*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40137 ***

[Illustration: Cover]



[Illustration: "The white-coats poured in their volley.  Page 190.]



[Illustration: "_I shook my sword at the retreating figure._  Page
364.]]




                                 _The_
                        _Red, White, and Green_


                                  _By_
                            _HERBERT HAYENS_


       _Author of "A Captain of Irregulars," "A Vanished Nation,"
               "A Fighter in Green," "An Emperor’s Doom,"
                                &c. &c._



                          _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_




                        _THOMAS NELSON AND SONS_
                   _London, Edinburgh, and New York_
                                 _1901_




                          By the same Author.


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.


                          T. NELSON AND SONS,
                   _London, Edinburgh, and New York._



                               CONTENTS.


      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




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


"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"




                       THE RED, WHITE, AND GREEN.



                               CHAPTER I.


                       _WILL THE REGIMENT MARCH?_


"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.




                              CHAPTER II.


                     _A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT SORT._


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.




                              CHAPTER III.


                   _THE INSURRECTION IN FULL SWING._


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.

[Illustration: "_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."




                              CHAPTER IV.


                          _VIENNA IN FLAMES._


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.




                               CHAPTER V.


                              _ARRESTED._


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."




                               CHAPTER VI


                         _HARD WORK AT PESTH._


"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.




                              CHAPTER VII.


                      _A FIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS._


"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.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


                           _A DRAWN BATTLE._


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.




                              CHAPTER IX.


                             _THE RETREAT._


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.




                               CHAPTER X.


                          _ON THE SICK LIST._


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.




                              CHAPTER XI.


                        _GÖRGEI TO THE RESCUE._


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.




                              CHAPTER XII.


                         _A SORROWFUL VICTORY._


"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.

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.




                             CHAPTER XIII.


                        _A VISIT FROM STEPHEN._


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.




                              CHAPTER XIV.


                    _THE QUARREL WITH COUNT BEULA._


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.




                              CHAPTER XV.


                    _HOW STEPHEN CARRIED THE FLAG._


"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.

[Illustration: "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.




                              CHAPTER XVI.


                          _I JOIN THE STAFF._


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.




                             CHAPTER XVII.


                       _THE WOUNDING OF GÖRGEI._


"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.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.


                      _GÖRGEI FORGETS HIS WOUND._


"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.




                              CHAPTER XIX.


                            _SENT SCOUTING._


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.




                              CHAPTER XX.


                           _NEARLY CAPTURED._


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.




                              CHAPTER XXI.


                            _THE LAST BLOW._


"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.




                             CHAPTER XXII.


                            _THE SURRENDER._


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.

[Illustration: "_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.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

                    _COUNT BEULA DISLIKES HANGING._


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.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.


                       _THE END OF COUNT BEULA._


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.

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.




                              CHAPTER XXV.


                         _IMPRISONED AT ARAD._


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.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.


                        _LED OUT TO EXECUTION._


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.




                             CHAPTER XXVII.


                    _AN AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ALLIANCE._


"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.




                                THE END.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40137 ***