CHAPTER II.
_A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT SORT._
I stood for several minutes between the palace and the great churchtrying to draw some breath into my lungs, for the pressure of the crowdhad left me like a squeezed lemon.
To search for the missing Rakoczy was useless labour, but it might bepossible to return to the narrow street where I had last seen mybrother.
I soon discovered, however, that the short delay had put that also outof the question. The people were pouring into the Place; and, thoughthe terrible stress had been lessened, I was still a prisoner, blockedin on all sides by the tumultuous throng.
The huge bell in the tower of St. Stephen's clanged out its brazen pealsof warning and menace, and a sharp musketry fire told me that fiercefighting was going on in the very shadow of the sacred edifice.
A handful of loyal National Guards, faithful to their oaths, and led bya brave commander, were, like good men and true, sacrificing their livesin the performance of duty.
Of course, the contest was a hopeless one; but the men stood theirground bravely, and I guessed from the savage cries of the rioters thatthe faithful few were selling their lives dearly.
From where I stood nothing could be seen save the heads of the populace;but the surging of the crowd backward and forward showed how the fightprogressed.
Clang! clang! pealed the great bell, swinging high in the air, whilebelow the whirr and rattle of musketry mingled with the frantic shoutsof the people.
A louder yell than usual proclaimed that something decisive hadoccurred, and soon the news spread to the very outermost of the packedonlookers.
"Now they have them! Into the church! Follow them up! Well done,brave Nationals! Well done, students! Now we'll see who's to bemaster!"
It was even so. The gallant band, overwhelmed by numbers, had fallenback foot by foot, until the insurgents by one wild rush had forced theminto the cathedral, where their leader was slain on the high altaritself.
All this I learned only from the conversation of the people, beingunable to see anything for myself.
But from what happened next I might easily have known the end had come.
From the middle of the throng a cry rose, and the multitude in theirthousands took it up, shouting wildly, "Latour! Death to Latour!"
This way and that they rushed, some to the south, some to the north ofthe Place, seeking any outlet which would lead them to the hotel of theminister of war.
In an instant I was caught up and hurried off out of the Place, across awide street, then into a network of narrow ones, until I was stoppedwith the rest in front of the hotel where lived Count Latour.
Was he still there? There had been ample time for escape, and I hopedagainst hope that he had taken advantage of it; but, remembering thecalm, proud face of the man, I had my doubts.
The gates were closed; the soldiers, scanty in numbers but welldisciplined, stood at their posts, eyeing the frenzied mob withcontempt.
Some of the students at once opened fire; the soldiers replied, and, thetarget being so broad, every bullet lodged somewhere.
Inside the building Count Latour was holding a council of war, and themembers, fearful lest in the growing excitement the monarchy itselfshould be swept away, prevailed on him to issue the order to ceasefiring.
This of course paralyzed the action of the loyal troops, both at thehotel and at the barracks, while the spirits of the rebels wereproportionately raised.
From the conversation of those near me, I gathered that their surprisewas equal to their delight, but they gave no thought to the humanity ofthose in power.
The fearful cry, "Death to Latour!" was again raised. The gates werethreatened. The soldiers, prevented from firing by the order of thecouncil, were unable to act. Fresh bodies of rioters came swarming fromvarious directions. The pressure grew terrible; the gates--I suppose,as I could see nothing--gave way; the courtyard was filled with thenoisy, shouting, bloodthirsty pack; the doors of the great building weresmashed like glass; and the crowd, screaming and struggling, surged upthe broad staircase.
At the first rush some were thrown violently against the outer walls;others, by no power of their own, were carried into the interior of thebuilding, and fate so willed that I belonged to the latter portion. Thename of the gallant old count was on the lips of every one, as if hewere responsible for all the ills in the world, so easy is it to inflamethe passions of a mob which does not think for itself.
It was on the first landing that we received a slight check.
A few National Guards, still loyal to their pledges, attempted to stemthe human torrent. Their success was only momentary, and they wereborne back, but not dispersed.
Here the crowd broke up, some running one way, some another, but allintent on killing Count Latour.
I followed the Nationals, thinking they would most likely retire in thedirection of the council chamber.
This they did, and that apartment was speedily filled. I caught aglimpse of Latour, round whom the handful of loyalists pressed. Hisface was pale; otherwise he showed no sign of fear, but gazed calmly onthe throng of butchers. Once he made an attempt to speak, but his wordswere drowned in the tumult.
"Kill Latour!" was the savage cry. Beyond that one scarcely heardanything.
However, the brave Nationals resolved to make a fight of it, and by astroke of great good fortune I managed to join them.
"Long live Latour! Long live the gallant count!" I cried, with all thestrength of my lungs, and his defenders echoed the cry.
But the others drowned our shouts with "Kill Latour!" and one man,towering above the rest, sprang at the count with uplifted axe.
It was the burly ruffian who had walked with us a short time in themorning, and at sight of me his face grew black as a thunder-cloud.
"Traitor!" he shouted, and, swinging round, aimed his axe full at myhead.
There was little time for action, much less for thought; but, having mypistol free, I levelled it swiftly, and shot the truculent bully dead.
The count threw me a glance of gratitude mingled with pity; and in truthit appeared as if I needed the latter.
The insurgents rushed at us, bore us back, flung themselves into ourmidst, and, acting like wedges, split us into small groups.
I found myself in front of Latour, where the fighting was fiercest, andemptied my pistol recklessly into the crowd.
The bullets cleared a space, but it was soon reoccupied. Most of theloyalists were overpowered and disarmed, and now their opponents came tohelp seize Latour.
Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I stood by the side of theveteran, and did my best to save him.
The attempt failed; it was hopeless from the start, and the end camevery suddenly.
There were scarcely half a dozen of us all told, standing shoulder toshoulder, to stay the rush, and we toppled over like so many woodenpegs.
I lay on the floor half stunned, with the body of a man right across mychest. He was badly hurt, and kept moaning feebly.
For several minutes I was unable to rise, or even to move, and duringthat time the noise of the fighting grew less and less distinct, finallydying away altogether.
The shouts of the populace, however, continued to ascend from thecourtyard, and could be plainly heard through the open windows.
As soon as I had recovered a little strength, I shifted the wounded mangently, and stood up.
The rioters had left the apartment; only the dead and those seriouslyinjured remained, and amongst these I looked in vain for Latour.
Had they spared his life? The idea seemed too good for truth, but itwas just possible.
Picking up an abandoned sword, I made my way from the chamber to thestaircase. Several bodies lay where they had fallen; otherwise theplace was empty.
I ran down to the first landing, and overtook a frightened, pale-facedman--a servant, probably, belonging to the hotel. The fellow looked atme
with such a comical expression of woe, that, in spite of the day'swork, I could hardly refrain from laughing.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," I said, slapping him on the shoulder."I'm not going to eat you. What have the rebels done with CountLatour?"
The man's eyes opened wider than before. He bowed his head and mumbledsome words which I could not understand.
"Speak up!" I cried sharply, "or, by the honour of a Botskay, I'll throwyou over the balustrade."
The threat reduced him to a state bordering on imbecility. He made noattempt to speak, but, plucking at my cloak like a chidden dog, led meinto a small chamber having a window which overlooked the courtyard.
What I saw there held me spellbound; and the man, seeing he was nolonger noticed, quietly slipped off.
Outside, Count Latour, the minister of war, the veteran general who hadcarried the black and yellow flag to victory a score of times, who overand over again had risked his life to uphold the honour of his country,hung, battered and dead, suspended from a lamp-post.
The mob still lingered about, but in smaller numbers; the most violenthad departed to pursue their work of butchery elsewhere.
Many of the disloyal National Guards, who found it easier work to insulta dead man than to combat a living one, swaggered about, looking fierceand truculent. Some decently-dressed citizens regarded the murderedcount, it appeared to me, with pity and sorrow; even to some of theinsurgents remorse had come with terrible swiftness.
The students and men of the slums had gone--the former to fight, thelatter most likely to plunder. More peaceable people helped to fill upthe gap thus caused.
I left the room and descended the stairs slowly, thinking of Stephen.Where was he? Had he been killed by that terrible crush in the narrowstreet? Perhaps he was still there, hurt and unable to move. I must goand find out.
On the lower part of the staircase I met numbers of citizens coming toview the scene of the struggle.
I stood aside to let them pass, and they, recognizing my nationality,saluted me with the cry of "Long live Hungary!" I thought of the deadman outside, and the blood surged to my face.
In the courtyard there was room to move freely, and, anxious on mybrother's account, I was hurrying away, when the sound of a girl's voicecoming from the left caused me to stop.
A low, angry growl from a section of the onlookers told me something waswrong, and I ran to the spot.
A young girl, evidently of high birth, stood facing a group ofNationals. Her head was uncovered, and her hair hung down her back in athick, wavy, chestnut-coloured mass. She had a beautiful face, sweetand fresh as the morning; her features were regular and refined; herdark-blue eyes were of wonderful depth and expression.
She was slightly, almost delicately framed, and little more than a childin years; but the inherited pride of centuries burned in her face, andshe confronted the citizen soldiers fearlessly.
Standing erect, with her head thrown back defiantly, she pointed to thebody of the murdered man, and, with a superb gesture of scorn, exclaimedin a ringing voice, "You pitiful cowards!"
The crowd murmured, some in sympathy, others in anger. Several of theNationals moved as if to chastise the speaker, but she did not quail.
One, a bigger poltroon than his fellows, placed his hand on her arm; butat that instant I sprang to the girl's side and sent the aggressorsprawling.
"It is true!" I cried recklessly. "You are a pack of cowards to murderan aged and unarmed man!"
"A Hungarian and a traitor!" shouted a voice from the crowd.
"No traitor," I replied, "as I hope my sword may prove; but no assassineither."
"Don't be a fool," said the unseen speaker, but using now the Hungariantongue. "What is the daughter of an Austrian noble to you? Theseothers are our friends, and they have done no worse than we did inPesth."
"Knock him on the head, and the girl too!" cried one of the soldiers;but he kept clear of the sword which I had brought from the councilchamber.
"Leave me, sir," implored the high-spirited girl. "The butchers willkill you. I do not fear them."
I looked at her in smiling admiration, and said, "A Magyar does notleave a lady in distress. Permit me to take you away from this crowd."
Thinking perhaps of my danger, she shuddered slightly, and passed herarm within mine, while I prepared to guard her with my life.
We might have escaped without further trouble, but for the action of oneof the Nationals, who, angered by the girl's taunts, threw himselfacross our path.
I requested him to stand back, but he refused insolently, andendeavoured to run me through with his bayonet.
At this several of his comrades came to his assistance, and there wasnothing for it but to cut my way out.
Some of the citizens now interfered, crying "Shame" on the soldiers forattacking a girl; and, while our opponents stood undecided, I received awelcome though unexpected reinforcement.
There was a movement in the crowd as of a person pushing his waythrough; and all at once I beheld my brother, who, crying, "A Botskay tothe rescue!" sprang between us and the soldiers.
In either hand he held a loaded pistol, and there was an air ofdetermination in his handsome face which showed he would not hesitate tofire.
I had just told the girl who the newcomer was, when a second man brokethrough the crowd and joined us.
A giant of a fellow he was, wearing a round hat and furred coat, andcarrying in his hand a ponderous club which would have crushed the skullof an ox.
My fair companion cried delightedly, "Franz! Franz!" and the man bowedto her with an air of respectful deference.
His countenance was of a ruddy colour, his hair sandy; he had pleasantblue eyes, a cheerful face, and the massive limbs of an athlete.
"Make way there!" he cried, twirling his tremendous club as if it hadbeen a soldier's cane; "make way there for the Fraeulein von Arnstein!"
A portion of the spectators, crying, "Room for the Fraeulein vonArnstein!" hustled the soldiers, who, being pressed by Franz andStephen, sullenly began to give ground.
The movement was very slow, and we had not made much progress when ayoung man rode into the courtyard, and was received with round afterround of cheering.
He was dressed in civilian costume, but wore in addition a broad redsash and a red cockade in his hat.
Who or what he was I did not know, but he was plainly a person ofimportance amongst the rebels.
At sight of our companion his face expressed the broadest astonishment,and leaping to the ground he advanced quickly towards her.
Speaking in a soft, silky voice and using polished, well-turned phrases,he expressed his regret at the conduct of the Nationals, and offered toaccompany her home.
"You will encounter neither danger nor insult while with me," heconcluded smilingly.
The girl looked at him in genuine scorn.
"Your offer comes too late," she said coldly. "These two gentlemen andmy servant Franz are ready to protect me from all the cut-throats inVienna, either in or out of uniform."
The stranger's face turned white, but his eyes burned like fire, and Iprepared for mischief.
He controlled his passion, however, bowed low, and made a sign to theNationals, who stood back, leaving the way to the gates clear.
As for the girl, she took no further notice of him, but, still leaningon my arm, walked out haughtily.
Franz marched in front with his club, Stephen, who had replaced hispistols, followed, while we two brought up the rear.
It was difficult to carry on a conversation, owing to the shouting; andindeed it suited me well enough to walk in silence, and to glance fromtime to time at the face of my beautiful companion.
At last Franz stopped before a large house, and the fraeulein, making agracious inclination of the head, begged us to enter, that her mothermight thank us for what we had done.
Stephen, who cared little for the society of ladies, would have declinedthe honour, but I did not give hi
m the chance, thanking her myself forher courtesy.
So the three of us--the lady leading--passed over the threshold, and,traversing a wide hall, mounted a stately staircase, which led to amagnificent apartment, as sumptuously furnished as any I had seen inParis.
Here we were left by our charming guide, who, however, shortly returnedwith an older lady, grave and ceremonious, but no doubt kindly at heart.
This was the Baroness von Arnstein, the mother of the proud yet daintygirl, whom she called Theresa, and the wife of an officer highly placedin the army commanded by Prince Windischgratz.
The baroness listened to her daughter's story, and at the end thanked usfor having, as she was pleased to say, saved her child's life.
Having passed an hour very pleasantly, and promised to repeat our visit,we took our leave of the ladies, and once more found ourselves in thestreets of the excited city.
It was late evening now, and rapidly growing dusk; but the people werestill abroad, shouting, singing the French Marseillaise, andcongratulating each other on the result of the day's doings.
Many, however, occupied the time in far different fashion. Some paidvisits to the principal shops, especially to those containing food orweapons, which they promptly seized. Others, with an eye to the future,were erecting barricades or strengthening old ones, and trying to putthe city in a state of defence.
"Imbeciles!" exclaimed Stephen angrily. "When Windischgratz arrives hewill knock the place about their ears. I wonder what has become ofRakoczy."
"She has the most beautiful eyes," I murmured, pursuing my own train ofthought, "and of the loveliest blue. And what remarkable bravery to beshown by a girl so young!"
"Remarkable folly," replied my brother, "if you are speaking of theAustrian maid; but enough of her. Let us think of Rakoczy. The poorfellow may be dead, or sorely needing our help."
"If so, he will take some finding. I haven't seen him since we left thebridge; but I don't think 'The Joyous' will come to any harm. Look atthat red light in the sky! There is a big fire somewhere."
"It is at the arsenal, my brave Hungarians!" said a wild-looking fellowstaggering along beneath a load of plunder. "The students are attackingthe arsenal. Never fear, my boys! We'll soon give you yourindependence!"
This speech was particularly galling to Stephen, who moved on quickly,saying, "Come, George; it is likely we shall find Rakoczy there."
It was difficult to get near the arsenal, as the streets were crowded,and from some we had to turn back, owing to the erection of barricades.
We were hungry, too, having eaten nothing since the early morning; andseeing an open cafe, I persuaded Stephen to enter. The place was dirty,and the food not the best; but hunger is a good sauce, and we ate whatwas set before us without complaining.
From the talk of the men in the cafe we learned that the soldiersguarding the arsenal were making a stout fight against the students andNational Guards, though, unless reinforcements arrived, they werecertain to be overpowered by numbers.
"Well," said one fellow, chuckling, "we have our revolution at last.There's no drawing back for the faint-hearts now."
"Latour's death has let them in up to the neck," said another. "They'llfind it mighty hard to pull out of that bog!"
"And a good job too!" replied the first speaker. "What's the use ofmaking a revolution in kid gloves? Strike while the iron's hot is mymotto. Why should we stop at Latour when there's bigger game to befound at Schoenbrunn? Why not--"
Fortunately by this time we had finished our meal, and were moving tothe door; so, linking my arm in Stephen's, I led him out hastily.
Though the government called him a Hungarian rebel, he had scantysympathy with Austrian republicans, and I feared an explosion whichwould do little good.
Once outside the shop, we forgot the incident in looking at the sky,which, near the arsenal, had now become a deep-red colour, made moreintensely vivid by the increasing darkness.
"The building's on fire!" I said. "The garrison will have tosurrender."
"Unless the sparks fall on the powder-magazine, and then--"
"It will be farewell both to soldiers and students!"
A man whose face was blackened by powder, came up the street shouting,"The arsenal's captured! Cheers for the brave students!" andimmediately the people set off running.
"Let us go too!" said Stephen. "It is possible we may find our friend;"and I, knowing how irresistibly a fight attracted "John the Joyous,"willingly agreed.