_VIENNA IN FLAMES._
For the second time the Croats were about to hurl themselves against the
barricade defended by the daring Pole. A cluster of bodies twenty yards
in advance of it showed where the first rush had been stayed.
The black nozzles of several guns peeped from the huge pile, and the
gunners stood ready with lighted matches.
Looking at Bern, I remembered Rakoczy's story, and really it appeared as
if the man were bullet-proof. Others exposed themselves for a moment,
and were shot down; he, holding a short riding-whip in his hand, stood
with the most perfect _sang-froid_ in the hottest of the fire, cheering,
directing, encouraging, and was not hit once.
Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I should have doubted a narrator who
told me the story, for the thing was almost incredible even to an
eye-witness.
But the Croats were ready. The signal rang out; they went forward in
loose formation, slowly at first, afterwards more quickly, a few
dropping by the way. Then, with an appalling yell, they literally flew
over the ground, brandishing their handjars.
Once at close quarters, the Viennese would go down before them like ripe
corn beneath the sickle.
The Austrians in reserve cheered. Another minute and their allies would
be swarming over the barricade, when suddenly, from the mouths of Bern's
heavy guns, belched sheets of flame. There came a tremendous report;
the barricade trembled; the whole scene was blotted out by a cloud of
smoke, which drifted slowly away, and then the Croats were seen retiring
sullenly.
Of all their number, one alone had reached the goal, and he was a
prisoner.
The Viennese cheered like mad; Bern gave some orders to his
artillerymen; the imperialists covered the retreat of their allies by a
sharp musketry fire.
Then both sides paused--the insurgents smilingly secure in their
stronghold, their opponents to get ready for a fresh attack. With many
other non-combatants, we had climbed to the roof of a house, from which
we obtained a splendid view.
"The Austrians are going to do the work," said Stephen, who had a strong
prejudice against irregular troops.
"It's throwing life away," answered our companion; and even I, who knew
much less of military matters than he did, felt that the drilled
infantry had little chance of success.
However, they were forming steadily for the assault. The officers sprang
to the front, holding their swords unsheathed, the drums beat the
advance, and the regiment moved on with the regularity of clockwork.
They made a brilliant spectacle, those hardy veterans, with heads erect,
and resolute, determined faces, marching to destruction like one vast
machine.
Faster and faster their feet moved, faster and faster the drums beat,
rataplan, rataplan, till the music got into their bodies, and with a
"Vivat der Prinz!" they broke into a swift run. I looked at the Polish
leader; he stood like some genius of the conflict, directing and even
controlling the progress of the strife.
The infantry, although advancing so swiftly, never for an instant got
out of hand. As one man fell, another filled the gap; and when we last
saw them before the thick smoke shut out the view, they were in even
lines, shoulder to shoulder, as if on parade.
Crash, crash, went the heavy guns, and the shot and shell ploughed
through the solid ranks, making great gaps, as we well knew, though
nothing was visible till the sulphur cloud lifted.
The attack, like the two preceding it, had failed miserably. Would they
try again? It really seemed like it, though in the three assaults they
had been punished fearfully.
"They may keep on like that all the afternoon," said Rakoczy, "but they
won't take the barricade. These front attacks are useless. I wonder
the Ban permits them. Oh, there's the reason! See!" and he pointed
toward the barricade.
Everything there was in confusion. While most of the citizen fighters
clung to their posts, many ran or tried to run away.
In vain the Polish general exposed himself with the utmost recklessness;
the position was lost.
While one body of Croats, supported by the Austrian infantry, had been
attacking in front, the remainder, led by Ban Jellachich, had fought
their way through the suburb of Leopoldstadt, and clearing the Avenue of
the Emperor Francis, had fallen upon the barricade in the rear.
"Forward, forward!" rang out the cry at our feet, and the whole force
advanced at a run.
The Austrians charged with bayonets levelled; the Croats, discarding
their stanitzas, gripped their handjars, and with loud shouts hurled
themselves against the position.
Between these two forces the Viennese were crushed. The gunners stood
bravely by their guns till they were cut down. Bern appeared to be
tranquilly giving orders; half a hundred students, banding themselves
into a solid body, fought doggedly; but from the moment Jellachich's
troops arrived the issue was certain.
A great burst of cheering rose when the black and yellow standard of the
Austrians and the red, white, and blue of the Croats fluttered side by
side on the summit of the barricade.
The fight, in that place at least, was over; the citizens had
disappeared. The imperialists embraced each other, shook one another by
the hand, laughed and danced and waved their caps in the air, shouted
for Jellachich and the emperor, and finally ran on to pursue their
victorious career. Round the captured barricade the dead lay thick, and
the wounded as usual moaned piteously for water.
We went amongst them, doing the little that was possible to ease their
pain, and helping to remove some into safer quarters.
To add to the horror, one of the houses caught fire, and it was feared
that the whole street would soon be ablaze.
Farther off we could hear the booming of the heavy guns, the sharp
rattle of musketry, the shouts of the combatants, the cheers and
counter-cheers which told us how the battle was going.
From time to time, too, people brought reports of the fight, and they
all boded ill to the insurgents.
The railway station of Gloggnitz, the Hotel des Invalides, the
Veterinary School, were taken one after the other by the imperialists,
who, when night fell, were practically masters of the suburbs of
Leopoldstadt and Landstrasse.
And such a night as that twenty-eighth of October I had never beheld.
The town was on fire in more than twenty different places. Half the
houses of the two suburbs were riddled by shot and shell; the flames
were consuming the other half.
Red tongues of fire leaped into the sky, forming a grand but terrible
spectacle.
The homeless people stood in the streets, some hopelessly dazed and
stupid, others fighting the flames as sturdily as they had fought the
Austrians; while a few philosophers, who had nothing at stake, looked on
calmly at the conflagration.
As for us, our time was fully occupied in removing the wounded from the
burning or threatened buildings. Throughout the night we toiled, and it
was pleasant to see the genial Rakoczy, with his bright, cheerful face,
giving water here, binding up a wound there, or helping to carry a sick
man to a safer shelter.
A few kind words, a cheery smile, a pressure of the hand, a look of
sympathy, he distributed impartially; and men of various nationalities
must have blessed the handsome Hungarian, who spent himself so freely in
their service.
Several times we had to face the gravest dangers. Houses were burning,
walls falling; but the helpless must be rescued, and Rakoczy, never
blenching himself, inspired confidence in others.
Many pitiful little dramas took place in the streets, where women and
children searched, often, alas! in vain, for the bodies of their loved
ones.
Thus the night passed, and the return of day revealed the horrors of the
scene more plainly still.
During the hours of darkness there had been something grand about the
conflagration. The great red blotches lighting up the sky, the vivid
tongues of fire leaping, as it seemed, sportively from point to point,
darting here and there, now joining, now separating, throwing into bold
relief some noble building which again was lost in the black smoke,
bringing into view the varied uniforms of the victorious soldiery--all
these things powerfully seized the imagination, crowding out the more
prosaic horrors.
Daylight restored the true proportion of things, and it was indeed a
sorrowful sight on which we gazed.
Charred and blackened walls met us at every turn; half-consumed houses,
battered and ruined buildings, huge gaps in the streets where the
fire-fiend had worked his will; and, worse than all, the white-faced,
sad-eyed women and innocent children, bereaved alike of home and of the
strong arms that had hitherto been their support.
Some, wringing their hands in despair, cried aloud the names of their
lost ones; the majority, dazed by grief, sought silently and with an
unremitting patience that touched the hearts of the beholders.
The fighting, as far as we could tell, had long since ceased, and was
not renewed.
A rumour spread that the chiefs had sent to ask for a suspension of
hostilities while they talked over the terms of surrender, and I thought
they acted very wisely.
"Bound to submit," said Rakoczy cheerfully, "they can't do anything
else. A revolution seldom succeeds unless the army joins the people."
We spent the day amongst the wounded, and at night, a capitulation
having been agreed on, helped to convey some of them into the city.
Then, quite worn out by thirty-six hours of continuous labour, we went
to our lodgings, and after eating a little food, lay down to rest.
Rakoczy, who lived in another house, joined us the next morning at
breakfast, and we sat for an hour talking over our plans.
Stephen was anxious to leave Vienna at the first opportunity, and as
Rakoczy had finished his private business, it was arranged that we
should do so.
"We will go and see the imperialists march in," remarked John;
"afterwards it will be easy to slip away."
Accordingly we went out, and found the streets filled with excited
people who were shouting tumultuously, "Long live the brave Hungarians!"
"What's the meaning of this craze?" Stephen asked, looking at us in
surprise.
"Something up," said Rakoczy, "and something queer too. Let us follow
the crowd; we shall soon learn."
"Strange there should be so few students and National Guards about," I
remarked.
"They're on the ramparts and at the gates. They'll stay till the
surrender is formally completed."
Several men in blouses heard the word "surrender," and immediately
shouted, "No surrender! Down with the Hapsburg butchers! Long live the
brave Hungarians!"
On all sides the cries were repeated, and we, more astonished than ever,
ran on quickly.
The Place of St. Stephen's appeared to be the rendezvous, where a
wildly-excited mob had gathered round the noble cathedral. A cheer rose
from the surging mass as a young man, mounting above the heads of his
fellows, read out the contents of a billet sent down from the summit of
the tower by Messenhauser.
We were too far off to hear the exact words, but they were to the effect
that the Austrians were being attacked.
The thoughts of every one immediately flew to the Hungarians, and shouts
of "Long live Hungary!" once more rent the air. A light cloud of
annoyance spread over Rakoczy's face.
"That's no soldier's doing," he said. "No one but an imbecile would pit
our raw recruits against an army of veterans."
The Viennese thought differently; and when, two hours later, a second
bulletin was issued, stating that the Hungarians were advancing, the
citizens became wild with joy.
The capitulation was forgotten; flags were waved, cannon discharged, and
paeans of victory sung.
Stephen and I talked largely of Hungarian prowess, and of what our
countrymen could do; Rakoczy smiled and said nothing, which showed his
wisdom.
The fight had drawn nearer; the insurgents were cannonading the
imperialists from the ramparts with their long-range guns; we stood in
the Place of St. Stephen's, and gazed eagerly at the summit of the
tower.
Suddenly a great stillness fell on the crowd. By what mysterious means
the knowledge of the evil news spread from the mind of one man to
another I cannot say, but certain it is the cheers and flag-waving
stopped before the vast majority of the crowd even knew that
Messenhauser had sent down his third note.
A yell of rage and disappointment greeted the reading of the message.
Rakoczy's good sense had proved superior to our boasting: the Hungarians
were in full retreat.
The news produced a startling effect on the Viennese. Obedience to any
power came to an end; the reign of disorder began.
Shops were looted and private residences sacked; furniture was thrown
into the streets, and the owners were assaulted; the town went mad.
I thought of the Baroness von Arnstein and her pretty daughter; and
Rakoczy, guessing at the cause of my gloomy face, proposed that we
should go round to their house.
"Von Arnstein is known to be with the army," he said, "and it is just
possible the worthy citizens may wreak their vengeance on his family."
We found the ladies at home, and very glad they were to see us.
In spite of her pride, the elder lady showed signs of fear--not so much,
I think, on her own account as on her daughter's.
"This is terrible," she said, "and just as we hoped the mischief was at
an end. Your countrymen have much to answer for, mein Herr."
"Nay," replied Stephen, to whom she spoke. "The Hungarians fight
against men; they do not attack women and children."
"But," said the young girl, "the rebels acted very unfairly in firing on
the soldiers this morning."
"And unwisely, too," answered Rakoczy. "They are in a worse position
now than they were before. They are bound to capitulate within a few
hours."
"Meanwhile," said I, blushing boyishly, "if agreeable to you, we propose
to remain here till the danger is over."
The baroness thanked us warmly for what she was pleased to call our
chivalrous conduct, while the fraeulein's eyes spoke as eloquently as
her mother's lips.
"My servants are well armed," the elder lady continued, "and Franz is a
host in himself, but we shall certainly feel more secure, knowing you
are with us. Yet how strange it is that we should be relying on the
services of three Hungarian gentlemen!"
"Really," exclaimed the fraeulein with a merry laugh, "we ought rather
to be afraid of you. But why do your people quarrel with us, and drive
away our poor emperor?"
Rakoczy drew out a locket, which hung round his neck by a fine gold
chain.
"Do you recognize that picture?" he asked, releasing the spring.
"Why, it is the emperor himself."
"It is also the King of Hungary, for whom thousands of Hungarians would
lay down their lives."
The girl knitted her brows, as if trying to solve some knotty problem.
"I don't understand," she said. "You fight against the emperor, yet you
profess great devotion to the King of Hungary, who is the same person."
"Yet it is very simple. The Magyar's first love is for his country, his
second for the king. Now, as emperor, Ferdinand has taken away our
rights, which we must have back. When we get them, no king will have
more loyal subjects than Ferdinand."
"But I understood you were all republicans," said the baroness.
"We are royalists, madam," replied Stephen.
"Who will fight for a republic. That is what Kossuth wants. We know
here what the pulling of the wires will lead to. If your countrymen
succeed in this war, they will become the subjects, not of King
Ferdinand, but of Dictator Kossuth."
"Listen!" I exclaimed. "The street is filled with people."
The windows in the lower part of the house were already secured by heavy
wooden shutters, and now we heard Franz barring the door at the main
entrance.
Rakoczy and Stephen ran to aid the servants in case of need, while I
stayed with the ladies.
I suggested it would be well to draw the curtains, but the baroness
would not consent, so we sat looking down into the street.
The people did not appear to have any wish to do harm. They passed along
singing, and waving flags, and many were already out of sight when some
one raised a cry of "Von Arnstein." At the sound of that name the
others stopped, and quickly collecting in front of the house, began in
loud tones to abuse the absent noble.
The baroness gave an expressive little shrug of the shoulders.
"What poltroons!" she exclaimed contemptuously. "If my husband were
here they would run like a flock of frightened sheep."
With this remark I could scarcely agree; nevertheless I had sufficient
wisdom to keep my doubts to myself.
I looked at the fraeulein. Her face was pale, but she was perfectly
cool and collected; as she said afterwards, a soldier's daughter must
learn to face danger.
"It's only a street brawl," I said. "They will get tired soon and go
away."
But it is always difficult to reckon on what a mob will do, and this was
a case in point.
The words had hardly left my lips, when a man, wearied perhaps of
shouting, varied his pastime by aiming a stroke at the door with a heavy
hatchet.
The effect of that one blow was to change the character of the crowd
entirely.
Hitherto it had been one of merely disorderly citizens, lawless and
unruly, no doubt, but not bent on any definite mischief. The ringing of
the axe against the door acted as a signal for the loosing of a flood of
evil passions.
Every one struggled to get in a good blow, and instead of the harmless
though bitter language of a few minutes previously, we heard the more
alarming cry of, "Death to the aristocrats! Death to Von Arnstein!"
The baroness moved nearer to the window, and I placed myself in front of
her, saying,--
"This is madness, madam!"
She asked me with haughty courtesy to stand aside, and I, fearful of the
risk she was running, appealed to her daughter. Her answer was to place
herself by her mother, who opened the window.
The battering at the door and windows stopped while the crowd looked up
curiously.
In a clear, hard, but passionless voice the baroness said,--
"I am Von Arnstein's wife; this is his daughter. My servants are armed,
my house is defended by friends. If you enter, it will be at your
peril."
For answer, some one on the outskirts of the crowd fired a shot, which
lodged in the window-frame, and I drew the ladies back.
"Foolhardiness is not bravery," I said brusquely, and shut the window.
Then the attack on the door recommenced, and we heard quite distinctly
the thud, thud of the heavy weapons.
I went to the head of the stairs and looked down.
Franz stood by the door with his ponderous club in his hand; I pitied
the man who should be first to enter.
The other servants were on the stairs, and by their looks I judged they
would be of scanty service to their mistress.
My brother and Rakoczy, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, stood
near Franz.
"The Joyous" caught sight of me, and laughed.
"A new way of entertaining guests," he said. "The Baroness von Arnstein
will become famous for her receptions!"
"The door yields!" exclaimed Franz gravely. "See to the ladies, mein
Herr;" and he took a firmer grip of his club.
I nodded and went back, though I would rather have remained; shortly
afterwards a yell of delight from the crowd proclaimed that the door had
fallen.
The baroness looked at her daughter, who smiled back in answer; neither
appeared the least moved.
The fighting on the stairs had lasted ten seconds perhaps, when the
servants came rushing into the room in a body. Their faces were white;
their hands shook so that the pistols they carried pointed to twenty
different places at once, and I thought it extremely likely that the
rioters would be spared the trouble of killing us.
"Put those things down, you scoundrels!" I cried, feeling certain they
would be more dangerous to us than to the enemy; and when it was done, I
added, "Now, back to the staircase and fight for your mistress, or I
will kill every man of you!"
"What cowards!" exclaimed the baroness scornfully. "They will do no
good."
"They may form shields for braver men," said her daughter.
Meanwhile, the sounds of the fighting grew more acute, and, knowing how
far outnumbered my companions were, I felt compelled to run to their
aid.
The servants whom I had driven out were huddled together at the top of
the stairs, doing nothing; but, half-way down, Stephen and his two
companions were still making a great fight.
Uttering a cry of encouragement, I ran down, and, discharging my pistol
into the thick of the crowd, drew my sword.
My brother had received a slight cut across the head; Rakoczy, as yet
untouched, was smiling cheerfully, and by his marvellous skill of sword
keeping back the most dangerous of the assailants.
Franz's right arm was hanging by his side useless; but he swung his club
with the left, and smiled grimly when a man dropped.
The situation, however, grew desperate. Force of numbers compelled us
to yield several steps; Stephen had again been hit, and Rakoczy was
bleeding from a wound in the arm.
I would like to record how, in this last extremity, we alone, by the aid
of our good swords, cleared the house of the rioters; but that would not
be true, as we owed our safety to quite other means.
In the next chapter I will relate exactly what happened.