GOOD OLD FRIENDS.
It was the evening of the thirteenth of August. The Hungarians had
that day laid down their arms. A-dAśn Baradlay sat at an open window in
the fading twilight, writing letters to his mother and his wife,
informing them that he should await his fate where he was, even as the
Roman senators had calmly awaited theirs, sitting in their curule
chairs and scorning to fly before the invader. He viewed the situation
with the calmness of a philosopher and showed none of the feverish
uneasiness of those who were intent only on their own personal safety.
He had not even thought to provide himself with a passport, as so many
of his associates had done.
While he thus sat, writing his letters and heedless of his
surroundings, a stranger approached him.
"Am I addressing A-dAśn Baradlay?" he asked.
"That is my name," replied A-dAśn. "May I ask yours in return?"
"My name is Valentine Schneiderius, evangelical clergyman of
Pukkersdorf. I have brought you a letter, but am in haste and must
not linger. As long as the Russians are in our rear the way is open;
but presently it will be closed." He delivered his letter and
withdrew.
A-dAśn broke the seal and read:
"DEAR FRIEND,--I shall never forget the ties that unite
our families. Your late lamented father was my friend,
and nothing could now induce me to look on and see the
destruction of a true patriot like yourself. Would to
God I could help many more! I send you an English
passport, all signed and sealed, to take you out of the
country. Write any name you choose in the blank space.
Burn this.
"Your old friend,
"ZEBULON TALLA%ROSSY.
"P.A S. Go by way of Poland and you won't be known. When
safe, think of your country; perhaps you can yet do
something for your poor people.
"Z.A T."
A-dAśn examined the passport and found it complete in every
detail,--even to being creased and soiled like a much-handled
document. Then he threw it down, ashamed at the thought of using it to
save his life when so many of his comrades in arms were in danger of
death or captivity. Yet the mere prospect of safety made his pulse
beat more rapidly, and involuntarily his thoughts turned to those dear
ones at home who looked to him for comfort and support,--his wife and
two little children.
He read once more the last words of Zebulon's postscript; they showed
no little shrewdness on the writer's part. What if he could really
secure aid for his country abroad? The temptation was too great. He
took up the passport again and glanced at the signatures on its back.
Among them was RideghvAiry's. No, that man should never enjoy the
triumph of hissing in his ear: "This is the last step to that height!"
He burned Zebulon's letter, as well as the two he had just written to
his wife and his mother, and, summoning his servant, bade him hasten
to Nemesdomb and inform his mother of his flight to a foreign country;
she should hear further particulars from him later. Then he completed
his preparations for a hasty departure, wrote in the name "Algernon
Smith" on the passport, put the paper in his pocket, called a
carriage, and set out on his flight.
The enemy's first outpost was successfully passed. The commanding
officer examined his passport, found it correct, and affixed his
signature. A-dAśn was free to go on. His second station was Gyapju,
whence he wished to continue directly to VAirad, and thence by way of
Szigeth into Galicia. At Gyapju he was conducted to the commandant's
quarters. Entering with an unconcerned air, he inquired to whom he
should show his papers. There were several officers in the room, one
of whom asked him to wait a few minutes until the commandant came in.
Meanwhile an adjutant made the necessary examination of his passport
and found it apparently all right; the one thing now required was the
signature of the commanding officer.
The entrance of the latter caused A-dAśn a violent start. The man before
him was--Leonin Ramiroff, grown to manly proportions and wearing the
stern, soldierly look of one entrusted with military responsibility.
The adjutant called his attention to the paper awaiting his signature,
assuring him that it was all in order. Leonin took up a pen, wrote his
name, and then turned to hand the passport to A-dAśn. The latter felt
his heart stop beating as he met that sharp, penetrating gaze.
"You are not Mr. Algernon Smith," exclaimed the Russian officer in
English, drawing himself up to his full height; "you are A-dAśn
Baradlay."
A-dAśn's heart sank within him. "And are you going to betray me?" he
asked, likewise in English.
"You are my prisoner."
"This from you, Leonin Ramiroff, my bosom friend of old, my faithful
comrade on a long winter journey when we were chased by wolves; you,
the man who plunged into the icy river to save me at the risk of your
own life?"
"I was merely a young lieutenant in the guard then," replied Leonin
coldly.
"And now will you hand me over to my bitterest foes, to the derisive
laughter of the conqueror, to a miserable death on the scaffold?"
"I am now a colonel of lancers," was the other's only reply; and with
that he tore the passport in two and threw it under the table. "Take
the prisoner away and put him under guard."
The adjutant took A-dAśn by the arm and led him out. The house was full
of officers and their servants, so that no place could be found for
the prisoner but a little shanty built of boards, adjoining the
stable. Here he was confined, and a Cossack stationed with his carbine
outside as guard.
Every three hours the guard was changed. Being acquainted with
Russian, A-dAśn understood the order given to his jailer,--"If he tries
to escape, shoot him."
At nine o'clock in the evening a thunder-storm came up. The rain
descended in torrents, and in the flashes of lightning the captive
could look through the cracks in his prison-wall and see the Cossack
standing ankle-deep in mud and water, his carbine ready for instant
use. The storm passed over; the tower-clock struck eleven; in the
adjoining stable A-dAśn heard the Russian cavalrymen snoring, while
their horses were stamping under an improvised shed near by.
Suddenly he heard his name called, cautiously and in a whisper.
"Who is calling me?" he asked.
"I--the guard."
"What! do you know me, too?"
"Do you remember your sledge-driver on the Mohilev steppe,--the time
we were nearly eaten up by the wolves? You stood by me then, and I'm
going to stand by you now. At the back of your shanty is a loose
board,--the fourth from the bottom. You can push it aside and crawl
out. The horse-shed is behind. My horse has his saddle and bridle on;
you'll know him by his white tail. He's the fastest runner in the
regiment. Mount him and make for the garden in the rear, and then
follow the storm. You'll find the horse a good one, and easy on the
bit. Don't be afraid of me if I shoot after you; I'm bound to do it,
though I'm not to blame for all the loose boards in your prison. And
one word more: when you have mounted my horse, and want him to go,
press his flanks with your knees, but don't whip him. If you use the
whip he'll stand stock-still, and the harder you whip the stiller
he'll stand. More than one horse-thief has come to grief for want of
knowing that. His name is Ljubicza, and he likes to be called by it.
If you whisper in his ear, 'Hurrah, Ljubicza!' he'll dart away like
the wind."
A-dAśn felt renewed life thrill through his veins. He lost no time in
following his humble friend's directions. Finding the loose board,
which seemed to be secured only by a rusty nail, he softly removed it,
and squeezed through the opening. Making his way to the horse-shed, he
soon picked out the white-tailed horse, swung himself on to its back
and turned it around. Then, pressing his knees inward, he whispered,
"Hurrah, Ljubicza!" The well-trained animal darted away through the
garden.
At the sound of the galloping horse the guard sprang forward, drew his
carbine to his shoulder, and, whispering, "St. George preserve him!"
pulled the trigger. At the report all the sleepers leaped to their
feet.
"What's up?"
"Prisoner escaped."
"After him!"
A score of Cossacks threw themselves on their horses and gave chase,
discharging their pieces in the darkness as they rode. An occasional
flash of lightning revealed the fugitive ahead of them, and stimulated
the pursuers to renewed efforts. But the fleet stallion soon overtook
the storm, and it proved a good travelling companion, wrapping the
fugitive in its mantle of rain, and drowning with its thunder-claps
the beating of his horse's hoofs. It took the side of the escaped
prisoner, and he was not caught.