The Baron's Sons Part 26

Amazement was followed by anger on the part of the pursuers. They had no desire to give chase, but, to prevent their intended victims'

escape without a scratch, they discharged their rifles at them. Their pieces had a range of a thousand paces, and the target could not have been better,--dark blue uniforms against a white limestone background.

The rifle-b.a.l.l.s rebounded from the cliff, so that each one went whistling twice by the hussars' ears--as if their position had not been already sufficiently perilous.

Yet in that hour of danger the hors.e.m.e.n sat half asleep in their saddles, with nodding heads and drooping eyelids. Only Richard in the van and old Paul in the rear were still on the alert, and kept calling to their comrades to wake up. A turn in the path presently led the riders out of range, and there was no further cause to fear molestation. A fir grove, as sombre and still as a cathedral, received them in its shelter. Here the starving men unearthed a store of turnips that had been deposited there for feeding sheep. It was not an inviting dish to human palates; but hunger like theirs is not squeamish, and they were only too glad to feed on the coa.r.s.e provender. They wished to rest in the grove, but their guide spurred them on once more; pleasant weather was too precious to be wasted in that region, where fog and darkness would be sure to afford them all the time they needed for repose.

Forward, then, as long as horse and rider were able to move!

In the afternoon the hussars came to a shepherd's hut, where their guide committed his charge to the care of the occupant of the little shanty, and himself returned to the village. Finding a few trusses of hay, Richard and his men bought them for their horses. But was there nothing, they asked, which might serve to stay a hungry man's stomach?

The sheep were feeding below in the valley, and it was too late to go after them. There was, however, a tub of sheep's milk that had been set away to curdle for cheese; it was not an appetising drink, to be sure, but nourishing and strengthening. Each hussar received half a gla.s.sful.

As there was some moonlight that night, Richard determined to make the most of it, and the weary hussars were forced to push on. They had but just begun the really arduous part of their journey. The path led upward and was very steep. The fir trees became fewer, and in their stead began to appear juniper trees, of good, st.u.r.dy growth at first, but ever becoming smaller, until at last they were no larger than bramble bushes.

When the sun rose over the mountain-tops in front, it hung l.u.s.treless and shrouded in mist. The guide began to hint that a snow-storm was in prospect. All vegetation disappeared as they climbed higher; not even a blade of gra.s.s showed itself on the bare mountainside; no sign of man or beast or bird greeted the eye; it was all death's kingdom, a landscape of tombstones, the home of the clouds, whither no sound of herdsman's horn, or hunter's rifle, or bell of sheep or goat ever penetrated.

Toward noon, as the hussars were descending into a ravine, a dense mist began to rise from below.

"If it reaches us we shall have a long resting spell," remarked the guide to Richard. "Let us hasten down into the ravine, where there is brushwood and we can at least make a fire if the weather is bad."

The mist rose until it had quite enveloped the band of hors.e.m.e.n. The clouds were returning to their domain, and were asking the intruders by what right they were there. Their challenge had to be heeded, as it became thenceforth impossible to see the way. The guide proposed to go on ahead for a few hundred paces, promising to call back to the others if the path proved to be safe.

A quarter of an hour's anxious waiting followed, while the cold mist powdered every man's beard and hair with h.o.a.r frost. Still failing to hear any call from below, Richard descended a few steps and shouted to the guide. No answer. Hungry, thirsty, shivering, the hussars stood waiting.

"Follow me," commanded Richard, and he proceeded to lead his men, as good luck might guide him, down the mountain. All dismounted and led their horses after them. The fog continued to wrap them about as they descended, but at length they reached a thick growth of juniper bushes.

"We must camp here for the night," declared Richard, and bade his men kindle fires.

It was already growing dark. Possibly the sun was still shining up on the heights, but down there in the dense fog it was dark. Brushwood was at hand in plenty, so that the hussars were at least sure not to freeze. They hobbled their horses and left them. Fodder there was none to give them, but the riders themselves were no better off.

The hussars lighted their fires and gathered about them, tired nearly to death and longing for one thing above all else,--sleep. Richard gave orders that one man should remain awake at each fire to tend it; then he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down by his fire.

It was too much to expect any one to keep awake. The watchers thought that if they only threw on enough fuel the fires would last.

Scarcely had the sleepers had time to fly home in their dreams and greet the dear ones there, when a sudden uproar wakened them all with a start. It was the whinnying of frightened horses. The thicket had caught fire from the unguarded watch-fires, and was one sheet of flame when the men awoke.

"Up the mountain!" cried Richard, running to his horse and seeking the nearest way of escape from the spreading sea of fire that raged around him.

There was light enough now to show them the way only too clearly, and a perilous, breakneck path it was. The extremity of the danger in their rear, however, gave to men and horses an almost preternatural strength, and they accomplished in a short time an ascent that made them dizzy to look back upon. They stood there a moment, steaming with perspiration in the cold night air, and not daring to linger. They were forced to push on, if only to keep warm. There was no halting for consultation now; every man made the best of his way forward; if any should faint by the way they would have to lie where they fell.

Day dawned at last,--the most harrowing day of their long flight.

Ice-clad peaks and fields of snow greeted the eye on every side, with nothing to guide a traveller's course but the sun in the heavens. Two days had pa.s.sed since the men had tasted food. They sought to quench their thirst with lumps of snow, but only made matters worse.

One thing, however, troubled them more than hunger or thirst. Their horses were beginning to fail them, falling exhausted, one after another, in the deep snow; and whenever one of the animals fell, its rider stood by its side, with tears in his eyes, more than half inclined to lie down too and give up the fight. But old Paul would allow no such nonsense. Alternately swearing and coaxing, and calling upon the saints, he spurred on the stragglers, helped to raise a fallen horse where help was of any avail, brought up the reserve horses to take the places of those left behind, and infused fresh courage into all by the mere force of his example.

"Not a man must be lost!" he cried. "We shall soon be at home now."

"Yes, at home in heaven," muttered one weary hussar to another.

The men were scattered over a distance of two miles, Richard taking the lead and breaking a path through the deep snow, while Paul brought up the rear. It was almost a miracle that their strength still held out. Their clothes were frozen stiff, and their swords had become a grievous burden to them. The horses' girths flapped loosely against their sides, their shoes had fallen off, and their hoofs were torn and bruised. And no one could tell when or how or where it would all end.

One last trial was in store for the weary fugitives: in the afternoon a dense snow-storm met them in the face. Should Richard lead his men by any mischance into a ravine that offered no outlet, they would all be lost. Occasional avalanches came sliding down the steep cliffs, threatening to bury men and horses. Yet they did not quite lose heart.

The terrors of their situation had not yet extinguished the spark of hope.

Evening was again approaching when Richard noted that for some time they had been descending. Before long a well-grown fir grove loomed up ahead and proved a grateful asylum to the wanderers. The wind blew through the tree-tops with the sound of some giant organ, but above its tones Richard heard what was the sweetest of music to his ears,--the sound of a woodman's axe. Human beings and human habitations were near. Taking a few of his men, the hussar captain hastened in the direction of the sound, and soon came upon a wood-chopper cutting the branches from a tree he had just felled.

Richard called to him in the Moravian tongue.

"Bless the Lord!" answered the wood-chopper in Hungarian, whereupon the hussars nearly smothered him with kisses and embraces. Then they threw themselves down on their faces in the snow and gave thanks for their deliverance from danger. Yes, blessed be the name of the Lord from everlasting to everlasting!

The wood-chopper told them they were expected in the village yonder, only a short distance down the mountain. Word of their approach had already been brought by the guide, who had left them and hurried on ahead to summon help.

The snow ceased, and as the veil of clouds was drawn aside a view was given of what the hussars had come so far to see,--the fair land of Hungary.

At the base of the mountain lay a little market-town, reached by a winding road up which, with flags and music, a glad procession was now marching to welcome the home-coming hussars. Hearing the band and seeing the banners from afar, Richard and his companions fired their pistols as a signal to their slower comrades, who presently came up with them. All were there,--not a man missing. Dressing their ranks, the hors.e.m.e.n waited to receive the procession. What occurred when it reached them is more than the present generation of readers can be asked to picture to themselves.

A banquet had been spread for the home-coming heroes, and after partaking of it generously, the toil-worn but happy hussars, who had not slept for six nights, danced through the seventh until broad daylight.

All this is no piece of fiction, no picture of the imagination. A young hussar, now a veteran of many wars, wrote it all down in his diary as it occurred, and is to-day ready to take oath that it is every word true as here described.

CHAPTER XVII.

TIMELY AID.

Meanwhile the Hungarian army had advanced to meet the enemy; but being ill officered and poorly drilled, with no experience whatever of actual fighting, it was easily routed. The Austrians had but to sweep the highway with their twelve-pounders, and the opposing centre gave way at once. It was a shameful defeat: all turned tail and ran before the enemy; and when the Congreve rockets were sent, ricochetting, hissing, and spitting fire, to explode among the panic-stricken fugitives, the chaos became complete.

On such trying occasions, one man with his nerves under control is invaluable. odon Baradlay was no soldier, no born tactician, but he possessed that first requisite of success in any calling, self-control. As soon as he saw that the battle was going against his countrymen, although his place was in the rear as commissary-general, he threw himself on his horse and made an attempt to save the day. To rally the fugitives, demoralised as they were by the bursting of sh.e.l.ls on every side, was hopeless. Along the highway he saw advancing a troop of the enemy's cavalry, sweeping everything before it.

"Let us give them something to do," said he to himself, scanning the fleeing troops in quest of a few young men who might respond to his call. "Look here, boys," he shouted, "shall we let the enemy capture all our cannon without our striking a blow?"

A little knot of st.u.r.dy lads paused in their flight at this call. They were only common soldiers, but they shouted to one another: "Let us die for our country!" and therewith faced about against the cavalry that came charging down upon them.

Suddenly help appeared from an unexpected quarter: out of the acacia hedge that lined the highway such a raking fire was opened upon the cavalry that it was thrown into disorder and forced to beat a hasty retreat, leaving the road strewn with its dead and wounded. With loud huzzas there now sprang out from behind the hedge the Death's Head Legion, its leader, the long-legged Mausmann, waving his hat and calling to odon: "Hurrah, patron! That's what we call barricade tactics."

odon welcomed the madcap student who had saluted him as "patron." The German students regarded him as their patron, because he saw to it that they received as good care as the rest of the army, and would not allow his countrymen to put any slight upon them. And they deserved all his kindness, the gallant lads; resolute under fire and always good-humoured, they were ever ready to fight and feared neither death nor the devil,--no, nor Congreve rockets, for that matter. They knew their foe, too, from many a sharp encounter in the past. A hundred such lads were of untold value at a critical moment like the present.

The students and the other volunteers whom odon had rallied around him amounted to about two hundred in all,--a small but determined band.

When the enemy saw that this handful of young men was holding the cavalry in check, they caused their rocket-battery to play upon the little band of patriots. And the lads took it for play indeed.

"Aha, old friend!" cried Mausmann, as a rocket came shrieking through the air. "See, boys, the first has stuck in the mud; up with a whiz and down with a thud! The second there bursts in mid-air; the third comes nearer, but we don't care. Here comes the fourth; its course is straight." (Indeed, the rocket was so well aimed that it landed in their very midst, whereupon Mausmann stepped forward, coolly took it by its stick, although it was spitting fire in an alarming manner, and hurled it into the ditch beside the road, where it exploded harmlessly; then he finished his rhyme.) "It bursts at last; too late, too late!" The young recruits laughed aloud.

Perceiving that their rockets were effecting nothing, the enemy planned another cavalry charge, this time sending a troop of cuira.s.siers to open the road. The little company of patriots drew up, three deep, clear across the highway, and awaited the a.s.sault. During this pause Mausmann started the German student song:

"_Wer kommt dort von der Hoh?_ _Wer kommt dort von der Hoh?_ _Wer kommt dort von der Hoh?_ _Sa sa, ledernen Hoh_-- _Wer kommt dort von der Hoh?_"

His comrades joined in, and then with a loud hurrah they gave the oncoming hors.e.m.e.n a volley from their rifles at twenty paces distance.

Aha! how they broke and turned tail and scampered back, leaving their dead and wounded behind!