THROUGH FIRE AND WATER.
And now whither? That was the anxious query of the deserting squadron
of hussars.
On one side was the whole army, from among whose banners they had
wrested their own; on the other were two rivers, the Danube and the
March, and beyond them a mountain range, the Carpathians.
For an hour and a half they followed a bridle-path through the fields,
knowing only that they were riding toward the Danube. Then the sky
began to clear, and they were able to determine their position more
exactly. On the right lay the river like a dark mirror under the
scurrying clouds.
"Now, boys," said Richard, when he had his men all before him, "we
have begun a march which will take us either home or to destruction. I
have to warn you--what you know well enough already--that we are about
to face every sort of peril and hardship. We must ride day and night
without a halt, swim rivers, climb mountains, bear hunger, thirst,
and want of sleep, and be prepared to fight for our lives at every
step. He who faints by the way is lost; he will be taken prisoner and
shot. I ask no man to follow me. I shall go ahead without turning back
to see how many of my two hundred and twenty men are behind me. I
require no oath of you. It is dark, and whoever chooses to turn back
may do so when I start to lead the way; but when the sun rises, let
all who are with me then understand that they are thenceforward under
military discipline, and bound to obey my orders without murmur or
complaint. Now then, follow me who will! This is the first test."
The first test was calculated to make the faint-hearted, if such there
were, shrink with fear. The Danube was to be forded. Richard was
familiar with the region from his earlier military manA"uvres, and he
knew the river's shoals and bars. For him and his old hussars it was
mere play to cross the stream without bridge or ferry; but the less
experienced might well fear to breast its waters in the dark,
encumbered as they were with their arms.
A young poplar grove received the horsemen on the farther side, and
here their leader caused them to be counted by the sergeant-major.
"Two hundred and twenty," reported that officer, after completing the
count.
"Impossible!" exclaimed Richard; "we left two men behind as
sentinels."
"Here we are!" sounded a familiar bass, which was at once recognised
as old Paul's.
"That you, Paul? How did you overtake us so soon, and what news from
the camp?"
"The cuirassiers broke camp and made for the city, as if on purpose to
leave us a clear field; and so I said: 'What's the use of standing
guard here any longer? Come, brother, let's after the rest!'"
"And was there no sign of an alarm?"
"No, sir; everything was as still as a mouse."
"Good! Now all form a square around me."
The hussars obeyed the order, falling in about their captain in closed
ranks. In the east a faint light was beginning to mark the horizon
line.
Two hundred and twenty men, gathered together in that quiet grove,
swore blind obedience to their commander and fearless execution of his
orders until they should see their homes once more. When the sun
showed itself like a fiery dome on the horizon, they saw that the
standard they were to follow was the familiar tricolour.
"We have half a day's start of our pursuers," said Richard to his men.
"The first to discover our flight will be Otto Palvicz, the cuirassier
major. When he has followed our trail so far, he will see that we have
crossed the river. He can't cross here with his heavy cavalry, but
will be obliged to turn back to the floating bridge. By pushing on
until late to-night, we shall escape all danger of his overtaking us.
So much for our first day's work."
Richard then divided his store of ready money among his followers, and
impressed upon them that they were not, under any circumstances, to
plunder and rob, but were to pay for all provisions consumed.
Emerging from the poplar grove, the hussars struck into a bridle-path
which led them to a castle owned by a Czechic magnate, who was at that
time away from home; but his wife gave Richard an audience, with the
result that his men received each a drink of brandy, with some bread
and smoked meat, while hay and oats were furnished for their horses.
Richard also obtained from the good lady a map which showed every road
and bridle-path as far as the Moravian and Hungarian borders. This map
proved afterward indispensable to the fugitives.
They rested at the Czechic magnate's castle for two hours, when a
guide conducted them to the next forest and left them to pursue their
way farther. In the depth of the woods the shades of an autumn
afternoon closed in on the riders at an early hour. Richard led the
way through ravines and over mountains. Reaching an elevated spot of
ground that commanded a view of the surrounding country, he had his
attention called by old Paul to the beacon-fires visible in the
gathering darkness on the distant mountain-tops.
"Those are for our benefit," said Captain Baradlay.
The fires were warning signals of the fugitives' flight, and they soon
began to appear not only in the rear, but also on the summits ahead of
the riders. Thus the whole country as far as the border was aroused to
intercept them. By the light of a newly kindled beacon in their rear
Richard could see, through his field-glass, that a body of horsemen
was already in hot pursuit.
"They are on our trail much sooner than I expected," said he, "and we
have not a moment to waste."
Hoping to elude pursuit, he chose a path leading through a deep ravine
which he well remembered from his hunting expeditions. It formed a
part of an Austrian noble's estate. A mountain stream flowed through
this ravine, its waters being dammed at one place to form a large
mill-pond and a fishing basin, and also to supply necessary irrigation
at certain seasons. Richard's hastily formed plan was to push on past
the mill and open the sluices on his way, thus flooding the narrow
valley and cutting off his pursuers, who were seen to be Otto
Palvicz's heavy cavalry.
One contingency, however, had not occurred to him, namely, that the
trick he intended to play on Otto Palvicz might be played by some one
else on himself. At a turn in the ravine not far from the mill, Paul
came galloping back with the advance-guard and reported that the whole
valley ahead was under water. The miller had told him that the dam had
been opened only a short time before by the forester. It had evidently
been done to cut off the hussars.
Richard spurred forward to the mill. Only a narrow dike offered a
passage across the ravine, and even this dike had been destroyed for a
space of several yards, leaving only the piles projecting from the
water.
"Never mind," said Richard, nothing dismayed by the prospect; "go and
bring two or three doors from the mill and lay them on the piles to
form a bridge."
The order was promptly executed, but the horses refused to cross on
this improvised structure.
"They are afraid because it is white," said Paul.
"Cover it with mud," commanded Richard.
"That won't do," objected the old hussar, "because then we can't burn
it behind us."
"Right, Paul; we must set it on fire as soon as we are over. Perhaps
we can find some tar in the mill."
A whole barrel of tar was discovered after some search, and a portion
of it poured over the bridge. Now, however, the horses were more
recalcitrant than before; their hoofs slipped on the tarred boards,
and the hollow sound given back by the frail bridge served to
increase their fear.
Old Paul swore like a heathen. "Here we are caught in a pretty trap,"
said he.
"Oh, no," replied Richard, reassuringly. "We two must dismount, and
one of us lead the horses by the bridle while the other urges them on
from behind. The riders will stay in their saddles."
It was a task, indeed, to get all the rearing, plunging, and
thoroughly frightened animals, one after another, over the shaky
bridge. The riders cursed, old Paul invoked all the saints in the
calendar, and Richard plied his whip with an unsparing hand, until, at
last, the passage was accomplished. It had been attended with so much
noise, however, that no human ear within miles around could have
failed to hear it.
Before long a signal-fire blazed up on the hill from which the
fugitives had noted the beacon-lights. Thus far, then, their pursuers
had tracked them, and no doubt they would be about their ears in a few
minutes. Richard and Paul were bathed in perspiration, and there were
still thirty led horses to be driven over the bridge.
"I hear a trumpet behind us," said one of the men; "wouldn't it be
best to leave the extra horses and each man look out for himself?"
"No," said Richard; "there must not be a single horse left behind.
Let no one ride on until every horse is over."
His order was obeyed, and not a man stirred from the spot until all
the reserve horses were across the bridge. By that time the trumpet
notes were very near, and the white mantles of the pursuing horsemen
could be discerned in the darkness. Richard gave Paul a whispered
order, whereupon the old hussar disappeared with two companions. Then
the bridge was heaped with dry brushwood, the rest of the tar poured
over it, and the whole set on fire. As the flames shot upward the one
band of horsemen could see the other, face to face. Richard swung
himself into his saddle, and ordered his men to move forward,
carefully, over the narrow dike and down the ravine. He himself
remained behind until all had preceded him.
The cuirassiers did not reach the mill in a body, having become
greatly scattered in the course of their hot pursuit. Otto Palvicz,
however, was in the lead, his full-blooded stallion being best able to
stand the strain of the twenty hours' continuous chase. With him were
but a score of his men, and there was no telling how long the others
might be in joining him; yet he spurred his horse on as if he would
have crossed the burning bridge. The animal, however, would not be
driven into the fire.
"Captain Richard Baradlay!" shouted Palvicz.
"Here I am, Major Otto Palvicz," came back the answer.
"Surrender yourself my prisoner!"
"Come over and get me!"
"I will, all in good time, you may depend upon it."
"But not to-night."
"Yes, to-night. I sha'n't halt till I have caught you."
"But you can't cross the broken dike."
"It won't delay us more than an hour. By that time we shall be across
and at your heels again. You can't escape me."
"We'll see about that."
During this dialogue a rushing of water became audible from the
direction of the fish-pond, and Otto Palvicz noticed that an added
flood was pouring through the break in the dike and widening the
rupture.
"I have had the fish-pond sluices raised," said Richard, "and you will
hardly fill in this gap in an hour's time."
Otto Palvicz saw that the other was right. "I see that I cannot cross
immediately," he admitted; "but if you are a cavalier, stay where you
are and let us fight it out over fire and water. Will you join me in a
pistol duel?"
"With all my heart."
"We will fire at each other until one of us falls from his horse."
"Agreed; but first let our men get out of range. Why shoot down our
brave lads instead of each other?"
"You are right," assented Otto, and he ordered his men to stand aside.
The two leaders stood facing each other across the burning bridge,
whose flames furnished a bright light for a nocturnal duel. Each wore
a white cavalry cloak, an excellent target for his opponent's aim.
They exchanged a couple of shots. Palvicz pierced Richard's shako, he
himself receiving a shot in the cuirass which left a dent.
"Load again!" cried Otto.
But at that moment the water from the fish-pond, whose sluices had
been thrown wide open by old Paul, came rushing over the dike in such
a volume as entirely to submerge the burning bridge and leave the
duellists in darkness. Indeed, they were forced to seek safety from
the rising flood in precipitate flight.
"To-morrow we'll at it again," called out the cuirassier major.
"I'll be with you," answered the captain of hussars.
What had been a fiery Phlegethon before, now became an inky Styx,
likely to delay the pursuers for half a day. Meanwhile the fugitives
had only to push on as rapidly as possible. The whole region, however,
was aroused, and in the first village they reached they could get no
provisions for themselves or fodder for their horses.
"You are deserters and bent on mischief," the people said to them, and
they were forced to ride on with their hunger unabated.
Coming to a bridge, they were met by a rude company of rustic militia,
armed with scythes.
"Shall we do as we did at the St. Bridget Convent?" the hussars asked
their captain.
"No, that is out of the question here," was the reply; "we must avoid
a fight with the peasantry."
He well knew that a couple of volleys from their pistols would have
cleared the bridge; but he chose instead to make a dA(C)tour that cost
them two hours of precious time, being resolved to avoid all bloodshed
until he should reach his own country.
And still not a bite to eat. Everything eatable was hidden on their
approach. Toward noon, however, they came to a little inn where they
obtained a loaf of bread and a little brandy. Richard himself cut up
the loaf into as many pieces as there were men, and served it out to
his followers as if it had been the Lord's supper. A mouthful of bread
and a swallow of brandy,--that was their dinner.
In the afternoon they reached a second mill, and here the miller was
in the act of grinding some buckwheat. Eldorado! A feast fit for
Lucullus! Stirabout for every man, a bellyful! True, neither dripping
nor bacon was to be had; but never mind; it would taste so good even
without.
The hussars unsaddled their horses, and, while some of the men turned
blacksmiths and looked to the shoeing of their steeds, the rest betook
themselves to the kitchen, where, in an immense kettle hanging over
the fire, something was being cooked with much stirring and pouring in
of water, until the whole was of a uniform and proper consistency. The
technical name of this dish is "stirabout."
Meanwhile Richard had stationed outposts to guard against a surprise
from the enemy.
When the mush was done, a pole was put through the handle of the
kettle, twelve cavalry cloaks were spread out on the grass, and on
them the steaming food, which would not have tempted even a wolf's
hunger in its then scalding condition, was served with a great wooden
spoon. But just as the banqueters were about to sit down around the
white cloaks which did duty as table-cloths and plates in one, the
outposts came running in with the cry: "The cuirassiers are coming!"
To saddle and mount, first folding up the cloaks, stirabout and all,
and throwing them over the pommels, was the work of a moment. There
was not even time to take one taste of the savoury mess before the
men were up and away as fast as their horses could carry them. Without
pausing to choose his path, Richard galloped across country, over
stock and stubble, taking care only to hold his horse's head toward
the east, and spurring on his headlong flight until the sweat ran from
the animal's flanks.
"We shall kill all our horses," remarked old Paul, as he pressed hard
after his master and glanced back at the ragged line of cavalry behind
him. Some of the horses, indeed, broke down under this terrific pace,
whereupon the extra mounts were brought into service. It was well they
had not been left behind at the mill-dam.
The pursuers were in no better plight. On the highway it had been easy
for them to overtake the fugitives, as the latter were forced to make
numerous dA(C)tours; but when they took to the ploughed fields it was a
different matter. Richard had been right in his reckoning; in the soft
and spongy soil the heavy cuirassiers could proceed only at a walk,
while the hussars were able to push forward at a trot.
Richard fell back and remained in the rear to hold all his men
together, and when any of them met with an accident he was prompt to
lend his aid. Thus he again came within earshot of Otto Palvicz.
Glancing back from time to time, he allowed the cuirassier major to
come near enough to make conversation possible.
"Stop a moment; I want to speak to you," called Palvicz.
"I can hear you very well as I am," answered Baradlay.
"If you are a brave man, don't run away from me like that."
"I am brave enough to run away so that you'll never catch me."
"That is cowardice. You are showing me your back."
"I shall have a look at yours one of these days."
"Will you stop and fight with me?"
"No; while we fought your men would overtake mine."
"They will do that in any case. Do you see yonder line of willows?
Just beyond it lies the March."
"I know that."
"You will be stopped by the river."
"The Danube did not stop us."
This dialogue was carried on very comfortably by the two riders, who
were distant from each other only three horse's lengths, an interval
which Richard took good care not to let his pursuer diminish.
On reaching the willows that marked the course of the March, the
hussars halted.
"See there," cried Palvicz; "your men don't dare take the plunge."
"I'll make them change their minds in a moment," answered the other.
"Are you mad? Both riders and horses will meet their death if you lead
them, heated as they are, into the ice-cold water."
"If they meet their death I shall share the same fate."
So saying, Richard put spurs to his horse and galloped forward,
Palvicz close at his heels. Presently they came to a stretch of turf
where their two noble steeds had a good footing. Palvicz was only two
horse's lengths behind when Richard climbed the willow-covered
river-bank. The hussar officer had two seconds to spare. He used one
of them to survey the danger from which his men were recoiling. The
March was swollen by the autumn rains, and its foaming, turbid waters
went racing by in an angry tumult. The next moment he called to his
men to follow him, and sprang from the high bank into the flood, while
his pursuer drew rein with a cry of astonishment. An instant later
horse and rider came again to the surface of the water, which had
closed foaming over their heads, and Richard called to his enemy with
a laugh: "Now follow me if you can!"
At that the whole squadron of hussars plunged with a deafening shout
into the boiling current, and followed their leader. Otto Palvicz
stood looking at them in amazement as they battled with the waves and
perhaps he was even moved with fear lest the gallant band should come
to grief. But they all, to a man, gained the farther bank, unharmed by
their icy bath; they were rather refreshed and invigorated by it. The
cuirassiers, however, did not venture after them. Their leader was
forced to desist from further pursuit.
"We shall meet again, Baradlay," he shouted across the river.
"All right; any time you please," returned Richard.
Dripping water at every step, and soaked to the skin, the hussars
continued their journey. It was well for them that they did not pause
even for a breathing-spell in their wet condition: the cold autumn air
would have served them an ill turn had they done so.
A meadow lay before them, in which the horses sank to their fetlocks
in the mud. Yet it was a matter of stern necessity to push on. Both
the leader and his followers knew that unless men and horses found
food and shelter that night, they would all be likely to perish. For
two days and nights they had not closed their eyes, and a good night's
sleep, with one full meal, seemed indispensable if they were to gain
strength for what yet lay before them.
"If the good God would only lead us to a village!" was the prayer of
many a young hussar. But their prayers met with an ill response. They
had prayed for some snug little village, and they came to a city
instead. Gaining a hilltop, they suddenly beheld in the valley before
them a pretty town with six church-spires. Their prayer had been more
than answered. The town was girt with a wall, after the old German
custom, and it seemed unwise to trust themselves within its embrace. A
road led around it, to be sure, but was commanded by a high-walled
building that looked, to the experienced eye, suspiciously like
cavalry barracks. A reconnoissance seemed hazardous where every eye
was on the watch for the fugitives; therefore, they were forced to
retire to the woods they had just left, and wait for night. Yet they
feared to tarry too long, well knowing that Palvicz would send a
messenger across the river by boat to notify the garrison commander of
their presence in the neighbourhood.
At nightfall the uncertainty of the hussars was dispelled. A bugle
sounded its familiar note from the barracks, and the horses pricked up
their ears. That well-known "trarara trarara" had always meant to them
that their masters were bringing oats for the night and spreading
straw for their beds. But no such good luck this time. The fanfare was
heard four times,--once at each corner of the wall,--and when the
trumpets became silent a roll of drums followed. All this indicated
to the listeners that troops were quartered in the town.
To make a dA(C)tour and avoid both town and barracks was impossible;
horses and riders would have perished in the swamp. But go on they
must in some way; it was out of the question to bivouac in the open
air that cold autumn night. Yet which way were they to turn?
Possibly the reader may wonder that two hundred and twenty Hungarian
hussars, those centaurs of modern mythology, should have even stopped
to ask such a question, so long as they held their good swords in
their hands. But consider, dear reader, that these hussars had not
slept for two nights, or eaten anything since the preceding day; that
their horses were worn out, their clothes wet through, and their limbs
chilled and stiffened by the autumn frost. Military men know only too
well how many battles have been lost because of empty stomachs. Many a
brave army that has marched out as if to subdue the world has been
routed in the end by a despised and inferior enemy, simply because the
latter had eaten a good dinner before the battle and the other side
had not.
At last help came from an unexpected source,--from that cold and
penetrating dampness of which the shivering riders were so bitterly
complaining. Such a dense mist arose and spread over the landscape
that one could not see twenty steps ahead.
"Now, boys," said Captain Baradlay, turning with satisfaction to his
men, "we will play a capital joke on yonder good people. Let every man
tear up his saddle-cloth and bind his horse's hoofs with the rags;
then we will start."
The men soon guessed his plan, and in a few minutes were ready for
further orders. They left the woods and rode silently along the
highway, unable to see ahead, but each man following his nose. Not a
soul was abroad at that time of night, all good citizens being long
since in bed and asleep.
Suddenly the night watch called the hour,--eleven; and then a lantern
appeared and seemed to be drawing nearer. Advancing until they were
within fifty paces of this light, they halted, and then the watchman
called again: "Eleven o'clock and all's well!" If he saw the silent
riders, he took them for ghosts wending their noiseless way through
the mist. Here and there they passed a window that showed a candle
still burning. The dogs bayed at the mysteriously moving forms, and
the riders greatly feared the people would be aroused by their
barking. The critical moment, however, was yet to come. Where the main
street left the town stood a little building for the receipt of
customs, and here, too, it was but natural to expect a guard. That one
was there soon became evident. When the hussars had approached within
a few hundred paces of the spot, they heard the signal for changing
the watch, followed by the sound of approaching cavalry.
"It must be a whole troop," muttered Paul, as the steps drew near.
"They are coming straight toward us," whispered Richard. "Draw your
swords!"
There seemed no other course left them but to fight their way through.
The advancing horsemen, however, were presently heard to turn aside
and pass down another street. The danger was averted.
Richard now led his men forward in silence, and the whole squadron
rode through the gateway and out of the town under the very nose of
the sentry, who doubtless mistook the hussars in the darkness and mist
for his own comrades. Their number must have caused him some surprise;
but by the time his suspicions were communicated to the
sergeant-major, two hours later, and the matter reported to the
commandant an hour after that, Richard and his men were far on their
way.
"Now, my lads," said Richard, when that danger was safely past, "you
may light your pipes and undo the rags from your horses' hoofs."
The success of the ruse had put his men in the best of humours, and
even the horses seemed to share their riders' feelings; for they
struck out with as much spirit as if they had but just left their
stalls. The firm highway was such a relief to the riders, after
struggling through bogs and marshes, that they made good progress. At
length the road led up into the mountains, and when the sun rose they
saw before them, as the mist rolled away, the lofty peaks of the
Carpathians, beyond which lay home and friends.
A mountain hamlet received the weary riders with friendly, welcome and
sympathy. Old and young, men and women, all had a kind word for them,
and hastened to throw open their houses and their granaries. The
horses were soon standing knee-deep in hay, while the peasants lent
their aid in shoeing such as needed to be shod, and in mending broken
harness. All that the good people had--and they were not people of
much means--was placed before the hungry men for their refreshment.
"Ah, this will be a different kind of dinner from yesterday's," said
one hussar to another, as they watched the preparations. But their
exultation was premature. Before the baking and boiling were half
done, the outposts came galloping in, shouting that the pursuers were
in sight.
The soldiers whom the hussars had so cunningly tricked the night
before were now bent on getting even with them. Infantry in wagons,
and a troop of cavalry riding ahead, were making the best of their way
after the fugitives. Nor, indeed, was it any remarkable achievement to
overtake the weary hussars on their worn-out horses.
Again the order was given to mount and away. The men were disposed to
grumble.
"Let us stay where we are and fight it out," they cried. "We'll either
beat them back, or fall in our tracks."
Indeed, there seemed at first no choice in the matter. The cavalry was
upon them in the rear, while the infantry was making a dA(C)tour, in
order to lie in ambush in a grove just beyond the village, where they
would try to check the farther flight of the deserters. In all
probability the enemy would reach the grove before the hussars, as the
latter had their horses still to saddle.
Meanwhile Richard had made a hasty reconnoissance. To fight their way
through the infantry in front would, he felt convinced, result in
heavy loss to his men, while the cavalry in their rear would be
constantly harassing them until they were entirely destroyed. Not a
single hussar would live to see his home. Such a needless sacrifice
was to be avoided if possible. One other way was open,--a steep path
leading up the mountainside toward its snow-capped summit.
"Is there a path over the mountain, and can we get a guide to show us
the way?" asked Richard, of an old shepherd.
"There is a path," he replied, "and if you wish I will show you the
way until I can hand you over to another guide. You need fear no
pursuit, if you choose that path, but you are likely to perish of
hunger."
"We'll try it, nevertheless," returned Richard.
The men were mounted by this time, and drawn up, sword in hand. The
order was given to sheath their swords and right wheel.
"Where are we going?" cried the hussars, in a storm of disapproval.
"Up the mountainside? We will go to hell first!"
Richard drew his pistols. "Whoever has forgotten his oath had best
commit his soul to God," said he sternly. The angry murmurs were
hushed. "Those who still have faith in me will follow. I am going
ahead."
The swords went rattling into their scabbards. The guide, equipped
with alpenstock and climbing irons, led the way, Richard followed him,
and the hussars came trailing behind, with old Paul as rear guard.
The enemy, after waiting an hour for the fugitives to make a sally
from the village, pulled some very long faces when they caught sight
of them, high up on the mountainside, following in single file a steep
path along the face of the cliff. Never before had horse's hoof
trodden that perilous path; it was so narrow that both steed and rider
were in constant danger of being hurled into the mountain stream that
ran foaming a hundred fathoms below. One false step or an attack of
giddiness would have been fatal.
Amazement was followed by anger on the part of the pursuers. They had
no desire to give chase, but, to prevent their intended victims'
escape without a scratch, they discharged their rifles at them. Their
pieces had a range of a thousand paces, and the target could not have
been better,--dark blue uniforms against a white limestone background.
The rifle-balls rebounded from the cliff, so that each one went
whistling twice by the hussars' ears--as if their position had not
been already sufficiently perilous.
Yet in that hour of danger the horsemen sat half asleep in their
saddles, with nodding heads and drooping eyelids. Only Richard in the
van and old Paul in the rear were still on the alert, and kept calling
to their comrades to wake up. A turn in the path presently led the
riders out of range, and there was no further cause to fear
molestation. A fir grove, as sombre and still as a cathedral, received
them in its shelter. Here the starving men unearthed a store of
turnips that had been deposited there for feeding sheep. It was not an
inviting dish to human palates; but hunger like theirs is not
squeamish, and they were only too glad to feed on the coarse
provender. They wished to rest in the grove, but their guide spurred
them on once more; pleasant weather was too precious to be wasted in
that region, where fog and darkness would be sure to afford them all
the time they needed for repose.
Forward, then, as long as horse and rider were able to move!
In the afternoon the hussars came to a shepherd's hut, where their
guide committed his charge to the care of the occupant of the little
shanty, and himself returned to the village. Finding a few trusses of
hay, Richard and his men bought them for their horses. But was there
nothing, they asked, which might serve to stay a hungry man's stomach?
The sheep were feeding below in the valley, and it was too late to go
after them. There was, however, a tub of sheep's milk that had been
set away to curdle for cheese; it was not an appetising drink, to be
sure, but nourishing and strengthening. Each hussar received half a
glassful.
As there was some moonlight that night, Richard determined to make the
most of it, and the weary hussars were forced to push on. They had but
just begun the really arduous part of their journey. The path led
upward and was very steep. The fir trees became fewer, and in their
stead began to appear juniper trees, of good, sturdy growth at first,
but ever becoming smaller, until at last they were no larger than
bramble bushes.
When the sun rose over the mountain-tops in front, it hung lustreless
and shrouded in mist. The guide began to hint that a snow-storm was
in prospect. All vegetation disappeared as they climbed higher; not
even a blade of grass showed itself on the bare mountainside; no sign
of man or beast or bird greeted the eye; it was all death's kingdom, a
landscape of tombstones, the home of the clouds, whither no sound of
herdsman's horn, or hunter's rifle, or bell of sheep or goat ever
penetrated.
Toward noon, as the hussars were descending into a ravine, a dense
mist began to rise from below.
"If it reaches us we shall have a long resting spell," remarked the
guide to Richard. "Let us hasten down into the ravine, where there is
brushwood and we can at least make a fire if the weather is bad."
The mist rose until it had quite enveloped the band of horsemen. The
clouds were returning to their domain, and were asking the intruders
by what right they were there. Their challenge had to be heeded, as it
became thenceforth impossible to see the way. The guide proposed to go
on ahead for a few hundred paces, promising to call back to the others
if the path proved to be safe.
A quarter of an hour's anxious waiting followed, while the cold mist
powdered every man's beard and hair with hoar frost. Still failing to
hear any call from below, Richard descended a few steps and shouted to
the guide. No answer. Hungry, thirsty, shivering, the hussars stood
waiting.
"Follow me," commanded Richard, and he proceeded to lead his men, as
good luck might guide him, down the mountain. All dismounted and led
their horses after them. The fog continued to wrap them about as they
descended, but at length they reached a thick growth of juniper
bushes.
"We must camp here for the night," declared Richard, and bade his men
kindle fires.
It was already growing dark. Possibly the sun was still shining up on
the heights, but down there in the dense fog it was dark. Brushwood
was at hand in plenty, so that the hussars were at least sure not to
freeze. They hobbled their horses and left them. Fodder there was none
to give them, but the riders themselves were no better off.
The hussars lighted their fires and gathered about them, tired nearly
to death and longing for one thing above all else,--sleep. Richard
gave orders that one man should remain awake at each fire to tend it;
then he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down by his fire.
It was too much to expect any one to keep awake. The watchers thought
that if they only threw on enough fuel the fires would last.
Scarcely had the sleepers had time to fly home in their dreams and
greet the dear ones there, when a sudden uproar wakened them all with
a start. It was the whinnying of frightened horses. The thicket had
caught fire from the unguarded watch-fires, and was one sheet of flame
when the men awoke.
"Up the mountain!" cried Richard, running to his horse and seeking the
nearest way of escape from the spreading sea of fire that raged around
him.
There was light enough now to show them the way only too clearly, and
a perilous, breakneck path it was. The extremity of the danger in
their rear, however, gave to men and horses an almost preternatural
strength, and they accomplished in a short time an ascent that made
them dizzy to look back upon. They stood there a moment, steaming with
perspiration in the cold night air, and not daring to linger. They
were forced to push on, if only to keep warm. There was no halting for
consultation now; every man made the best of his way forward; if any
should faint by the way they would have to lie where they fell.
Day dawned at last,--the most harrowing day of their long flight.
Ice-clad peaks and fields of snow greeted the eye on every side, with
nothing to guide a traveller's course but the sun in the heavens. Two
days had passed since the men had tasted food. They sought to quench
their thirst with lumps of snow, but only made matters worse.
One thing, however, troubled them more than hunger or thirst. Their
horses were beginning to fail them, falling exhausted, one after
another, in the deep snow; and whenever one of the animals fell, its
rider stood by its side, with tears in his eyes, more than half
inclined to lie down too and give up the fight. But old Paul would
allow no such nonsense. Alternately swearing and coaxing, and calling
upon the saints, he spurred on the stragglers, helped to raise a
fallen horse where help was of any avail, brought up the reserve
horses to take the places of those left behind, and infused fresh
courage into all by the mere force of his example.
"Not a man must be lost!" he cried. "We shall soon be at home now."
"Yes, at home in heaven," muttered one weary hussar to another.
The men were scattered over a distance of two miles, Richard taking
the lead and breaking a path through the deep snow, while Paul brought
up the rear. It was almost a miracle that their strength still held
out. Their clothes were frozen stiff, and their swords had become a
grievous burden to them. The horses' girths flapped loosely against
their sides, their shoes had fallen off, and their hoofs were torn and
bruised. And no one could tell when or how or where it would all end.
One last trial was in store for the weary fugitives: in the afternoon
a dense snow-storm met them in the face. Should Richard lead his men
by any mischance into a ravine that offered no outlet, they would all
be lost. Occasional avalanches came sliding down the steep cliffs,
threatening to bury men and horses. Yet they did not quite lose heart.
The terrors of their situation had not yet extinguished the spark of
hope.
Evening was again approaching when Richard noted that for some time
they had been descending. Before long a well-grown fir grove loomed up
ahead and proved a grateful asylum to the wanderers. The wind blew
through the tree-tops with the sound of some giant organ, but above
its tones Richard heard what was the sweetest of music to his
ears,--the sound of a woodman's axe. Human beings and human
habitations were near. Taking a few of his men, the hussar captain
hastened in the direction of the sound, and soon came upon a
wood-chopper cutting the branches from a tree he had just felled.
Richard called to him in the Moravian tongue.
"Bless the Lord!" answered the wood-chopper in Hungarian, whereupon
the hussars nearly smothered him with kisses and embraces. Then they
threw themselves down on their faces in the snow and gave thanks for
their deliverance from danger. Yes, blessed be the name of the Lord
from everlasting to everlasting!
The wood-chopper told them they were expected in the village yonder,
only a short distance down the mountain. Word of their approach had
already been brought by the guide, who had left them and hurried on
ahead to summon help.
The snow ceased, and as the veil of clouds was drawn aside a view was
given of what the hussars had come so far to see,--the fair land of
Hungary.
At the base of the mountain lay a little market-town, reached by a
winding road up which, with flags and music, a glad procession was now
marching to welcome the home-coming hussars. Hearing the band and
seeing the banners from afar, Richard and his companions fired their
pistols as a signal to their slower comrades, who presently came up
with them. All were there,--not a man missing. Dressing their ranks,
the horsemen waited to receive the procession. What occurred when it
reached them is more than the present generation of readers can be
asked to picture to themselves.
A banquet had been spread for the home-coming heroes, and after
partaking of it generously, the toil-worn but happy hussars, who had
not slept for six nights, danced through the seventh until broad
daylight.
All this is no piece of fiction, no picture of the imagination. A
young hussar, now a veteran of many wars, wrote it all down in his
diary as it occurred, and is to-day ready to take oath that it is
every word true as here described.