The Red, White, and Green
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Title: The Red, White, and Green
Creator: Herbert Hayens
Release date: July 3, 2012 [eBook #40137]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40137
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED, WHITE, AND GREEN ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[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. GOeRGEI 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 GOeRGEI
XVIII. GOeRGEI 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"
"GOeRGEI 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
hotel 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 hotel 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 hotel.
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 Goergei, 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 hotel 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 hotel!" 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 _debris_ 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 hotel 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 hotel 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
hotel 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 hotel. 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 Fraeulein von Arnstein!"
A portion of the spectators, crying, "Room for the Fraeulein 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 fraeulein, 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 cafe, 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 cafe 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 Schoenbrunn? 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 hotel 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
Schoenbrunn 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
hotel. 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 fraeulein 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 _generale_ 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 Hotel 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 fraeulein'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 fraeulein 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 fraeulein. 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 hotel 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 fraeulein
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 fraeulein 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 fraeulein."
"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 _proletaires_? 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 Goergei, 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 Goergei 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?"
Goergei 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?"
Goergei 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 Goergei. "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 Goergei, 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 Goergei 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, Goergei," 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. Goergei 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 Goergei 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
Goergei 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 Goergei,
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.
Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei, 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, Goergei, 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.
"Goergei 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, Goergei 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?"
"Goergei'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.
Goergei, 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; Goergei 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.
Goergei 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,
Goergei 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 Goergei, 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 Sandor 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 Sandor 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 Goergei, 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 Goergei!" 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei.' 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 Goergei,
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 Goergei and Klapka among its
leaders."
"The Pole is a republican," I remarked, thinking of the talk at Vienna.
"Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei.
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 Sandor,
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.
Sandor, 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.
"Goergei! Goergei! elijen Goergei!"
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 Goergei 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 Goergei 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 Goergei'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 fraeulein'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, Goergei 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 Sandor 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 Goergei.
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 Petoefi--"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 Goergei'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 Sandor into the river. There's
nothing like a cold bath when the brain's heated; but 'twas rather rough
on Sandor, 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. Goergei 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 alrea
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