_HARD WORK AT PESTH._
"Rakoczy! Not dead? Where did you spring from? Vienna? Been helping
the _proletaires_? No? Then you must have been plotting treason with
the imperialists. But come into my tent. Who are your companions? I
can see they are true Magyars. Sons of the late General
Botskay?--Welcome, my lads! Your name alone would draw a welcome from
any Magyar in the country."
A tall man, plainly dressed in the uniform of a major of Honveds, having
a strong, wiry, but spare frame, his hair cut quite close to his head,
sharp eyes--their light half hidden behind spectacles--his face hard and
weather-beaten, with a reddish undergrowth of beard; such in appearance
was Arthur Goergei, who was to become, without exception, the most
famous general in Hungary.
From Vienna we had journeyed to Presburg, and thence to Raab, following
the Hungarians, who were moving back on Comorn, and overtaking them at
Raab.
Rakoczy, who had known Goergei in private life, immediately inquired for
the general, and we were conducted to him.
"Haven't any refreshments to offer you," he continued, when we were
inside the tent; "but never mind--somebody has."
He went to the opening, and we heard him say,--
"Here, Sturitz! Borrow me a bottle of wine or two, and some
glasses.--So, old fellow, you've been watching the fight? Didn't you
long to join in? How did the good citizens like to see our retreat from
Schwechat?"
"Not at all. They were dumfounded. They couldn't believe it possible
that the Hungarians were running away."
The general clapped the speaker on the back, and laughed with the most
frank good-humour.
"Run!" he exclaimed; "that word tells nothing! They rushed headlong over
one another; they threw away what weapons they had and vanished. Moza
was in chief command, and he sent me with a brigade to attack Schwechat.
We were a mile and a half from our supports. Windischgratz sent his
horse-artillery at us, and, heigh, presto! the brigade was gone. Out
of nearly five thousand I saw only one man, and he was an old soldier on
the sick list."
"But what did the other brigades do?"
Goergei pushed up his spectacles and looked at us with a twinkle.
"The other brigades? The supports?" he said. "Oh, they took to their
heels before my fellows did; but they'll all make capital soldiers after
a few months' drill. Here comes Sturitz with the wine, and we'll drink
their healths."
"Capital chap, this Sturitz, to send borrowing," remarked Rakoczy,
sipping his wine. "He brings good stuff."
"And, better still, forgets where it came from, so that he can never
repay it. So, my lads, you've come to join the army? Well, there's one
thing; your father's sons will never show the men how to run away."
"One moment, general," said Stephen. "Can you tell me what we're
supposed to be fighting for?"
Goergei looked from my brother to Rakoczy, who said,--
"In truth, general, things seem a little bit mixed. Over in Vienna they
talk as if we wanted to set up a republic."
"A republic?" cried Goergei. "What stuff! Haven't they read history?
Don't they know that Hungary is royalist to the core? Why, if the king
came to this camp, the men would carry him shoulder high from one end of
it to the other. Why, at Schwechat they ran away to the cry of 'Long
live King Ferdinand!'"
"That ought to be proof enough," replied Rakoczy, laughing, "and I'm
glad to hear it; because, like these lads, I've no idea of spilling my
blood in order to make Kossuth dictator."
"You're going to fight, my dear fellow, and not bother your head about
politics. First, though, there's a lot of work to be done. We want
ammunition and stores of all sorts, and, as much as anything, we want
soldiers; we've plenty of men."
"You aren't going to turn me into a drill-sergeant?"
"I am though. 'Right! Left! Keep your heads up there! Close up on
the right!' That will be your work for the next week or two, while I
dodge about here, and make Windischgratz believe we're burning to
fight."
"Where am I to go?"
"Pesth, with the rank of major. Tedious work you'll find it, and no
glory either; but you'll do more good there than marching and
counter-marching with me. Now, as to these lads. Which is it to be--a
showy uniform or downright hard grinding?"
"Take them on your staff," suggested Rakoczy. "They'll get both then."
"Haven't room for more than one."
"Let that be Stephen," I exclaimed promptly.
"Take George. He is the better horseman," said my brother.
"Toss for it!" cried the general, taking a coin from his pocket; "but
don't stick to this bit of silver. I keep it as a curiosity; it's
almost the only one in the country."
The spin of the coin decided in favour of Stephen, and it was
accordingly settled that he should remain with the army, while I went to
Pesth as a lieutenant of Honveds.
We had drunk another glass of wine to the success of the coming
campaign; and Goergei, having made out the necessary papers, gave
Sturitz orders to furnish us with horses.
Then, with kindly thought, the general took Rakoczy outside, leaving me
to wish my brother farewell.
It was the first time in our lives we had been called on to separate,
and the parting was a sad one to both of us; but we made a fine show of
good spirits, and talked confidently of seeing each other again in a few
weeks.
"There's Sturitz with the animals," said Stephen, as the clatter of
horses' hoofs sounded outside the tent. "Well, good-bye, dear old
fellow."
"Don't be too venturesome," I replied, and returning the pressure of his
hand, followed him to where the general stood with Rakoczy.
"Here you are, George," cried the latter gaily. "Thanks to the chief,
we start the war on horseback, however we may finish."
"Remember," said the general, "drill, drill, drill, and plenty of rifle
practice."
"We'll bear it in mind, general, and teach the fellows how to hit a
windmill at least.--Now, George, up you get," and he swung himself into
his own saddle with the ease of a practised rider.
Glancing back, I saw Stephen waving his cap, and Goergei with his hands
behind his back and his head bent forward, already plunged in deep
thought.
The weather was bitterly cold, and the roads were abominable; but we
rode thoroughbred Magyar horses, which carried us at a rattling pace.
I was, in truth, rather miserable at leaving my brother; but the crisp,
keen air, the sharp gallop, and the merry spirits of my companion soon
chased away my melancholy.
"Wonderful man, Goergei," he said, when the horses, having settled down
to a slower pace, made talking possible. "Kossuth did one good thing in
giving him a high command. Hard as iron, and a born soldier."
"Has he ever seen service?"
"Only for a short time as a lieutenant in the bodyguard. But he has a
spirit which nothing can break, an energy that never tires; and he can
endure as much fatigue as any man in the country. I knew him and his
brothers when they were youngsters; in fact, we were boys together.
They were in good circumstances, but their mother brought them up to
live hard. They learned early to take the rough with the smooth, and to
laugh at hardships. They never felt the cold in the bitterest winter,
and when the rain soaked them through, why, they just got dry again."
"Where are the others?"
"Don't know; but wherever the hardest work's to be done, you may be
sure. Stephen will find his job tougher than ours."
"It will please him the more. By the way, I wonder if Count Beula
escaped from Vienna?"
"Most likely. Bern did. Goergei told me they smuggled the Pole out,
shut up in a coffin. That's how the story runs, whether true or not;
but, at any rate, Bern's in Transylvania with 25,000 good fighting men."
"It's very good of the Poles to help us, but I'd rather see a Hungarian
army led by a Magyar chief."
"So would I. Still, we ought not to grumble with the bridge that
carries us over the stream."
Sound advice, no doubt, though it scarcely satisfied me, and I was to
think a good deal more about it before the campaign finished.
The journey to Pesth passed without incident, as we were amidst friends;
and the morning after our arrival in the city we began our new duties.
As the general had stated, there were numbers of men willing and eager
to join the army, but they were without weapons, except hay-forks and
such like implements, and had not the faintest notion of military drill.
However, they were enthusiastic, and if not patient, at least tractable;
so their instructors hoped to make something of them before long.
The drill-ground was the great plain or field of Rakos, behind the city,
which in olden days was the meeting-place of the Diet, when our Magyar
forefathers, attended by their vassals, assembled to discuss the affairs
of the nation.
Once again the place was filled with men who had come together in
thousands--ploughmen, carters, shepherds, miners--not to talk, but to
learn how to fight the enemies of their country.
To a military veteran the spectacle must have afforded ample food for
fun and amusement. Rakoczy laughed without stint.
Thousands of men, grouped in small detachments, were going through the
elementary steps--men drawn from all parts of the kingdom, and dressed
in every conceivable style, but for the most part true Magyars.
Here a peasant, in loose black linen shirt, black trousers, embroidered
waistcoat, and gay-coloured jacket, wearing gaiter boots and a
large-brimmed Spanish-looking hat, jostled a neighbour in a sheepskin
coat, with a hat made of rushes, and huge sandals on his feet.
Here one saw a group of hardy fellows arrayed in embroidered petticoats
and kalpags--the national caps, made of fur and adorned with feathers;
there, men from the south with broad felt hats, leather girdles, gatya
or full white linen trousers, and shirts that scarcely reached to the
waist.
In one respect, however, they were all alike--they were dreadfully in
earnest and bent on learning their new trade.
It was early morning when we went out to the Rakos; the sun had set when
we returned to the city.
All day long we had been hard at work drilling one squad after another,
till our limbs ached and our throats were parched as the crater of a
volcano.
Rakoczy soon threw off the feeling of fatigue, and after dinner strolled
with others of the officers into the town; but I was thoroughly tired,
and slipped off to bed.
Certainly Goergei spoke truth when he described the work as tedious and
without glory; but it had to be done nevertheless, and for several weeks
the unceasing toil continued.
There was little variety in our lives just at that time. We went out in
the morning, drilled the recruits all day, and returned at night tired
as dogs.
Early in December we learned that the emperor had abdicated in favour of
the young archduke, Francis Joseph, that Prince Windischgratz was almost
ready to march, and that Jellachich had already started.
Though hearing nothing of Stephen, I did not feel uneasy, as thus far
Goergei had only made a show of fighting to delay the enemy's advance
while we were shaping an army.
From the second week in December every day brought a rumour of some
sort, which we had more leisure to talk over, as the darkness made late
drill impossible.
Rakoczy and I spent Christmas Day in marching with a batch of passed
recruits to a small village situated several miles from the city, where
a body of troops had been stationed.
The weather was simply detestable. First it rained in torrents, then it
snowed, and the snow froze before reaching the ground, and, but for the
bundas or overmantles in which we were wrapped, we should have perished
on the march.
To add to the charm of the situation, the guide mistook the route, and
we wandered about for several hours, stiff with cold and hollow from
hunger.
When we did reach the village, the welcome from the troops made us
forget the discomforts of the journey; and as our duties ended in
handing over the fresh soldiers to the commandant, we spent the evening
very agreeably with the officers.
The next morning, before starting for Pesth, we learned that Goergei,
having abandoned Raab, was falling back on the capital, and that General
Perczel was being hard pressed by the Croats under Jellachich.
Two or three days later the news came of Perczel's defeat at Moor, and a
message from Comorn announced that Windischgratz had summoned the
fortress.
Goergei was now manoeuvring to join the remnants of Perczel's army, in
which he afterwards succeeded; but the news of these disasters caused
great consternation in Pesth, and the members of the Diet determined to
remove the seat of government to Debreczin.
On the last day of the year 1848, crowds of old men, women, and children
left the city, and my heart ached, as I watched them toil painfully
onwards, to think of the terrible march that lay before them.
However, as the man in Vienna had said, rose-water and kid gloves go ill
with revolutions; but I wished it was possible to lift the burden from
the shoulders of those so ill fitted to bear it.
That same night a grand reception was held in the palace of Count
Szondi, and as invitations had been sent to all the officers still in
the city, Rakoczy and I went.
I have often thought since of that magnificent spectacle. The brilliant
uniforms of the soldiers, the sparkling eyes of the beautiful Magyar
ladies, who were all dressed in the national costume, the ruby velvet
dolmans of the wealthy citizens, the gorgeous dresses of the nobles, the
brilliant lights from burnished chandeliers, the handsome furniture, the
rugs of ermine and sable, the masterpieces of famous Hungarian artists
hanging on the walls in heavily-gilded frames, the incessant sparkle and
play of diamonds as the guests glided hither and thither, presented a
scene that one does not easily forget.
Hitherto my time had been so fully occupied that I had not been able to
seek out old friends, and now most of them had departed; but here and
there I saw a familiar face and heard a voice that recalled to me the
joys of bygone days.
Chief amongst the guests, and surrounded by a group of distinguished men
and beautiful women, stood a remarkably handsome man, above the average
height, straight, and of a fine athletic build.
His black, curly hair hung over his shoulders, his well-trimmed beard
covered his breast. The manly expression of his face and the fiery glow
in his eyes formed a true index to his bold, headstrong, and
enthusiastic nature. He looked fit to be, as he was, the leader of the
Magyar nobles who had taken up arms against the Austrian oppression.
This was Count Louis Batthiany before the evil days, alas! so soon to
come, fell upon him.
Towards midnight there arose a great stir in the crowded assembly, a
movement of feet, a craning of necks, a low hum which quickly swelled in
volume; and turning round I saw that another distinguished visitor had
entered the room.
Watching his almost royal progress through the brilliant throng, I
thought of the words spoken by Baron von Arnstein, and looked on coldly.
But though, unlike the majority of my fellow-countrymen, I had early
been prejudiced against Louis Kossuth, I have no wish to deny his
marvellous and almost superhuman gifts.
A true Hungarian, he loved his country with fond affection; but his
views were not mine, and even in those days I thought him wrong.
A man of medium height and wiry frame, he passed through the crowded
room with dignified carriage and grace of movement. The paleness of his
oval face was very striking, and his high, open forehead betokened keen
intelligence. His eyes were blue, and though naturally dreamy, they
often flashed fire; his eyebrows were dark and thick; and over his
chestnut hair he wore a wig. He had a small, well-formed mouth, fine
teeth, firm, round chin, and delicate white hands with tapering fingers
like those of an artist.
He wore a plain Honved uniform, over which was thrown a grey mantle.
The count stepped forward to meet him, and the two talked together
earnestly, but in low tones.
"Kossuth is a great man!" exclaimed a portly civilian standing near us.
"True, friend!" replied Rakoczy, with his ever-ready smile, "but Hungary
has no lack of great men; they grow as thick as robinias in the
gardens."
"Kossuth is a splendid talker."
"Right again, friend," said my companion dryly. "His eloquence has
created the raw material which Goergei will fashion into an army. Some
talk, some fight; let each man stick to his trade."
"I hope," said the citizen mildly, after a glance at our Honved
uniforms, "that Goergei will be able to make something of you."
Rakoczy laughed so heartily that several people turned to discover the
reason of his mirth, and we thought it best to move away from the
mild-mannered but caustic civilian.
Soon after this Kossuth left, taking Batthiany with him, and the rest of
us moved into the large banqueting-hall, where refreshments had been
laid.
At the last stroke of midnight Count Szondi rose, and a great hush fell
on the brilliant assembly as the old noble with his venerable white
locks faced us.
"Magyars!" he said, and the veteran's voice was firm and clear as a
bell, "the year is dead; we do not mourn it. The new year is born, and
with it a glorious future for Hungary. The Magyar is in arms; let those
beware who seek to thwart him. Magyars, let us drink to the prosperity
of the sacred fatherland."
The words were few and simple--the speaker was no orator; yet, as he
raised the brimming glass to his lips, a fit of wild enthusiasm seized
every man and woman in that spacious hall.
The men cheered again and again till their voices were hoarse; the women
joined in the plaudits, their eyes sparkling, their cheeks aflame with
excitement. Handkerchiefs fluttered and ribbons waved in the air; the
scene became indescribable.
An officer said something, I know not what, but the next moment Rakoczy
was at the farther end of the room, mounted on a chair.
The sight of his handsome face arrested attention; the hubbub gradually
died away. Profound silence followed. The people, thinking he was about
to speak, listened eagerly.
I have mentioned that Rakoczy had a magnificent voice, but until that
night I had not even dreamed of its power.
The lights, the wine, the beautiful faces of the Magyar ladies, the
martial aspect of the men, the stirring excitement of the time, the
dangers surrounding our beloved country, the knowledge that thousands of
our comrades were in arms against the foe, all helped to enhance the
effect, but much was due to Rakoczy himself.
We stood, I repeat, motionless as statues, gazing at him, when suddenly
there issued from his throat, echoing and re-echoing through the hall,
the first notes of the National Hymn.
We held our breath; tears were in the eyes of some; half-choking sobs
came from the throats of others; bosoms heaved and cheeks burned like
fire; men, unable to restrain their emotions, clinched their hands till
the finger nails dug into the palms.
Loud and clear the martial notes rang out. They spoke to our hearts;
they called us to battle, to death if need be, in defence of our
fatherland.
We hung upon them breathlessly. Our hands unconsciously gripped the
hilts of our swords. The hot blood tore through our veins. We heard
nothing, were conscious of nothing, but the glorious Magyar hymn whose
notes throbbed in every fibre of our bodies.
The first verse was finished, and as Rakoczy began the second every
voice joined in. The restrained excitement had burst its bonds like the
Danube in flood. It could no longer be held back; it was bound to find
a vent, and it found it in song.
I know little of music, but grander music was never heard than that in
the banqueting-hall of Count Szondi when the year 1849 was born.
As the last notes died away, the cheering was frantically renewed.
Women sobbed openly, and there were few men iron-nerved enough to hide
their emotion.
Then, with a ringing "Elijen Szondi!" in honour of our host, we broke up
and passed singly or in groups into the street.
The night was dark and dreary, snow lay thick on the ground, a storm of
frozen sleet hurled itself into our faces, and the bitter cold made us
shiver beneath our fur-lined mantles.
"A wonderful contrast this," I exclaimed, setting off with "The Joyous"
and several other officers for the barracks.
"As great as that between Hungary united and Hungary divided against
itself," replied one of them.
"Or as that between Batthiany and Kossuth," suggested Rakoczy, after
which we lapsed into silence.