CHAPTER XXI.THE LAST BLOW."What shall I do with this Russian, captain?"It was Mecsey talking, Mecsey very wet and bedraggled, but prompt and soldier-like."Russian!" I echoed, sitting up. "What Russian?"Mecsey pointed to a half-drowned figure at his feet, and I recognized the officer who had led the pursuit in the caverns."He followed us, then?" said I, in a tone of wonder, for I had not dreamed of any one being foolhardy enough to jump after me into that horrible pit."We came together," replied Mecsey, nearly laughing. "He leaped at my throat as I went over the side, and only loosened his hold when we shot out from the mountain."My faithful follower now helped me to rise, and once fairly on my feet, I felt very little the worse for the adventure.With the Russian, however, things had gone much worse, and it took us the best part of half an hour to restore him.He was very weak and dazed, but sensible; and pointing to his jacket, said, "Vodka."I nodded in answer, and searching his pockets discovered a flask filled with spirits, of which he swallowed a mouthful, and by signs intimated that we should do the same.It was fiery stuff, and took away my breath; but Mecsey appeared to relish it, though it was very unusual for him to drink anything half so strong.However, the liquor was warming, and I thought it would be well, while its effect lasted, to take our new companion on with us, believing that the exercise would the better restore his circulation.At first he leaned all his weight upon us, but gradually his steps became firmer, and before long he walked with very little assistance. Still, it was evident he could not go far, and this made the situation awkward.Travelling at his pace I should not reach Görgei for days, when my information would be useless; yet I could not leave the brave fellow utterly alone in a strange land, where he would be far more likely to meet with enemies than friends.Mecsey must stay with him. I could see no solution but that, and yet I had depended on Mecsey to guide me to Miskolcz.However, it had to be done; and at the first halt I explained the matter to the Russian."It is very kind of you to think of me at all," he said. "I am grateful.""You seemed so very anxious for my society," I said, laughing, "that I am bound to take an interest in you; but, seriously, my man will remain to look after you. He is an honest fellow, and to be trusted. Of course, there is a chance of falling in with your own people. In that case, I trust you to do everything in your power to set him free.""I promise that willingly.""Then I will say good-bye; it is possible we may not meet again.""I hope we shall, if only that I may have the chance to return your kindness. Will you not tell me your name?"George Botskay.""And mine is Michael Popkoff.""I shall remember it; but now I must go. I am on special service; and since you have deprived me of my horse, I must do the journey on foot."He laughed at that, and we parted very good friends.Mecsey, of course, disliked the arrangement; but, as the only alternative was to leave the Russian to die, he loyally accepted the inevitable.I left them there on the lonely mountain side, and set off resolutely with my face towards Miskolcz.Mecsey believed this mountain stream which had so nearly cost us our lives flowed into the Sajo River; if so, I had but to walk along its bank--unless, indeed, it took another subterranean excursion, when it would lose my company.It proceeded now with a rush and a rattle towards the plain, and its rocky course reminded me of my shoeless feet.For a staff officer, I was in a pretty plight. My cap, of course, had gone; my feet were bare; I had flung off my attila with my weapons; and I was wringing wet.The notebook was a mass of pulp, and so entirely useless that I threw it into the stream; but I had previously committed the most important facts to memory, so that its loss mattered little.Then my thoughts wandered to Mecsey and his companion, and I could not help laughing.My servant knew not a word of any language save Magyar; his companion, in addition to Russian, could only speak bad German, and I wondered how they would get on.The ludicrousness of their position kept me merry for a long time; and when the stream, leaving the mountains behind, debouched into an open plain, the journey became much pleasanter.I was now growing desperately hungry, but even in this matter good fortune stood by me, as I had the luck to stumble against a zingari encampment.The gipsies were wretchedly poor, their tents were patched and dirty, they themselves were clothed in rags and tatters, but they had a fire and a big round pot with something savoury in it.They did not wish to share their meal with me, and warned me off with scowling looks and surly words; but I was far too hungry to be got rid of so easily.If they would not give me a dinner, I would buy one; and after a good deal of angry squabbling we made a bargain.The wrinkled old dame in charge of the cooking operations ladled out enough of the hot stew to fill a huge platter, in exchange for which I gave the head man of the party my gold-braided jacket.Elsewhere it would have been a dear dinner, but under the circumstances I was quite content.In addition, they told me that by following the stream I should certainly come up with the army before nightfall, which was very cheering news.These poor folk were often on the verge of starvation themselves, and they showed no surprise at the ravenous way in which I gobbled up the plateful of food.The men sat about lazily and smoked; the women continued their labours; the naked children played their uncouth games without even a glance in my direction.When the plate was empty, I rose to go, and no one even took the trouble to say good-day."Lucky that Görgei is so near," I thought, "if every meal is to cost me a garment," for I was now reduced to a shirt and pair of trousers.However, the hot food had set me up, and I walked rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of my friends.Afternoon had passed into evening, and darkness was falling, when an alert "Who goes there?" in Hungarian brought me to a halt."A friend," I answered promptly."Advance, friend, and give the countersign.""Pass the word for your officer," I said. "I am Captain Botskay of General Görgei's staff.""Stand quite still. If you move an inch I'll shoot you."I could not see the speaker, but his voice told me he was a man of his word, so I stood still.Presently I heard the clatter of hoofs, and in a few minutes a party of horsemen rode up.I guessed at once that the general was visiting the outposts, and it was no surprise to hear him calling, "Botskay, where are you? Come this way!--Bring a torch, some one. Quick!"The light showed my strange attire, and the general, in spite of his genuine distress, could not forego his joke."Ach, Botskay!" cried he good-humouredly, "I'm afraid we've disturbed you. Just going to bed, eh? Here, take this," and removing the bunda which lay across his saddle, he threw it over my shoulders."Thanks, general," I replied gratefully. "That feels more comfortable.""Have you brought any information? Yes?--Szondi, lend Botskay your horse. He can tell me his news as we go back."My brother-officer jumped down at once, and I mounted in his stead."Now," said Görgei, as he and I rode in advance, "what have you learned?"In reply I related how I had watched the march of the Russian army, and gave him the approximate numbers of their men, horses, and guns.He listened very attentively, put numerous questions, most of which I was able to answer, and appeared exceedingly thoughtful."Well, well," he at last exclaimed, "we must do our best; but unless Dembinski joins us from the south, I don't see how we're to escape. Other three weeks, my boy, will see the end of it."It was perfectly plain that the general's common-sense prevented him from hoping any longer, but he kept his knowledge to himself; and when, later on, we gathered round his table for an hour, he was the life and soul of the party.Fortunately, my personal effects were in the camp, so that I was able to join the others properly dressed, though, of course, I had to endure much good-humoured raillery.After supper we lingered for a half-hour's chat, and the general asked me to relate the story of my personal adventures.At the part where we abandoned the horses, Görgei exclaimed laughingly, "Now we are on the track, gentlemen. It seems to me that our friend has been hunted by wolves. First, he sacrifices the animals; then he empties his pistols; next, his servant gives up his life; then, one by one, he discards his garments to the ravening pack.""It's the wrong time of year for wolves, general.""Ach, so it is. Well, go on, Botskay. We're all wondering what it means."As the story unfolded bit by bit, the fellows craned forward eagerly, being loud in their applause when I told how Mecsey and Popkoff followed me into the dark waters."That Mecsey is a servant worth having," said Görgei; "and the Russian proved a very plucky fellow.""His men showed the white feather, though," growled Mizvy, who always fastened on the seamy side of things."I think I should have done the same," cried Szondi, with a laugh. "This underground travelling isn't much to my liking.""Some of these Muscovites would have been none the worse for a good bath," chimed in another fellow."But Mecsey Sándor and the Russian--what became of them?" inquired the general."Oh, Mecsey saved my life;" and I told how the trusty fellow had dragged both Popkoff and myself from the river.At the idea of Mecsey and the Russian, neither of whom understood a word the other said, being left together, they all laughed heartily, being no less amused at my method of procuring a dinner.However, in spite of their fun, I knew they were very pleased at my safe return; and the general's "Well done, Botskay!" as I left his tent, was ample reward for what I had gone through.Early the next morning we were again in retreat, and on the twenty-fifth of July crossed the Theiss at Poroszlo, after a sharp engagement with the Russian advanced guard, commanded by Prince Gortschakoff.Mecsey had not yet returned, but his absence did not alarm me, as Colonel Popkoff was not in a condition to travel very fast.During the retreat I had seen Rakoczy several times, and also Dobozy, who had recently been made major.The former retained his joyous spirits, came up with a cheery smile after each misfortune, and professed to believe that before long we should gain a tremendous victory, and drive both Austrians and Russians out of the country.All this was only for outside consumption, but Dobozy assured me that the colonel really had not the slightest hope of success. In fact, a general depression settled down on the army. The soldiers began to grumble and to ask why they were fighting. The old grievance broke out afresh, and men said openly it was a folly to sacrifice their lives for a cause in which they had no part.They were not republicans, and if Görgei had had a free hand, all they wanted would have been granted long before.Still, they trusted implicitly in their great leader, and if he told them to fight on, why, fight they would.Occasionally we heard accounts of Bern's gallant exploits in Transylvania, where in the face of heavy odds he astounded his opponents both by his daring bravery and his military skill.Yet we all felt that, whatever the result of the campaign in that quarter, it could have little effect on the real struggle.If we could join our forces with those of Dembinski, there remained a chance of striking at the Austrian and Russian armies separately, but it was as difficult to join the Pole as to avoid the enemy.However, Görgei persevered, and, leaving Nagy Sándor to cover the approach to Debreczin with 18,000 men, continued his march, hoping by a wide circuit to deceive the Russians and reach the fortress of Arad.There, if anywhere, we should be joined by Dembinski; and if he could not or would not meet us, we could either surrender or die where we stood.It was, if I remember rightly, on the fourth morning after leaving the Theiss that the general sent me back in hot haste with a note for Nagy Sándor."Another journey, Botskay?" cried Szondi, as I rode past. "Don't forget to bring your clothes back this time."There was a hearty laugh at this from his comrades, and one said it would be easy to track me, were I missing, by looking for my abandoned garments.Indeed many years went by before I heard the last of that unlucky incident.I answered their chaff in the same strain, and rode off in good spirits, though sorry that the trusty Mecsey was not with me.Everything went well on the journey. There was no likelihood of meeting with the Russians, and my worst enemies were the bad roads.At night I slept three or four hours in a peasant's hut, entering Debreczin about noon next day.The city was in the greatest uproar. The people crowded the streets talking excitedly, and the word "Russians" was on the tongue of every speaker.Being fairly well acquainted with the district, I expected to find Nagy Sándor posted on the sandhills about a mile from and covering the town.I had just cleared the city when a tremendous cannonade opened from the hills. It was Nagy Sándor's artillery showering grape and canister upon the enemy's advanced guard.Spurring my horse vigorously I overtook the general, with several officers, riding to the scene of conflict.He glanced at Görgei's note, thrust it into his pocket, told me to wait till the end of the battle, and dashed on to the hills where he had posted his masked battery.Forty guns were belching forth canister and grape on the advancing Russians, who appeared to be taken by surprise.They came on, however, in dense columns; but the iron hail was too much for them, and at last they went back beaten, amidst the cheers of our infantry massed behind the guns.The advantage, however, did not remain with us long. Four heavy batteries, placed in good positions, replied to our guns, and a short time afterwards we saw the horse artillery galloping to the front."The odds are too great," said the man next me savagely. "The enemy must have forty against our eighteen thousand, and we shall be beaten again.""We're getting well used to it," muttered his comrade, laughing harshly."Our fellows are sticking to their guns grandly for all that," I said; and indeed for several hours the cannonade continued without the Russians gaining a step.Having no special duty to perform, I busied myself in attending to the wounded, for the enemy's fire was committing havoc in our ranks.Late in the afternoon I again found myself near the general, who had sent off all his aides-de-camp, when I saw a movement on our right which told me that the battle was lost.Nagy Sándor saw it too, and his face grew black as night."Paskewitch has brought up his reserves," he exclaimed, "and we have only a handful to oppose them. Well, we must do what we can."He looked round for a messenger, and, seeing me, said, "Botskay, ride to the rear and tell Torot to bring up every man he has. You see that?" and he pointed to the Russian movement on our right.I bowed, and rode off to find Torot.Two infantry divisions, supported by four field-batteries, were preparing to attack us in our weakest place; while far away on the right a column of infantry and a division of cavalry were marching by a wide circuit towards the town.As for us, every man except the reserve had been fighting for hours against overwhelming odds, and there was not one to be spared from his place.With a heavy heart I told Torot what was happening, and glanced disconsolately at his small body of troops."The Muscovites will swallow us up," said he cheerfully. "However, there's the order; so off we go."I placed myself with the cavalry, and we moved out in good order from the shelter of the hills.In the centre our guns maintained an equal conflict, but our right was terribly weakened, and incapable of resisting this fresh attack.The poor fellows so sadly harassed greeted us with loud cheers, though really we could do little more than swell the number of dead and wounded.I do not know who led the cavalry charge, but he was a gallant fellow and deserved a better fate.The nearest battery was our goal, and few of us that survived will ever forget that terrible ride.It was almost the last blow we were to strike in defence of our flag, though we did not know it then.The colonel pointed to the battery that was dealing out death to our comrades."My lads," he said simply, "it is for us to take those guns."The men shook their swords, answering by a savage cheer.The battle had got on their nerves. They were desperate, and cared nothing at all for the fact that three-fourths of us were going to meet death.It was the culminating point of the fight. All around rose the roar of the guns, the cheers and groans of the combatants, the tramp of rushing feet, the rattle of artillery.A blaze of light on the left marked where a powder tumbrel had exploded. Yells of victory and defiance came from the same spot, but we rode on steadily with the fixed idea of capturing the guns in front of us.A decimated infantry regiment, going goodness knows where, paused to cheer us; but we sped onward, gathering speed at every stride--gathering such momentum that I doubt if we could have stopped.The colonel was a horse's length in front, going straight for the battery, when the first crash came.The shot tore holes through our ranks, and men shrieked with pain; but the survivors never drew rein, and in an instant our dead were left behind.At the second discharge the gallant colonel reeled to and fro in his saddle; but he kept his seat, though I knew he must be mortally wounded.Again the guns spoke, and this time both horse and man dropped; but I took our leader's place, and still we went on like a company of mad furies.I dared not look behind, I dared not even think. I could only shake my sword and cry "Forward!"Then we were in the midst of the guns, slashing at the artillerymen, who fought us till the very end.But we did what we had been sent to do, and cheered exultingly as we emerged on the other side.Alas! that cheer was the death-knell of many.Whiz! whiz! sang the bullets as a battalion of infantry, hitherto hidden by a depression in the ground, sprang to their feet and poured volley after volley into us.Broken by our charge, disordered, panting, we waited a moment irresolutely, then tried to form up and return.Only the maddest of madmen would have faced this fresh enemy.But the horror was not yet at an end.As we rode back, a mere handful of wearied men, a dense mass of heavy cavalry barred our path.Flight was impossible. There were but two alternatives--surrender or death.The Magyars chose the latter, and, gripping our swords firmly, we went straight at the grey-coated mass, and were instantly swallowed up.There was no time for parrying of blows; we had to take our chance, and, cutting and thrusting, try to force a passage."Follow me, my lads! follow me!" I shouted, as long as my voice held out, but before the end of the fight I was past speaking.I do not know how many of us got through. My head was dizzy, my sight dim. I heard a babel of sounds without being able to distinguish one, and sat my horse only by mechanically gripping the pommel of my saddle.Then a number of black figures surrounded me; and in the midst of this, to me, phantom army I swept on into the land of darkness.CHAPTER XXII.THE SURRENDER.It seemed perfectly natural that the first face to meet my waking senses should be that of Mecsey Sándor.I was lying on a bed in a little room, rather bare of furniture, but scrupulously clean, and my trusty servant stood looking at me.On seeing my open eyes, he placed himself at attention, made a rigid military salute, and said with all seriousness, "I am sorry to report, Captain Botskay, that the Russian officer left in my charge has been rescued by his friends."At first I stared hard at him without understanding, then I broke into a hearty laugh that must have done me a world of good."Hang the Russian officer!" I exclaimed; "tell me where I am and how I came here.""A few miles from Debreczin," Sándor answered gravely. "I found you in the town light-headed, charging a Russian battery that wasn't there.""Where's our army?"Sándor puckered his lips and blew; he could not have given a more significant answer."Then it's all over?""Thereabout, unless Dembinski can reach Arad. Bern's troops have been broken into little bits at Hermanstadt, and Dembinski has been chased out of Szegedin."I groaned at this, and closed my eyes."General Klapka has done well, though," Mecsey continued in his stolid way.I opened my eyes again, saying, "Klapka is shut up in Comorn.""So the Austrians thought till the general taught them better. The day you were being beaten at Debreczin he came out of the fortress, smashed the Austrians, chased them to Presburg, took a thousand prisoners, thirty pieces of cannon, and enough ammunition to last him a year.""Well done, Klapka!" I cried delightedly."Of course it won't make any difference in the end," said Mecsey composedly; and his words were like a douche of cold water."Go away, you rascal!" I cried. "But no; tell me first what became of Dembinski after he was driven from Szegedin.""I don't know. Perhaps he's trying to join the general at Arad.""If so, we still have a chance. Now help me to dress; we must find our way back to the army.""Not to-day," replied Mecsey, "nor to-morrow. The next day, perhaps, if you're stronger. Just at present, twenty miles in the saddle would leave you weaker than a child."This was perfectly true, and I let Mecsey have his own way.So for three days longer I lay in my comfortable bed, waited on by Mecsey and the good woman of the house, whose husband and two sons were in Görgei's army--at least she hoped so.Then, early in the morning of the fourth day, we set out to ride to Arad by a circuitous route, as the main road was barred by the Russians.The people of the villages, who freely gave us food and shelter, were filled with strange rumours which totally contradicted one another.At one place we heard that Kossuth was at Arad with Görgei; at the next it was believed he had fled into Turkey. Each man, I think, believed the report which best fitted in with his inclination.At last we struck the trail of Görgei's army, and all our informants agreed that the fearful forced marches had told on the troops terribly.They were short of provisions and forage; the men were half-starved, the horses like skeletons.This we learned from the villagers, while I knew for certain there could be but a small supply of ammunition.Then shock followed shock in quick succession. Dembinski, who had never tried to reach Arad at all, was totally defeated by the Austrians under the walls of Temesvar, which had held out against part of our forces for one hundred and seven days.Following this came the news that Kossuth had resigned his office and fled, leaving Görgei to act as he thought proper."That's a good dodge," said Mecsey. "Our general's bound to surrender unless he wants all his men slaughtered; and then everybody will throw mud at him--call him a traitor, very likely."I laughed at this prophecy, little dreaming how my heart would ache at its fulfilment.Long afterwards Rakoczy told me that my servant was far from being alone in his foresight.Many gallant officers thought the general should refuse to be made the figure-head, now that everything was in ruins; but Görgei was a true patriot. He thought of the welfare of his distracted country, and manfully threw himself into the breach.He had sacrificed everything for his countrymen; now he was prepared to lose even their goodwill and esteem.The chance had come too late. Paskewitch, with his two corps of veterans, was pressing on one side; General Luders barred the way into Transylvania; Görgei's old opponent, Schlick, at the head of the Austrian advanced guard, was hurrying from Temesvar to hem him in, and there was none to help.On the twelfth of August he wrote a letter to the Russian general, offering to capitulate, and laid it before his chief officers, who sorrowfully acknowledged that nothing else could be done, unless they were willing to fight a battle which would be only a massacre.These details were told me later by Rakoczy, for at the time of their happening I was riding with Mecsey over villanous by-roads to Arad, and only arrived on the morning of the thirteenth of August, the date fixed for the surrender.Mecsey urged me to turn back at once; but although I could do no good, I determined to proceed to Vilagos, where the laying down of arms was to take place.As it chanced, a robe which Mecsey had procured completely hid my uniform, and I was wearing a kalpag--a round fur cap ornamented by a white heron's plume.Crowds of peasants swarmed in the country roads, while people of higher degree rode on horseback or in light latticed-side wagons to witness the mournful spectacle.And it was mournful in the extreme.To a high-spirited nation this blow was almost worse than death.Hardly a word was spoken among all the sad company. Women wept, strong men bowed their heads and shuffled along like felons. Even I, who loved Görgei, felt a spasm of indignation that he had not chosen to sacrifice his country rather than consent to such humiliation.Yet the sight of his broken army showed he could have done nothing else.Ragged, shoeless, half-starved, without ammunition, exhausted by hundreds of miles of terrible marching, hemmed in on all sides by the victorious enemy, what could these brave fellows have done?There was only one answer, which came from a woman--hardly more than a girl, in fact--who stood near me."They should have died!" she cried passionately. "I have a brother and a sweetheart over there, and I would willingly have lost them to spare our country such disgrace."A murmur of applause arose from the bystanders, and when one--an old man who had seen many years and much sorrow--ventured to object, I thought the crowd would have torn him in pieces.The disputes, the endless squabbles, the different aims of the insurgents, the bitter enmity between the national party and the republicans, were all forgotten in this sad hour."O land of the Magyars! land of the Magyars! that it should ever come to this!" cried another woman in heart-breaking accents. "I would give husband, father, brother, sons, everything to wipe out this eternal shame from my native land!""And cry your eyes out for them afterwards!" exclaimed Mecsey roughly. "What good will twenty thousand dead men do Hungary? Let them live, woman, and bide their time. The turn of the black and yellow dogs will come."This plain talk would have provoked disorder; but just then our attention was distracted by the sight of Görgei riding alone to meet the Russian general.He was simply dressed, the only bit of colour being the collar of gold braid attached to his brown blouse. His heavy riding-boots reached above the knee, and he wore a round black hat, with a waving white feather.The staff followed, conspicuous in short green attilas, with heavy gold trimmings, and with herons' plumes in their hats.The Russian leader, similarly accompanied, advanced from his lines, and we watched the two generals exchange hand-clasps.I sat my horse and gazed spellbound while they talked, pitying the chivalrous Görgei from my heart.Meanwhile, the Hungarian troops were still marching to their appointed places, while the Russian army stood in two long lines on the plain of Vilagos.The conference between the leaders ceased; they returned to their posts, and we waited impatiently for the end.At length all was ready. The Magyars were drawn up in two lines opposite their Muscovite foes--the infantry in the first, with the cavalry on the wings; the artillery in the second.Once again Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them.[image]"Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them." Page 338]The two leaders saluted, and then along the whole line sounded the beating of drums.My eyes ached, my brain grew dizzy, my heart throbbed violently as I strained forward, eagerly watching.That rolling of drums was the death-knell of all our hopes.At its signal the Russians presented arms, proudly but not vaingloriously, and then--There was a low wail, a cry of despair from the spectators, an outburst of grief such as I had never heard, shall never hear again.Strong men shook with grief, women sobbed as if their hearts were broken, as our gallant infantry laid their useless weapons on the ground, the cavalry on their saddles.As for me, I crouched low, hiding my face in my horse's mane.I have known much of happiness since then, but no joy has ever effaced the impression made on that sorrowful day.Even now, as I sit dreaming many years after the event, the picture rises before me fresh as ever.With eyes open or shut, I see as in reality the pyramids of muskets; the cannon drawn close together, and without gunners; the dismounted cavalry, with their swords on the pommels of their saddles; the loved flags and standards, that had fluttered so proudly on many battlefields, lying in the dust.I see the glorious red, white, and green stripes dirty and in rags, and think of the one that wraps all that remains of my gallant brother. I see the thousands of brave men who have fought and bled for Hungary, now disarmed and impotent, but still undaunted even in that hour of bitterness.Then again the rolling of drums pierces my ears, and I see the breaking of the ranks as the men, under strong escorts, are marched off to their various destinations.I hear, too, the first whisper, which afterwards swelled into a loud roar, that Görgei is a traitor, and has sold his country to the Russians. My ears burn like fire, and I blush for my countrymen.It is not given to us to probe the secrets of the human heart, and I was absent from my general in the latter days; but I had marched with him, toiled with him, fought at his side, seen him go again and again to almost certain death, in order to rally his failing soldiers, and I judge a man by his actions.But my dreams run away with me. I must return to that sorrowful evening of August 13, when Mecsey, plucking at my sleeve, brought me back to real life."It's all over," he said brusquely; "and now that the prey is secured, the Austrian jackal will come to pick the bones.""The Austrians will not dare," I began; but he stopped me with a mirthless laugh."Görgei has saved the army at the expense of the officers," he said. "There will be a fine feast of death before long."These words added to my misery, for I thought of my light-hearted friend Rakoczy, and wondered if he would be counted amongst the victims.I expressed my fears to Mecsey, who promptly proposed that we should discover where the colonel had been taken.This, however, was more easily said than done, as we soon found.Russian troops in charge of their prisoners were marching in all directions, and it was impossible to scan them all.We went about hither and thither, asking questions of the crowd to little purpose; but at length we had the good fortune to meet with a number of soldiers belonging to the 9th Honveds, who had slipped from the ranks at the very moment of surrender.They were all looking miserable and dejected; but one, catching sight of me, ran up eagerly."From the colonel, sir," he cried joyfully; "though neither of us ever expected I should have the luck to meet you."He took a folded paper from his pocket, and I pounced on it quickly. Here, no doubt, was the very information we sought; but in this I was disappointed.The dear, unselfish fellow, indifferent to his own fate, had used the last moments of his freedom to send me a warning."Look out for yourself," the note ran; "your name alone will get you into trouble. Give Gyula [that was my home] a wide berth till the wolves are gorged.--J.R."Not a word either of hope or fear for himself; all his cares were for me.That was just like "John the Joyous," and my eyes were dim as I placed the paper in my pocket.The faded characters, barely legible now, meet my eyes as I write; for that scrap of soiled paper remains one of my most sacred treasures, and it lies in a little golden casket on my desk."Have you found him, captain?"The speaker was Mecsey, and when I shook my head sadly he immediately began to question the soldiers.Here, again, we were at fault. No one really knew where the colonel was, some asserting he had been taken to Gros-Wardein with Görgei, others saying he had gone south with his regiment to Nagy Kikinda.We spent another hour in questioning various men who had escaped from Vilagos, but could gain no news of the colonel, though several stated positively that the 9th Honveds had marched southward under a strong escort.Then I held council with Mecsey, and we decided to separate, he to reconnoitre Gros-Wardein, while I followed my old regiment. At the end of a week we were to meet again at Arad, by which time it was likely that one of us would have discovered my missing friend."Good-bye, captain," said Mecsey, grasping the hand I held out to him, "and take the colonel's advice. It's easier to get into an Austrian prison than out of one.""All right, my trusty fellow; I shall keep my eyes open, though I'm not tall enough for the Austrians to cut down."So we parted, guessing little of the events which would happen before we met again.Night was fast closing in by now, and in the darkness I missed the bridge over the Maros River, which made me lose nearly two hours, and prevented me from striking the trail of the 9th Honveds.However, I found the bridge at last, and, crossing to the other side, pursued my way at hap-hazard as long as my horse could keep going; then I sat down by the roadside and waited for the morning.At sunrise I started again, leading the animal by its bridle, until a lucky chance brought me to a village.It was a small place, containing not more than twenty houses at the outside; but it boasted an inn, where I might haply procure food for myself and horse.Four men dressed in peasants' clothes, but having a distinctly military bearing, sat on the "word-bearer"--the bench placed against the wall of most Hungarian country houses--gossiping. At sight of my uniform (for I had unfastened my mantle) they sprang to their feet and approached me with bare heads.My suspicions were at once verified, and I exclaimed, "You have done well, my lads. A free Magyar is worth more than an imprisoned one. Only, should the Austrians pass through, slouch your shoulders and stoop a little; you bear the marks of the drill-sergeant too plainly."They smiled at one another, and one taking my horse led it through the courtyard into the stable behind the inn.Another spoke my name, and though I could not remember their features, they claimed to belong to the old regiment.He who had attended to my horse was the keeper of the inn, which he now respectfully invited me to enter.Bidding the others come too, I questioned them concerning their colonel, while the hostess prepared a meal.Fate was, perhaps, against me, for they could tell little beyond what I already knew.The 9th Honveds had passed through in the night without a halt, and all the country round was covered with our disarmed troops marching to prison in charge of their Russian captors.All this they told me eagerly; but as to Colonel Rakoczy they could tell nothing.Naturally I was much disappointed; but comforting myself with the thought that I was at least on the track of the regiment, I made a hearty breakfast, took a look at my horse, and having sent the men to act as sentries, lay down for a couple of hours' sleep.At the end of that time my host wakened me, and I rose, greatly refreshed by the brief rest.My horse, too, was all the better for its food and grooming; and I mounted quite gaily, having first thanked the keeper of the inn for his kindness."Take care you don't run against the Austrians, captain," the man answered. "From what I hear, their cavalry can't be far off.""All right, my good fellow; though they aren't likely to interfere with me."The innkeeper shook his head. He had little faith in the mercy of the Austrians.The other men now came to say a word in parting, and then I rode slowly past the little gabled, whitewashed houses, and so again into the open country.It was a glorious day, and under other circumstances I should have enjoyed the ride immensely; but my good spirits sank at thought of Görgei's surrender, and of John Rakoczy's personal danger.Everywhere the people whom I met or overtook were ready to answer my questions; but the day ended without my having seen any sign of the 9th Honveds.From time to time, however, it was told me that the Russians were in the neighbourhood; so towards night I went warily, not wishing to be taken prisoner.Between nine and ten o'clock I entered the street of another village, and pulled up at the inn--the only house that showed a light.A huge hound lying in the courtyard barked violently, the noise bringing out several men, who eyed me with suspicion.Inquiring in sharp tones for the landlord, I ordered him to take my horse to the stables, and without paying any attention to the others entered the kitchen of the inn.The men followed closely, and by the light of the candles I was able to see the kind of company I had got amongst.There were six of them altogether, each wearing a cuirass and armed with a pair of pistols; while the room was littered with sharp lances and loaded hatchets.The fellows stood looking at me with broad grins, as if amused at my surprise; while I, on the other hand, had more than a passing doubt as to what might be the upshot of this adventure.It would be rather a melancholy end to my campaigning if I were knocked on the head by these "poor lads," as the country folk called the bandits, whose profession my new companions evidently followed.Thinking the sight of my uniform might inspire respect, I unfastened my mantle carelessly; and, as I had half expected, the men at once assumed a respectful bearing."An officer of the staff who has escaped from the Russians!" cried one. "We must tell the chief.""Where is he?" I asked."At supper in the inner room, my master.""Then tell him Captain Botskay will be pleased to bear him company."The man knocked at the door separating the kitchen from the next apartment, held a conversation with some one inside, and returned to say that Batori Gabor would be happy to give me greeting.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE LAST BLOW.
"What shall I do with this Russian, captain?"
It was Mecsey talking, Mecsey very wet and bedraggled, but prompt and soldier-like.
"Russian!" I echoed, sitting up. "What Russian?"
Mecsey pointed to a half-drowned figure at his feet, and I recognized the officer who had led the pursuit in the caverns.
"He followed us, then?" said I, in a tone of wonder, for I had not dreamed of any one being foolhardy enough to jump after me into that horrible pit.
"We came together," replied Mecsey, nearly laughing. "He leaped at my throat as I went over the side, and only loosened his hold when we shot out from the mountain."
My faithful follower now helped me to rise, and once fairly on my feet, I felt very little the worse for the adventure.
With the Russian, however, things had gone much worse, and it took us the best part of half an hour to restore him.
He was very weak and dazed, but sensible; and pointing to his jacket, said, "Vodka."
I nodded in answer, and searching his pockets discovered a flask filled with spirits, of which he swallowed a mouthful, and by signs intimated that we should do the same.
It was fiery stuff, and took away my breath; but Mecsey appeared to relish it, though it was very unusual for him to drink anything half so strong.
However, the liquor was warming, and I thought it would be well, while its effect lasted, to take our new companion on with us, believing that the exercise would the better restore his circulation.
At first he leaned all his weight upon us, but gradually his steps became firmer, and before long he walked with very little assistance. Still, it was evident he could not go far, and this made the situation awkward.
Travelling at his pace I should not reach Görgei for days, when my information would be useless; yet I could not leave the brave fellow utterly alone in a strange land, where he would be far more likely to meet with enemies than friends.
Mecsey must stay with him. I could see no solution but that, and yet I had depended on Mecsey to guide me to Miskolcz.
However, it had to be done; and at the first halt I explained the matter to the Russian.
"It is very kind of you to think of me at all," he said. "I am grateful."
"You seemed so very anxious for my society," I said, laughing, "that I am bound to take an interest in you; but, seriously, my man will remain to look after you. He is an honest fellow, and to be trusted. Of course, there is a chance of falling in with your own people. In that case, I trust you to do everything in your power to set him free."
"I promise that willingly."
"Then I will say good-bye; it is possible we may not meet again."
"I hope we shall, if only that I may have the chance to return your kindness. Will you not tell me your name?
"George Botskay."
"And mine is Michael Popkoff."
"I shall remember it; but now I must go. I am on special service; and since you have deprived me of my horse, I must do the journey on foot."
He laughed at that, and we parted very good friends.
Mecsey, of course, disliked the arrangement; but, as the only alternative was to leave the Russian to die, he loyally accepted the inevitable.
I left them there on the lonely mountain side, and set off resolutely with my face towards Miskolcz.
Mecsey believed this mountain stream which had so nearly cost us our lives flowed into the Sajo River; if so, I had but to walk along its bank--unless, indeed, it took another subterranean excursion, when it would lose my company.
It proceeded now with a rush and a rattle towards the plain, and its rocky course reminded me of my shoeless feet.
For a staff officer, I was in a pretty plight. My cap, of course, had gone; my feet were bare; I had flung off my attila with my weapons; and I was wringing wet.
The notebook was a mass of pulp, and so entirely useless that I threw it into the stream; but I had previously committed the most important facts to memory, so that its loss mattered little.
Then my thoughts wandered to Mecsey and his companion, and I could not help laughing.
My servant knew not a word of any language save Magyar; his companion, in addition to Russian, could only speak bad German, and I wondered how they would get on.
The ludicrousness of their position kept me merry for a long time; and when the stream, leaving the mountains behind, debouched into an open plain, the journey became much pleasanter.
I was now growing desperately hungry, but even in this matter good fortune stood by me, as I had the luck to stumble against a zingari encampment.
The gipsies were wretchedly poor, their tents were patched and dirty, they themselves were clothed in rags and tatters, but they had a fire and a big round pot with something savoury in it.
They did not wish to share their meal with me, and warned me off with scowling looks and surly words; but I was far too hungry to be got rid of so easily.
If they would not give me a dinner, I would buy one; and after a good deal of angry squabbling we made a bargain.
The wrinkled old dame in charge of the cooking operations ladled out enough of the hot stew to fill a huge platter, in exchange for which I gave the head man of the party my gold-braided jacket.
Elsewhere it would have been a dear dinner, but under the circumstances I was quite content.
In addition, they told me that by following the stream I should certainly come up with the army before nightfall, which was very cheering news.
These poor folk were often on the verge of starvation themselves, and they showed no surprise at the ravenous way in which I gobbled up the plateful of food.
The men sat about lazily and smoked; the women continued their labours; the naked children played their uncouth games without even a glance in my direction.
When the plate was empty, I rose to go, and no one even took the trouble to say good-day.
"Lucky that Görgei is so near," I thought, "if every meal is to cost me a garment," for I was now reduced to a shirt and pair of trousers.
However, the hot food had set me up, and I walked rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of my friends.
Afternoon had passed into evening, and darkness was falling, when an alert "Who goes there?" in Hungarian brought me to a halt.
"A friend," I answered promptly.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"Pass the word for your officer," I said. "I am Captain Botskay of General Görgei's staff."
"Stand quite still. If you move an inch I'll shoot you."
I could not see the speaker, but his voice told me he was a man of his word, so I stood still.
Presently I heard the clatter of hoofs, and in a few minutes a party of horsemen rode up.
I guessed at once that the general was visiting the outposts, and it was no surprise to hear him calling, "Botskay, where are you? Come this way!--Bring a torch, some one. Quick!"
The light showed my strange attire, and the general, in spite of his genuine distress, could not forego his joke.
"Ach, Botskay!" cried he good-humouredly, "I'm afraid we've disturbed you. Just going to bed, eh? Here, take this," and removing the bunda which lay across his saddle, he threw it over my shoulders.
"Thanks, general," I replied gratefully. "That feels more comfortable."
"Have you brought any information? Yes?--Szondi, lend Botskay your horse. He can tell me his news as we go back."
My brother-officer jumped down at once, and I mounted in his stead.
"Now," said Görgei, as he and I rode in advance, "what have you learned?"
In reply I related how I had watched the march of the Russian army, and gave him the approximate numbers of their men, horses, and guns.
He listened very attentively, put numerous questions, most of which I was able to answer, and appeared exceedingly thoughtful.
"Well, well," he at last exclaimed, "we must do our best; but unless Dembinski joins us from the south, I don't see how we're to escape. Other three weeks, my boy, will see the end of it."
It was perfectly plain that the general's common-sense prevented him from hoping any longer, but he kept his knowledge to himself; and when, later on, we gathered round his table for an hour, he was the life and soul of the party.
Fortunately, my personal effects were in the camp, so that I was able to join the others properly dressed, though, of course, I had to endure much good-humoured raillery.
After supper we lingered for a half-hour's chat, and the general asked me to relate the story of my personal adventures.
At the part where we abandoned the horses, Görgei exclaimed laughingly, "Now we are on the track, gentlemen. It seems to me that our friend has been hunted by wolves. First, he sacrifices the animals; then he empties his pistols; next, his servant gives up his life; then, one by one, he discards his garments to the ravening pack."
"It's the wrong time of year for wolves, general."
"Ach, so it is. Well, go on, Botskay. We're all wondering what it means."
As the story unfolded bit by bit, the fellows craned forward eagerly, being loud in their applause when I told how Mecsey and Popkoff followed me into the dark waters.
"That Mecsey is a servant worth having," said Görgei; "and the Russian proved a very plucky fellow."
"His men showed the white feather, though," growled Mizvy, who always fastened on the seamy side of things.
"I think I should have done the same," cried Szondi, with a laugh. "This underground travelling isn't much to my liking."
"Some of these Muscovites would have been none the worse for a good bath," chimed in another fellow.
"But Mecsey Sándor and the Russian--what became of them?" inquired the general.
"Oh, Mecsey saved my life;" and I told how the trusty fellow had dragged both Popkoff and myself from the river.
At the idea of Mecsey and the Russian, neither of whom understood a word the other said, being left together, they all laughed heartily, being no less amused at my method of procuring a dinner.
However, in spite of their fun, I knew they were very pleased at my safe return; and the general's "Well done, Botskay!" as I left his tent, was ample reward for what I had gone through.
Early the next morning we were again in retreat, and on the twenty-fifth of July crossed the Theiss at Poroszlo, after a sharp engagement with the Russian advanced guard, commanded by Prince Gortschakoff.
Mecsey had not yet returned, but his absence did not alarm me, as Colonel Popkoff was not in a condition to travel very fast.
During the retreat I had seen Rakoczy several times, and also Dobozy, who had recently been made major.
The former retained his joyous spirits, came up with a cheery smile after each misfortune, and professed to believe that before long we should gain a tremendous victory, and drive both Austrians and Russians out of the country.
All this was only for outside consumption, but Dobozy assured me that the colonel really had not the slightest hope of success. In fact, a general depression settled down on the army. The soldiers began to grumble and to ask why they were fighting. The old grievance broke out afresh, and men said openly it was a folly to sacrifice their lives for a cause in which they had no part.
They were not republicans, and if Görgei had had a free hand, all they wanted would have been granted long before.
Still, they trusted implicitly in their great leader, and if he told them to fight on, why, fight they would.
Occasionally we heard accounts of Bern's gallant exploits in Transylvania, where in the face of heavy odds he astounded his opponents both by his daring bravery and his military skill.
Yet we all felt that, whatever the result of the campaign in that quarter, it could have little effect on the real struggle.
If we could join our forces with those of Dembinski, there remained a chance of striking at the Austrian and Russian armies separately, but it was as difficult to join the Pole as to avoid the enemy.
However, Görgei persevered, and, leaving Nagy Sándor to cover the approach to Debreczin with 18,000 men, continued his march, hoping by a wide circuit to deceive the Russians and reach the fortress of Arad.
There, if anywhere, we should be joined by Dembinski; and if he could not or would not meet us, we could either surrender or die where we stood.
It was, if I remember rightly, on the fourth morning after leaving the Theiss that the general sent me back in hot haste with a note for Nagy Sándor.
"Another journey, Botskay?" cried Szondi, as I rode past. "Don't forget to bring your clothes back this time."
There was a hearty laugh at this from his comrades, and one said it would be easy to track me, were I missing, by looking for my abandoned garments.
Indeed many years went by before I heard the last of that unlucky incident.
I answered their chaff in the same strain, and rode off in good spirits, though sorry that the trusty Mecsey was not with me.
Everything went well on the journey. There was no likelihood of meeting with the Russians, and my worst enemies were the bad roads.
At night I slept three or four hours in a peasant's hut, entering Debreczin about noon next day.
The city was in the greatest uproar. The people crowded the streets talking excitedly, and the word "Russians" was on the tongue of every speaker.
Being fairly well acquainted with the district, I expected to find Nagy Sándor posted on the sandhills about a mile from and covering the town.
I had just cleared the city when a tremendous cannonade opened from the hills. It was Nagy Sándor's artillery showering grape and canister upon the enemy's advanced guard.
Spurring my horse vigorously I overtook the general, with several officers, riding to the scene of conflict.
He glanced at Görgei's note, thrust it into his pocket, told me to wait till the end of the battle, and dashed on to the hills where he had posted his masked battery.
Forty guns were belching forth canister and grape on the advancing Russians, who appeared to be taken by surprise.
They came on, however, in dense columns; but the iron hail was too much for them, and at last they went back beaten, amidst the cheers of our infantry massed behind the guns.
The advantage, however, did not remain with us long. Four heavy batteries, placed in good positions, replied to our guns, and a short time afterwards we saw the horse artillery galloping to the front.
"The odds are too great," said the man next me savagely. "The enemy must have forty against our eighteen thousand, and we shall be beaten again."
"We're getting well used to it," muttered his comrade, laughing harshly.
"Our fellows are sticking to their guns grandly for all that," I said; and indeed for several hours the cannonade continued without the Russians gaining a step.
Having no special duty to perform, I busied myself in attending to the wounded, for the enemy's fire was committing havoc in our ranks.
Late in the afternoon I again found myself near the general, who had sent off all his aides-de-camp, when I saw a movement on our right which told me that the battle was lost.
Nagy Sándor saw it too, and his face grew black as night.
"Paskewitch has brought up his reserves," he exclaimed, "and we have only a handful to oppose them. Well, we must do what we can."
He looked round for a messenger, and, seeing me, said, "Botskay, ride to the rear and tell Torot to bring up every man he has. You see that?" and he pointed to the Russian movement on our right.
I bowed, and rode off to find Torot.
Two infantry divisions, supported by four field-batteries, were preparing to attack us in our weakest place; while far away on the right a column of infantry and a division of cavalry were marching by a wide circuit towards the town.
As for us, every man except the reserve had been fighting for hours against overwhelming odds, and there was not one to be spared from his place.
With a heavy heart I told Torot what was happening, and glanced disconsolately at his small body of troops.
"The Muscovites will swallow us up," said he cheerfully. "However, there's the order; so off we go."
I placed myself with the cavalry, and we moved out in good order from the shelter of the hills.
In the centre our guns maintained an equal conflict, but our right was terribly weakened, and incapable of resisting this fresh attack.
The poor fellows so sadly harassed greeted us with loud cheers, though really we could do little more than swell the number of dead and wounded.
I do not know who led the cavalry charge, but he was a gallant fellow and deserved a better fate.
The nearest battery was our goal, and few of us that survived will ever forget that terrible ride.
It was almost the last blow we were to strike in defence of our flag, though we did not know it then.
The colonel pointed to the battery that was dealing out death to our comrades.
"My lads," he said simply, "it is for us to take those guns."
The men shook their swords, answering by a savage cheer.
The battle had got on their nerves. They were desperate, and cared nothing at all for the fact that three-fourths of us were going to meet death.
It was the culminating point of the fight. All around rose the roar of the guns, the cheers and groans of the combatants, the tramp of rushing feet, the rattle of artillery.
A blaze of light on the left marked where a powder tumbrel had exploded. Yells of victory and defiance came from the same spot, but we rode on steadily with the fixed idea of capturing the guns in front of us.
A decimated infantry regiment, going goodness knows where, paused to cheer us; but we sped onward, gathering speed at every stride--gathering such momentum that I doubt if we could have stopped.
The colonel was a horse's length in front, going straight for the battery, when the first crash came.
The shot tore holes through our ranks, and men shrieked with pain; but the survivors never drew rein, and in an instant our dead were left behind.
At the second discharge the gallant colonel reeled to and fro in his saddle; but he kept his seat, though I knew he must be mortally wounded.
Again the guns spoke, and this time both horse and man dropped; but I took our leader's place, and still we went on like a company of mad furies.
I dared not look behind, I dared not even think. I could only shake my sword and cry "Forward!"
Then we were in the midst of the guns, slashing at the artillerymen, who fought us till the very end.
But we did what we had been sent to do, and cheered exultingly as we emerged on the other side.
Alas! that cheer was the death-knell of many.
Whiz! whiz! sang the bullets as a battalion of infantry, hitherto hidden by a depression in the ground, sprang to their feet and poured volley after volley into us.
Broken by our charge, disordered, panting, we waited a moment irresolutely, then tried to form up and return.
Only the maddest of madmen would have faced this fresh enemy.
But the horror was not yet at an end.
As we rode back, a mere handful of wearied men, a dense mass of heavy cavalry barred our path.
Flight was impossible. There were but two alternatives--surrender or death.
The Magyars chose the latter, and, gripping our swords firmly, we went straight at the grey-coated mass, and were instantly swallowed up.
There was no time for parrying of blows; we had to take our chance, and, cutting and thrusting, try to force a passage.
"Follow me, my lads! follow me!" I shouted, as long as my voice held out, but before the end of the fight I was past speaking.
I do not know how many of us got through. My head was dizzy, my sight dim. I heard a babel of sounds without being able to distinguish one, and sat my horse only by mechanically gripping the pommel of my saddle.
Then a number of black figures surrounded me; and in the midst of this, to me, phantom army I swept on into the land of darkness.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SURRENDER.
It seemed perfectly natural that the first face to meet my waking senses should be that of Mecsey Sándor.
I was lying on a bed in a little room, rather bare of furniture, but scrupulously clean, and my trusty servant stood looking at me.
On seeing my open eyes, he placed himself at attention, made a rigid military salute, and said with all seriousness, "I am sorry to report, Captain Botskay, that the Russian officer left in my charge has been rescued by his friends."
At first I stared hard at him without understanding, then I broke into a hearty laugh that must have done me a world of good.
"Hang the Russian officer!" I exclaimed; "tell me where I am and how I came here."
"A few miles from Debreczin," Sándor answered gravely. "I found you in the town light-headed, charging a Russian battery that wasn't there."
"Where's our army?"
Sándor puckered his lips and blew; he could not have given a more significant answer.
"Then it's all over?"
"Thereabout, unless Dembinski can reach Arad. Bern's troops have been broken into little bits at Hermanstadt, and Dembinski has been chased out of Szegedin."
I groaned at this, and closed my eyes.
"General Klapka has done well, though," Mecsey continued in his stolid way.
I opened my eyes again, saying, "Klapka is shut up in Comorn."
"So the Austrians thought till the general taught them better. The day you were being beaten at Debreczin he came out of the fortress, smashed the Austrians, chased them to Presburg, took a thousand prisoners, thirty pieces of cannon, and enough ammunition to last him a year."
"Well done, Klapka!" I cried delightedly.
"Of course it won't make any difference in the end," said Mecsey composedly; and his words were like a douche of cold water.
"Go away, you rascal!" I cried. "But no; tell me first what became of Dembinski after he was driven from Szegedin."
"I don't know. Perhaps he's trying to join the general at Arad."
"If so, we still have a chance. Now help me to dress; we must find our way back to the army."
"Not to-day," replied Mecsey, "nor to-morrow. The next day, perhaps, if you're stronger. Just at present, twenty miles in the saddle would leave you weaker than a child."
This was perfectly true, and I let Mecsey have his own way.
So for three days longer I lay in my comfortable bed, waited on by Mecsey and the good woman of the house, whose husband and two sons were in Görgei's army--at least she hoped so.
Then, early in the morning of the fourth day, we set out to ride to Arad by a circuitous route, as the main road was barred by the Russians.
The people of the villages, who freely gave us food and shelter, were filled with strange rumours which totally contradicted one another.
At one place we heard that Kossuth was at Arad with Görgei; at the next it was believed he had fled into Turkey. Each man, I think, believed the report which best fitted in with his inclination.
At last we struck the trail of Görgei's army, and all our informants agreed that the fearful forced marches had told on the troops terribly.
They were short of provisions and forage; the men were half-starved, the horses like skeletons.
This we learned from the villagers, while I knew for certain there could be but a small supply of ammunition.
Then shock followed shock in quick succession. Dembinski, who had never tried to reach Arad at all, was totally defeated by the Austrians under the walls of Temesvar, which had held out against part of our forces for one hundred and seven days.
Following this came the news that Kossuth had resigned his office and fled, leaving Görgei to act as he thought proper.
"That's a good dodge," said Mecsey. "Our general's bound to surrender unless he wants all his men slaughtered; and then everybody will throw mud at him--call him a traitor, very likely."
I laughed at this prophecy, little dreaming how my heart would ache at its fulfilment.
Long afterwards Rakoczy told me that my servant was far from being alone in his foresight.
Many gallant officers thought the general should refuse to be made the figure-head, now that everything was in ruins; but Görgei was a true patriot. He thought of the welfare of his distracted country, and manfully threw himself into the breach.
He had sacrificed everything for his countrymen; now he was prepared to lose even their goodwill and esteem.
The chance had come too late. Paskewitch, with his two corps of veterans, was pressing on one side; General Luders barred the way into Transylvania; Görgei's old opponent, Schlick, at the head of the Austrian advanced guard, was hurrying from Temesvar to hem him in, and there was none to help.
On the twelfth of August he wrote a letter to the Russian general, offering to capitulate, and laid it before his chief officers, who sorrowfully acknowledged that nothing else could be done, unless they were willing to fight a battle which would be only a massacre.
These details were told me later by Rakoczy, for at the time of their happening I was riding with Mecsey over villanous by-roads to Arad, and only arrived on the morning of the thirteenth of August, the date fixed for the surrender.
Mecsey urged me to turn back at once; but although I could do no good, I determined to proceed to Vilagos, where the laying down of arms was to take place.
As it chanced, a robe which Mecsey had procured completely hid my uniform, and I was wearing a kalpag--a round fur cap ornamented by a white heron's plume.
Crowds of peasants swarmed in the country roads, while people of higher degree rode on horseback or in light latticed-side wagons to witness the mournful spectacle.
And it was mournful in the extreme.
To a high-spirited nation this blow was almost worse than death.
Hardly a word was spoken among all the sad company. Women wept, strong men bowed their heads and shuffled along like felons. Even I, who loved Görgei, felt a spasm of indignation that he had not chosen to sacrifice his country rather than consent to such humiliation.
Yet the sight of his broken army showed he could have done nothing else.
Ragged, shoeless, half-starved, without ammunition, exhausted by hundreds of miles of terrible marching, hemmed in on all sides by the victorious enemy, what could these brave fellows have done?
There was only one answer, which came from a woman--hardly more than a girl, in fact--who stood near me.
"They should have died!" she cried passionately. "I have a brother and a sweetheart over there, and I would willingly have lost them to spare our country such disgrace."
A murmur of applause arose from the bystanders, and when one--an old man who had seen many years and much sorrow--ventured to object, I thought the crowd would have torn him in pieces.
The disputes, the endless squabbles, the different aims of the insurgents, the bitter enmity between the national party and the republicans, were all forgotten in this sad hour.
"O land of the Magyars! land of the Magyars! that it should ever come to this!" cried another woman in heart-breaking accents. "I would give husband, father, brother, sons, everything to wipe out this eternal shame from my native land!"
"And cry your eyes out for them afterwards!" exclaimed Mecsey roughly. "What good will twenty thousand dead men do Hungary? Let them live, woman, and bide their time. The turn of the black and yellow dogs will come."
This plain talk would have provoked disorder; but just then our attention was distracted by the sight of Görgei riding alone to meet the Russian general.
He was simply dressed, the only bit of colour being the collar of gold braid attached to his brown blouse. His heavy riding-boots reached above the knee, and he wore a round black hat, with a waving white feather.
The staff followed, conspicuous in short green attilas, with heavy gold trimmings, and with herons' plumes in their hats.
The Russian leader, similarly accompanied, advanced from his lines, and we watched the two generals exchange hand-clasps.
I sat my horse and gazed spellbound while they talked, pitying the chivalrous Görgei from my heart.
Meanwhile, the Hungarian troops were still marching to their appointed places, while the Russian army stood in two long lines on the plain of Vilagos.
The conference between the leaders ceased; they returned to their posts, and we waited impatiently for the end.
At length all was ready. The Magyars were drawn up in two lines opposite their Muscovite foes--the infantry in the first, with the cavalry on the wings; the artillery in the second.
Once again Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them.
[image]"Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them." Page 338]
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"Görgei and his staff rode to the front, where the Russian generals met them." Page 338]
The two leaders saluted, and then along the whole line sounded the beating of drums.
My eyes ached, my brain grew dizzy, my heart throbbed violently as I strained forward, eagerly watching.
That rolling of drums was the death-knell of all our hopes.
At its signal the Russians presented arms, proudly but not vaingloriously, and then--
There was a low wail, a cry of despair from the spectators, an outburst of grief such as I had never heard, shall never hear again.
Strong men shook with grief, women sobbed as if their hearts were broken, as our gallant infantry laid their useless weapons on the ground, the cavalry on their saddles.
As for me, I crouched low, hiding my face in my horse's mane.
I have known much of happiness since then, but no joy has ever effaced the impression made on that sorrowful day.
Even now, as I sit dreaming many years after the event, the picture rises before me fresh as ever.
With eyes open or shut, I see as in reality the pyramids of muskets; the cannon drawn close together, and without gunners; the dismounted cavalry, with their swords on the pommels of their saddles; the loved flags and standards, that had fluttered so proudly on many battlefields, lying in the dust.
I see the glorious red, white, and green stripes dirty and in rags, and think of the one that wraps all that remains of my gallant brother. I see the thousands of brave men who have fought and bled for Hungary, now disarmed and impotent, but still undaunted even in that hour of bitterness.
Then again the rolling of drums pierces my ears, and I see the breaking of the ranks as the men, under strong escorts, are marched off to their various destinations.
I hear, too, the first whisper, which afterwards swelled into a loud roar, that Görgei is a traitor, and has sold his country to the Russians. My ears burn like fire, and I blush for my countrymen.
It is not given to us to probe the secrets of the human heart, and I was absent from my general in the latter days; but I had marched with him, toiled with him, fought at his side, seen him go again and again to almost certain death, in order to rally his failing soldiers, and I judge a man by his actions.
But my dreams run away with me. I must return to that sorrowful evening of August 13, when Mecsey, plucking at my sleeve, brought me back to real life.
"It's all over," he said brusquely; "and now that the prey is secured, the Austrian jackal will come to pick the bones."
"The Austrians will not dare," I began; but he stopped me with a mirthless laugh.
"Görgei has saved the army at the expense of the officers," he said. "There will be a fine feast of death before long."
These words added to my misery, for I thought of my light-hearted friend Rakoczy, and wondered if he would be counted amongst the victims.
I expressed my fears to Mecsey, who promptly proposed that we should discover where the colonel had been taken.
This, however, was more easily said than done, as we soon found.
Russian troops in charge of their prisoners were marching in all directions, and it was impossible to scan them all.
We went about hither and thither, asking questions of the crowd to little purpose; but at length we had the good fortune to meet with a number of soldiers belonging to the 9th Honveds, who had slipped from the ranks at the very moment of surrender.
They were all looking miserable and dejected; but one, catching sight of me, ran up eagerly.
"From the colonel, sir," he cried joyfully; "though neither of us ever expected I should have the luck to meet you."
He took a folded paper from his pocket, and I pounced on it quickly. Here, no doubt, was the very information we sought; but in this I was disappointed.
The dear, unselfish fellow, indifferent to his own fate, had used the last moments of his freedom to send me a warning.
"Look out for yourself," the note ran; "your name alone will get you into trouble. Give Gyula [that was my home] a wide berth till the wolves are gorged.--J.R."
Not a word either of hope or fear for himself; all his cares were for me.
That was just like "John the Joyous," and my eyes were dim as I placed the paper in my pocket.
The faded characters, barely legible now, meet my eyes as I write; for that scrap of soiled paper remains one of my most sacred treasures, and it lies in a little golden casket on my desk.
"Have you found him, captain?"
The speaker was Mecsey, and when I shook my head sadly he immediately began to question the soldiers.
Here, again, we were at fault. No one really knew where the colonel was, some asserting he had been taken to Gros-Wardein with Görgei, others saying he had gone south with his regiment to Nagy Kikinda.
We spent another hour in questioning various men who had escaped from Vilagos, but could gain no news of the colonel, though several stated positively that the 9th Honveds had marched southward under a strong escort.
Then I held council with Mecsey, and we decided to separate, he to reconnoitre Gros-Wardein, while I followed my old regiment. At the end of a week we were to meet again at Arad, by which time it was likely that one of us would have discovered my missing friend.
"Good-bye, captain," said Mecsey, grasping the hand I held out to him, "and take the colonel's advice. It's easier to get into an Austrian prison than out of one."
"All right, my trusty fellow; I shall keep my eyes open, though I'm not tall enough for the Austrians to cut down."
So we parted, guessing little of the events which would happen before we met again.
Night was fast closing in by now, and in the darkness I missed the bridge over the Maros River, which made me lose nearly two hours, and prevented me from striking the trail of the 9th Honveds.
However, I found the bridge at last, and, crossing to the other side, pursued my way at hap-hazard as long as my horse could keep going; then I sat down by the roadside and waited for the morning.
At sunrise I started again, leading the animal by its bridle, until a lucky chance brought me to a village.
It was a small place, containing not more than twenty houses at the outside; but it boasted an inn, where I might haply procure food for myself and horse.
Four men dressed in peasants' clothes, but having a distinctly military bearing, sat on the "word-bearer"--the bench placed against the wall of most Hungarian country houses--gossiping. At sight of my uniform (for I had unfastened my mantle) they sprang to their feet and approached me with bare heads.
My suspicions were at once verified, and I exclaimed, "You have done well, my lads. A free Magyar is worth more than an imprisoned one. Only, should the Austrians pass through, slouch your shoulders and stoop a little; you bear the marks of the drill-sergeant too plainly."
They smiled at one another, and one taking my horse led it through the courtyard into the stable behind the inn.
Another spoke my name, and though I could not remember their features, they claimed to belong to the old regiment.
He who had attended to my horse was the keeper of the inn, which he now respectfully invited me to enter.
Bidding the others come too, I questioned them concerning their colonel, while the hostess prepared a meal.
Fate was, perhaps, against me, for they could tell little beyond what I already knew.
The 9th Honveds had passed through in the night without a halt, and all the country round was covered with our disarmed troops marching to prison in charge of their Russian captors.
All this they told me eagerly; but as to Colonel Rakoczy they could tell nothing.
Naturally I was much disappointed; but comforting myself with the thought that I was at least on the track of the regiment, I made a hearty breakfast, took a look at my horse, and having sent the men to act as sentries, lay down for a couple of hours' sleep.
At the end of that time my host wakened me, and I rose, greatly refreshed by the brief rest.
My horse, too, was all the better for its food and grooming; and I mounted quite gaily, having first thanked the keeper of the inn for his kindness.
"Take care you don't run against the Austrians, captain," the man answered. "From what I hear, their cavalry can't be far off."
"All right, my good fellow; though they aren't likely to interfere with me."
The innkeeper shook his head. He had little faith in the mercy of the Austrians.
The other men now came to say a word in parting, and then I rode slowly past the little gabled, whitewashed houses, and so again into the open country.
It was a glorious day, and under other circumstances I should have enjoyed the ride immensely; but my good spirits sank at thought of Görgei's surrender, and of John Rakoczy's personal danger.
Everywhere the people whom I met or overtook were ready to answer my questions; but the day ended without my having seen any sign of the 9th Honveds.
From time to time, however, it was told me that the Russians were in the neighbourhood; so towards night I went warily, not wishing to be taken prisoner.
Between nine and ten o'clock I entered the street of another village, and pulled up at the inn--the only house that showed a light.
A huge hound lying in the courtyard barked violently, the noise bringing out several men, who eyed me with suspicion.
Inquiring in sharp tones for the landlord, I ordered him to take my horse to the stables, and without paying any attention to the others entered the kitchen of the inn.
The men followed closely, and by the light of the candles I was able to see the kind of company I had got amongst.
There were six of them altogether, each wearing a cuirass and armed with a pair of pistols; while the room was littered with sharp lances and loaded hatchets.
The fellows stood looking at me with broad grins, as if amused at my surprise; while I, on the other hand, had more than a passing doubt as to what might be the upshot of this adventure.
It would be rather a melancholy end to my campaigning if I were knocked on the head by these "poor lads," as the country folk called the bandits, whose profession my new companions evidently followed.
Thinking the sight of my uniform might inspire respect, I unfastened my mantle carelessly; and, as I had half expected, the men at once assumed a respectful bearing.
"An officer of the staff who has escaped from the Russians!" cried one. "We must tell the chief."
"Where is he?" I asked.
"At supper in the inner room, my master."
"Then tell him Captain Botskay will be pleased to bear him company."
The man knocked at the door separating the kitchen from the next apartment, held a conversation with some one inside, and returned to say that Batori Gabor would be happy to give me greeting.