So the Death Train steamed back to Budapest. Its work was done.
Bira would not go White again. Innocent or guilty, eight victims
hung warningly in the station square.
Wenzel--as his body had been chilled with cold the night before, so
now his heart and his emotions were frozen. He could not think
coherently. Civilization! What progress had it made in the hearts
of these people? They were more savage than the Turks their
forefathers had driven across the frontier centuries before.
There was but one thought dominant in Wenzel's mind then. After
Gonnard, Szamuelly; after Gonnard, known murderer of two good
Hungarian men. Szamuelly, the murderer of hundreds!
Szamuelly must die! Of the chaotic thoughts which obsessed Wenzel
that was the one dominant factor. Szamuelly must die!
The Death Train disappeared in the distance, and Wenzel watched it
with eyes which gleamed with an unbridled fury of hatred. Even the
death of Elizabeth's cousin was as nothing compared with this crime,
but there was his word--the word of the White Knight--given to
Elizabeth. Yet afterward... Szamuelly must die!
_CHAPTER X_
Thirty-three miles away from Budapest is Aszod.
This town was almost as much a centre of Communism as Budapest; its
people took kindly to the doctrine of upheaval, and so they hoisted a
huge Red flag, which flapped in the wind from above the reformatory,
while a similar flag above the station advertised the politics of the
town.
In the days which followed Wenzel's unexpected trip to Bira,
Szamuelly put down the railwaymen's strike by the aid of a firm and
bloody hand. With a sullen, menacing growl they resumed work, but if
to all outward appearances they quickly forgot their new woes, a dull
resentment against a self-elected autocracy smouldered in their
hearts, ready to blaze whenever the train to the torch of real
freedom might be lit, a sentiment not shared by the huge crowd which,
thronging the arrival platform, awaited the train from Budapest which
bore among its passengers a commissary, come to address the people of
Aszod.
As the commissary in question opened the carriage door he was greeted
by flourished handkerchiefs and a rousing storm of cheers. It was
Comrade Gonnard.
Short, fat, with an adipose face, an unshaven chin, the ribbons,
floating around his neck, of an enormous Red cockade set in the lapel
of his coat, he was typical of the Communists who governed the
country.
His grossness was no less pronounced than was the evidence of low
mentality and criminal tendencies, betrayed by a receding chin, a
shelving, narrow forehead, and close, deep-set eyes; but this meant
nothing to the crowds who flocked to welcome him, to listen to his
bombastic eulogy, his crazy ranting.
The cheering having died down, he raised his hand, and obtained
immediate silence. Striking a flamboyant attitude, he commenced his
speech.
"Comrades," he bellowed, "fellow-proletarians, I am here to-day on
behalf of the People's Council, to give you news of our satisfactory
progress, to give you an outline of our future programme.
"'A short time back our worthy comrade, Bela Kun, on behalf of the
Hungarian Soviet Republic, got into wireless communication with
Comrade Lenin, of the Russian Soviet, and sent the following message
to him:
"'Last night the Hungarian Proletariat seized all powers, established
the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, and greets you as leader of the
International Proletariat.
"'The Social Democratic Party has adopted the Communist point of
view; the two parties have united. We have named ourselves the
Hungarian Socialist Party. We ask for instructions in this matter.
Bela Kun is Commissary for Foreign Affairs. The Hungarian Soviet
offers the Russian Soviet a defensive and offensive alliance. Fully
armed, we turn against all enemies of the Proletariat, and ask for
information concerning the military situation.'"
There was an outburst of cheering, to which Gonnard smiled and
smirked his acknowledgment. Presently, when there was silence once
again, he continued:
"Comrades, to this historical message of love and goodwill to all
fellow-proletarians there came a reply, dictated by Lenin himself,
who spoke as follows:
"'Lenin speaking. Hearty greetings to the Hungarian Soviet's
Proletarian Government, in particular to Comrade Bela Kun. I have
just communicated your message to the Congress of the Communist Party
of Bolshevik Russia. Enormous enthusiasm; we will send a report on
the military situation as soon as possible. A permanent wireless
communication between Budapest and Moscow is absolutely necessary.
With Communistic greetings, Lenin.'"
The cheering with which the speaker's first message had been met was
entirely eclipsed by the terrific roar which went up as he read out
Lenin's reply. Hats were thrown into the air, Red flags were waved
frantically, and in the madness which ensued there was scarcely one
present who realized the shame of it; the dishonour of the
Hungarians, descendants of the fiercest fighters, of the proudest
aristocracy in Europe, appealing to a foreign Government for
instructions.
So insidiously can propaganda work, the propaganda which had been
secretly distributed in the Army, in the Navy, and throughout the
workshops of Hungary for the past few months. The cankerous root is
not more harmful to the animal body, the death-watch beetle does not
rot the heart of wood so quickly, as the propaganda of the gospel of
Bolshevism putrefies the common sense and saps the morality of a
working people.
"Comrades," shouted Gonnard once again, "well may you cheer at such
excellent news--Russia and Hungary hand in hand. Together we will
spread the seed of Communism. Already England is ripe to hail the
Red banner, and German workmen are more than willing to throw off the
shackles of their capitalist taskmasters. France but awaits the
word, Italy seethes with discontent. The workmen of the world await
the hour with eagerness, and will soon follow the glorious example of
Hungary by throwing off the heavy mantle laid upon them by the
_bourgeoisie_.
"Comrades, it is but a matter of time," he boasted. "There is
nothing, now, to stand in the way of Proletarianism and the Commune."
From somewhere in the crowd a voice interrupted:
"What about the Enemy of the Commune? What about the White Knight?"
There was silence, broken by a sudden growl from the crowd. "Yes,
what about the White Knight?" cried one. "What is the People's
Council going to do about the Enemy of the Commune?" shouted another.
Gonnard, bewildered and perplexed by this sudden turn to his oratory,
gazed stupidly at the crowd, and gave no reply.
"Speak louder. I cannot hear!" called some one waggishly, and there
was a hoarse roar of laughter.
"But I don't understand," Gonnard spluttered. "What do you
mean?--what are you talking about?--the Enemy of the Commune?--the
White Knight?--I don't understand!"
"You are a fine People's Commissary! Never heard of the Enemy of the
Commune? Ho! there's a fine comrade for you!" again some one from
the crowd called out.
Gonnard flushed a dull red. "Well, then," he cried out angrily,
"supposing you tell me."
"I'll tell you," called out the same voice again. "There's a man in
Aszod who calls himself the White Knight, the Enemy of the Commune,
who has vowed the downfall of the Soviet, and the death of all the
proletariat who stand in his way."
"Bah!" answered Gonnard, "the _bourgeois_--are you then frightened of
a _bourgeois_, comrades?"
There was dead silence again. Gonnard laughed harshly. "Cowards!"
he cried, "cowards, all of you! Frightened by some half-witted
_bourgeois_ who calls himself by a strange name." He sneered,
palpably.
"Ho, then, Comrade Gonnard," interrupted the same voice again, "can
you explain the death of Comrade Fejer and Comrade Pauler? You may
be the next, my friend--or me."
The blood drained away from Gonnard's face. Evidently this
suggestion had not yet occurred to him, but as the force of the man's
remarks struck him he twisted his head nervously from side to side,
perhaps already anticipating the death which he so richly deserved.
There was a taunting cry from several in the mob who observed this
fact. "Look," cried one or two, "our People's Commissary turns white
about the gills!"
As the jeer sank home Gonnard heaved his heavy form more upright.
"Afraid, am I?" he shouted nastily. "Well, then, if that's the case,
I'll just show you how far you are wrong. If any of you before me
knows of this so-called Enemy of the Commune you can tell him from me
that in less than a week I'll string him up on the nearest tree I can
find!"
At his words there was a dramatic interruption.
From one of the houses which overlooked the station there was a
hearty roar of laughter, and then to the ears of Gonnard and the
crowd which surrounded him came the echo of a mocking voice.
"I accept your challenge, Comrade Gonnard. But it is you who will
swing, not I!"
* * * * * *
Comrade Gonnard, as befitted a People's Commissary and a
representative of the Workers' Council, took up his headquarters at
the _château_ of Baron Szechenyi.
No formality about this. He, together with local commissaries,
merely marched up to the _château_, seized it in the name of the
Soviet Government, and informed the Baroness that henceforward she
and her family would have to be content with three rooms. The rest
of the house was then thrown open to the proletariat, and before
nightfall the _château_ was filled with the scum of Aszod.
Before the next day had passed the whole place was turned upside
down, while everything of value had disappeared, confiscated by any
who cared to help themselves, for was not the meaning of the Commune
that anything possessed by one belonged to all? "What is yours is
mine, what is mine is mine own," might have been the motto of the
Communist; or--abbreviated--"Thine--mine."
Notwithstanding his doctrine, Gonnard took care that the finest room
in the house should be allocated to himself, and, once settled down,
he awaited the local detective whom he had immediately put on the
track of the mysterious White Knight who had so publicly and
audaciously taken up his challenge.
Not at once had the crowd moved when the White Knight announced
himself. They were stupefied with astonishment, and it was not until
Gonnard, in a paroxysm of temper, thrashed his arms about and ordered
his audience to chase the man that anyone moved.
When at last a movement rippled through the crowd there ensued a
scene of confusion.
"Which house?" "Where?" "What was he like?" were questions answered
by "This house," "That house," "The one over in the corner," nearly
every house being mentioned in turn. Confused, the mob sheepishly
turned from side to side; while all the time Gonnard profanely swore
at them to chase the interrupter, but no one moved until a young
fellow at the back led the way.
Three or four houses in turn were entered, searched, and secretly
looted, but there was no trace of the Enemy, who had long since made
himself scarce. As to his description, so many had positively seen
him and were able to give reliable information that, collectively, he
might have been anything from a red-headed dwarf to a fiery-eyed,
black-bearded giant.
Gonnard's anger over, fear stepped into its place, and, scarcely
giving the people time to report their failure, he summoned
detectives and ordered them to hunt down the "criminal" who had dared
defy a People's Commissary, even though he were an ex-convict,
released when Bela Kun opened wide the prison gates to enrol recruits
as Red adherents.
In the evening came Gunzi.
"Well," snapped Gonnard, "what news?"