The Red, White, and Green Part 10

"They're on the ramparts and at the gates. They'll stay till the surrender is formally completed."

Several men in blouses heard the word "surrender," and immediately shouted, "No surrender! Down with the Hapsburg butchers! Long live the brave Hungarians!"

On all sides the cries were repeated, and we, more astonished than ever, ran on quickly.

The Place of St. Stephen's appeared to be the rendezvous, where a wildly-excited mob had gathered round the n.o.ble cathedral. A cheer rose from the surging ma.s.s as a young man, mounting above the heads of his fellows, read out the contents of a billet sent down from the summit of the tower by Messenhauser.

We were too far off to hear the exact words, but they were to the effect that the Austrians were being attacked.

The thoughts of every one immediately flew to the Hungarians, and shouts of "Long live Hungary!" once more rent the air. A light cloud of annoyance spread over Rakoczy's face.

"That's no soldier's doing," he said. "No one but an imbecile would pit our raw recruits against an army of veterans."

The Viennese thought differently; and when, two hours later, a second bulletin was issued, stating that the Hungarians were advancing, the citizens became wild with joy.

The capitulation was forgotten; flags were waved, cannon discharged, and paeans of victory sung.

Stephen and I talked largely of Hungarian prowess, and of what our countrymen could do; Rakoczy smiled and said nothing, which showed his wisdom.

The fight had drawn nearer; the insurgents were cannonading the imperialists from the ramparts with their long-range guns; we stood in the Place of St. Stephen's, and gazed eagerly at the summit of the tower.

Suddenly a great stillness fell on the crowd. By what mysterious means the knowledge of the evil news spread from the mind of one man to another I cannot say, but certain it is the cheers and flag-waving stopped before the vast majority of the crowd even knew that Messenhauser had sent down his third note.

A yell of rage and disappointment greeted the reading of the message.

Rakoczy's good sense had proved superior to our boasting: the Hungarians were in full retreat.

The news produced a startling effect on the Viennese. Obedience to any power came to an end; the reign of disorder began.

Shops were looted and private residences sacked; furniture was thrown into the streets, and the owners were a.s.saulted; the town went mad.

I thought of the Baroness von Arnstein and her pretty daughter; and Rakoczy, guessing at the cause of my gloomy face, proposed that we should go round to their house.

"Von Arnstein is known to be with the army," he said, "and it is just possible the worthy citizens may wreak their vengeance on his family."

We found the ladies at home, and very glad they were to see us.

In spite of her pride, the elder lady showed signs of fear--not so much, I think, on her own account as on her daughter's.

"This is terrible," she said, "and just as we hoped the mischief was at an end. Your countrymen have much to answer for, mein Herr."

"Nay," replied Stephen, to whom she spoke. "The Hungarians fight against men; they do not attack women and children."

"But," said the young girl, "the rebels acted very unfairly in firing on the soldiers this morning."

"And unwisely, too," answered Rakoczy. "They are in a worse position now than they were before. They are bound to capitulate within a few hours."

"Meanwhile," said I, blus.h.i.+ng boyishly, "if agreeable to you, we propose to remain here till the danger is over."

The baroness thanked us warmly for what she was pleased to call our chivalrous conduct, while the fraulein's eyes spoke as eloquently as her mother's lips.

"My servants are well armed," the elder lady continued, "and Franz is a host in himself, but we shall certainly feel more secure, knowing you are with us. Yet how strange it is that we should be relying on the services of three Hungarian gentlemen!"

"Really," exclaimed the fraulein with a merry laugh, "we ought rather to be afraid of you. But why do your people quarrel with us, and drive away our poor emperor?"

Rakoczy drew out a locket, which hung round his neck by a fine gold chain.

"Do you recognize that picture?" he asked, releasing the spring.

"Why, it is the emperor himself."

"It is also the King of Hungary, for whom thousands of Hungarians would lay down their lives."

The girl knitted her brows, as if trying to solve some knotty problem.

"I don't understand," she said. "You fight against the emperor, yet you profess great devotion to the King of Hungary, who is the same person."

"Yet it is very simple. The Magyar's first love is for his country, his second for the king. Now, as emperor, Ferdinand has taken away our rights, which we must have back. When we get them, no king will have more loyal subjects than Ferdinand."

"But I understood you were all republicans," said the baroness.

"We are royalists, madam," replied Stephen.

"Who will fight for a republic. That is what Kossuth wants. We know here what the pulling of the wires will lead to. If your countrymen succeed in this war, they will become the subjects, not of King Ferdinand, but of Dictator Kossuth."

"Listen!" I exclaimed. "The street is filled with people."

The windows in the lower part of the house were already secured by heavy wooden shutters, and now we heard Franz barring the door at the main entrance.

Rakoczy and Stephen ran to aid the servants in case of need, while I stayed with the ladies.

I suggested it would be well to draw the curtains, but the baroness would not consent, so we sat looking down into the street.

The people did not appear to have any wish to do harm. They pa.s.sed along singing, and waving flags, and many were already out of sight when some one raised a cry of "Von Arnstein." At the sound of that name the others stopped, and quickly collecting in front of the house, began in loud tones to abuse the absent n.o.ble.

The baroness gave an expressive little shrug of the shoulders.

"What poltroons!" she exclaimed contemptuously. "If my husband were here they would run like a flock of frightened sheep."

With this remark I could scarcely agree; nevertheless I had sufficient wisdom to keep my doubts to myself.

I looked at the fraulein. Her face was pale, but she was perfectly cool and collected; as she said afterwards, a soldier's daughter must learn to face danger.

"It's only a street brawl," I said. "They will get tired soon and go away."

But it is always difficult to reckon on what a mob will do, and this was a case in point.

The words had hardly left my lips, when a man, wearied perhaps of shouting, varied his pastime by aiming a stroke at the door with a heavy hatchet.