The Baron's Sons Part 25

"I shall have a look at yours one of these days."

"Will you stop and fight with me?"

"No; while we fought your men would overtake mine."

"They will do that in any case. Do you see yonder line of willows?

Just beyond it lies the March."

"I know that."

"You will be stopped by the river."

"The Danube did not stop us."

This dialogue was carried on very comfortably by the two riders, who were distant from each other only three horse's lengths, an interval which Richard took good care not to let his pursuer diminish.

On reaching the willows that marked the course of the March, the hussars halted.

"See there," cried Palvicz; "your men don't dare take the plunge."

"I'll make them change their minds in a moment," answered the other.

"Are you mad? Both riders and horses will meet their death if you lead them, heated as they are, into the ice-cold water."

"If they meet their death I shall share the same fate."

So saying, Richard put spurs to his horse and galloped forward, Palvicz close at his heels. Presently they came to a stretch of turf where their two n.o.ble steeds had a good footing. Palvicz was only two horse's lengths behind when Richard climbed the willow-covered river-bank. The hussar officer had two seconds to spare. He used one of them to survey the danger from which his men were recoiling. The March was swollen by the autumn rains, and its foaming, turbid waters went racing by in an angry tumult. The next moment he called to his men to follow him, and sprang from the high bank into the flood, while his pursuer drew rein with a cry of astonishment. An instant later horse and rider came again to the surface of the water, which had closed foaming over their heads, and Richard called to his enemy with a laugh: "Now follow me if you can!"

At that the whole squadron of hussars plunged with a deafening shout into the boiling current, and followed their leader. Otto Palvicz stood looking at them in amazement as they battled with the waves and perhaps he was even moved with fear lest the gallant band should come to grief. But they all, to a man, gained the farther bank, unharmed by their icy bath; they were rather refreshed and invigorated by it. The cuira.s.siers, however, did not venture after them. Their leader was forced to desist from further pursuit.

"We shall meet again, Baradlay," he shouted across the river.

"All right; any time you please," returned Richard.

Dripping water at every step, and soaked to the skin, the hussars continued their journey. It was well for them that they did not pause even for a breathing-spell in their wet condition: the cold autumn air would have served them an ill turn had they done so.

A meadow lay before them, in which the horses sank to their fetlocks in the mud. Yet it was a matter of stern necessity to push on. Both the leader and his followers knew that unless men and horses found food and shelter that night, they would all be likely to perish. For two days and nights they had not closed their eyes, and a good night's sleep, with one full meal, seemed indispensable if they were to gain strength for what yet lay before them.

"If the good G.o.d would only lead us to a village!" was the prayer of many a young hussar. But their prayers met with an ill response. They had prayed for some snug little village, and they came to a city instead. Gaining a hilltop, they suddenly beheld in the valley before them a pretty town with six church-spires. Their prayer had been more than answered. The town was girt with a wall, after the old German custom, and it seemed unwise to trust themselves within its embrace. A road led around it, to be sure, but was commanded by a high-walled building that looked, to the experienced eye, suspiciously like cavalry barracks. A reconnoissance seemed hazardous where every eye was on the watch for the fugitives; therefore, they were forced to retire to the woods they had just left, and wait for night. Yet they feared to tarry too long, well knowing that Palvicz would send a messenger across the river by boat to notify the garrison commander of their presence in the neighbourhood.

At nightfall the uncertainty of the hussars was dispelled. A bugle sounded its familiar note from the barracks, and the horses p.r.i.c.ked up their ears. That well-known "trarara trarara" had always meant to them that their masters were bringing oats for the night and spreading straw for their beds. But no such good luck this time. The fanfare was heard four times,--once at each corner of the wall,--and when the trumpets became silent a roll of drums followed. All this indicated to the listeners that troops were quartered in the town.

To make a detour and avoid both town and barracks was impossible; horses and riders would have perished in the swamp. But go on they must in some way; it was out of the question to bivouac in the open air that cold autumn night. Yet which way were they to turn?

Possibly the reader may wonder that two hundred and twenty Hungarian hussars, those centaurs of modern mythology, should have even stopped to ask such a question, so long as they held their good swords in their hands. But consider, dear reader, that these hussars had not slept for two nights, or eaten anything since the preceding day; that their horses were worn out, their clothes wet through, and their limbs chilled and stiffened by the autumn frost. Military men know only too well how many battles have been lost because of empty stomachs. Many a brave army that has marched out as if to subdue the world has been routed in the end by a despised and inferior enemy, simply because the latter had eaten a good dinner before the battle and the other side had not.

At last help came from an unexpected source,--from that cold and penetrating dampness of which the s.h.i.+vering riders were so bitterly complaining. Such a dense mist arose and spread over the landscape that one could not see twenty steps ahead.

"Now, boys," said Captain Baradlay, turning with satisfaction to his men, "we will play a capital joke on yonder good people. Let every man tear up his saddle-cloth and bind his horse's hoofs with the rags; then we will start."

The men soon guessed his plan, and in a few minutes were ready for further orders. They left the woods and rode silently along the highway, unable to see ahead, but each man following his nose. Not a soul was abroad at that time of night, all good citizens being long since in bed and asleep.

Suddenly the night watch called the hour,--eleven; and then a lantern appeared and seemed to be drawing nearer. Advancing until they were within fifty paces of this light, they halted, and then the watchman called again: "Eleven o'clock and all's well!" If he saw the silent riders, he took them for ghosts wending their noiseless way through the mist. Here and there they pa.s.sed a window that showed a candle still burning. The dogs bayed at the mysteriously moving forms, and the riders greatly feared the people would be aroused by their barking. The critical moment, however, was yet to come. Where the main street left the town stood a little building for the receipt of customs, and here, too, it was but natural to expect a guard. That one was there soon became evident. When the hussars had approached within a few hundred paces of the spot, they heard the signal for changing the watch, followed by the sound of approaching cavalry.

"It must be a whole troop," muttered Paul, as the steps drew near.

"They are coming straight toward us," whispered Richard. "Draw your swords!"

There seemed no other course left them but to fight their way through.

The advancing hors.e.m.e.n, however, were presently heard to turn aside and pa.s.s down another street. The danger was averted.

Richard now led his men forward in silence, and the whole squadron rode through the gateway and out of the town under the very nose of the sentry, who doubtless mistook the hussars in the darkness and mist for his own comrades. Their number must have caused him some surprise; but by the time his suspicions were communicated to the sergeant-major, two hours later, and the matter reported to the commandant an hour after that, Richard and his men were far on their way.

"Now, my lads," said Richard, when that danger was safely past, "you may light your pipes and undo the rags from your horses' hoofs."

The success of the ruse had put his men in the best of humours, and even the horses seemed to share their riders' feelings; for they struck out with as much spirit as if they had but just left their stalls. The firm highway was such a relief to the riders, after struggling through bogs and marshes, that they made good progress. At length the road led up into the mountains, and when the sun rose they saw before them, as the mist rolled away, the lofty peaks of the Carpathians, beyond which lay home and friends.

A mountain hamlet received the weary riders with friendly, welcome and sympathy. Old and young, men and women, all had a kind word for them, and hastened to throw open their houses and their granaries. The horses were soon standing knee-deep in hay, while the peasants lent their aid in shoeing such as needed to be shod, and in mending broken harness. All that the good people had--and they were not people of much means--was placed before the hungry men for their refreshment.

"Ah, this will be a different kind of dinner from yesterday's," said one hussar to another, as they watched the preparations. But their exultation was premature. Before the baking and boiling were half done, the outposts came galloping in, shouting that the pursuers were in sight.

The soldiers whom the hussars had so cunningly tricked the night before were now bent on getting even with them. Infantry in wagons, and a troop of cavalry riding ahead, were making the best of their way after the fugitives. Nor, indeed, was it any remarkable achievement to overtake the weary hussars on their worn-out horses.

Again the order was given to mount and away. The men were disposed to grumble.

"Let us stay where we are and fight it out," they cried. "We'll either beat them back, or fall in our tracks."

Indeed, there seemed at first no choice in the matter. The cavalry was upon them in the rear, while the infantry was making a detour, in order to lie in ambush in a grove just beyond the village, where they would try to check the farther flight of the deserters. In all probability the enemy would reach the grove before the hussars, as the latter had their horses still to saddle.

Meanwhile Richard had made a hasty reconnoissance. To fight their way through the infantry in front would, he felt convinced, result in heavy loss to his men, while the cavalry in their rear would be constantly hara.s.sing them until they were entirely destroyed. Not a single hussar would live to see his home. Such a needless sacrifice was to be avoided if possible. One other way was open,--a steep path leading up the mountainside toward its snow-capped summit.

"Is there a path over the mountain, and can we get a guide to show us the way?" asked Richard, of an old shepherd.

"There is a path," he replied, "and if you wish I will show you the way until I can hand you over to another guide. You need fear no pursuit, if you choose that path, but you are likely to perish of hunger."

"We'll try it, nevertheless," returned Richard.

The men were mounted by this time, and drawn up, sword in hand. The order was given to sheath their swords and right wheel.

"Where are we going?" cried the hussars, in a storm of disapproval.

"Up the mountainside? We will go to h.e.l.l first!"

Richard drew his pistols. "Whoever has forgotten his oath had best commit his soul to G.o.d," said he sternly. The angry murmurs were hushed. "Those who still have faith in me will follow. I am going ahead."

The swords went rattling into their scabbards. The guide, equipped with alpenstock and climbing irons, led the way, Richard followed him, and the hussars came trailing behind, with old Paul as rear guard.

The enemy, after waiting an hour for the fugitives to make a sally from the village, pulled some very long faces when they caught sight of them, high up on the mountainside, following in single file a steep path along the face of the cliff. Never before had horse's hoof trodden that perilous path; it was so narrow that both steed and rider were in constant danger of being hurled into the mountain stream that ran foaming a hundred fathoms below. One false step or an attack of giddiness would have been fatal.