Chapter V: Arrested

We were, as I have mentioned, being pushed steadily back, and the mob had begun to cheer, when a disturbance arose near the doorway, and a man, elbowing his way to the front, demanded angrily that the conflict should cease.

At the sound of his voice many of the rioters fell back sullenly; and the rest, being thus deserted by their companions, were compelled to follow, though not without angry cries and mutterings.

The newcomer, taking his stand directly below us, faced the mob, and in a sensible speech urged them to withdraw. The man was evidently well known to his hearers, and it was plain that he possessed considerable influence.

At first they seemed half inclined to resent his interference, but by a skilful mixture of flattery and firmness he finally succeeded in getting them to disperse.

Then he turned to us with graceful courtesy, and I recognized the handsome young fellow who had so opportunely come to our assistance outside the hotel of the minister of war.

However, before he had time to speak, we were joined by the ladies, who had watched the progress of the fight from the stair-head.

The young fellow removed his cap, and bowed deferentially, almost to the ground.

"I am happy," he began with a stammer, very different from his former fluent speech, "to be of service to the Baroness von Arnstein and her daughter."

The elder lady looked at him in scorn, and said coldly, "Your ragamuffins have much to answer for, Captain von Theyer."

"And as for the service," exclaimed Theresa, "but for these gallant gentlemen who have now twice defended me against my own countrymen, it would be far too late."

"Were you in your right place, you would be outside, not inside, the walls of Vienna," the baroness said with a marked sneer.

"I have done what I believed to be my duty," the young man replied humbly, "and my influence has always been used on the side of mercy. This very night I am trying to arrange conditions for the entry of the emperor's troops."

"Conditions!" cried the baroness scornfully; "Windischgratz will make no terms with the rebels!"

"The night grows late," said Theresa, making him a mock curtsy, "and we have yet to repair the mischief done by your friends."

I was sorry to see the humiliation put upon this blue-eyed young fellow; and though it was no concern of mine, I felt relieved when, with a confused apology for the excesses committed by the rioters, he took his leave.

Besides, it was necessary to set Franz's arm, and Stephen also required attention, though happily he was not seriously hurt.

The servants, who during the fight had left us in the lurch, now came forward to help.

While one went to fetch a surgeon, others temporarily refixed the shattered door, and washed the blood-stains from the stairs.

Rakoczy bound the arm of the valiant Franz, who, after receiving the thanks and praises of the ladies, was taken to his room.

We persuaded Stephen to lie down on a couch, where the baroness herself washed his wounds, while Theresa prepared a cooling drink for him.

As soon as the surgeon had paid his visit, the ladies retired, and Rakoczy and I took it upon ourselves to watch through the remainder of the night.

We did not think it likely that the rioters would return; still it was possible, and we resolved upon leaving nothing to chance.

My brother, weakened by loss of blood, had fallen asleep; the servants, with the exception of two posted as guards over the broken door, had gone to bed; the house was quite still.

Rakoczy walked to and fro very softly, so as not to disturb Stephen, and I stood at one of the windows thinking of the yellow-haired fraeulein and the dashing young leader of the insurgents.

The hours dragged by very slowly, but daylight came at last, and I immediately sent one of the servants into the streets for news.

He returned in about an hour, smiling and well pleased. The city was perfectly quiet, he said. There were no signs of fighting; the insurgents had once more submitted, and in a short time the National Guards were to give up their arms to the imperialists.

With this information we joined the ladies at breakfast, Stephen looking rather pale but not seriously ill, and the rest of us little the worse for the night's adventure.

Franz, too, was doing well, and the knowledge of the capitulation relieved the mind of our hostess from further fear.

We were still sitting at table talking over the events of the brief revolution, when the loud report of a cannon caused us to spring to our feet.

The baroness asked to have a window opened, and a white-faced servant obeyed with trembling fingers.

"Surely I hear the great bell of St. Stephen's?" exclaimed our hostess in astonishment.

"Yes, madam," said Rakoczy; "the tocsin is certainly sounding."

"The people have broken faith again," said she. "I wonder the prince stoops to treat with them."

"If you will permit me," said Rakoczy, "I will find out what is happening, and bring you a report. My friends will stay with you in case there should be danger."

This proposal was agreed to, and as soon as he had gone we moved to the back part of the building, from which the southern part of the city could be seen.

It was plain that the terrible struggle had recommenced. To the clanging of the great bell were added the sharp fire of musketry, the heavier booming of the cannon, and the shouts of the combatants.

Suddenly, from the direction of the imperial stables, came a flight of shells and a line of fiery rockets, which fell hissing and sputtering on the doomed houses.

It seemed as if the horrors of the twenty-eighth were to be repeated. The flames from the burning buildings illumined the sky in several different parts of the town, and we anxiously awaited the return of Rakoczy to learn the reason for these strange doings.

It was one o'clock when he came back, and by that time the firing had ceased.

"It is all over now," he said. "The imperialists are in possession of the gates, and are disarming the National Guard. This last fight was a mistake. The leaders gave no orders for it; but the people grew excited, said they were betrayed, and, rushing to St. Stephen's, sounded the tocsin. Of course that set all the hot heads in motion, and very soon they were at their posts on the barricades and the bastions. Windischgratz replied promptly, as you would observe, and the magistrates, hoping to stop such a senseless fight, took the keys of the city to him on the glacis. The troops are working hard to put out the fires, and I think the Viennese have seen the last of their insurrection."

"It will be rather awkward for the leaders," I remarked, thinking of the handsome young captain.

"They are like eels," said the baroness spitefully, "and will manage to wriggle out of it."

"If they are half as clever as Captain von Theyer, they will be in no danger," exclaimed Theresa. "He will persuade his judges that everything he has done has been for the emperor."

"A tongue of silver is a very good gift, sometimes," observed Rakoczy.

"I should think a steel blade would be of more importance to a soldier," retorted Stephen.

"It cannot do half as much mischief!" cried Theresa merrily. "But, are you going?" for my brother had risen.

"It is necessary," he answered, with the quiet, half-pathetic smile peculiar to him. "You do not need us longer; your friends are at hand. We, on the contrary, have to seek ours."

"Which means you are about to join the ranks of our enemies?"

"We are Hungarians, and should be disgraced if we stood idly by while our countrymen fought for liberty."

"I suppose you are right," said the baroness; "but it is a great pity. However, I hope the conflict will be short; and though I must wish for the success of my own side, I trust that God, who watches over each of us, will bring you safely through the fight."

"We shall never forget what you have done for us," said Theresa softly, and her proud eyes strongly suggested tears.

We wished them good-bye; and even when in the street I, for one, looked back to catch a last glimpse of the pretty fraeulein as she waved her hand from the window in farewell.

"And now for Hungary!" cried "The Joyous," "though I fear we must travel afoot: horses are not to be had for love or money."

"We can walk," replied my brother. "I have had more than enough of Vienna."

"I believe George is sorry at leaving the pretty Austrian."

"And her mother," I added, trying to make a laugh of it.

At this "The Joyous" smiled, saying I was a hypocrite, and that it would be well to take me away with all speed.

The streets were filled with soldiers, both Croats and Austrians, so we felt little surprised at finding a party of the latter drawn up near the house in which we lodged.

There were two or three trifling articles belonging to us in our rooms; so, while Stephen settled accounts with the proprietor, Rakoczy and I ran upstairs. My brother shortly rejoined us, the things were packed in a small handbag, and we were ready to depart, when some one knocked at the door.

"Come in!" cried I briskly, and an officer in the Austrian service entered.

"I extremely regret my errand," said he pleasantly; "but duty is duty, and you must consider yourselves my prisoners. Feeling sure you would not care to make a scene, I have left my men in the street. You have simply to give your parole not to attempt an escape, and I shall not use force."

"Very kind of you!" exclaimed Rakoczy. "But isn't there some mistake?"

The officer took a paper from his pocket.

"Stephen and George Botskay and John Rakoczy," he said, and proceeded to read descriptions of our persons--accurate, indeed, but expressed in very flattering language.

"Come!" laughed "The Joyous;" "after that it will be uncivil to refuse our parole."

"And quite useless," I added in Hungarian. "If we escaped the officer, we could not leave the city."

"What do you say, Stephen?"

"Surrender is a poor way of beginning a fight."

"So it is!" laughed our companion; "but, as your brother remarked, we can't help ourselves. The question is, Shall we walk to prison as gentlemen, or be dragged there as criminals? So, by your leave, I'll take advantage, in all our names, of the offer we have received."

Our captor, who was certainly a very polished gentleman, did all he could to soften the blow.

Very few people noticed us as we walked towards the infantry barracks, where we were to be detained till further orders.

The officer did not know the reason of our arrest; but he assured us the victors were acting mercifully, and, unless our fault had been extremely grave, we need not fear.

At the barracks the soldiers offered us no indignities, which was in striking contrast with their treatment of some students brought in at the same time, whom they loaded with abuse and even struck.

They looked on these enthusiastic youths as the authors of all the mischief, and to a certain extent they were doubtless right.

Our prison was a small, square room with whitewashed walls, bare of furniture, but having benches round the sides.

"Well," said I in disgust, "what are we to do now?"

"Go to sleep, and dream we are in Pesth," replied Rakoczy, lying down on one of the benches.

Stephen paced backward and forward restlessly.

"I don't understand it at all," he observed. "Why have they arrested us? What can we be charged with?"

"Depends upon who our accusers are," answered Rakoczy. "It is plain that some kind friend has denounced us by name to the Austrian general."

At once I thought of Count Beula, but John shook his head.

"I think not. The count owes us a grudge, but he will pay his debt in Hungary, not here. My idea points to a different man altogether--a clever and unscrupulous fellow, who has no wish to see an Austro-Hungarian alliance."

He looked meaningly at Stephen, who nodded.

"Don't speak in riddles!" I exclaimed irritably. "Tell me in plain words what you think!"

He clapped me on the back, and after indulging in a little good-humoured chaff, explained that in his opinion we owed our arrest to Captain von Theyer.

"It's this way," he continued, laughing at my surprised looks. "There's no doubt that the captain cares a good deal for the pretty Theresa. It is equally certain that he has no friend in the baroness."

"Well?" I said.

"Don't be impatient. I'm coming to the point. Had this insurrection proved successful, Von Theyer would now be a very important person, and his influence worth securing, even by the powerful Baroness von Arnstein. Unluckily for him, it has fizzled out like a damp squib; so he has seized the first opportunity of making his peace with the victors."

"What has that to do with us?"

"Much. For one thing, he thus shows his zeal in the cause of the imperialists. In the second place, he would not be too pleased at finding how friendly we had become with the fraeulein."

"Do you mean the fellow is jealous of us?" I said, blushing crimson.

"Of me," replied Rakoczy, curling his moustache and looking very grave.

I half suspected he was quizzing me, but could not feel quite certain, till I caught him winking at Stephen, when they both laughed.

"The jest won't prove quite so pleasant if we're locked up till the end of the war," I said; but of that Rakoczy had no fear.

However, we had spent several tedious days in our temporary prison, when one morning a party of soldiers came to escort us to the general, who was inspecting the barracks.

Prince Windischgratz, attended by several members of his staff, was in a room in the officers' quarters.

He was a noble-looking old man, dressed in full uniform, with his breast covered by medals and ribbons--mementoes of many hard-fought campaigns. His face was mild and humane, but the firm chin and the latent fire in his eyes showed that he could be severe when necessary.

Addressing us in a mild voice, he asked us how it happened that we were found in Vienna with arms in our hands.

Rakoczy was about to reply when Stephen forestalled him, which I regretted, as my brother was not remarkable for the calmness of his language.

"Before answering that question," he said hotly, "we have a right to know by whose authority three peaceable travellers have been arrested like criminals, and deprived of their liberty."

Several of the officers uttered angry exclamations, but the prince smiled good-naturedly.

"There is some difference between peaceful travellers and armed rebels," said he; "and you are suspected of being the latter."

"It is false!" retorted my brother flatly.

"Appearances are against you. You were seen at the bridge of Tabor, and at least one of you is supposed to have joined in the disgraceful murder of the noble Count Latour."

"Hungarians are not assassins," said Stephen coldly.

"The friends of Count Lamberg speak differently," interrupted one of the officers with a bitter sneer.

"You are ungenerous, sir, to taunt the Hungarian nation with the crime of a handful of ragamuffins," I said.

"Yes, yes," exclaimed the prince; "but that is not the point. Can you deny the charges made against you?"

Stephen glanced round him indifferently; he would not deign to answer, and I followed his example.

Rakoczy, however, still smiling and confident, spoke for all.

"You have asked a question, prince," he said, "and you shall have a reply, though it may not be to the liking of some of these gentlemen. We were all three present at the attack on the bridge, and when your general fell, I by main force prevented my friend Stephen Botskay from throwing himself single-handed against the rebels. As to the murder of Count Latour, George Botskay risked his life time and again to save him, not from Hungarians, but from Austrians. Do you see this wound?" and he bared his arm. "That was done by an Austrian pike. Would you know why that gallant lad's head is swathed in bandages? Ask your fellow-countrymen, prince. The answer will show you that not Hungary alone harbours assassins."

"Talk is cheap," sneered the officer who had spoken before. "Why, that very fellow was at the first barricade in the Prater!"

"Is that so?" asked the prince.

"Yes," said Rakoczy simply; "I was there."

"Which many a poor fellow had reason to be thankful for," I interrupted. "More than one man in your ranks to-day owes his life to John Rakoczy's bravery."

"At this rate, your highness, it will soon appear that the town was captured by these heroes," chuckled a grizzled veteran.

I concluded that the speaker was of high rank, as every one laughed at his remark, as if he had said something witty.

They were still enjoying the joke when the door opened and another officer entered the room.

He was a man past the prime of life, with grey hair and white moustaches, but alert, strong, and vigorous. His sight was keen, his bearing martial, and the deep scars of two wounds long since healed bore witness to his courage as a soldier.

His entrance attracted notice, and the prince himself stepped forward to greet him.

The others withdrew a little way, leaving the two chiefs together, and they immediately began talking very earnestly. From time to time they both looked at us, and gradually a pleasant smile spread over the prince's face.

At length the conversation was finished, and the prince, turning to his staff, said,--

"Gentlemen, we owe these brave Hungarians an apology for our suspicions. Instead of aiding the rebels, they have acted in a very noble manner, and to them Baron von Arnstein is indebted for the lives of his wife and daughter.--Baron, these gentlemen are no longer our prisoners; I wish they could be counted amongst our friends."

"That would follow naturally," said Rakoczy, "if every Austrian were a Prince Windischgratz."

"I cannot accept the compliment; it would be unfair to my brave colleagues," the general replied. "However, I can thank you all three for your generous behaviour, which I do most heartily."

We replied in the same spirit, and, accompanied by Baron von Arnstein, left the room.

That nobleman could with difficulty restrain his emotion; he thanked us twenty times while crossing the barrack square, and urged us repeatedly to return home with him. I should have liked this famously; but Stephen was anxious to leave the city, and I did not wish to thwart him.

Accordingly, after our weapons were restored, it was agreed that the baron should conduct us through the Austrian lines. He had only heard of his daughter's rescue that morning, and, knowing there were three prisoners bearing the same names as those mentioned by his wife, had immediately hurried off to Prince Windischgratz.

"I do not ask where you are going," he said, as we passed through the city gate into the ruined suburb, "but I could wish that your steps pointed westward rather than to the east."

"Perhaps it will be as well not to tell you," replied Rakoczy with a smile; "but if ever you need a friend in the Hungarian army, let one of us know."

"It is a terrible business, but we at least must not quarrel. Still, I cannot understand why you and gallant lads like these should be so eager to fight for a republic. I should have thought you were royalists to the backbone."

"So we are," said Stephen promptly. "Royalists and loyalists too, if the emperor will but grant our rights."

"What do you think, then, would happen, if by any means the war should end in your favour?"

"We should force the emperor to restore our constitution, and then return to our allegiance."

"Shake hands all round," said Rakoczy genially.

The baron shook his head.

"Pardon me," he said; "but I am getting an old man, and years bring experience. You deceive yourselves, or rather, have had dust thrown in your eyes. Kossuth and his friends are not fighting for a restored constitution, but to make Hungary a republic. Victory on your side will mean an exchange of Ferdinand the king for Kossuth the dictator."

"Then," exclaimed Stephen sternly, "defeat will be more welcome than victory, for, if what you say be true, the land will swim in blood. Here are three royalists whose forefathers drew the sword for Maria Theresa, and there are scores of thousands like us."

"You will hear our armies join battle to the cry of 'Long live Hungary and King Ferdinand!'" said Rakoczy. "We don't want a republic."

This talk of the baron's, so like what we had before heard, set us thinking, and it was in rather a sad humour that we crossed the Austrian or rather imperialist camp.

The baron saw us in safety to the farthest outpost, where we stopped to wish him farewell.

"Good-bye," he said kindly. "I cannot pretend to hope your armies will prove successful, but from my heart I wish you personally good-luck in your venture. Our people will do you no harm, except to make prisoners of you; but mind the Croats--they are rather bloodthirsty, and not over well disciplined."

We thanked him for his advice, sent back a friendly message to his wife and daughter, and then set out on our journey.

"A fine fellow," remarked Rakoczy, throwing a glance back. "I hope we shall never meet him in a charge."