_ON THE SICK LIST._
I awoke to find myself lying on a heap of straw in a mud hovel, having
one very narrow door, and a window about a foot square, through which
the daylight tried to force a way.
The meagre light from two candles showed that I was not the only inmate
of this poverty-stricken dwelling.
Ranged round the walls were five other figures, each on a bundle of
straw and wrapped in a bunda.
The air was very close, and there was a strong smell of pigs, which made
me think that some unfortunate animals had been turned out, or perhaps
converted into pork, to make room for us.
However, I felt warm, and warmth in those days was the greatest
happiness.
I positively shuddered at the mere remembrance of the intense cold of
the last week or two.
It was all very calm and still, when a man in the opposite corner sat
up, and in a high-pitched voice began to sing with all his might the
well-known revolutionary song of Petoefi--"Rise, Magyars, rise!"
He was evidently in a high state of fever and perfectly delirious, but
he went right through the song without a mistake or a pause, and
finished by cheering lustily for Hungary.
Seen by the dim light, the spectacle was wonderfully striking. The
bandages stained with blood, the face deadly white, the large, dark,
fiery eyes burning with fever, the thin arm, freed from its covering,
energetically beating time--all these moved me profoundly.
"That's Petreskey," said the man next to me. "He takes a fit every now
and then and makes that row. We came from Kapolna in the same cart, and
if the black and yellow dogs hadn't shot my arm off, I'd have pitched
him out. Who wants to hear that stuff? Lie down, will you, and let a
fellow go to sleep."
"Shut up, Janko! Can't you see the chap's out of his mind? Let the
poor beggar sing. It does him good."
"Shut up yourself!" growled my neighbour. "D'you think I want to lie
here listening to that rubbish when my good right arm's gone from the
shoulder? 'Rise, Magyars, rise' won't put that on again."
Meanwhile Petreskey, staring round the room with his wild eyes, broke
out again, and sang till he was too weak to utter another note.
The two other men had taken no notice of the incident, but lay on their
straw like logs.
I tried to get into talk with the surly Janko, but he only grunted
morosely and covered his head with his bunda.
The next man, however, told me we had crossed the Theiss, and were now
encamped at Tisza-Fured, on the road to Debreczin, but more than that he
did not know.
Towards noon a surgeon paid us a visit; but before that we had been fed
by two soldier-servants, and I for one thoroughly enjoyed the hot,
nourishing broth which they brought.
The surgeon seemed a tender-hearted fellow, and had a kind word for
every man in the room, even the bad-tempered Janko. He came to me last,
and asked if I were not George Botskay, a captain in the 9th Honveds.
"What there is left of him," I answered; "but there doesn't appear to be
much."
"Nonsense! You'll be marching to Pesth in a week or so. Now you're fit
to be moved, we must take you out of this. I'll see your colonel."
I was glad to hear Rakoczy still lived, and inquired anxiously after
Stephen.
"On General Goergei's staff?" asked the surgeon pleasantly. "Oh yes,
but he is hardly ever to be found; the general keeps him galloping about
the country day and night. At present I believe he is at Debreczin.
Keep up your courage; you've pulled through the worst of it."
This was pleasant hearing, and when the surgeon finally departed I
nestled down on my heap of straw with quite a feeling of content. The
day and night passed without further incident, except that the poor,
crazed Petreskey woke me up from a sound sleep by another vigorous
performance of "Rise, Magyars, rise!"
Soon after breakfast the door opened, and Rakoczy entered, his face
beaming with smiles, his eyes bright and sparkling.
Stephen had once compared him with a sunbeam, but to me that morning he
seemed more like a million sunbeams rolled into one.
At the sight of him even Janko forgot to look sulky, and saluted with
his remaining arm.
None of the patients belonged to his regiment, but he went to each in
turn, soothing the excited Petreskey, and speaking kindly words of
sympathy and cheer to all.
When, having satisfied himself that not one of the poor fellows would
feel himself neglected, he came to me, he was fairly bubbling over with
pleasure.
His lips twitched nervously, and I believe his eyes were moist; but he
carried the matter off in his usual jocular way.
"Well, George," he exclaimed, laughing, "I hear the silovitz got into
your head, and you pushed poor Mecsey Sandor into the river. There's
nothing like a cold bath when the brain's heated; but 'twas rather rough
on Sandor, who had drunk none of your plum brandy. However, the poor
fellow bears no malice, and will be glad to see you in your sober senses
again."
"Then it was Mecsey who saved my life?"
"Truth, you may say that. He hauled you out from under the ice, and
pushed you on to dry land."
"What a night it was! I should think the whole regiment had a
drenching."
"Yes, but they didn't go at it in your hot-headed way. After your
company had found the stream, the others walked in quietly, and out at
the other side. Goergei says he didn't think you were in such a hurry
to retreat."
"Don't poke fun, but tell me what happened. Were there many lives
lost?"
"At the water-jump? No. A few ugly bruises covered the mischief. We
lost heavily in the wood though, and have had to fill up the gaps with
raw material. You'll be sorry to miss the chance of drilling the
recruits."
"Had quite enough of that at Pesth," I replied, laughing.
"And a very fine drill-sergeant you'd have made by sticking at it; but
I'm keeping the men outside waiting. They're going to take you to
another hut. It's quite as dirty as this; but you'll have more room,
and be with the officers of your own regiment."
He went to the door and called two men, who carried me out tenderly to
an ambulance, and then, helped by two comrades, bore me some two hundred
yards over very rough and uneven ground to a hovel which might have been
twin brother to the one I had just left.
There were the same narrow door and square foot of window, while the
furniture consisted of three bundles of straw, two being already
occupied. My nose also informed me that the former inmates of the place
had been on terms of social intercourse with the pigs.
"Gentlemen," said the colonel, "I have brought Captain Botskay to share
your apartment."
At the sound of the colonel's voice the figures on the straw showed
signs of life, stirred, and finally sat up, when I recognized them as
two young lieutenants named Thurzo and Dobozy.
"Glad to see you, captain," said the first, adding quickly, "That is,
sorry you've been hurt, but right glad of your company."
Dobozy had been wounded in the wood, and I had sent him to the rear,
which he remembered and now gratefully acknowledged.
"I must be off," said the colonel, "but will look in to-morrow.
Meanwhile I'll send Mecsey Sandor to wait on you; he'll be delighted,
and you can't very well push him into another river."
The soldiers had carried me with great care, but even so my limbs ached
with the jolting, and after a little talk with my companions I was glad
to drop into a sound sleep. Towards the evening Sandor arrived, and I
thanked him warmly for what he had done.
"'Twas nothing, captain," replied he stolidly--"nothing at all compared
with what you did for me in the mountains. You risked your life; I
didn't."
"You saved mine, though, and I shan't forget it."
Neither of us spoke on the subject again; but I resolved that, when the
war ended, the honest fellow should have reason to remember his brave
act.
The two lieutenants were already strong enough to hobble about, but
several days passed before I was able to join them.
Rakoczy called every morning, sometimes in the evening as well, and his
visits did more toward our recovery than all the doctor's stuff.
One day, however, he came to say good-bye. The regiment had received
orders to recross the Theiss.
"We're going to drive the Austrians out of Szolnok, unless they take it
into their heads to drive us back to Tisza-Fured. Bern has done wonders
in Transylvania. The white-coats called the Russians in to help them,
but the Pole has cleared the country of the lot. The news has put heart
into Vetter, and he intends to move forward with the whole army."
"What has Vetter to do with it?" I asked in surprise.
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. He's the new chief. There's been a bit
of a squabble, and Dembinski had to stand down; but it's all right now.
Make haste and get well, or you'll have no share in planting the red,
white, and green colours on the walls of Vienna;" and he went out,
laughing merrily.
I asked my comrades what the colonel meant by a squabble, but neither
knew what had happened. Both, however, rejoiced at the fall of
Dembinski; and Dobozy, who had been wounded at Poroszlo, said there was
some angry talk among the officers of Goergei's brigade at that place.
We questioned Sandor, but he knew little beyond the fact that there had
been a general kravalle, or brawl, which brought Kossuth post-haste from
Debreczin, and ended in Vetter being proclaimed commander-in-chief.
The doctor told us the same story, but with few fresh details; and it
was not until Stephen found time to hunt me up that we learned the
truth.
My brother had altered much in the short time since the war broke out.
From a boy, he seemed to have become a man all at once, and I cannot say
that I liked the change.
To me he was the same loving brother he had always been, and we embraced
each other with every mark of affection; but there was a sternness of
purpose in his face and a determined courage that I thought ill suited
one who was really little more than a lad.
The two lieutenants had very considerately gone outside, but now I
called them in and introduced them to my brother.
"The general gives you little leisure time," Thurzo remarked.
"Very little," replied Stephen; "but then he gives himself less. I
doubt if even Kossuth works harder."
"Glad to hear you give the dictator his due."
"Oh, I don't deny that Kossuth is an extraordinary man, a genius of the
first water, and in his way a devoted patriot. Whether we win or lose
the game, Kossuth's name will live for ever. Without his marvellous
eloquence we couldn't have carried on the war; but though I admire the
man I doubt his object. Kossuth the patriot deserves well of his
country, but Kossuth the democrat is another person. We don't want a
French revolution in our country."
"Bravo!" cried Dobozy. "Hungary a kingdom is my motto; and not Hungary
a republic."
"The 9th Honveds are all royalists," remarked Thurzo quietly.
"And every regiment in the brigade," said Stephen. "Kossuth discovered
that not very long ago."
"Tell us about it, Stephen. We've only heard just the bare outline."
"Well, the fuss began at Poroszlo during the retreat. As you know,
Goergei's brigade did the covering work, and halted at Poroszlo. The
place was strongly entrenched and fortified, and Dembinski sent orders
that we were to occupy a position in front of the guns. You may be sure
Goergei wasn't such an idiot as to obey, and the general talked about
putting him under arrest. He sent off a messenger full speed to
Debreczin, but by the time Kossuth arrived the game was over."
"What had happened?"
Stephen smiled grimly; he seemed to have forgotten how to laugh.
"We promptly shut the Pole up," he said; "and Kossuth found his chief
general a prisoner."
"And he submitted?"
"What else could he do? We were all in one mind. So the upshot of the
matter was that the Diet gave the command to Vetter."
"Not to Goergei?"
"No," said Stephen bitterly. "It's my opinion they're jealous of him.
By the way, your regiment has distinguished itself at Szolnok. It led
the attack, and fairly drove the Austrians out of the town."
"Well done, 9th Honveds!" exclaimed Thurzo. "Wish I'd been with them!"
"There will be enough and to spare of fighting before the war ends,"
said my brother. "The army moves in a few days for Pesth."
I asked him to look in again before they left, and he promised to do so
if Goergei gave him a chance.
When he had gone, my comrades talked over the news, and it was plain
that, like myself, they foresaw trouble in the future.
Thurzo put the matter very straight.
"If the Austrians win," he said, "we shall all have to pay, and a very
dreary performance it will be. If the victory falls to us, we shall
very soon be flying at one another's throats."
"The army is with Goergei," I said.
"But Kossuth has a powerful following, and the Poles will help him to a
man."
"Worse still," said Dobozy. "Hungary is fast becoming the
dumping-ground for the republicans of every country in Europe. Germans,
Italians, French are all swarming over here like carrion-crows to a dead
horse."
"They wish to help the cause."
"By forming a republic," replied Dobozy angrily; "and we won't have it.
I'm like your brother, and think Kossuth a great genius; but he isn't
the only man in Hungary."
I record these remarks, because they serve to show how, even at this
early period of the campaign, a wide gulf was opening between the two
parties in the country. Later, it formed a deep grave in which we buried
our hopes.
Before the war ended we proved up to the hilt the truth of that old
saying, "A house divided against itself cannot stand."
Another day passed, and then Stephen came to say good-bye.
"I'm off with an important order for General Damjanics," he said. "The
camp breaks up to-morrow. Why do you look so gloomy? You're mending
nicely, and will be fit to travel in another week."
"I hope so. It isn't pleasant to be left behind when others are going
to the front."
"Fortune of war, George, and it's no use grumbling. Well, good-bye; we
shall meet in Pesth."
I embraced him rather sadly, and, going outside, watched him mount and
ride away.
All that day we looked on at the preparations for the march, and early
the next morning went to see the breakup of the camp. The men, who were
in good spirits, sang at their work, cheered the generals--Goergei and
Klapka in particular--and showed a willing eagerness to be led against
the enemy.
There must have been fifty thousand of them altogether, besides a host
of camp-followers, and they were filing past till late at
night--batteries of artillery accompanied by smart, keen-looking
gunners; dashing hussars in their showy uniforms; veterans who had made
good many a desperate fight under the black and yellow banners;
home-trained Honveds drilled into decent soldiers; raw recruits
indifferently armed, but supposed to be valuable on account of their
enthusiasm; while over all flew our glorious red, white, and green
colours.
We went back to our hovel, where the patient Sandor had prepared supper,
and drank a glass of silovitz to the success of our comrades.
I pass over the chronicles of the next week. They would prove but
dreary reading, since we had nothing to do from morning till night but
grumble at being left behind.
The unfortunate doctor was so baited and badgered that at last, I verily
believe, in sheer self-defence, he reported us as fit for service; and
one fine morning, though the weather was still bitterly cold, we left
Tisza-Fured with about a hundred soldiers, who were going to rejoin
their various regiments.
Having plenty of provisions, we followed in the track of the army, as
being the safest and most direct route; and everywhere the inhabitants
of the villages through which we passed gave us a hearty welcome.
At Kapolna, the scene of our former defeat, we made a long stay, having
arrived there about noon, and not leaving till next morning.
The town presented a very melancholy appearance. Many of the houses were
burned to the ground, and in every direction traces of the fierce fight
were plainly visible.
Still, the sufferings of the people had not weakened their loyalty to
the cause, and the leading citizens feasted us generously.
For the first time since leaving Pesth I slept in a real bed, and the
sensation was quite novel.
It was so extremely comfortable that I did not wish to turn out the next
morning, but Sandor kept up such a tremendous hammering at the door that
I was compelled to rise. I learned from my host that Goergei, with the
seventh corps, was marching towards Hatvan; while Vetter, commanding the
main army, was trying to push himself in between Jellachich's corps and
Windischgratz, the latter of whom lay at Godolo.
Where we should find the 9th Honveds I could not tell, but decided to
join Goergei, on the chance that they were with him.
After a hearty breakfast, I went into the street, where the men were
already assembled under Thurzo and Dobozy.
Hitherto there had been little fear of danger; but now I took some
precautions, since we might likely enough meet with the scouting parties
either of Windischgratz or Jellachich, the latter of whom made very free
use of his cavalry.
Many of the inhabitants assembled to give us a parting cheer, and we set
off in high spirits.
The governor had provided me with a couple of trustworthy guides, as he
feared the Austrians held the highroad, and we had no wish to run into
their arms.
The ground was covered with snow over a foot deep, and we stepped out as
briskly as we could, to keep ourselves warm. I had left the heavy carts
which had contained our provisions at Kapolna, dividing what was left of
the food equally amongst the men; and this proved fortunate, as the
lumbering vehicles would have hindered us greatly.
In the evening we reached an isolated village, and nearly terrified the
good people out of their wits, as, in the gloom, they mistook us for the
enemy.
However, the matter was soon put straight. The men were willingly
received into the houses and made welcome; while I, having posted the
sentries, went to sup with the cure--a very hospitable and obliging
host.
Twice during the night I visited the sentries, finding all quiet; and on
the following day the guides told me they thought the most dangerous
part of the journey was past. This proved right; nowhere did we meet
with a trace of the Austrians, while the villagers assured us we should
soon overtake Goergei.
The guides again took to the highroad, which after-events showed we need
not have left, and we continued our march until within a mile or two of
the village called Hort. Here we came upon a number of camp-followers,
who said Goergei was attacking the Austrians in the village, and almost
at the same time there fell on our ears the roar of heavy guns. My men
were fatigued by a long march, but they brightened at the sound of the
familiar music, and were for running forward to help in the fight; but I
thought Goergei might be trusted to win the battle without the aid of my
scratch detachment, and proceeded at the ordinary pace. By the time we
reached Hort, our comrades were driving the Austrians through the
streets of Hatvan, and finally over the river Zagywa.
"Just our luck!" grumbled Thurzo, as I halted the men in the town and
looked about for a responsible officer; "half a day sooner, and we
should have been in the thick of it. Listen! There's a big fight going
on down by the river."
"Our fellows trying to capture a bridge, most likely," observed Dobozy,
which was really the case.
"Beg pardon, captain," said Sandor, "but there's a man of our regiment
going to the rear; perhaps he can tell us where the colonel is."
This was a good idea, and I put the question to the man, whose arm was
gashed by a sabre cut.
"Outside the town, captain," he replied. "In a field to the right."
After thanking the man, I set my detachment in motion once more, glad at
the thought of again meeting my genial friend.