THE READY-DUG GRAVES.
Imre Hetfalusy, hastening with all his might, reached at last the
officer in command of the cordon, and delivered the General's command.
The officer at once placed four-and-twenty soldiers at the disposal of
the General's adjutant. More he could not spare, as his assistance might
be wanted elsewhere.
Imre lost no more time in going to the next cordon-commander, but
marched straight off to Hetfalu with his four-and-twenty warriors.
Only three of them were mounted, the General's adjutant, Kamienszka, and
himself, all the rest were on foot. Even with the utmost exertion it
would take at least four hours to reach Hetfalu.
During the long journey Maria told Imre everything she knew about his
family. Nobody disturbed their conversation, the road was empty and
noiseless.
When they reached the first _csarda_ that also was silent. The doors and
windows had been torn from their places, the road was strewn with the
debris of casks, bottles, and flasks. Here and there, amidst the ruins,
were little pools of blood in which somebody had stood, leaving a
bloody trail behind them....
The little band went further on their way in silence.
Two hours later they perceived in the wayside woods, concealed among the
bushes, three figures which rose to their feet on perceiving the
soldiers, and one of them came rapidly towards them, and was so out of
breath when he reached them that he could not speak a word, and would
have fallen if Imre had not supported him against his saddle.
Then Imre recognised the worthy Leather-bell.
"What's the matter, old man?" he inquired compassionately.
"Alas, alas! my young master, a terrible thing has happened. I cannot
describe it in words. I'm only glad that we have saved this innocent
creature."
"What innocent creature?"
"This child, the squire's grandchild, whom Zudar brought up in secret,
and the headsman's wife betrayed. But she has paid for it dearly now.
They had condemned the child to death. I hid them here beneath the
bridge, and gave them peasant's clothes to put on, and helped them to
scurry through the woods."
At these words Kamienszka leaped from her horse, and ran to the child
who was quite worn out. Her little feet were all wounded and bloody, it
was only by leaning on the arm of Zudar that she was able to walk at
all.
The headsman recognised at once the youth who had brought a blessing on
his house, although he had now quite another figure. Now he had come to
fight. Zudar stooped down and kissed his hand. He said, too, that his
own hands were now pure, for he had washed them in blood, the shedding
whereof was pleasing to God.
The officer in command had a rough litter made from the branches of
trees, on which they placed the exhausted little girl. Four soldiers
were then told off to carry it, and then the little band resumed its
march. Elise could not have been in a place of greater safety.
Meanwhile, the Leather-bell was giving a full account of the horrors
that had taken place around the castle from the evening to the morning.
He had left the place just as Szephalmi and the doctor had fallen into
the hands of the mob.
Imre was beside himself with horror.
"I must hasten to save my father or die with him," he murmured bitterly.
The officer wanted him to wait so that they might all reach the castle
together, but he would not listen. He was quite ready to face the danger
single-handed. But indeed he was not alone. He had beside him his
valiant comrade, in love a true woman, in trouble a true man, and she
would not be parted from him.
"Courage and hope!" she cried, pressing his hand, and with that the
heroic couple spurred their horses along the grass-grown road.
* * * * *
With the fall of Numa Pompilius the last vestige of discipline
disappeared from the ranks of the rioters. The loss of their leader, so
far from bringing them to reason, only made them desperate. Bodza had
died at their very feet after half an hour of the most excruciating
torments, and, meanwhile, there mingled with the crowd numbers of
wailing women, each of whom already had their dead at home, and spread
sorrow and confusion wherever they went. Then everybody lost his head,
and was frightened into bestial ferocity. The dying lay about in the
road with none to care for them. Fathers no longer owned their sons,
brother had no compassion for brother. And the gentry had to pay for all
this panic terror.
The people had been brought up in such a way that its first thought on
breaking out of its cage was to tear its masters in pieces.
It listened no longer to any word of command, only the latest whim
obtained a hearing.
Stubbly Hanak hit upon a hideous idea.
"What are those three bigwigs lounging about here for, eh?" he cried.
"Let them go and dig graves, let them dig their own graves!"
And with that he untied their bonds, placed spades and shovels in their
hands, and pointed out to them the exact spots in the courtyard of the
castle where they were to dig their own graves, and nice, picturesque
spots they were too, beneath the shade of wide-spreading chestnut trees.
Old Hetfalusy had no longer the physical strength for such work, and
Dr. Sarkantyus declared categorically that anybody who was fool enough
to kill him might do so if he chose, but that he was not such a fool as
to dig his own grave, and nobody should make him do it either.
Only Szephalmi took them at their word. On his knees he implored them
not to torture him, and he would willingly dig not only his own grave,
but the graves of his comrades also.
The rioters thrust a spade into his hand, and, grinning with delight,
instructed him how to throw aside the earth out of the furrow, and then
they made him lie down in it in order to take his proper measure.
And how boisterously they laughed at the fun of it.
Suddenly there was a sound of pattering hoofs, and two horsemen, with
drawn swords in their right hands, galloped into the courtyard.
They came so unexpectedly that only the shrieks of the women wailing at
the gate told the frantic mob of their arrival.
"My son!" cried the old squire, painfully raising himself from the
ground with a supreme effort.
"My father, my father!" wailed the youth, and with that he cut his way
through the thickest of the crowd, distributing vigorous blows, right
and left, till he had forced his way up to his father's tortured body,
and forgetting everything at that moment, he flung himself from his
saddle, fell upon his father's neck, and embraced and sobbed over him.
The brutal mob instantly rushed upon him with a savage yell, when,
suddenly, a couple of shots resounded, and two of the assailants fell
dead close beside the father and son. It was Maria who had fired these
shots, and now, leaping from her steed, she shook Imre violently.
"You must fight for your life now, and leave weeping for another time,
my boy!" cried she.
The youth quickly recovered himself and drew his sword, and then the
pair of them turned upon the cowardly mob, and, by sheer dint of hard
fighting, began driving them out of the doorway of the castle.
In no very long time there were three of them, for the doctor had had
his weather-eye open, and, when the general attention was distracted, he
snatched up the spade assigned to him, and therewith dealt a lanky lout
beside him such a blow at the back of the neck that he immediately fell
down and never spoke again.
"Come along with us, Mr. Szephalmi, come along!" cried the doctor, as he
joined the combatants, but Szephalmi paid no heed. He fell down on the
edge of the freshly-dug grave at the feet of his jailors, and declared,
sobbing and moaning, that he would hurt nobody if nobody hurt him. The
only answer they gave him was a smashing blow on the head with a large
hammer, and he fell back into the grave and expired on the spot.
A vigorous slash with which Imre severed the arm of the most powerful of
the peasants, clean off at the elbow, somewhat damped the fighting
ardour of the crowd, which drew back to curse and swear at a distance.
The respite thus gained was sufficient to enable the little group of
gentlemen to reach the door of the castle, and bolt and bar it behind
them, after having first of all rescued old Hetfalusy from the hands of
his murderers.
Fortunately not one of the rioters remained in the castle, indeed there
was nothing else for them to do there. Everything had been eviscerated,
torn to atoms, reduced to powder. A large portion of the mob was down in
the cellars dead drunk.
Imre Hetfalusy who, all this time, had held his father closely embraced,
now deposited him on a torn and ragged hair mattress, and then they both
embraced each other again, and neither could speak a word. It was both
joy and anguish, it was something which words could not describe.
And now for the defence!
The three of them could not, of course, defend the whole castle against
the furious mob whenever it should return. For return it certainly
would, and if it could not get through the door, it was at least able to
climb through the windows. The best plan, therefore, was to confine the
defence to a single room, and the most convenient stronghold was the
family library, the door of which was strengthened by iron fastenings.
The sole object of the besieged was to keep the mob at bay till the
arrival of the soldiery.
In a few moments the roar of the rioters advancing to the attack was
again audible. Stones flew through the windows, and angry fists
thundered at the door. Curses and savage threats resounded in the
passages. The mob, swarming in the courtyard, were carrying about on
their shoulders the dead bodies of the two peasants that had been shot,
two or three men with bloody faces were exhibiting their wounds, the
widow of one of the fallen held up her weeping children in her arms, and
hounded the mob on to vengeance with her frantic bitterness.
The room to be defended had a window looking out upon the courtyard, and
a door opening upon the passage. Maria was to be the defender of the
window, Imre the defender of the door. The doctor, meanwhile, with the
nonchalance becoming his profession, was binding up old Hetfalusy's
wounds, tearing off portions of his own shirt to serve as bandages.
The rioters had now occupied the hall, they had crept into the castle
through the rearward windows, the walls and arches rang with their
triumphant shouting.
"Imre!" said the old squire to his son, "come nearer to me!"
The youth approached his suffering father and knelt down before him.
"It may be God's will," murmured the aged man, "that within an hour both
of us may stand before His Judgment Seat. Promise me that you will never
accuse me of being a hard father, that you will never say that I hunted
you to death. Promise me that, my son!"
"I have always loved you, and I will love you still," sobbed the youth,
kissing the shaking hand.
"Let us not part from each other in tears," continued the old man, "let
us rejoice as they rejoice who have found again those whom they fancied
they had lost, and now let me bless you as a father may bless his son
when he is about to undertake a long journey."
And then he placed his trembling hands on his son's head, while his eyes
looked up to Heaven, and his dumb lips murmured an inaudible prayer to
the Lord of life and death.
"And now, my son, brace yourself up for your long journey!"
But Maria came rushing towards them.
"To work, my friend! bear a hand! The evil game has begun. Let us but
gain half an hour and all our lives will be saved."
"Who is that apparition," whispered old Hetfalusy to his son, "who has
twice descended from Heaven to save us?"
Imre looked with some hesitation at Maria, the girl gazed back at him
encouragingly.
"Yes, tell him! Why not? I am your wife, the famous Maria Kamienszka,
and this is not the first time I have been in the midst of a scrimmage.
Courage, my father, your son is now in your embrace, and in half an hour
your grand-daughter will be there also. Trust in God and be not
faint-hearted!"
"Ah, yes!" whispered the old man, with a transfigured countenance and a
voice full of enthusiasm, "this cannot be the hour of my death, no, my
God! it cannot, cannot be!"
The youth and the valiant young woman then warmly pressed each other's
hands, and hastened back to their posts. It was indeed high time.
The besiegers, after swarming all over the castle, had come at last upon
the barred and bolted door, and with the bloodthirsty howl of ravening
beasts, had rushed upon it with their iron bars, while another band
began wrenching out the iron fastenings of the windows with their sharp
_csakanyas_.[21]
[Footnote 21: Hooked axes.]
The besieged had to economize their shots, for they had only four
charges left. Their means of defence had to be reserved till the very
last instant, they could not afford to simply destroy the first stupid
bumpkin who might happen to come in their way.
The fear of death no longer terrified the besiegers. Several times Maria
held the barrel of her pistol close to the temples of the peasant who
was busy with the iron fastenings of the window, and he did not so much
as move his head. Many of the howling mob were so drunk that they no
longer knew what fear was. They thrust their hands through the glass to
open the window sashes, and Maria sliced away with her sword at the
intruding hands, and a few minutes afterwards the same bloody hands
would re-appear with stunted fingers. Wounds no longer hurt them.
The time had come when the besieged could count the minutes which they
had still to live, the blows given and received were like so much money
paid for life, whosoever stock failed first would be utterly ruined.
Maria was able to defend the window longer than Imre could defend the
door, one of whose panels was suddenly burst in with a loud crash,
opening a breach to the besiegers outside, whose sudden rush to the gap
made it impossible for the youth, despite the most frantic efforts, to
defend the crazy door much longer.
Maria heard Imre's cry of despair, and, forgetting the same instant her
own danger, quitted the window, and sped to the help of her beloved.
For a few moments the besiegers made a frantic effort to force their way
through the door, but at length the two swords, swift as lightning
flashes, beat down the brutal preponderance of the mob. The two
defenders held their places, held them, at any rate, till the besiegers
should stream through the window or shoot them down from behind.
Either of these eventualities might be expected at any moment.
"Keep your shots to the very last," whispered Maria to Imre. "Reserve
one of them for the enemy, and the other for me. I must not fall into
their hands alive."
Nevertheless, there was an unaccountable tardiness among the besiegers
of the window, and the assailants of the door also began thinning down,
and everyone noticed with surprise that the deafening din had abated,
and a momentary suspension of hostilities had taken place.
"Our rescuers are at hand!" cried Maria, and the same instant they could
hear the sound of rolling drums drawing nearer and nearer to the castle.
The rebels had quitted the besieged window and were scampering towards
the gate.
The last beat of the drum indicated that the soldiers had arrived in
front of the castle.
There were only five-and-twenty, most of them young fellows, mere lads,
and opposed to them stood a savage multitude, armed with all sorts of
hastily appropriated weapons, and with bloodthirstiness enough for a
whole army.
The young officer in command stood at the head of his little company,
and when he saw the headless, savage mob surging all around him, he
exhorted them, in a bold, manly voice, to return to their homes, respect
the laws, and give up their captives and their ringleaders.
Shaggy Hanak took it upon himself to respond to this invitation:
"We will not return to our homes," he shouted, "so long as a single
castle in the kingdom is still standing. We will make whatever laws we
like. We will give up the captive gentry when they are stone dead, and
as for our ringleader you may have him if you can catch him."
To still further emphasize his words, shaggy Hanak whirled his knobby
bludgeon above his head, and shied it frantically at the officer, who
warded off the blow with his sword, and the same instant a young private
transfixed the braggart so vigorously that the end of his bayonet stuck
in the ground behind.
This unexpected scene served as a signal for the little band of
soldiers, and they there and then fired into the thickest of the crowd.
And with that the whole horrible tragedy came to an end.
A single volley dispersed the whole ragged host. The corpses remained on
the ground naturally, but all the rest fled without another word, fled
incontinently over pillar and post, rushed straight home, hid themselves
away, put on their simplest air, washed the blood from their hands, and
held their tongues.
The rescued welcomed their deliverers with open arms. But another
quarter of an hour and very sorry remnants of them would have been found
at Hetfalu.
Meanwhile, out came Dr. Sarkantyus, and a very great pother he made,
insisting that the whole company should instantly hasten back to town,
as if they remained there the pale death would speedily overtake them,
and it would therefore boot them little to have escaped from the red
death. And indeed the plague was raging fearfully in that district, and
dying wretches were writhing convulsively in the streets outside. He
himself must remain on the spot. He was bound by his official duties to
visit the very houses of these persons who, half an hour ago, had
combined to torture him, and whose families were now themselves
suffering torments in the grip of this unknown disease. Nevertheless, he
required the escort of two armed men, for, as he jocosely observed, "The
Deuce is in it when patients would compel the doctor to drink his own
drugs."
* * * * *
Hetfalusy had the felicity of embracing his long-lost grandchild before
he died. The child accepted him as her grandpapa, but begged that she
might have as her dear papa besides, good old Zudar, who had loved her
so much.
Hetfalusy nodded his consent, and pressed the coarse palm of the
headsman with his own gentlemanly hand. Nobody told the child that she
had a perfect right to call Zudar her father, inasmuch as her real
father, who had cast her from him, now lay frightfully disfigured in a
grave he had dug with his own hand.
Hetfalusy indeed never mentioned the name of his son-in-law again.
Then they laid him in the carriage already prepared for him, and little
Elise sat beside him and nursed his head in her lap. Oh, by this time,
she was very well used to nursing old people.
Maria and Imre accompanied the carriage on foot all the way to town.
Yet, once again, they were forced to fight their way through armed bands
of rebels, but after that they reached the town peaceably enough.
The General had given orders that Hetfalusy should be conducted straight
to his house as soon as the old man arrived.
Boundless was the joy of the worthy General to welcome in his home as a
guest the man who, once upon a time, had been his mortal foe.
Now indeed they could pardon each other everything.
Hetfalusy knew, at last, why the General had abandoned his girl so
suddenly, and how could the iron man help forgiving him who had sinned
greatly against him it is true, but, at the same time, had suffered so
terribly for it.
It was only mental excitement which still kept the life in the old man's
shattered body. He survived for another six months. His bodily wounds
healed but slowly, and still more slowly the wounds of the spirit. He
saw his only son happy in the love of the noblest, the rarest of women;
he saw his little grandchild growing up full of beauty, wisdom, and
amiability; and it did him good to rejoice in the domestic happiness of
his former enemy, and oftentimes he would call Cornelia his darling
daughter. And she was worthy of the name.
A beneficent stroke of apoplexy called him home to his dead in the
family vault at Hetfalu.
Imre remained no longer in those parts. He settled down on his wife's
property with little Elise, and left for ever the place which had such
melancholy associations for him.
And Peter Zudar went with them. He pursued no more his grim profession.
After that last master-stroke of his, he never grasped the headsman's
sword again. He had wielded it for the last time at God's command, he
was not going to play the part of death's scytheman any more at the
bidding of man.
Close to the Kamienszki estates he rented a little plot of land where he
grew flowers and melons, sported with white doves and little rabbits,
and sang in the church choir every day. It never occurred to anyone that
he had once been----but no matter.
And the three houses at Hetfalu were abandoned to desolation.
The gutted dwelling-house was never re-built. The castle was never
re-inhabited, people avoided it as a spectre-stricken dwelling. Its
windows were bricked up, its garden became a wilderness of weeds, its
steps and staircases fell to pieces. Ruin wrought her work upon it.
The hut, with the moss-covered roof, endured the longest. The old
night-owl, who now could scarce use her limbs, would, nevertheless,
totter of an evening to the place where stood the vast family vault of
the Hetfalusies, sit down there, opposite to the iron gate, and talk all
sorts of nonsense to some imaginary interlocutor.
"Eh! eh! old Hetfalusy! who was right after all? Didn't I say you would
be the first to go? What a little room satisfies you now! what a quiet,
peaceable man you are now! You have got earth enough at last, yet you
were always hungering after more while you were yet alive! You would be
at rest now if I would let you alone, eh? Or are you sorry that we
cannot go on with our wrangling? Well, well, if I should discover the
door by which you made your exit, we will begin it all over again...."
For hours at a stretch she would pour forth these vain mad words,
unanswered, unheeded. What had once been dust now lay at rest, what had
once been a human spirit now abode in Heaven, there was none to answer
her.
The mossy roof grew more and more ruinous, and at last one day the old
night-owl had quitted her nest and was gone. Nobody mourned for her. Who
takes any count of the birds of the field or the beasts of the forest!
THE END.