_SENT SCOUTING._
As Szondi had predicted, reveille sounded before day had fairly broken,
and an hour after dawn the whole army moved to the ridge of low hills
outside the town of Waitzen.
Here we halted, and immediately set to work making our position as
strong as possible. The artillery was posted on the hills, earthworks
were hastily thrown up, extra ammunition was served out, and everything
prepared to give the enemy a warm reception.
Most of the work was finished when Goergei's scouts came in with the
information that the Russian cavalry, supported by an infantry brigade,
was approaching.
"They're just come to have a look," said Szondi cheerfully. "They aren't
likely to attack till their main body arrives."
This was the general opinion, and we could hardly believe our senses
when the Russians were seen preparing for an assault. I suppose it was
a very gallant action, but it certainly had not the slightest chance of
success from the beginning.
On our side the battle was fought by the artillery, and the bravest
cannot stand before a cannon-ball.
Again and again the Russians charged desperately, only to be hurled back
in utter confusion; and at length their leader admitted his mistake by
drawing his men off altogether.
"So far, so good," remarked Rakoczy, with whom I spent half an hour that
evening, "but we mustn't expect to win so easily to-morrow."
"I thought we should probably slip away during the night."
"That's possible, of course; but I fancy Goergei intends trying to hold
the town. However, we shall see before long."
The Russians had been so badly beaten that they made no further effort
to molest us, and the night passed away peacefully.
Nor did they renew the struggle in the early morning, but waited for the
arrival of the main body, which had made a forced march of eight German
or forty English miles in twelve hours.
"They make a fine show," exclaimed Szondi, as we stood on a hill with
the general, watching the heads of the columns as they approached.
"They make stubborn fighters," growled Mizvy.
"Just like dogs," added another fellow: "as long as you whistle them on,
they'll go."
These Muscovites were indeed wonderful soldiers, and far different from
our own men.
The Magyars were full of fire and dash. They rushed to death with a
cheer and a shout, or to the rattle of a song. When the warning blast
rang out, their faces flushed, their eyes burned with a fiery glow, the
hot blood sped more swiftly through their veins--they were real live
human beings.
On the other hand, it seemed to us, as we gazed from the hill, that
there were no individual Russians--only companies, or regiments, or
brigades.
It was a weird sight to witness one of these regiments, compact and
grey-coated, come gliding up towards the guns.
As Szondi put it, one forgot the men in watching the movements of the
machine.
It advanced silently, steadily, and in one piece; it--not they--moved
faster; suddenly a curious shiver passed through it, a curtain of smoke
was spread over it, and presently you saw the one piece, only very much
smaller, moving back again, leaving bits of grey lying here and there,
as if chipped from the mass.
Farther along, another machine, similarly constructed, was going through
exactly the same performance, becoming smaller in the same manner.
One such I saw more distinctly still, having carried a message from the
general to the artillery chief just as it approached.
The fate of that regiment was so terrible that even now I sometimes
shudder at the remembrance.
Like the others, it came on regularly and without noise. The great guns
at my feet roared out as if in fright; the smoke cleared away, showing
the grey mass diminished in size, but nearer; the guns cried out again,
the smoke-cloud settled and lifted, discovering the grey mass very much
smaller, but still moving nearer, until at length it reached the very
muzzles of the guns, and then--well, then it simply vanished!
Some parts of it doubtless returned in safety, though to me, watching
from behind the cannon, it seemed as if the whole body had been swept
away.
Yet, although the Russians lost men so terribly, it was plain that in
the end they would be able to oust us from our position, and our chief
began to make arrangements for the retreat. Owing to this, I saw little
more of the battle, having been sent into Waitzen by the general.
Here, while our comrades held the Muscovites back, we were sending off
the sick and wounded, provisions, ammunition, and the troops that could
be spared from the fighting.
From time to time we heard news of the combat, which grew fiercer with
every hour; yet, in spite of the most furious assaults, the Magyars
stood their ground.
"The men must hold the field till dark," was the order passed round to
the different leaders; and Goergei knew that, whatever happened, it
would be obeyed.
During the early part of the afternoon the noise of the battle died
away, but the lull was only for a time. The uproar began again,
increased in volume, and came so near to us in the town that we thought
the enemy had carried the defences.
They had indeed got to hand-to-hand fighting, being repulsed only after
a desperate encounter.
How our poor fellows out there on the ridges must have prayed for the
coming of night!
Meanwhile, carts and wagons were rolling through the town and away into
the mountainous country beyond.
Once riding out with some special message to the general, I found him
standing with his arms behind his back and his head bent forward,
surveying the fight.
The bullets were dropping around, but of these he took no notice, though
two of the staff had already been seriously hurt.
"Lucky fellow!" remarked Szondi, as I repassed him on my way back.
"You're well out of it;" and, seeing how the general was exposing
himself, I thought so too.
I could not see the 9th Honveds--they were somewhere on the left--but I
earnestly hoped my two friends were safe.
Once more the fury of the battle lessened. It was growing dusk, and
even had the light lasted, neither side could have fought much longer.
The Russians naturally were the more fatigued, but when the last shot
was fired many of our own fellows sank down exhausted.
Yet the general could grant them but small time for rest.
Many, indeed, tired and hungry as they were, marched straight off the
ground. All the night through, the streets of Waitzen echoed to the
tramp of infantry, the rumbling of baggage-wagons, the clatter of
horses' feet, and the roll of artillery.
Hour after hour, while the Muscovites lay wrapped in peaceful slumber,
the sad procession filed through the town, and daylight revealed to the
astonished enemy only an abandoned camp.
It was night before I learned anything of Rakoczy; and then, to my great
joy, I discovered that both he and Dobozy were unhurt.
Our position had now become practically hopeless.
The allies had joined hands in the centre of the country, while our
armies were scattered in all directions, and completely out of touch one
with the other.
Bern still battled hard in Transylvania; Dembinski was on the borders of
Croatia; while we, trudging through the lower spurs of the Carpathians,
were separated from both by over 100,000 veterans.
Rakoczy and a few of his stamp still put on a brave show, talked
cheerily to their men, and prophesied that Dembinski was about to do
great things; but most of the officers privately admitted that our final
defeat was certain.
Goergei himself shared this view, though it did not prevent him from
doing all in his power to avert the calamity.
"We're bound to draw the Russians after us," he said cheerfully, "and
that will take them from Dembinski's shoulders. If only we can outmarch
the Russians and join the Pole anywhere near Debreczin, there may still
be a chance."
But could we?
That was a question time alone could answer.
One corps was toiling hard after us through the mountains, but what was
Paskewitch doing with the rest of his army?
One morning, about the fifth day of the retreat, the general suddenly
told me to go and find where the Russian chief was, and what he was
doing.
"The reports of the scouts are very unsatisfactory," he said. "I can't
make head or tail of them. Just find out all you can for yourself, and
catch me up at Miskolcz."
Taking Mecsey Sandor with me, as he knew the country much better than I
did, I started immediately, being in a short time out of sight and sound
of the retreating army.
Knowing that Paskewitch had stopped his southward march, we concluded he
would try to prevent Goergei crossing the Theiss.
My best course evidently was to ride due south, questioning the country
people as I passed.
"We shall learn something at Gyongyos," said Mecsey, "and we ought to
reach there by nightfall."
It was a dreary and disheartening journey. Of men we saw hardly a sign;
only women and children remained in the little villages, or worked hard
in the fields to save the ripening crops from destruction.
These poor people could tell me nothing of the enemy. They only knew
that their own men-folk were far away fighting for the land of their
birth, or haply already lying at peace beneath the sod.
Evening fell before we reached Gyongyos, but I resolved to push on in
the gathering darkness, although Mecsey very much doubted if we could
find the way.
At the village of Kis-Palaty we learned that the Russians were in the
neighbourhood, but whether they constituted an army or only a scouting
party it was hard to tell.
Here, as elsewhere, the population consisted of women and children, and
a few old men who shook their heads sadly, and mumbled words that had no
meaning.
After a long talk with the most intelligent of the women, I came to the
conclusion that the enemy were simply a cavalry detachment out scouting.
Then came the question what was best to be done.
It seemed equally dangerous to go or stay, and I was still turning the
question over in my mind when a man on a splendid horse galloped up to
the inn door.
His speech told me he was a Magyar, and by his dress I judged him to be
a servant in some nobleman's family.
At first he glanced at us suspiciously; but, discovering I was an
officer in Goergei's army, he became very friendly, and answered my
questions readily enough.
"You cannot venture into Gyongyos," he said. "The town is filled with
Russians. The general is there with his principal officers, but I hear
they start for Kapolna in the morning."
"Will they come this way?"
The Magyar shook his head. "No," he replied; "I wish they would. It
would keep them clear of my master's estate."
"Is your master with our army?"
"Alas, no! My sweet master is a cripple, paralyzed. He never leaves the
house. But why not ride there with me? The count, my master, is a
great patriot, and will make you welcome."
"But it might lead him into trouble."
"Not at all. The Russians are not likely to pay us a visit. If they
do, we can easily hide you."
"And Paskewitch will march that way?"
"The Russian general? Yes; the highroad passes the edge of the
pine-wood. You had better come. The count thinks a great deal of
General Goergei, and will be delighted to see one of his officers."
"You have not told me who your master is."
"Count Arnim Kemeny."
"Well, Mecsey," I said, "what do you think? Shall we be likely to run
the count into any danger?"
"How? The Russians will be gone to-morrow."
"Then if you will ride on," I said to the servant, "we will follow."
"In one minute. I have a little business to transact first," and making
a respectful bow, he went into the house.
"All right, Mecsey?" I asked.
My servant tapped his pistol significantly. "I'm sorry for our friend
if it isn't," he answered.
When the count's man came out again it was quite dark, and we had some
difficulty in following him over the execrable roads. It was even worse
when, leaving the highway, he struck across country; but after a couple
of hours' hard riding we arrived at his master's residence.
We rode into the courtyard amidst the barking of numerous dogs; but the
servant silenced them, and several men came running quickly to take
charge of our horses.
Then our guide led the way to the front of the house, and ushered us
into a small room which served as an ante-chamber.
"I go to inform my mistress," he said, and in two or three minutes there
entered the room one of the loveliest women in Hungary. She was a
brunette, with a complexion so clear that the warm blood could be seen
beneath the delicate skin. Her hair was beautifully wavy, her eyes were
large and shaded with long, silky lashes, her lips red as a rose, her
teeth glistened like pearls.
She greeted me with ease and graciousness, and I knew in a moment that
the welcome was a genuine one.
"I must apologize for my husband," she said sweetly. "He is, alas! an
invalid, and I must welcome the guests of the house."
"It is I who should apologize for thus intruding," I replied, "but that
I see it will not be necessary. I am George Botskay, a captain in the
army commanded by General Goergei. This is my servant, and we are in
the neighbourhood on special duty."
"Exactly," said my hostess, "and you must be in need of refreshment.
Supper is almost ready, and meanwhile you would like to go to your
room."
Mecsey was now handed over to the care of our guide, and a servant
conducted me to a bedroom, where I was able to make myself more
presentable.
The house was a one-storied building, very similar to my own at
Gyula--built on much the same plan, but rather more extensive.
After I had washed and dressed, a servant showed me to the
dining-room--a fine, spacious apartment, the walls of which were hung
with pictures painted by Hungarian artists.
As before, the countess stepped forward, smiling, and led me to her
husband.
"Arnim dear," said she sweetly, "this is Captain Botskay, whom a lucky
chance has sent us as a guest."
While she spoke, I gazed with the deepest emotion at the count.
He partly sat, partly reclined in a wheeled chair drawn close to the
table.
He was a wonderfully handsome and athletic-looking man, with a massive,
well-shaped head firmly set on broad, sturdy shoulders. His face was
frank and open, his eyes smiled, though with a suggestion of sadness,
his mouth was firm, his chin square and determined.
I pictured him charging at the head of a squadron of horse, and thought
what a magnificent cavalry leader he would make. As it happened, the
poor fellow could not cross the room, could not put foot to the ground,
could not move a single muscle of his legs; from the waist downwards he
was practically dead. Yet he made no moan, no complaint, but once, and
then it was to regret that his infirmity prevented him from joining
Goergei.
"Forgive my apparent lack of courtesy, Captain Botskay," said he; "but I
am somewhat of an invalid, and my wife kindly does the honours of the
house in my stead."
"I shall not readily forget madam's kindness," I replied.
"Nay," answered the countess, "it is we who are your debtors, since you
will be able to tell my husband the truth about the war; but first we
will have supper," and she rang the bell.
I was certainly very hungry, and did ample justice to the good things
placed before me, while the pleasure was heightened by the appearance of
the table with its cloth of snowy whiteness, beautifully-cut glasses,
nicely-chased silver, and tastefully-arranged flowers.
This was unusual experience for a soldier in Goergei's army while on
active service.
It was delightful also to watch how fondly my hostess waited on her
crippled husband, how swift she was to anticipate his wants, how
lovingly she performed every little service--every action showing how
thoroughly the invalid was centered in her heart.
Then, when we rose from the table, it was her hand that guided his chair
into the drawing-room; her pretty fingers that made him comfortable; her
eyes that looked lovingly into his, questioning if there was aught else
that could be done for him.
On his part, the count worshipped this beautiful woman who thought only
of him. His eyes followed her everywhere; and when, drawing forward a
cosy chair, she sat down beside him, his face lit up with a smile of
sweet content.
Of course I was pleased to find the count was of my way of thinking, and
had no sympathy with the republican party.
He listened with the greatest interest to the story of the campaign, and
asked several questions which showed he was not ignorant of military
matters.
"Goergei has made a wonderful fight of it," he remarked; "but, in my
opinion, he can do very little more. This Field-Marshal Paskewitch is a
clever general, and, from what I hear, he has an overwhelming number of
men."
"That is what I wish to find out. Your man tells me they will be en
route again to-morrow."
"Nicholas is generally right, and in that case you will have a fine
chance of obtaining your information with little risk. A quarter of a
mile away the wood stretches right down to the main road. The trees are
close together, and just now, of course, are in full leaf. One in
particular, which we generally speak of as the Eagle's Nest, would
afford you fine shelter, and from it you could see everything which
passed. It will be a tedious affair, but--"
"Oh, that's nothing!" I exclaimed quickly. "The only thing I'm afraid
of is a chance visit of the enemy to you. My horse would tell tales, and
there is my man to be considered."
The count looked at his wife and smiled.
"Do not fear for us," said she. "We have hiding-places here that would
not be discovered even if they burned the house down."
"The trappings of the horses can be put in one of these," added the
count, "and in case of danger we can put your servant there as well."
"But if they find me in the Eagle's Nest?"
"They will shoot you and ask no questions, so I hope you'll not be
discovered."
After a little further conversation it was arranged that my host's
servant should call me at daybreak, and take me to the Eagle's Nest
before the Russians began their march.
Mecsey was to remain at the house, as he could not be of any use in the
tree, and might possibly do harm by attracting attention.
Having settled this matter, we sat chatting another hour, when my host
said pleasantly, "Captain, I am going to play the commanding officer and
order you to bed. As it is, you will have a short rest, while there is
a heavy day's work in front of you. Of course, if I considered myself
only, I should wish the pleasure of your company half the night."
"It's very kind of you," I answered, "and really I would rather sit here
and talk, but I might feel drowsy to-morrow."
"And we do not wish you to fall out of the Eagle's Nest," said my
hostess merrily.
"I fear the general would obtain little information from me afterwards."
Bidding them good-night, I went to my room, and once more enjoyed the
luxury of lying down in a real bed.
As the count had observed, there was not much time for sleep, and a
portion of that I wasted thinking of my host's terrible affliction and
his wife's goodness.
Then, too, I wondered how the next day's adventure would turn out, and
whether Goergei had been forced to stand at bay again.
At length my brain ceased working, and I fell into a sound sleep.