, pinioned my arms tightly behind my back.

It was, as near as I could judge, about ten o'clock when
the governor entered, and, after a brief talk with one of
the officers, ordered the procession to be formed.

The air was keen, though the sun shone brightly overhead,
as we proceeded slowly to the courtyard, where the
soldiers halted.

Two other detachments now joined us, and in the midst
of each a prisoner walked bareheaded.

They were both officers in Bern's army of Transylvania,
so I did not know them, but we exchanged glances of pity
and goodwill.

One was an old man with scarred face and white,
flowing beard, a veteran Pole, who had spent his life in
warfare against the enemies of his country.

His fellow-victim was quite young, hardly older than
myself; but he bore himself as proudly as his comrade,
gazing at the Austrians without a tremor.

After a delay of ten minutes the arrangements were
completed, and the booming of a big gun announced to the
townsfolk that the mournful procession was about to issue
from the gates of the fortress.

The soldiers closed up their ranks, the order was issued,
and we set out, my escort being the last of the three.

I tried hard to march with steady step and unfaltering
countenance, but it was hard work.

The fresh morning air, the bright October sun, the
merry flight of birds overhead, even the gaudy uniforms of
the soldiers, spoke of life, and I was going to lose it.

A lump rose in my throat as we passed through the
gateway, but I remembered I was a Magyar, and choked it down.

The pain and misery would soon be at an end, and the
white-coats must not think me a coward.

At minute intervals a gun was fired from the ramparts,
and the church-bells of the town tolled mournfully in
response.

Crossing the one bridge which had not been destroyed
during the war, we entered the town proper.

I was astounded at the spectacle.

Two lines of soldiers with loaded rifles guarded the route
to the market-place, and kept back the crowds of people
who stood on tiptoe and craned their necks in eager anxiety
to catch a last view of those about to die.

Not the populace of the town alone had assembled, but
the inhabitants of all the surrounding districts had come
in thousands to show respect to the victims of Austrian
cruelty.

The women sobbed as we went by, and looked at us
with a yearning pity that almost broke down my composure.
The eyes of the men flashed with fierce hate, and
I thought it well that these brave Magyars had no weapons.

Little children were held up in the arms of their fathers
to see us, and were that day taught a lesson which they
would not forget in many years.

The nearer we approached our destination the denser
the crowd became, while the market-place itself was so
packed that several persons died of suffocation.

There, during the preceding night, an enormous wooden
stage had been erected, and in the centre was a tall gallows.

At the sight of this, I confess freely, my heart sank, and
I feared that my courage would desert me.

Now just at this moment I saw the face of the gallant
Mecsey Sándor, which acted on my nerves like a strong
tonic.

The faithful fellow stood in the very foremost of the
crowd, immediately behind the soldiers, and opposite the
steps by which the wide platform was reached.

He was very mournful, yet the look in his eyes expressed
something more than sorrow.

"Courage, my sweet master, and God bless you!" cried
he boldly, while I, turning my head, smiled to show I
understood.

"Courage, George Botskay!" exclaimed a second voice.
"The Austrians cannot kill your name, which will never
die in Magyar-land."

The man who spoke was standing next Mecsey, and
I stared in amazement at beholding Dobozy.

What was he doing there?

If he were free, why not "John the Joyous?"

So great a longing suddenly seized me to look on the
dear fellow's face once more that I was unnerved, and only
by a great effort kept myself from stumbling.

Several other voices now cried, "God bless you, captain!"
and I became aware that many men of my old regiment
were grouped around Mecsey Sándor and Dobozy.

I smiled a last farewell at them, but my aching eyes
sought in vain for the noble figure of their colonel, and
I concluded he was still a prisoner, or dead.

Right round the ghastly structure a cordon of troops
had been drawn, the space inside being occupied by a
regiment of hussars.

Even before meeting him I knew instinctively that Von
Theyer was at their head, and the knowledge gave me
added courage.

He, at least, should never guess the tortures that I
suffered.

I walked firmly, with head erect, gazing boldly at my
bitter enemy.  He was on horseback, almost at the
foot of the wooden steps which led to the scaffold, so
that but for my guard I should have brushed against
him in passing.

His eyes, full of cruel hatred, met mine; but I trust they
detected no sign of fear or blenching in my face.

I mounted the steps, and as the soldiers placed me
beneath the gallows a low, deep hum of pity rose from
the crowd.

The two officers from Bern's army were stationed some
distance away on my right, and the governor, stepping to
the front, began reading in a loud, clear voice some official
document.

It was a wonderful and impressive scene.  The huge
platform, with half a dozen high officials and two firing
parties; the bronzed hussars, in brilliant uniforms, sitting
their horses like statues; the ring of infantry, with the
sun shining on their bright, steel bayonets the hushed
crowd beyond, angry but impotent--furnished a spectacle
that those who beheld never forgot while life lasted.

The governor continued to read, and as he read a little
bird with cherry-coloured throat and gay plumage came
and perched itself near me on the frowning gallows.

I was watching the tiny fellow with interest when a
cry from the crowd, as of pain wrung from some animal,
greeted the end of the governor's speech.

The fatal moment was fast approaching, and I cast a
farewell glance at Mecsey and his companions.

The faithful fellow was in a state of terrible excitement,
those around him being hardly less moved.

Their faces alternated with hope and fear, grief, rage,
despair, anxiety--in short, all the passions that the human
face is capable of expressing.  But, above all, it seemed to
me they were waiting.

Waiting for what?

The idea which suddenly flashed across my mind made
me tremble.  Was it possible that these great-hearted men
were mad enough to dream of a rescue?

From my heart I hoped and prayed this was not the
secret of their excitement.

The thing was utterly impossible, and could only lead to
the shedding of much innocent blood.

Life had never seemed so glorious a possession as it did
just then, but I would have forfeited it a hundred times
rather than expose those thousands of men and women to
the horrors of an Austrian butchery.

Yet I was powerless to avert the evil, if, indeed, the
trusty Mecsey had planned such a mad project.

However, in a few brief moments now everything would
be decided.  My fellow-victims were to suffer first, and,
kneeling in the positions appointed, they submitted to the
bandaging of their eyes.

I kept my head steadfastly turned from the cruel scene,
as did the vast majority of the crowd.

The firing parties advanced.

"Long live Hungary!" cried the younger soldier.

"Long live Poland!" cried the veteran, the voices of
both being equally cool and collected.

"Fire!"

The report of the volleys rang out, and a groan burst
from the spectators.

From the victims themselves there came not a sound.

When next I looked round, the two bodies had been
removed, and the governor was beginning to read from a
second paper.  It was a recital of my various crimes, and
the sentence pronounced by the military tribunal.

Slowly, expressively, giving each word with due
distinctness, he read on, while I watched Mecsey's face, and
prayed that the speech might come to an end before
mischief was done.

Yet, all unknown to me, the question of my life or
death hung on the length of time occupied by that
pompous old man.

It could not be said I had abandoned hope, since, after
the finding of the court-martial, I had never entertained
any; all my suspense now was centered in the action of
Mecsey and his companions.

That their presence, and the selection of their particular
position, was due to some settled purpose, there could
be little doubt; and I felt equally sure that every man
of that desperate party was in possession of hidden
weapons.

What was the signal they waited for?

Suddenly, in the midst of the reading, there came a cry
from the outskirts of the crowd--a cry caught up and
repeated by thousands of voices, till the volume of sound
rolled over the whole market-place.

Mecsey and his confederates threw their caps high into
the air, and yelled like madmen; the governor, deadly
pale, stopped his reading and called to Von Theyer, who
hastily mounted the platform; the infantry, waiting for
orders, gripped their rifles with grim resolution; the
hussars bared their swords and prepared for the word to
charge.

Yet the people made no attempt at a rescue; only in
one place they formed a lane along which a horseman
galloped frantically amidst such a wild outburst of
cheering as Arad never knew before or since.

During those few moments I must have suffered more
agony than falls to the lot of many men in a lifetime.

Of what was happening I had not the slightest idea,
only I saw Von Theyer return to his men, and heard his
short, quick words of command.

At the same time the infantry faced about and
presented a steel-girt barrier to the crowd.

Yet the cheering did not cease--it grew louder; and
now we on the platform could hear such words as "The
Kaiser!  Long live Francis Josef!  Long live the Kaiser!"

At the first sign of danger the soldiers on the platform
surrounded me in a body, and the executioner was already
arranging the noose when the horseman reached the line of
infantry.

What he said I knew not, but those sturdy warriors
opened their ranks.  He dashed through, and when in the
open space Von Theyer would have turned him back, he
struck him from the saddle, at the same time shouting out
something in a loud tone.

Springing to the ground, he left his horse with heaving
flanks and spume-flaked nostrils, and scrambled up the
wooden steps, crying aloud and waving a large white
envelope.

As one in a dream I watched him approach the governor
and hand him the mysterious missive.

Then he turned to me, and I forgot all about death, for
the strange messenger was "John the Joyous."

Never had the name fitted him more admirably.  His
cheeks were flushed with happiness; his eyes bright and
sparkling; every feature had part in the joyous smile that
overspread his handsome face.

I could not think or reason--in fact there was no
necessity, for John Rakoczy had come.

The crowd shouted lustily until the governor, waving
the white envelope, went to the edge of the platform.

Then the cheering ceased and all was silent save for the
voice of the governor as he read from a sheet of paper the
free pardon of His Most Gracious Majesty, Kaiser Francis
Josef, to George Botskay, sometime captain on the staff
of General Arthur Görgei.

He added some further words, to which the people responded
with a wild cheer, and then began to disperse, while
I stood dumfounded with the rope yet round my neck.

The market-place emptied slowly; the infantry formed
up in companies and marched to the fortress; the hussars,
headed by Von Theyer looking black and scowling, trotted
off; only the governor's personal escort remained.

Then the old man harshly told me I was at liberty;
and he, too, went away, leaving me with my chivalrous
friend.

This startling swing back from the very brink of the
grave left me weak and dazed.  I had hardly sufficient
strength to thank the man who had saved my life.

"Wait a bit," said he smilingly.  "There will be plenty
of time for all that.  We have many things to tell each
other, but you must get back a little strength first.  Come,
lean on me.  Mecsey has a carriage ready, and I am going
to send you to Gyula."

"Aren't you coming?"

"In a day or two.  There is a little business in Arad to
be settled first."

So greatly had my nerves been weakened by the shock
that I did not guess what the business was, and permitted
him to lead me away without protest.

At one of the inns Mecsey waited with a carriage, and
many of the old Honveds stood in front of the house.

Dobozy was there too, and the true-hearted kindness of
my former companions brought tears of gratitude to my
eyes.

"The Joyous" wrapped me up comfortably, and giving
Mecsey, who was to ride inside, many injunctions, shook
my hand in a parting grasp.

"Rouse yourself!" cried he.  "Dobozy and I are
coming in a few days, and we don't want to be entertained
by an invalid."

Dobozy added some lively badinage to cheer my spirits,
the two waved their hands in farewell, the coachman
cracked his whip, and we were off to the lonely
homestead I had not visited during the last two years.





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.. _`AN AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ALLIANCE`:

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   CHAPTER XXVII.

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   *AN AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ALLIANCE.*

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"The Joyous" was certainly not acting up to his
reputation.

We had just adjourned to the drawing-room after
supper, and were sipping our coffee.

The light from the central lamp fell on Baron von
Arnstein's ring and miniature.

"Von Theyer was wearing them, poor fellow!" exclaimed
Rakoczy gloomily.  "See! there is a bloodstain
on the miniature!"

"Poor fellow, indeed!" cried Dobozy.  "I've no patience
with you.  He is as much to be regretted as a vicious old
tusker!  Besides, after such a knock-down blow, you were
bound to fight."

"The general opinion; though Schlick thought that, as
the emperor's special messenger, I acted rightly."

"At all events, you saved my life, John," I interrupted.

"And now," Dobozy answered merrily, "he regrets it!"

"No, no!" cried John.  "I would kill a hundred Von
Theyers if they threatened George's safety.  Still, this
hussar was a splendid soldier, and brave as a lion."

"He was the finest cavalry leader in the Austrian
service," I said.

"And tried his very hardest to get you hanged,"
laughed Dobozy.

"That's so!" exclaimed Rakoczy.  "Still, I would
rather have slain him on the battlefield than in a duel."

"While he preferred that Botskay should hang,"
observed Dobozy.

In my dazed state at Arad I had not thought of the
consequences which must follow Rakoczy's blow, but he
and Dobozy knew the Austrian would be satisfied with
nothing less than a duel to the death.

Indeed, my carriage had barely departed when several
officers galloped up with demands for the most abject
apology, unless my friend wished to receive challenges
from all the officers of the regiment in succession.

To this Rakoczy replied good-humouredly that he had
no quarrel with any one save their colonel, whom he
would fight, and referred them to Dobozy as his friend.

A duel was accordingly arranged, in which Von Theyer
fell, whereupon General Schlick forbade the officers of the
regiment from carrying the matter farther.

All this had been talked over after supper, but the sight
of the ring and miniature brought up the subject afresh.

At last, however, Rakoczy, shaking off his depression,
settled down to explain how my pardon was obtained
from the emperor.

"In the first place," he began, "everything is owing to
Mecsey Sándor, who is the best and trustiest of servants."

Dobozy caused an interruption here by his emphatic
approval of the remark.

"Seeing you in the hands of Von Theyer," Rakoczy
continued, "he at once scented mischief, and returned to
Gros-Wardein.  There he hung about till I was set free,
when he told me what had happened.  Now, it struck
me that unless the Austrian had a strong case, you would
not have lived to reach the fortress.  I scarcely knew how
to act.  Görgei was in prison, though pardoned, and I
had no influence with the Austrian leaders.  Here, again,
Mecsey Sándor came to the rescue.  'Does not my master
know some powerful ladies in Vienna?' he asked.  That
question furnished me with a key to undo all the locks."

"Then 'twas the fräulein who saved my life?" I cried.

"Or her mother," answered Rakoczy slyly.  "But you
are in a desperate hurry to reach the end of the story,
which isn't a compliment to the teller."

"Go on!" I cried impatiently.  "So you reached Vienna."

"But not in a second, my friend.  The journey took
time.  However, I did get there, and found the ladies in
mourning for the baron.  Poor little Theresa was pale as
a ghost, and her eyes were red with much weeping.
Really it seemed cruel, to burden them with fresh
sorrow.  But your life was at stake, my boy, so I cast
scruples to the winds and told them the story.  They only
knew the baron was dead; and when I related how you
had nursed and afterwards buried him, even the baroness
thawed and called on God to bless you."

"And Theresa?"

"She only spoke with her eyes, and some day you may
discover for yourself what they said.  To push on with
the story, however--Dobozy's positively yawning!--I told
them how you had spoiled Von Theyer's beauty, winding
up with an account of your imprisonment and almost
certain execution, unless the emperor himself would interfere."

"And they agreed to petition him?"

"Yes.  At first the baroness threw cold water on the
scheme, saying it could not succeed; but Theresa wept and
prayed so earnestly that her mother consented, and we all
three set out immediately for the palace.

"By my advice Theresa sought an audience for herself
only.  Any woman in distress has influence over a man;
but when one's petitioner is young and beautiful--well,
there!  You know more about these things than I do."

"Then the emperor received her?"

"Or you would not be here now.  I intended to advise
her what to say, but, bless you, she had it all mapped out."

"Trust a woman, old or young, for that," remarked
Dobozy.

"'There are four chief points,' she said to me.  'The
attempt to save Count Latour, which ought to count for
much; his protection of my mother and myself; his
kindness to my father, who was a great favourite with the
young archduke before he ascended the throne; and his
steady opposition to the scheme of separation.'"

"And the last is not the least," said I, delighted to find
she had thought about it all.

"Well, we waited in the courtyard of the palace, the
baroness seated in her comfortable carriage, I on
horseback.  About sixty times an hour I opened my watch--not
the battered one--and wondered what was happening
in the audience-chamber.  Every time a door opened or a
servant of the palace moved, my heart leaped to my mouth.
The baroness, stately and dignified, sat bolt upright, as if
nothing under the sun could trouble her, though I believe
she felt keenly, nevertheless."

"These people," exclaimed Dobozy with an air of
wisdom, "never obtrude their feelings in public."

"A second hour passed," continued Rakoczy, "and half
of the third, when a door was opened, and Theresa,
accompanied by a perfect escort of high functionaries, made her
appearance.  The first glance assured me all was right.

"She had been weeping--the tear-stains being still on
her face--but her eyes were bright and sparkling now,
and she ran to my horse's head with an *abandon* that
must have shocked her mother.

"'Ride, Herr Rakoczy!' she exclaimed.  'Do not waste
a second!  Here is your friend's pardon, signed by the
emperor's own hand.  No, don't stop to thank me.  If--if--oh,
it would be too terrible!' and without a moment's
warning she burst into tears.

"I was going to comfort her, but she dried her eyes,
declared she was stupid, and skipped off to the carriage.

"Then I doffed my hat to the ladies, wished them
farewell, and galloped off.  Luckily for you--and
others--I arrived at Arad just in time."

By his mention of *others* I guessed there still remained
something to be cleared up.  But first I wished to make
sure about a little matter which caused me some anxiety.

"How will Theresa learn that your journey ended
successfully?" I asked.

"From the palace, no doubt.  However, I took the
liberty of sending a trusty messenger with a letter in
which I stated that, as soon as you were strong enough,
you would pay your thanks in person."

"Which I most certainly will do.  Now tell me, please,
whom you meant by the *others*."

"That's Dobozy's yarn, not mine."

"Or rather Mecsey's."

"And it had something to do with a public rescue?"

Dobozy laughed.

"About the maddest idea that ever occurred to any man
outside the walls of a lunatic asylum.  I never spent such
a bad half-hour in my life.  But for the colonel's arrival,
I really can't say what would have happened.  Mecsey
was in deadly earnest, and he had so worked on the men
of your old regiment that they were ready for anything."

"But the plan?" I exclaimed.  "There must have been
at least some glimmering of a plan?"

"Well, you see, this servant of yours believes in
having two strings to his bow.  According to him, the
colonel's mission might or might not prove a success; so
it was as well not to depend on it altogether.  People say
one fool makes many, and it was certainly so in this case.
Learning that the 9th Honveds were to be dismissed,
Mecsey pounced on the men, and wheedled them into
promising their help.  Then he came to me, explained
what was going on, and asked me to lead.  I pointed out
the wickedness and folly of the scheme, but Mecsey was
far superior to arguments.  With a proper leader, he said,
the men would win; without one they would fail; and if
I wanted the thing to be wrecked, of course I wouldn't
join.  Well, to cut a long story short, I agreed.  We got
together all the weapons we could--long knives and axes
mostly, though some of us had pistols--and waited.

"Mecsey was just urging me to give the signal for a
rush at the platform, when some one in the secret sighted
the colonel, and we knew it was all right."

"What an awful thing it would have been!" I exclaimed
with a shudder.

"Well," said Dobozy, "the colonel saved the situation
by about two minutes.  I really believe though that Mecsey
was a bit disappointed.  He had a swift horse in waiting,
and all we had to do was to rush the platform, knock over
the soldiers, and carry you off before the Austrians were
aware of what was taking place.  Mecsey would have
made a great general."

"Now, George," exclaimed Rakoczy, when he had
finished laughing at the idea of General Mecsey Sándor,
"remember we haven't heard yet how you came to fall
into the hands of the Austrians.  It was rumoured in
camp, before the surrender, that you were killed at
Debreczin."

"Rumour would probably have proved true, but for the
inestimable Mecsey," I replied.  "He turned up as usual
in the right place at the right moment, nursed me in the
house of a good Samaritan, and journeyed with me to
Vilagos.  There we parted, as I expect he's told you."

"Yes; and the reason," said Rakoczy warmly.

"Well, instead of helping you out of a scrape, I got into
one," and I related my adventures while with the band of
robbers.

Both my listeners expressed astonishment at the conduct
of Count Beula, and Dobozy frankly praised the bandit-chief
for having hanged him.

"Yet he bore himself like a thorough soldier in the
field," said Rakoczy, who rarely looked at the dark spots,
even in the sun.  "You may depend his nerves were
overstrung.  As to this Batori Gabor, I knew him well years
ago.  He belongs to a good family, but he fell foul of the
Austrian police over some political matters, and took to
the plains.  I understand he did the enemy no end of
damage during the war."

"He must be a daring fellow," exclaimed Dobozy with
enthusiasm.  "That was a bold venture, to creep into the
kitchen amongst all those hussars."

"Almost as bold as Mecsey," I answered with a laugh;
"but it is perhaps as well neither of them succeeded."

"Better," said Rakoczy, "as success in either case would
have made you an outlaw; whereas you are now a free man."

"With liberty to visit Vienna whenever you like,"
laughed Dobozy; "but isn't it almost bed-time?"

Here, practically, my adventures with the red, white,
and green flag come to an end.  From that night in my
old home with Dobozy and "John the Joyous" I date the
beginning of a new life.

Gratitude, of course, and my promise to the dying baron
took me to Vienna, where my reception encouraged me to
pay several further visits, and in process of time my old
friend's forecast was fulfilled.  Theresa became my wife
after her mother's death, and now there is no keener
Magyar in all Hungary than Madame Botskay.

Every year we spend a couple of months in beautiful
Pesth, and generally another month with the paralyzed
Count Arnim and his wife, with both of whom Theresa is
a great favourite, as indeed she is with most people.

The redoubtable Mecsey Sándor, who makes as faithful
a steward as a soldier-servant, fairly worships her; and this
is the more wonderful, because the honest fellow heartily
detests the whole German race.

Mecsey is perfectly happy and comfortable, and spends
his leisure time in describing over and over again the
stirring events of the great campaign.

Occasionally Arthur Görgei--now a poor man living in
retirement--comes to see us, and I need hardly say that
no one save "John the Joyous" himself is ever more
heartily welcomed.

Some men--but none on my estates--call him a traitor,
and assert that he sold our country to the Russians.  If
Görgei betrayed his country, we of his army were
accomplices in his treachery, and this is the proof.

We marched hundreds of miles, often bare-footed, over
rough and stony ground; we half froze in the winter's
cold, and fainted beneath the scorching heat of summer;
for weeks together we lived on a scanty ration of black
bread and water; we stormed fortresses and fought
terrible battles when the odds were all against us; and
the man whose spirit, courage, and leadership made these
things possible was Arthur Görgei.

If such deeds as these were acts of treachery, then
indeed were we all traitors, and our leader was far and
away the greatest.

But the men who spoke thus wildly applauded Louis
Kossuth as the most glorious patriot in history, and
Kossuth was a fugitive in the land of the Turks!

It is the usual rule that the losers should be called on to
pay for the game, and our opponents adhered to it closely.

With the exception of Görgei and Klapka, our chiefs
were seized by the Austrians, and, after a mock trial,
sentenced to death.  Aulich, Damjanics, Nagy Sándor,
with ten others, all perished on one day; while at Pesth
the high-spirited Batthiany, the true leader of the national
party, was shot in the presence of several thousands of
his sorrowing countrymen.

Hungary indeed lay crushed under the heel of her
Russian and Austrian conquerors, but since that day many
events have happened.  Our liberties have been restored,
and now our country takes its rightful place as the ally
and not the vassal of the haughty Hapsburg dominion.

A quarter of a century later, when my own boys,
Stephen and John, were springing into early manhood,
we all journeyed to Pesth to see the Emperor Francis
Josef crowned King of Hungary.

"John the Joyous" was with us, and though his hair
was sprinkled with white streaks, his heart had never felt
lighter.

The boys were chiefly occupied in gazing at the gorgeous
spectacle--the ermine-trimmed velvet cloaks of the
councillors, the flashing mail of the nobles, the sparkling
diamonds and precious stones, the magnificent horses, the
robes and mitres of the officiating priests.

To them it was a splendid procession; to us it was
the fruition of hopes long deferred.

We thought of Görgei, of my brother Stephen, and of
all the gallant men who had laid down their lives for the
cause, and I think it was something more than the sun's
rays which brought the water to our eyes.

And when the Austrian Emperor, robed in the embroidered
mantle of St. Stephen, and crowned with the sacred
crown, swore as King of Hungary to guard her rights and
liberties against all foes, our hearts were full.

We felt that in the years long past our loyalty to the
red, white, and green flag had not been altogether in vain.

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   THE END.

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