_THE LAST BLOW._
"What shall I do with this Russian, captain?"
It was Mecsey talking, Mecsey very wet and bedraggled, but prompt and
soldier-like.
"Russian!" I echoed, sitting up. "What Russian?"
Mecsey pointed to a half-drowned figure at his feet, and I recognized
the officer who had led the pursuit in the caverns.
"He followed us, then?" said I, in a tone of wonder, for I had not
dreamed of any one being foolhardy enough to jump after me into that
horrible pit.
"We came together," replied Mecsey, nearly laughing. "He leaped at my
throat as I went over the side, and only loosened his hold when we shot
out from the mountain."
My faithful follower now helped me to rise, and once fairly on my feet,
I felt very little the worse for the adventure.
With the Russian, however, things had gone much worse, and it took us
the best part of half an hour to restore him.
He was very weak and dazed, but sensible; and pointing to his jacket,
said, "Vodka."
I nodded in answer, and searching his pockets discovered a flask filled
with spirits, of which he swallowed a mouthful, and by signs intimated
that we should do the same.
It was fiery stuff, and took away my breath; but Mecsey appeared to
relish it, though it was very unusual for him to drink anything half so
strong.
However, the liquor was warming, and I thought it would be well, while
its effect lasted, to take our new companion on with us, believing that
the exercise would the better restore his circulation.
At first he leaned all his weight upon us, but gradually his steps
became firmer, and before long he walked with very little assistance.
Still, it was evident he could not go far, and this made the situation
awkward.
Travelling at his pace I should not reach Goergei for days, when my
information would be useless; yet I could not leave the brave fellow
utterly alone in a strange land, where he would be far more likely to
meet with enemies than friends.
Mecsey must stay with him. I could see no solution but that, and yet I
had depended on Mecsey to guide me to Miskolcz.
However, it had to be done; and at the first halt I explained the matter
to the Russian.
"It is very kind of you to think of me at all," he said. "I am
grateful."
"You seemed so very anxious for my society," I said, laughing, "that I
am bound to take an interest in you; but, seriously, my man will remain
to look after you. He is an honest fellow, and to be trusted. Of
course, there is a chance of falling in with your own people. In that
case, I trust you to do everything in your power to set him free."
"I promise that willingly."
"Then I will say good-bye; it is possible we may not meet again."
"I hope we shall, if only that I may have the chance to return your
kindness. Will you not tell me your name?
"George Botskay."
"And mine is Michael Popkoff."
"I shall remember it; but now I must go. I am on special service; and
since you have deprived me of my horse, I must do the journey on foot."
He laughed at that, and we parted very good friends.
Mecsey, of course, disliked the arrangement; but, as the only
alternative was to leave the Russian to die, he loyally accepted the
inevitable.
I left them there on the lonely mountain side, and set off resolutely
with my face towards Miskolcz.
Mecsey believed this mountain stream which had so nearly cost us our
lives flowed into the Sajo River; if so, I had but to walk along its
bank--unless, indeed, it took another subterranean excursion, when it
would lose my company.
It proceeded now with a rush and a rattle towards the plain, and its
rocky course reminded me of my shoeless feet.
For a staff officer, I was in a pretty plight. My cap, of course, had
gone; my feet were bare; I had flung off my attila with my weapons; and
I was wringing wet.
The notebook was a mass of pulp, and so entirely useless that I threw it
into the stream; but I had previously committed the most important facts
to memory, so that its loss mattered little.
Then my thoughts wandered to Mecsey and his companion, and I could not
help laughing.
My servant knew not a word of any language save Magyar; his companion,
in addition to Russian, could only speak bad German, and I wondered how
they would get on.
The ludicrousness of their position kept me merry for a long time; and
when the stream, leaving the mountains behind, debouched into an open
plain, the journey became much pleasanter.
I was now growing desperately hungry, but even in this matter good
fortune stood by me, as I had the luck to stumble against a zingari
encampment.
The gipsies were wretchedly poor, their tents were patched and dirty,
they themselves were clothed in rags and tatters, but they had a fire
and a big round pot with something savoury in it.
They did not wish to share their meal with me, and warned me off with
scowling looks and surly words; but I was far too hungry to be got rid
of so easily.
If they would not give me a dinner, I would buy one; and after a good
deal of angry squabbling we made a bargain.
The wrinkled old dame in charge of the cooking operations ladled out
enough of the hot stew to fill a huge platter, in exchange for which I
gave the head man of the party my gold-braided jacket.
Elsewhere it would have been a dear dinner, but under the circumstances
I was quite content.
In addition, they told me that by following the stream I should
certainly come up with the army before nightfall, which was very
cheering news.
These poor folk were often on the verge of starvation themselves, and
they showed no surprise at the ravenous way in which I gobbled up the
plateful of food.
The men sat about lazily and smoked; the women continued their labours;
the naked children played their uncouth games without even a glance in
my direction.
When the plate was empty, I rose to go, and no one even took the trouble
to say good-day.
"Lucky that Goergei is so near," I thought, "if every meal is to cost me
a garment," for I was now reduced to a shirt and pair of trousers.
However, the hot food had set me up, and I walked rapidly, keeping a
sharp lookout for any signs of my friends.
Afternoon had passed into evening, and darkness was falling, when an
alert "Who goes there?" in Hungarian brought me to a halt.
"A friend," I answered promptly.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"Pass the word for your officer," I said. "I am Captain Botskay of
General Goergei's staff."
"Stand quite still. If you move an inch I'll shoot you."
I could not see the speaker, but his voice told me he was a man of his
word, so I stood still.
Presently I heard the clatter of hoofs, and in a few minutes a party of
horsemen rode up.
I guessed at once that the general was visiting the outposts, and it was
no surprise to hear him calling, "Botskay, where are you? Come this
way!--Bring a torch, some one. Quick!"
The light showed my strange attire, and the general, in spite of his
genuine distress, could not forego his joke.
"Ach, Botskay!" cried he good-humouredly, "I'm afraid we've disturbed
you. Just going to bed, eh? Here, take this," and removing the bunda
which lay across his saddle, he threw it over my shoulders.
"Thanks, general," I replied gratefully. "That feels more comfortable."
"Have you brought any information? Yes?--Szondi, lend Botskay your
horse. He can tell me his news as we go back."
My brother-officer jumped down at once, and I mounted in his stead.
"Now," said Goergei, as he and I rode in advance, "what have you
learned?"
In reply I related how I had watched the march of the Russian army, and
gave him the approximate numbers of their men, horses, and guns.
He listened very attentively, put numerous questions, most of which I
was able to answer, and appeared exceedingly thoughtful.
"Well, well," he at last exclaimed, "we must do our best; but unless
Dembinski joins us from the south, I don't see how we're to escape.
Other three weeks, my boy, will see the end of it."
It was perfectly plain that the general's common-sense prevented him
from hoping any longer, but he kept his knowledge to himself; and when,
later on, we gathered round his table for an hour, he was the life and
soul of the party.
Fortunately, my personal effects were in the camp, so that I was able to
join the others properly dressed, though, of course, I had to endure
much good-humoured raillery.
After supper we lingered for a half-hour's chat, and the general asked
me to relate the story of my personal adventures.
At the part where we abandoned the horses, Goergei exclaimed laughingly,
"Now we are on the track, gentlemen. It seems to me that our friend has
been hunted by wolves. First, he sacrifices the animals; then he
empties his pistols; next, his servant gives up his life; then, one by
one, he discards his garments to the ravening pack."
"It's the wrong time of year for wolves, general."
"Ach, so it is. Well, go on, Botskay. We're all wondering what it
means."
As the story unfolded bit by bit, the fellows craned forward eagerly,
being loud in their applause when I told how Mecsey and Popkoff followed
me into the dark waters.
"That Mecsey is a servant worth having," said Goergei; "and the Russian
proved a very plucky fellow."
"His men showed the white feather, though," growled Mizvy, who always
fastened on the seamy side of things.
"I think I should have done the same," cried Szondi, with a laugh.
"This underground travelling isn't much to my liking."
"Some of these Muscovites would have been none the worse for a good
bath," chimed in another fellow.
"But Mecsey Sandor and the Russian--what became of them?" inquired the
general.
"Oh, Mecsey saved my life;" and I told how the trusty fellow had dragged
both Popkoff and myself from the river.
At the idea of Mecsey and the Russian, neither of whom understood a word
the other said, being left together, they all laughed heartily, being no
less amused at my method of procuring a dinner.
However, in spite of their fun, I knew they were very pleased at my safe
return; and the general's "Well done, Botskay!" as I left his tent, was
ample reward for what I had gone through.
Early the next morning we were again in retreat, and on the twenty-fifth
of July crossed the Theiss at Poroszlo, after a sharp engagement with
the Russian advanced guard, commanded by Prince Gortschakoff.
Mecsey had not yet returned, but his absence did not alarm me, as
Colonel Popkoff was not in a condition to travel very fast.
During the retreat I had seen Rakoczy several times, and also Dobozy,
who had recently been made major.
The former retained his joyous spirits, came up with a cheery smile
after each misfortune, and professed to believe that before long we
should gain a tremendous victory, and drive both Austrians and Russians
out of the country.
All this was only for outside consumption, but Dobozy assured me that
the colonel really had not the slightest hope of success. In fact, a
general depression settled down on the army. The soldiers began to
grumble and to ask why they were fighting. The old grievance broke out
afresh, and men said openly it was a folly to sacrifice their lives for
a cause in which they had no part.
They were not republicans, and if Goergei had had a free hand, all they
wanted would have been granted long before.
Still, they trusted implicitly in their great leader, and if he told
them to fight on, why, fight they would.
Occasionally we heard accounts of Bern's gallant exploits in
Transylvania, where in the face of heavy odds he astounded his opponents
both by his daring bravery and his military skill.
Yet we all felt that, whatever the result of the campaign in that
quarter, it could have little effect on the real struggle.
If we could join our forces with those of Dembinski, there remained a
chance of striking at the Austrian and Russian armies separately, but it
was as difficult to join the Pole as to avoid the enemy.
However, Goergei persevered, and, leaving Nagy Sandor to cover the
approach to Debreczin with 18,000 men, continued his march, hoping by a
wide circuit to deceive the Russians and reach the fortress of Arad.
There, if anywhere, we should be joined by Dembinski; and if he could
not or would not meet us, we could either surrender or die where we
stood.
It was, if I remember rightly, on the fourth morning after leaving the
Theiss that the general sent me back in hot haste with a note for Nagy
Sandor.
"Another journey, Botskay?" cried Szondi, as I rode past. "Don't forget
to bring your clothes back this time."
There was a hearty laugh at this from his comrades, and one said it
would be easy to track me, were I missing, by looking for my abandoned
garments.
Indeed many years went by before I heard the last of that unlucky
incident.
I answered their chaff in the same strain, and rode off in good spirits,
though sorry that the trusty Mecsey was not with me.
Everything went well on the journey. There was no likelihood of meeting
with the Russians, and my worst enemies were the bad roads.
At night I slept three or four hours in a peasant's hut, entering
Debreczin about noon next day.
The city was in the greatest uproar. The people crowded the streets
talking excitedly, and the word "Russians" was on the tongue of every
speaker.
Being fairly well acquainted with the district, I expected to find Nagy
Sandor posted on the sandhills about a mile from and covering the town.
I had just cleared the city when a tremendous cannonade opened from the
hills. It was Nagy Sandor's artillery showering grape and canister upon
the enemy's advanced guard.
Spurring my horse vigorously I overtook the general, with several
officers, riding to the scene of conflict.
He glanced at Goergei's note, thrust it into his pocket, told me to wait
till the end of the battle, and dashed on to the hills where he had
posted his masked battery.
Forty guns were belching forth canister and grape on the advancing
Russians, who appeared to be taken by surprise.
They came on, however, in dense columns; but the iron hail was too much
for them, and at last they went back beaten, amidst the cheers of our
infantry massed behind the guns.
The advantage, however, did not remain with us long. Four heavy
batteries, placed in good positions, replied to our guns, and a short
time afterwards we saw the horse artillery galloping to the front.
"The odds are too great," said the man next me savagely. "The enemy
must have forty against our eighteen thousand, and we shall be beaten
again."
"We're getting well used to it," muttered his comrade, laughing harshly.
"Our fellows are sticking to their guns grandly for all that," I said;
and indeed for several hours the cannonade continued without the
Russians gaining a step.
Having no special duty to perform, I busied myself in attending to the
wounded, for the enemy's fire was committing havoc in our ranks.
Late in the afternoon I again found myself near the general, who had
sent off all his aides-de-camp, when I saw a movement on our right which
told me that the battle was lost.
Nagy Sandor saw it too, and his face grew black as night.
"Paskewitch has brought up his reserves," he exclaimed, "and we have
only a handful to oppose them. Well, we must do what we can."
He looked round for a messenger, and, seeing me, said, "Botskay, ride to
the rear and tell Torot to bring up every man he has. You see that?"
and he pointed to the Russian movement on our right.
I bowed, and rode off to find Torot.
Two infantry divisions, supported by four field-batteries, were
preparing to attack us in our weakest place; while far away on the right
a column of infantry and a division of cavalry were marching by a wide
circuit towards the town.
As for us, every man except the reserve had been fighting for hours
against overwhelming odds, and there was not one to be spared from his
place.
With a heavy heart I told Torot what was happening, and glanced
disconsolately at his small body of troops.
"The Muscovites will swallow us up," said he cheerfully. "However,
there's the order; so off we go."
I placed myself with the cavalry, and we moved out in good order from
the shelter of the hills.
In the centre our guns maintained an equal conflict, but our right was
terribly weakened, and incapable of resisting this fresh attack.
The poor fellows so sadly harassed greeted us with loud cheers, though
really we could do little more than swell the number of dead and
wounded.
I do not know who led the cavalry charge, but he was a gallant fellow
and deserved a better fate.
The nearest battery was our goal, and few of us that survived will ever
forget that terrible ride.
It was almost the last blow we were to strike in defence of our flag,
though we did not know it then.
The colonel pointed to the battery that was dealing out death to our
comrades.
"My lads," he said simply, "it is for us to take those guns."
The men shook their swords, answering by a savage cheer.
The battle had got on their nerves. They were desperate, and cared
nothing at all for the fact that three-fourths of us were going to meet
death.
It was the culminating point of the fight. All around rose the roar of
the guns, the cheers and groans of the combatants, the tramp of rushing
feet, the rattle of artillery.
A blaze of light on the left marked where a powder tumbrel had exploded.
Yells of victory and defiance came from the same spot, but we rode on
steadily with the fixed idea of capturing the guns in front of us.
A decimated infantry regiment, going goodness knows where, paused to
cheer us; but we sped onward, gathering speed at every stride--gathering
such momentum that I doubt if we could have stopped.
The colonel was a horse's length in front, going straight for the
battery, when the first crash came.
The shot tore holes through our ranks, and men shrieked with pain; but
the survivors never drew rein, and in an instant our dead were left
behind.
At the second discharge the gallant colonel reeled to and fro in his
saddle; but he kept his seat, though I knew he must be mortally wounded.
Again the guns spoke, and this time both horse and man dropped; but I
took our leader's place, and still we went on like a company of mad
furies.
I dared not look behind, I dared not even think. I could only shake my
sword and cry "Forward!"
Then we were in the midst of the guns, slashing at the artillerymen, who
fought us till the very end.
But we did what we had been sent to do, and cheered exultingly as we
emerged on the other side.
Alas! that cheer was the death-knell of many.
Whiz! whiz! sang the bullets as a battalion of infantry, hitherto hidden
by a depression in the ground, sprang to their feet and poured volley
after volley into us.
Broken by our charge, disordered, panting, we waited a moment
irresolutely, then tried to form up and return.
Only the maddest of madmen would have faced this fresh enemy.
But the horror was not yet at an end.
As we rode back, a mere handful of wearied men, a dense mass of heavy
cavalry barred our path.
Flight was impossible. There were but two alternatives--surrender or
death.
The Magyars chose the latter, and, gripping our swords firmly, we went
straight at the grey-coated mass, and were instantly swallowed up.
There was no time for parrying of blows; we had to take our chance, and,
cutting and thrusting, try to force a passage.
"Follow me, my lads! follow me!" I shouted, as long as my voice held
out, but before the end of the fight I was past speaking.
I do not know how many of us got through. My head was dizzy, my sight
dim. I heard a babel of sounds without being able to distinguish one,
and sat my horse only by mechanically gripping the pommel of my saddle.
Then a number of black figures surrounded me; and in the midst of this,
to me, phantom army I swept on into the land of darkness.