_THE QUARREL WITH COUNT BEULA._
One result of the declaration of independence was an inrush of
foreigners: Poles, Germans, French, Italians swarmed into the country on
all sides.
These men were all red-hot republicans, and, except the Poles, fought
not so much out of love to Hungary as from hatred to the Austrian
government.
Naturally they helped to swell Kossuth's party, and talked loudly of
maintaining the struggle till Hungary was acknowledged an independent
republic; while some, going still farther, demanded that the Russians
should be expelled from Poland, and the two countries joined together.
At first, however, the real dispute centered on the next step in the
war. Goergei, who had returned to Pesth, pointed out that by staying to
capture Buda we should lose our only opportunity of crushing the
Austrians while they were still weak and feeble.
Kossuth, on the other hand, had resolved that Buda should first fall;
and at length the general reluctantly yielded.
It was a great mistake, and we of the army felt it to be such; but a
soldier's duty is to obey, and not to question.
Amongst ourselves and in the city we talked hotly enough, and many
passionate words were spoken in the heat of anger.
On our side, none were so furious as Stephen, who had come to Pesth with
his chief.
He expressed his opinions freely, gaining thereby no love from the
foreigners, and openly boasted that he would not be chained to the
triumphal car of Louis Kossuth.
Several times I begged him to moderate his language; but he only
laughed, saying that, now Kossuth had made Hungary free, there was no
need for him to be silent.
I was the more amazed at my brother's behaviour, because it was so much
out of harmony with his real character; but there seemed to be a kind of
spell on him, which he was unable to shake off.
One evening he was holding forth to Rakoczy, myself, and several others
in a restaurant, when Count Beula entered with some friends.
The count nodded to us all very politely, and, seating himself at the
next table, ordered wine for his company.
Whether the man really meant to create a disturbance or not I cannot
say, but, filling his glass, he cried, "Here's to the Hungarian
republic!"
His friends drank their wine and applauded boisterously, while Stephen,
springing to his feet, exclaimed in ringing tones,--
"Gentlemen, this is a free country. Let us drink our own toast,
'Hungary and the constitution of '48!'"
"Bravo!" I said, feeling compelled to back him up, though not desiring a
quarrel. "That is what we are fighting for."
"And more than we shall get," added the colonel good-humouredly.
"Thanks to Kossuth's meddling!" said Stephen. "If he had left the
general alone, we should be over the frontier by now."
"The young man carries messages for Goergei," the count explained to his
associates in a tone of amusement. "That is how he comes to know so much
about fighting."
"Even that gives more training than talking rubbish in a back room," I
put in hotly, thinking of the scene at Vienna.
"Perhaps the count has come out of his shell since then," said Rakoczy,
with a merry twinkle.
"It must have been to get into a safer one," exclaimed Stephen
contemptuously.
The quarrel, like a fire, once started, blazed furiously, and but for a
shaggy-haired German, we should speedily have come to blows.
He was puffing vigorously at a tremendous pipe, and, coming through the
dense volume of smoke, his voice sounded like a fog-horn.
"Ach!" he grunted, "the quarrel is stupid; let it rest. The count has
made his reputation with General Bern; he can afford to laugh. As for
the boys, they seem very nice boys--ach!" and the oracle faded behind a
cloud of smoke of his own construction. This was like a douche of cold
water on the fire; but though the flames were put out, the embers
smouldered, and presently sprang into a fresh blaze.
I hardly know how it happened, but the conversation once more turned
upon the siege of Buda, and Stephen maintained, quite rightly, as after
events proved, that even a successful assault must be attended by
immense slaughter.
"The boy speaks sense there!" growled the smoke-hidden Teuton. "I know
Hentzi well; he's just the man to strike hard and to strike often."
"Well, well. Our young friend need not be afraid," broke in the count
sneeringly. "We shall find men stout-hearted enough to storm the breach
when it's made."
"I do not fear for myself," Stephen answered proudly.
"No, no," said the count, laughing insolently. "It isn't likely, since
you won't be there till the danger's over. Most men are brave enough
when they haven't to do the fighting."
"Perhaps," said I quickly, stopping an angry outburst from Stephen,
"that accounts for your coolness."
"A good thrust, my boy," said the benevolent Teuton.--"Count, he had you
there."
Count Beula laughed again, showing his white teeth, refilled his glass,
and answered brightly, "The thrust was parried before it was delivered.
I have already been named as the leader of one of the storming parties
whenever a breach is practicable. Kossuth's friends fight as well as
talk."
"They do more than their leader then," said Dobozy, who formed one of
our party.
The count's statement fell on me like a thunderbolt. I had thought him
an arrogant, conceited fellow, having nothing of the soldier about him
but his uniform and his swagger, yet here he spoke calmly of leading a
forlorn hope.
He saw his triumph, and glanced at us, but particularly at Stephen, with
an insolent patronage for which I could have kicked him.
"Oh no," he said loftily, in answer to a remark from a companion; "I
take no merit for it. The opportunity offered, and I accepted--nothing
more. Of course our young friend has his fixed duties, otherwise we
might have seen him at the breach."
The words were simple and harmless, but the sneer was so open that it
could not be mistaken, and my brother's face flushed crimson. "And so
you shall," he cried hotly. "I cannot claim so high an honour as Count
Beula, but I can and will enter the fortress as soon as he."
The count smiled, drained his glass, rose to go, and then, looking round
at the company, said pleasantly, "A challenge before so many witnesses
must be accepted; but"--maliciously--"perhaps before Goergei's guns have
made the breach our young friend will have had time to repent his hasty
words."
Then he and his friends went out, and left us looking at one another
gloomily.
"What's the matter, George?" my brother asked gaily. "One would think I
had been condemned to death."
"Not at all," I answered, shaking off my gloom. "I was only thinking
how we were deceived in that fellow. Fancy Beula at the head of a body
of stormers!"
"It will be a night attack, so perhaps he'll lose his way in the dark,"
my brother answered, and later on the words acquired a strange
significance.
"How you youngsters chatter!" exclaimed Rakoczy cheerfully. "The place
hasn't been summoned yet, and Hentzi may surrender."
This, of course, was possible, though not probable, and the very next
day the idea had to be put aside altogether.
"The emperor, my august master, has entrusted to me the keys of Buda; I
will return them to him alone. Meanwhile my honour and my duty command
me to defend the fortress, and I will do so to the last man. Should the
twin cities perish in the conflict, I declare you responsible for their
ruin. I appeal to God, my right, and my sword."
That was Hentzi's reply to the summons to surrender, and I could not but
admire the writer of it.
"Brave words these," said Rakoczy, "and he's a brave man if he makes
them good, though I don't exactly see why he should bombard Pesth, when
our guns will be on the Blocksberg."
It was the fourth of May when the answer came, and Goergei, who had
established his headquarters at Schwabenberg, immediately gave orders
for the beginning of the siege operations.
For the next week the fighting was mainly confined to outpost
engagements, in which our regiment had little share; then the batteries
were opened between the Stuhl-Weissenberg and Vienna gates.
This being the weakest part of the defence, Hentzi had strengthened it
with twenty-five guns, which thundered away at our artillery day and
night.
For the greater part of another week the terrible cannonade continued,
and as we lay on the hillside we saw with intense grief the beautiful
twin cities wrapped in flames.
During the second week we had much more of Stephen's company than usual,
and I heard with regret that the general had given him leave to
volunteer for the attack.
He rallied me on my sober looks, saying it was no more dangerous for him
than for me, as the 9th Honveds were to form one of the assaulting
columns.
It was the evening of May 17, and several officers, including Stephen,
were watching the heavy guns at work, when Count Beula came up.
The story of the quarrel in the restaurant had spread widely, and the
officers waited with much curiosity to see how the meeting would go off.
"Well," said the count, bowing all round in his finicking way, "I hear
that the breach is nearly practicable."
"We shall most likely start in a few hours."
"Then you have not drawn back?"
"My place is with the first column," said Stephen calmly.
"Ah! I lead the fourth. I am going now to see the general, but, as you
say, we shall meet in the fortress," and he lounged off.
As the count had stated, the breach was considered practicable, but the
great guns thundered on, doing as much damage as was possible before the
assault took place.
Our regiment, being the farthest off, was to start first; but the
evening wore away, and Rakoczy had not received any definite orders.
Always careful of his men, he made them turn in early; but we officers
sat or stood about in groups, talking over the chances of the coming
assault.
It was nearly midnight when Stephen, who had been sent for by the chief,
returned, and we crowded eagerly round him, anxious to know what had
been decided.
My brother first delivered his message to the colonel; but as no secret
was made of it, we soon learned that the assault was fixed for the first
streak of dawn.
Several of the officers now went to get an hour's rest, but Stephen and
I passed the time with the colonel, who maintained a cheerful
conversation.
Just at the last he left us alone, and it was only then I discovered the
real state of my feelings.
Stephen, too, was much affected; but he carried it off well--not lightly
or vaingloriously, but as a brave lad should.
I thought, and think still, he was greatly to blame for getting into
such a scrape; but no one could blame his conduct afterwards.
"Let us say farewell, dear old fellow," he whispered, "in case one of us
should not return. If I fall, remember you are the head of the Botskay
family, and that our father died fighting for his king."
"I don't forget; and if my time has come, take this ring and portrait to
the ladies at Vienna, and say a word of farewell to the fraeulein."
At this he threw off his grave air, and joked me pleasantly, so that
when the signal was made to fall in, we took our places in quite a
cheerful humour.
My brother, of course, went with the stormers, while we followed closely
in support.
It was still dark, but we trusted the guides to keep us straight, and
calculated on arriving at the breach as soon as dawn broke.
No one spoke, and hardly a sound was heard as the column wound its
stealthy way along.
By this time the cannonade had ceased, and it seemed also as if the
sorely-harassed garrison had ventured to take a short rest. Tramp,
tramp, we marched along, pausing at intervals to give the rear of the
column time to close up.
The men with the scaling-ladders were out of sight, but we kept on in
the weird and eerie darkness, expecting every moment to see the flash of
the rockets, and to hear the thunder of the guns.
All was, however, silent, and I wondered we had come across no sign of
the other columns.
I don't know why it should have done so, but the truth suddenly flashed
into my mind--we had lost our way.
I spoke to the colonel, and it was obvious he shared my opinion.
"Yes," said he quietly. "We certainly ought to be in touch with them by
now. Run forward and question the guides."
I did so with difficulty, but might have spared myself the trouble.
They had lost their heads completely, and were painfully groping their
way, now in this direction, now that.
Remembering Stephen's scornful words about Count Beula losing the route
in the dark, I dared not speak to my brother, but hurried back to
Rakoczy.
I had barely told him the story, when far on the left the guns roared
out. Bright flashes of flame leaped from their muzzles, telling us that
the garrison was on the alert, and that we were not at hand to help our
comrades.
I hardly heard the colonel's orders. My head was in a whirl. I walked
or ran just when and where the others did, wondering all the time what
Stephen would do.
What a triumph for Count Beula!
Hitherto I had feared for my brother's life; now I would have cheerfully
laid down mine that he might have a chance of risking his. Guided by
the flashes of light and the sound of the guns, we ran on, hoping we
might yet be in time to strike one blow.
The dawn was breaking; we could see our way more clearly, and were
getting near enough to hear the shouts and cries of the combatants.
"Forward, my brave lads! forward!" I cried excitedly. "We shall do it
yet!" But alas for my hopes! Suddenly there came a wave of cheering,
and then, as if to herald the first pink streak of the opening day, the
triumphant notes were heard of a song well known to most of us. The
attack had failed. The victorious garrison were jubilantly singing the
Austrian National Anthem, "Heil, unser Kaiser, heil!" as our three
shattered columns hastily fled.
Seeing that for the present all was lost, Rakoczy halted his column, and
in shame and confusion we retraced our steps.
Really it was a fortunate circumstance we had thus blundered, as the
breach was not fit, and the scaling-ladders had been found too short for
their purpose.
Our comrades, whose losses were enormous, had struggled gallantly, and
by common consent the bravest man among them was Count Beula.
Everywhere we heard the most marvellous tales of his daring and
recklessness. He had fought in the very front, had cheered his men
again and again to the attack, and, while they fell around him in
scores, had himself remained unharmed.
He had not got his foot inside Buda, but his reputation was established,
and it was acknowledged he had made his vaunt good.
Rakoczy, who knew how terribly my brother suffered under what he deemed
a disgrace, tried to cheer him.
"Don't fret about it, my boy," he exclaimed brightly; "'twas not your
fault. The count had the luck--that's all. No one who knows you will
question your courage."
"It's very kind of you to speak like that," my brother replied, "but all
the talking in the world won't alter the facts. Perhaps I shall feel
better after the next attempt."
"There's no need to try again," I said stoutly. "You did your best, and
can't be blamed because the guides missed the route."
"Do you think I will let a shadow of reproach rest on our name?" he
said. "Don't try to turn me, George; it is useless. My mind is made
up, and, with or without the general's leave, I mean to take part in the
next assault."
The colonel signed to me to let the subject drop, which I did, and
presently we all sat down to breakfast.
After the meal and an hour's sleep, Stephen said he must report himself
to the general, and Rakoczy made an excuse for us to go with him.
"He may drop across Beula," whispered the colonel, "and if we're there
the meeting will be less awkward."
Rakoczy guessed rightly. We found the count near Goergei's tent, the
centre of an admiring group of officers, to whom he was relating the
events of the previous night.
He carried himself with his usual swagger, and catching sight of us,
cried jovially,--
"Ah! here comes my young friend who lost his way in the dark."
There was a laugh at this, which made me hot and angry; but Stephen's
behaviour was, to my thinking, admirable.
His face was very white, and his lips twitched a little, but he spoke
quite calmly.
"Count Beula," he said, "permit me to add my congratulations to those of
your brother officers. What you did last night will never be forgotten
by this army. We are not good friends, you and I, but that doesn't
prevent me from admiring your bravery. Last night I failed to keep my
promise; next time I may be more successful."
"Well spoken!" said Rakoczy, and a familiar voice behind us echoed the
words.
The second speaker was Goergei himself, who had come from his tent in
time to hear what was said.
The count smiled, showing his white teeth.
"Captain Botskay must have been terribly annoyed at finding himself out
of reach of danger," he said sweetly.
Here again it was impossible to take offence at his words, though they
might, and most likely did, convey a false meaning.
Goergei, however, came handsomely to the rescue.
"It would be something of a novelty," he said bluntly. "I doubt if he
has been out of danger before since the war began.--But I say, colonel,
somebody made a horrible mess of it last night. You'll have to put your
fellows in the front next time."
Rakoczy saw his chance of getting in a counter-stroke on the count, and
seized it.
"Yes," he said, smiling pleasantly, "I was afraid the affair would fall
through without us, though I hear Count Beula did not fail through want
of trying."
"There's praise for you, count!" cried Goergei with a broad laugh. "But
we'll have another try soon, and then, if you don't succeed, I'll lead
the stormers myself.--Captain Botskay, you're just in time to take a
message to Pesth;" and he carried Stephen off to his tent.
The colonel and I stayed awhile chatting, but not being over fond of the
count's company, we took the first opportunity to go.
As soon as the wounded were brought in, the gunners resumed the
bombardment, while Hentzi, on his side, not only replied to our fire,
but sent hundreds of shells hurtling across the water into the town.
Stephen told us that the state of the city was pitiable. Whole quarters
had been destroyed, and hundreds of people, not only homeless but in
imminent danger of their lives, were camping on the Rakos, whither they
had carried the wounded soldiers, both Hungarian and Austrian.
Meanwhile Goergei thundered day and night at the walls, while the
stout-hearted garrison worked like slaves, repairing the breaches,
erecting breastworks, and doing everything possible to strengthen their
position.
All the officers who were not of Kossuth's party grumbled openly at this
waste of time and loss of valuable lives; but since the fortress had to
be taken, every one felt the sooner the better.
During the evening of the twenty-first of May we marched to the trenches
and lay on our arms, once more waiting for the signal to rush forward.
"The general means to get in this time," said Rakoczy. "There are nearly
twenty thousand of us, all told, in the trenches."
"He can't afford to risk a second repulse," remarked my brother, who, in
spite of all our efforts, had insisted on joining us. "By the way,
Aulich has driven the Austrians back to Presburg."
"But for this folly we should be under the walls of Vienna now."
"What time is the attempt to be made?" I asked.
"Midnight, I believe; so we've some time to wait yet."
After that, relapsing into silence, we sat in the gathering gloom, each
busy with his own thoughts; and sad enough mine, at least, were.