The Red, White, and Green Part 47

Halfway through the forest the surgeons had set up an ambulance, and thither we took the general.

"Gorgei?" cried the chief surgeon, when I told him what had occurred.

"Here, Moritz! Take him gently--so. Now let us see. Plenty of blood, at all events. Bring me some water. Open his jacket, Moritz, and see if the heart beats. Yes? That takes a load off my mind. Now to find the wound. Ah! I thought so.--Don't look so scared, Captain Botskay: the general will be all right in a fortnight or so. The blow has made him senseless for a time, but there ought not to be any real danger. I would let the soldiers know, if I were you; 'twill raise their spirits."

I started at once to find General Klapka, and on the way spread the welcome intelligence far and wide.

The men cheered as heartily as if we had gained a brilliant victory; for they looked on Gorgei not only as a general, but as a personal friend, and there were few amongst them who would not willingly have given their lives to save his.

General Klapka was busy directing the retreat, but he found time to question me closely about his wounded chief, and was unaffectedly glad on hearing the surgeon's report.

"Gorgei is just the one man Hungary cannot afford to lose," he said in his mild way, and turned again to his duties.

Having failed to stop the pursuit, the only course open to us now was to fall back upon the entrenched camp before Comorn, and this Klapka at once set about doing.

By nightfall we had completely abandoned the forest of Acz, and the vanguard had taken up a strong position several miles eastward.

I did not see Gorgei again till the last man had turned into the camp at Comorn, as Klapka kept me pretty busy during the march; but I heard from time to time he was progressing favourably, and that the doctors had no doubt of his recovery.

It was strange to see him lying in his tent, his head bandaged, his face white and bloodless, his body still.

"Ah, Botskay!" said he, smiling, when I went in the first time, "I have to thank you. Szondi's been here and told me all about it. Lucky for me that I took you away from Rakoczy, eh?"

"Szondi had as much to do with it as I, general--more, in fact, for he kept the Russians off while I picked you up. There's a trooper, too, who--"

"Klapka saw to him--made him a sergeant. There's your man as well; what of him? Would he like to have the stripes?"

I shook my head smilingly. To be a sergeant, Mecsey would have to leave me, and this I was sure he would not do.

"Never mind!" exclaimed the general. "I'll find some means of doing him a good turn. He's a fine fellow, and not over free with his tongue.

Well, it seems likely you'll soon meet Rakoczy again."

"Is the old regiment coming to join us?" I asked eagerly.

"No," said he; "but we are rapidly making our way back to Pesth," and he looked at me with a faint smile.

"We shall turn westward again soon," I exclaimed; but he shook his head with the air of a man who had no wish to disguise the truth from himself.

The very morning after this conversation a rumour crept through the camp, though no one seemed able to trace its origin, that Field-Marshal Paskewitch, driving Moritz Perczel's troops before him like a flock of sheep, had entered Debreczin in triumph. In the men's presence the truth of the story was contemptuously scouted, but before night the officers of the staff were made aware that for once rumour had not lied.

The great Russian army, under its famous chief, had captured Kossuth's stronghold--the headquarters of Hungarian republicanism.

This was a serious blow, and I did not wonder that our leaders looked grave.

With Paskewitch at Debreczin, and Haynau forcing us back upon Pesth, we were awkwardly placed, the more especially as we could only look to ourselves for help.

But this peril was absolutely trivial compared with the astounding information that Nicholas Szondi brought me one morning. I had been out all night seeking news of the enemy's movements, and was breakfasting alone, when my new crony joined me.

"Glad to see you busy," he said chaffingly.

I finished the steaming coffee made by the worthy Sandor, and nodded.

"General better this morning?" I asked.

"Much. Able to walk about and give directions. Can't ride yet, though; can't stand the jolting. Going to have another smack at the Austrians in a day or two--at least that's what he intended; but I suppose it won't come off now."

"Why not?" I asked curiously.

"Ah!" exclaimed my comrade eagerly, "I thought you hadn't heard the news. Count Beula's in the camp."

"Well?"

"Comes from the Diet, or Kossuth--one and the same thing, I fancy--with a letter or proclamation, or whatever you call it. Expected to find Dembinski here, it appears."

"You make a first-cla.s.s story-teller, Szondi, only you're in such a dreadful hurry to get to the end. Still, the narrative's wonderfully exciting, so far."

"Keep your chaff, old fellow. You'll find the finish exciting enough."

"There is an end then? That's something to be thankful for."

Szondi took no notice of the interruption, but continued steadily,--

"This Count Beula, then, arrived last night, expecting to find the Pole; but of course we knew nothing of Dembinski."

"Not likely."

"He made himself very agreeable, and we had a pleasant evening."

"While I was sitting on my horse's back for hours, like a dummy!"

"Well," said Szondi, without even a smile, "that wouldn't be such hard work--for you."

"Not half as difficult as listening to this story."

"The story? Ah! I'm just coming to the climax. What do you think was in the letter that Beula brought for Dembinski?"

"One of Kossuth's brand-new bank-notes."

"Don't talk rubbish, Botskay. The letter is an official doc.u.ment proclaiming Dembinski commander-in-chief, in succession to Arthur Gorgei, deposed."

"What?"

"Thought you'd get interested at the finish," said he, laughing harshly.

"How have they wrapped it up?"

"You may be sure they've sugared the pill nicely. His wound's the excuse, and he's to be made war minister, or something of that sort."