Chapter I (2)

The two-fold darkness of the night and the fog was still more increased by the deep shades of the forest. The wind of autumn whistled among the dry leaves, and moaned in the upper air like a deep sigh of unspeakable woe. The hoarse croak of the raven broke the stillness at intervals, and the birds that lived in the forest awoke and flapped their heavy wings. Viola stood in the doorway of the hut. His soul was sorrowful, even unto death. The night, the silence, the loneliness of the place, the companions of his exile, all contributed to add to his grief. He thought of the days of his happiness. When the work in the field was over, when the long winter nights came on, he used to sit by his own fireside, fondling his boy on his knee, and gazing on Susi, who moved her spindle with untiring zeal. What though mists covered the land, hiding the manor-house, the huts, the church, and the banks of the Theiss,--he cared not. The powers of Nature cannot affect the happiness in man's heart: it is man alone who can destroy it. And his happiness was destroyed. "I was humble and inoffensive," said he; "and yet they did not spare me. I did my duty; indeed, I did more than my duty. I obeyed when they commanded; I took my hat off when I met them; I fawned upon them like a dog; I would have kissed their feet, to induce them to leave Susi and my child alone, to leave my house alone, and yet----" Viola remembered again all the insults he had suffered. He recollected how they would have forced him to leave his wife in her hour of sorrow; how they dragged him through the village; how Skinner gave orders to tie him to the whipping-post; how he seized the axe, and turned its edge against the head of a fellow-creature; and how the blood filled him with horror. He raised his hands to heaven.

"No!" cried he; "may God have mercy on me! but, whatever I may have done, I cannot repent it. If I were to live it over again, if I were to see them standing round me, and laughing and sneering, and if I were to see the axe,--I'd seize it again, and woe to the man that should come near me! But you, whom I never did any harm to!--you, who were the cause of my ruin!--you, who have caused my wife and children to beg their bread!--you, who made me a robber, who hunted me, who compelled me to herd with the beasts of the forest!--you, whose doings damn me in this world and in the next,--you, attorney! and you, judge! take care of yourselves: as surely as there is a God in heaven I'll have my revenge, and a bloody revenge too!----"

At that moment there was a rustling in the wood. Viola leaned forward, and listened. The noise was as of the approach of men. There was a rustling of the dry leaves, a cracking of the branches; the ravens flew up from the trees. "Who can it be?" thought Viola. "Peti, perhaps, and the Gulyash; but how should they come from the St. Vilmosh side?"

A similar noise of approaching steps was now heard from the other side of the forest. "These are the steps of many men," said Viola; "they are in search of me." The very next moment he was fully convinced of it, for the low murmur of many voices was heard in the stillness of the night. Viola, rushing back into the hut, locked the door, and waked the butcher by giving him a kick.

"Did I not tell you so?" said the old robber, getting up, and seizing a double-barrelled gun; "and there the fellow lies! he's as drunk as David's sow."

Ratz Andor was wrong. The poor fellow, who bore his kick with the forbearance of an angel, grew quite sober when they told him of the approach of the enemy. "Is there no means of escape?" whispered he.

"We are surrounded!" said Viola. "If there are not too many of them, we are safe. Are the guns and pistols loaded?"

"They are; four double-barrelled guns, and six pistols. Let them come on! we'll give them their supper." We need scarcely remark that it was Ratz Andor who said these words.

"Light the lamp. Put it into a corner, that it may not be seen from without. Throw ashes on the fire!"

The butcher obeyed tremblingly.

"Now, Ratz, you and I, we'll stand by the two cuttings in the door. You, butcher, look to the sides; and if anybody comes up to the house, you'd better shoot him. You can have a shot at either side. But don't allow any of the rascals to put their guns through the cuttings. Cheer up, boy, you are safe enough!"

Viola and Andor, gun in hand, stood by the door, keeping a look out through the small cuttings, or loop-holes, by which the walls of the building were pierced. The butcher walked to and fro in the background. He trembled violently, and vowed reformation if he could only manage to escape with his life.

"The birds are roosting!" cried a loud shrill voice, which evidently proceeded from Mr. Skinner. "They are there! I see a light in the hut. Is it surrounded on all sides?"

Forty or fifty voices, which answered to this call, informed the robbers that there was no chance of escape. The butcher knelt down, and made the sign of the cross.

"You dog! I'll shoot you!" said Ratz Andor. "Stand up, and be a man. Stand by your cutting, and let fly at them!" The butcher obeyed.

"Robbers, I call on you to surrender!" cried Mr. Skinner. "If you refuse to surrender on this summons of the county, you are liable to be tried by court-martial."

All was silent in the hut, and the justice gave the word of command.

"At them, you rascals! Break the door. At them!"

A rush was made against the door; but before the axes of the assailants could touch it, the report of two muskets was heard. Two Pandurs fell; the rest retreated; and Ratz Andor shouted from the hut: "Come on!"

At that moment the butcher likewise fired his piece. He too brought down one of the judge's men. This frightened the besiegers, who turned and fled. They paused for a time. The robbers reloaded their muskets, while the besiegers assembled round Mr. Skinner and the inspector. Mr. Catspaw, with a modesty which did him infinite credit, kept at a distance.

"I don't see how we _can_ catch them," said the inspector, leaning on his broad sabre, which had done good service in the insurrection of 1809, and of which the blade, which bore the mark of "Fringia," could not have been in better hands.

"Make another onset, and another and another!" cried the justice, stamping his foot. "Don't leave off until you've got them, the rascals, and bound them and hanged them!"

"I'll do it, if it can be done!"

"_Can_ be done? There is nothing but _can_ be done when I command!"

"Very well!" said the inspector, angrily. "It won't be _my_ fault if it is not done. I'll stick to the mark any day if your men don't turn tail."

"If the fellows don't go, they are dogs and cowards! Knock them down, and be----"

"Well, sir, all I can say is, you'd better lead them to the charge, and knock them down at your liking, I'm not made for that sort of thing."

"No, sir!" said Mr. Skinner, doggedly. "That's not my post. It is my duty to superintend and conduct the affair."

"You're a--never mind! Go at them, my men!" shouted the inspector. The justice repeated the words of command with a still louder tone; and Mr. Catspaw's shrill voice was heard echoing the words from behind a distant oak. The inspector, flourishing his sword, and followed by the Pandurs and peasants, advanced towards the hut, but they were again fired at from within. The report of the muskets was followed by deep groans, which showed that the robbers had taken a good aim.

The Pandurs retreated. "On with you! Go on! before they've had time to charge! There's no danger now!" and the inspector, followed by a few of his boldest men, made another rush at the door. Another discharge! The inspector had his left arm broken, and one of the Pandurs was shot through the body.

"On! at them!" shouted the leader, nothing daunted; "they've got no powder now! On! on!" and, seizing an axe, he advanced again, while his men, partly because they believed that the robbers were short of ammunition, and partly yielding to the excitement of the combat, loaded their pieces and followed him. But musket after musket was fired by the robbers inside, and almost each shot took effect. The wailings of the wounded, the oaths of the besieged and the besiegers, the reports of the muskets, and the glaring flash which accompanied each discharge, were made still more fearful and startling by the darkness of the night; while the inspector's voice, as he urged his men on, was distinctly heard in the midst of the general confusion.

"Give me that piece!" shouted he, flinging his axe, and snatching a musket from the hand of a Pandur. "Now that's for you, Viola!" and he fired it into the hut.

A scream and a heavy fall was heard. But before the inspector could vent his joy in words, the fire was returned from within, and the peasant who stood at his side had his skull shivered. "Give me another musket!" roared the inspector, but in vain; the Pandurs hastened back to the judge, who stood at a safe distance, cursing and urging the combatants on. Their leader, finding that he was left to fight the battle alone, returned likewise, with his shoulder pierced by a bullet.

"Why, you cursed rascals! how dare you come back? Where's the robber?" cried the intrepid judge, flinging down his pipe in a paroxysm of rage. "Where is Viola? how dare you come back without him?"

Nobody answered. One of the Pandurs stooped for the pipe, which, strange to say, was not broken.

"Knock the ashes out and give it a good cleaning, you rogue! It won't draw!" said the justice; and, turning to the others, he proceeded: "Did I not order you to bring the robber? to seize him and bind him?"

"Your worship," said one of the men, "we did all that men can do. There are four of us killed, and half the rest wounded. They've broken the inspector's arm."

"There are at least ten robbers in the hut. The cuttings are black with the muzzles of their guns. It's quite impossible to go up."

"Impossible? who dares to say any thing is impossible? I'd like to see the man who dares to say it! Impossible? when _I_ say it _is_ possible! why you scurvy----"

"He's right!" said the inspector. "If you would take Viola, you must have better men than the like of these."

"But I say they shall take him! I'd like to know who is the master, you or I?"

"Your worship had better try. I've done my duty, and I'm done for, at least for this night. Both my hands are disabled; I am not a match for a child in arms."

Mr. Skinner shook his head.

"I was not aware, sir,--it's a pity you are wounded. The wounded must of course fall back. As for the rest, let them stand in a line. Well done! March! March! Ma----"

The word of command was broken off by another discharge from the hut, and the line, which had begun to move, fell back in disorder. As for Mr. Skinner, he took refuge behind a tree. He knew that his safety was essential to the success of the expedition.

"Forward, you cowards! March! March!" shouted he; but none obeyed.

"March! I say. Will you, or not?" screamed the justice, collaring the man who stood next to him.

"No, I will not!" said the man, as he slipped aside.

"You won't. Very well, sir, I'll pay you out for this! What's your name?"

"Kovatsh Miksha, a nobleman of St. Vilmosh. I will not go, even to please your God!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not know you! But who's this fellow?"

"That's my cousin, Andrash. He's a nobleman, and he won't go!"

"Why, where the deuce are the peasants?"

"Shot, or run away!"

"The rascals!" cried the judge; "the cowards! Never mind, I'll make them pay for it!"

"I beg your worship's pardon," interposed the inspector; "but my opinion is that we had better go home. We have done our duty, and there are only fifteen men here. The rest are either dead or run away. We have no chance of success. When Viola finds out how few there are of us, and that we cannot watch the hut on all sides, he will make his way out into the forest."

The justice was on the point of yielding, when Mr. Catspaw approached the group. He suggested another scheme. "Put fire to the hut," said he. "They will find it too hot to hold them; they will come out; and when they do, you shoot them down." His advice was eagerly adopted. The inspector was frantic with joy, and a Pandur was at once sent off to carry the scheme into effect. The men of St. Vilmosh and the Pandurs took their places in the thicket, ready to fire at the robbers; and Mr. Skinner was so violent in expressing the pleasure he felt, that he swore twice as much as before.

The situation of the robbers was far worse than their assailants suspected. The shot, which the inspector had fired through the cutting, had pierced the broad chest of Ratz Andor. He lay on his back, groaning, and moving his limbs in a pool of blood. The butcher walked to and fro with alternate oaths and prayers, and cursing the day of his birth.

Viola was quiet and silent. He felt convinced that his hour had come, and he awaited death fearlessly. The thought of his family alone was a weight upon his heart. For a moment he thought of flight. There was a possibility of escape by breaking through the roof, and escaping from the back of the hut. But he looked at his old companion, who lay bleeding at his feet, and who had once saved his life. His resolution was taken. He could not leave that man in the hour of his agony. Immediately afterwards he heard them prepare for another attack, and he awaited his fate with firmness and resignation.

"Fire at them!" said Ratz Andor, when he heard the noise outside, "fire at them, to the last man!"

"We are short of bullets. There's plenty of powder, but no lead." Ratz Andor drew a deep breath.

"A thousand devils! is there no shot?"

"No. There's a gun and two pistols loaded--that's all."

"Give me a pistol!" whispered the robber, holding out his hand to Viola; and when his comrade, who understood the purport of the request, handed him the weapon, he clutched it with an eager hand, muttering--

"Let them come now! They won't take me alive, I warrant you!"

"I say!" whispered the butcher, pointing to Ratz Andor, "is he dead?"

"No; don't you see him breathing?"

"But he'll die!--don't you think he'll die! I say, Viola, don't you think we'd better surrender? Perhaps they'll grant us a pardon."

"A pardon? If they don't shoot us, I'll give you my word of honour they will hang us before to-morrow night."

"I don't mean a full pardon," whispered the wretch, as if choking with fear; "not to pardon us so that we may go about; but perhaps they'll lock us up--say five years, ten years, I would not mind twenty years, and whip us every month, and make us starve and work--I would not mind it in the least, if they don't hang us. Don't you think, Viola, they would pardon me, if I were to beseech them--if I were to go down upon my knees, intreating them to spare my life. You see, Viola, I am so young. I never killed anybody! I never hit any one to-night!"

"Poor fellow!" said Viola, as he gently disengaged his hand from the trembling grasp of his comrade, "don't tell these things to me--tell your judges.--But what is this!" cried he, pointing to a corner of the hut--"what is that smoke?"

"The hut is on fire!"

"Hurrah!"

"Let fly at them! Exterminate them! Kick them back into the fire!" shouted Mr. Skinner, outside.

"They have put fire to the hut!" cried Viola, shuddering.

Ratz Andor opened his eyes, and, half leaning on his hands, he looked around. "Don't be caught alive;" gasped he, "and, if you can, shoot the judge, and die as a man!"

These were the robber's last words; for, raising his pistol, he pressed the muzzle to his head. His hot blood fell on Viola's hands.

"Our father!" groaned the butcher, kneeling down--"they'll burn us to cinders--which art in heaven--give me the bottle, I'll put it out--Heaven help us, it is brandy--it burns like hell--hallowed be thy name--Viola, you're the death of us--and forgive us--why did you steal the notary's papers?"

At this juncture the miserable man raised the bottle to his lips and drank, until, overcome with the combined effects of the liquor and the smoke, he fell down by the side of Ratz Andor.

His last words reminded Viola of the papers, which he had forgotten in the excitement of the conflict. He was resolved to bury himself amidst the burning ruins of the hut. Susi need not then take her children to the gallows to show them their father's grave. But, as it was, he felt he was compelled to live. His family had received protection at Tengelyi's hands. The papers were of the greatest importance for the notary. He could not allow them to be burned, nor could he leave the world under a suspicion of having ruined his benefactor. It was utterly impossible.

The fire and the heat increased in violence and intensity. Viola's hair was singed, he could not breathe the hot air, he could not see. In another moment his escape from the hut was impossible. He seized the papers, opened the door, and rushed out.

Mr. Skinner's party had not for the last few minutes heard any sounds proceeding from the interior of the hut. They saw it in flames, and they saw that no attempt to leave it was made by the people inside. They felt convinced that the robbers had somehow or other effected their escape. The report of the pistol, by which Ratz Andor put a term to his sufferings, confirmed them in their opinion, for it caused them to believe that the explosion was owing to the fire having reached some weapon which had been left behind. Even Messrs. Skinner and Catspaw, though sorely disappointed, ventured to approach the hut; and so it happened that when Viola, gasping, half blind, and all but choked, left the hut, holding the papers, wrapped up in a cloak, in his hand, he ran into the clutches of these two men.

Mr. Catspaw snatched the papers from him and ran back, while the Pandurs hastened to the spot and surrounded Viola. The robber was unarmed; but his appearance, his notorious strength, and the terror of his name, which every one of his pursuers shouted, as if for the express purpose of frightening his fellows, made even the boldest cautious of coming too near him; if his hand had held a weapon, if there had been strength in his arm, he might have broken through their ranks. But Viola did not think of resistance. His agonies, both of body and mind, had overcome the iron strength of his frame. He opened his eyes, but he could not see. His chest heaved violently; his arms trembled as he raised them to find a means of support. In another moment he lay senseless on the ground, and his enemies struggled for the honour of binding him. Mr. Skinner was obliged to exert the whole of his authority to put a stop to the frantic cheers of his followers, and arrangements were made to take the prisoner to St. Vilmosh, when low groans and cries for help were heard from the burning hut. They shuddered and were silent. Nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire and the loud wailing of the wretched man inside. At length one of the Pandurs stepped forward.

"I'll try to get him out!" said he.

He advanced.

A fearful explosion put a stop to his progress. The gunpowder, which the robbers kept in the hut, caught fire and finished the work of destruction. The wailing ceased with the flash of powder, which hurled the roof of the hut into the air and strewed the turf with its burning fragments. Mr. Skinner's party were horror-struck.

"Bad job that!" said the inspector, who was the first to recover from his surprise. "D--n the fellows!"

"Is it all over?" cried the justice, from his place of refuge behind a tree.

"Yes, your worship."

"But is there no more powder in the place?"

"It's in the nature of powder," said the inspector, "that it blows up in a lump. But your worship need not come here, for our business is done. I'll have the robber carried by some of the men."

Viola, who was still in a fainting state, was lifted on the shoulders of two strong fellows, and the whole troop proceeded towards St. Vilmosh.

"Did you get the papers?" whispered Mr. Skinner to Mr. Catspaw.

"Yes," whispered the attorney; "I've thrown them into the fire."

They turned into the thicket, and the scene of their violence was left lonely and desolate.

CHAP IV.

We will not attempt to describe Susi's feelings while this scene was enacting in her immediate neighbourhood. A short time after we left her on the banks of the Black Lake, the Gulyash and Peti returned from their reconnoitering expedition. They had identified the cutting by the reeds and the tree. When they returned, they secured the horses, and prepared to cross the water again. Peti led the way. He was followed by the Gulyash, who carried Susi on his back. But they had scarcely advanced to the middle of the ford, when they were startled by the reports of fire-arms and the shouts of the combatants.

"We are too late!" cried Susi; "take me to him, and let me die at his feet!"

A second discharge of musketry was heard. Some of the fugitive peasants fled in the direction of the lake. The Gulyash and his companions were sufficiently near the shore to hear their steps as they ran. The Gulyash was strong in hopes.

"Never fear, Susi!" said he; "don't you hear the rascals running away. There's not a man of them likes to come to close quarters with Viola."

Peti advanced. They reached the shore. But the affray recommenced in the forest. There was firing, shouting, curses, and the howling of the wounded.

Susi made a frantic rush from the side of the Gulyash; but the two men held her back. She knelt down. Her soul was full of Viola's danger. Did she not hear his enemies? Did they not seek his destruction? She would have prayed, but she could not pray. She tore her hair in the fulness of her despair,--she cursed; a light shone from the wood--a broad glaring light! The triumphant shouts of the besiegers left no doubt as to its nature and origin. Susi rose, and wrung her hands.

"They have put fire to the hut! they will burn my husband!" screamed she. She fell back, and fainted in the gipsy's arms. When she recovered, and proceeded to the scene of the contest, all was quiet and still. No sound was heard, either of the victors or their prey. The spot was covered with splinters and fragments of wood, many of which were still burning. Their faint and uncertain light added to the desolate character and the gloom of the scene.

Susi was calm. Her boding heart had known the worst long before she came to the spot, and when she had reached it she stood in silence, covering her eyes with her hands. Peti and the Gulyash stood by her side; but neither spoke a word of comfort. They felt that such would have been a mockery in that hour and at that place.

"Peti!" said Susi at last, "get a light. There's plenty of wood on the ground. I want to look for my husband." Peti sighed, and prepared to obey. The Gulyash was far more shocked by the poor woman's calmness than by her former violence. Dashing the tears from his eyes, he said,--

"Susi, my soul, go to that knot of trees yonder. Sit down and take your rest, while we look for him; that is to say, not for your husband, for depend upon it he wasn't here at all, but it's the others we'll look for, in case an accident has happened to one of them. Be quiet, Susi," continued he, taking her hand; "I know your husband was not there; I'll take my oath on it he was not!"

The poor fellow knew that what he said was an untruth. He knew that the fire which Peti was lighting would probably show them Viola's mangled corpse amidst the ruins of the building, or else that Viola must be a captive in the hands of his bitterest enemies; but gladly would he have bartered his hopes of future salvation for one ray of hope to cheer the heart of that wretched woman.

"No, Ishtvan," said Susi; "I know all,--I am prepared for the worst. You won't find me troublesome when I see him half burned. Alas! I know it is better for him to lie dead in my arms, than to be alive and in the power of his enemies. Here, at least, his sufferings are ended."

"But why won't you believe me, if I tell you that Viola was not here? I'll be cursed if he was! Why the devil will you walk about in the smoke, looking for what you are sure not to find? This isn't a place for a woman; and if you were suddenly to set your eyes on something nasty you'd be the worse for it. Go back, Susi, I'll promise you we'll turn every stone in the place."

"I thank you, Ishtvan,--I thank you a thousand times for all you do for me," said Susi; "fear nothing: you see I am strong; and whatever may meet my eyes, it will but give me certainty, which is the best that can happen to me. If my husband be dead, we will bury him here in the forest. I shall know the place of his rest, and I can show it to my children, and weep with them."

"But I tell you Viola is not here," said the Gulyash. "Just suppose you were to see a fellow all scorched and burnt? I'll tell you it's not a sight for women. Why, if you were in good health I wouldn't mind it. Two years ago, when there was a fire in my Tanya, no less than two of my children were burnt to death; and my Lady Kishlaki, when she saw the poor things all black and----"

"I am not a My-lady. The like of her have a right to be shocked and to faint. I am a robber's wife, you know. I say, old man, if you could know what thoughts there have been in this poor head of mine ever since Viola became a robber, what dreams mine were when waiting for my husband the livelong day, or the long weary night, at home or on the heath; and when he did not come what horrible things I have thought of, and felt and wailed over,--oh, if you could but know it, as I am sure you can never know it, you'd not fear to see me shocked at any thing. The very worst that can happen to me is but _one_ kind of misfortune; but I have suffered all torments of hell, and for long, long years too!"

The gipsy had meanwhile lighted a fire; and Susi walked over the ground. By the door lay the corpse of the St. Vilmosh peasant, who was shot at the inspector's side. Several other bodies were found at some distance, near the forest. Susi looked at them with intense anxiety; and then seizing a torch, she hastened forward, and held it over the ruins of the hut.

The sight was such, that even the old Gulyash himself shuddered. The fragments of the table still smouldering, muskets and pistols strewed about, and the two blackened corpses, presented so repulsive a spectacle, that none could have resisted its influence, but those who are accustomed to the horrors of war. Susi examined the corpses, and said at length:

"He is not here. Neither of them has a silver ring on any of their fingers. Viola would never have lost his silver ring. My husband is a prisoner!"

"Nonsense! I dare say he----"

"What is this?" said Susi, stooping down and taking a double-barrelled gun from the ground; "that's my husband's gun! take it, and keep it for his sake."

"I will. Whenever I find him, he'll have his gun."

"May God bless you for your good will!" continued Susi, "to accompany me further would put you in danger. Peti will come with me to St. Vilmosh, for it is there, I am sure, my husband is."

They separated. The Gulyash returned to his horses, while Susi and Peti hastened to St. Vilmosh, where the first burst of excitement at the capture of the robbers had by this time subsided. The justice and the attorney had gone to bed. The villagers who had taken part in the expedition had, some of them, retired to rest; while the others drowned their cares and the recollection of their dangers in the bad wine of the public-houses. Viola, whom they had put under the shed of the council-house, where he was guarded by a chosen body of haiduks and peasants, had fallen asleep.

The wretched man awoke to consciousness as they dragged him through the forest to St. Vilmosh; and looking round, by the fitful glare of the torches which the Pandurs carried, he became sensible of his desperate condition. His thoughts returned at once to Tengelyi's papers. When he left the burning hut, he was so confused, so blinded, so maddened, that he had no idea of what had become of them, or who had taken them from him. He questioned his escort; but those whom he asked refused to reply to his questions. One man only told him, when he left the hut, the persons next to him had been the justice and the attorney; and that one of them had indeed snatched a parcel from his hand.

From the moment Viola found himself in the power of his enemies, he made no resistance to any thing they did to him. The violence and ill-treatment to which they subjected him elicited no complaint from his lips. When they came to St. Vilmosh, where they placed him under the shed, the justice stepped up and told them to bind him so as to wound his hands, to prevent his escape. Viola asked him what had become of the papers? But the justice replied, with many oaths, that he had no business to ask any questions; and what the devil he meant? Viola saw clearly that Mr. Skinner was prepared to deny any knowledge of the papers; or else that they must have fallen into the hands of Mr. Catspaw, who, from his previous exertions to obtain them, was not likely to restore them to the rightful owner.

"For this then did I surrender! for this I am going to be hanged!" sighed he, when they left him alone with his sentinels,--"why did I not stay in the hut? Why did I not shoot myself, as Ratz Andor did? All is over for them; but I must die an infamous death--and for no purpose too! I could not save the notary's papers. God cursed me in the hour of my birth! Did I not often attempt to return to the paths of honesty? and when every means of doing so was taken away from me, did I not do all I could to prove my gratitude for the only kindness that was ever shown me? Did I not do my best to help the notary? And what has come of it? No, God will not allow me to be good and honest; and I must die on the gallows! Very well, what must be, must be! a man cannot oppose his fate!"

Thoughts like these, joined to that feeling of lassitude which follows extreme fatigue, restored Viola to his usual calmness; and a deep sleep buried the misfortunes of the day, for a time, in forgetfulness. Peti, who, leaving Susi at a distance from the village, proceeded alone to the council-house, found him in this condition. He was not allowed to enter the yard; for, by the express order of the justice, even the sentinels were forbidden to speak to Viola, or to reply to any of his questions. But Peti conversed with a sentinel at the gate, whom he told that he was just come back from Dustbury. The man, in his turn, told him of the capture of Viola, and that the robber was to be brought to Kishlak, where the court-martial was to assemble; and likewise, that a horseman had been sent to Dustbury to summon old Kishlaki, who was the president of the court-martial in this district. The gipsy cast a rueful look at the shed where Viola lay on the floor, and turning away, he hastened to the place where he had left Susi.

"Have you seen him?" said she, hastening to meet him when he approached.

"I have. He is in the council-house."

"Is he _in_ the house?"

"No!--that is to say, not wholly. No--not in the house. Under the shed, you know."

"In the open air!" cried Susi, wringing her hands. "Oh, God! and the night is so cold; and he in the open air!"

"No! not in the open air--at least not quite. There's a roof to the shed."

"Has he a bunda?" continued Susi. And as she spoke she stripped herself of her own wrapper. "Tell me if he has not, for I wish to send him this."

"Oh, but he has! He has a large bunda. He is asleep." Susi grasped the gipsy's hand.

"Asleep? Did you say asleep? And do they see him sleeping? And you're sure they think it is sound, genuine sleep? They do not suspect him of pretending to sleep--do they?"

"But why should they suspect him of that?"

"What do they think of it? Can they not see that my husband is innocent? Who ever heard of a criminal's sleeping? Speak, Peti--tell me--what do they say to it?"

Peti answered that he had not spoken to anybody, but that there were some hopes of Viola's escape. He added:

"Early in the morning they mean to take him to Kishlak. If you want to speak to him, you must do it there. You can't do it at St. Vilmosh. They won't allow anybody to speak to him."

"I know it all," sighed Susi. "At Kishlak they will hold a court-martial, and hang him. They do not care for his innocence, nor for his quiet conscience, nor for his sleeping more soundly on the hard cold ground than they do in their beds! They want his life, and they will have it; but come, come! come along to Kishlak. I must see him!"

"You poor woman! You are not able to walk to Kishlak."

"Whom do you mean? Not me? Why should I spare my feet? I shall not want them much longer!"

But Peti was obstinate: he would not hear of Susi's walking. He knew the smith of the place, who, as a gipsy, was compelled to live at some distance from the village. This man willingly offered the loan of his horse and cart, and, on Peti's suggestion, he volunteered to drive Susi to Kishlak; while Peti himself set off to Tissaret, to inform the notary of what had happened, and to bring Viola's children to their father.

CHAP. V.

Mr. Skinner had meanwhile sent an official despatch to Kishlak, in which he informed his friend, Kishlaki's steward, of what had happened; desiring him, at the same time, to make due preparations for the sitting of the court-martial, and the incarceration and execution of the prisoner. This letter, which reached Kishlak before break of day, put the whole place in commotion. The stout steward, whose fear of all exercise, no matter whether mental or bodily, was so great that it was said of him, that the only reason why they kept him at Kishlak was because he was a living example of the results of high feeding,--even he rose with the sun, and put on his best coat with silver buttons. He walked about the yard with the carpenter and the butler, who had jointly undertaken to build the gallows.

"We must make it comfortable, you know," said he, alluding to the reception of the guests; and turning to the carpenter, he added, "Do your best to make it high and strong. I trust they'll take care of the servants. It's hardly my province, but I'll warrant you the gentlemen will not complain of the accommodation. You'd better make a good strong wedge in this place, it's there we'll tie him up; and don't let the men go out to-day, I'll have them all to witness the execution. It'll do them good to see something of the kind. The engine, too, ought to be looked after, in case there should be a fire." In this way he went on, every now and then wiping his forehead and exclaiming, "Dear me, how hot it is! I'm done up with all this trouble, done up, I tell you!" To which his companions sighed their assent.

The news of the assembling of the first court-martial under Mr. Kishlaki's superintendence, caused a still greater excitement in the house. There is no denying that the steward came out strong; indeed such was his activity, that whoever saw him was induced to regret that there was not a permanent court-martial sitting at Kishlak, in which case that corpulent and meritorious person would have figured as an active member of society; but after all he was repaid for all his troubles by the sense of his personal dignity. That day formed an epoch in his life. It was a day to think of, and to talk of, and to count the years by.

Not so Lady Kishlaki. She was anxious, and all but desponding; and when the steward told her that the court were to assemble in her house, and that the criminal was to be hanged on her own land, she wrung her hands as if the greatest misfortune had happened to her.

"Why do they come to us, of all the people in the world? My goodness! is not the county large enough? Must they needs hang that robber here, under my very nose?"

The steward was far more alive to and sensible of the distinction which the event gave to the village.

"Your ladyship forgets," said he, "that my lord, in his quality as the late and illustrious sheriff, has been appointed to the post of a president of the courts-martial in the district of Tissaret, which, if your ladyship will condescend to remember, will satisfy your ladyship that the high respect and signal honour----"

"Signal fiddlesticks!" cried Lady Kishlaki. "I'll never dare to walk in and out of my own house, if they hang the fellow in my yard."

"Your ladyship is graciously pleased to be mistaken," said the corpulent steward. "An impressive example of this kind has an excellent effect upon the safety of person and property. I know of a similar case, which happened in another county. For a period of not less than two years, I assure your ladyship, the county was a scene of incessant depredations, robberies, and worse. At length two men were arrested and hanged; and from that day there was an end of all murders and robberies. One of the parties was quite a stranger to the gang, and as innocent as the unborn babe. But they hanged him, and I assure your ladyship the effect was marvellous. I am happy we are going to hang a man: it's a blessing to the county, a genuine blessing, your ladyship!"

"Nonsense! The robbers never did us any harm."

"No, not exactly; but if your ladyship will condescend to look at the bill of the Gulyash, your ladyship will be pleased to find that what they have eaten on your ladyship's land amounts to the value of a good substantial theft."

"I'd rather lose twenty times the value, than see a man hanged, and on my own land too," said Lady Kishlaki, turning away to make due arrangements for the reception of her guests; while the steward marvelled at his lady's peculiar frame of mind, and her greater fear of a dead robber than of a living one. Having pondered on the matter until he arrived at that comfortable state of hopeless confusion which is so familiar to stout people's minds, he repeated his orders to the lower officials, and marched to and fro in the hall, smoking his pipe, and awaiting the arrival of the prisoner and the judges. The villagers, too, were crowded in front of the gate, where they stood eager, curious, and alarmed.

Kishlak is at the distance of a German mile from St. Vilmosh; when the waters are high, it takes a man at least three hours to walk from one place to the other; but in spite of the distance, Mr. Skinner, his clerk, and his prisoners, reached Kishlak first. They were followed by Mr. Catspaw, who had gone round by Tissaret. After him came the master of the house, and the judges whom he brought from Dustbury. The latter party made their appearance in two carriages, of which one was honoured by the weight of Kishlaki and Baron Shoskuty, while the second held the assessor Zatonyi, and the recorder's substitute, Mr. Völgyeshy. The recorder sent him principally because he knew that the court was in want of the services of a notary, the functions of which office were far too much beneath the recorder's dignity to allow of his executing them. He therefore sent Völgyeshy, a young man who had just been appointed to his office, who was eager to be employed, and whose knowledge of law enabled him to assist the court with his advice. Völgyeshy's appearance was by no means agreeable. He was small, sickly, and ill-made, and his face was strongly marked with small-pox; but he was a man of great learning, and as modest as he was clever. He was a general favourite at Dustbury; old Kishlaki, who felt even more shocked than his wife when he heard of Viola's capture, and of his being called to preside over the court-martial, shared the joy of Baron Shoskuty and the assessor, when they were informed of the recorder's intention to send his substitute to act as notary. Baron Shoskuty was happy, because he knew that Völgyeshy was a good hand at law; Kishlaki because he was a good hand at cards; and the assessor, because the young man would listen to any stories, no matter of what length and dullness. When the party arrived, they found Messrs. Skinner and Catspaw--"_arcades ambo_; _id est_, blackguards both,"--awaiting them. Mr. Catspaw rubbed his hands for joy when he saw that none of the members of the court were likely to cross his plans by an excess of philanthropy.

The lady of the house, too, hastened to the door to receive her guests, and to offer them breakfast, which Mr. Catspaw volunteered to decline for himself and partners, saying that it was eleven o'clock, and that they must make haste to commence business.

"We cannot possibly get through the case to-day," observed Mr. Kishlaki.

"And why not, _domine spectabilis_? Why not?" asked the assessor. "Please to consider that the court-martial must sit till the execution is over; and to-morrow I must be at home, for there's the ploughing and the potato harvest."

"Of course!" cried Shoskuty. "We are commissioners of courts-martial, and a court-martial we are bound to make of it. The culprit is in attendance, we are five commissioners; my young friend Völgyeshy has come to assist us. It will take him just ten minutes to write the verdict. God forbid," continued he, with a low bow to the lady of the house, "God forbid that we should trouble your ladyship longer than we can help!"

"No trouble, indeed; no trouble whatever!" cried Lady Kishlaki, with a burst of genuine good-natured hospitality; "but I trust you do not mean to hang the poor fellow?"

"Of course we do!" laughed the assessor. "I've sat in fifteen courts-martial in the course of my life, and we never rose without hanging the culprit. Courts-martial are for that sort of thing, you know."

Lady Kishlaki had been solicited by Viola's wife to interfere in her husband's behalf. The good old lady did all she could for the poor woman. She assigned a room to her and the children, and, moved by Susi's entreaties, she promised to save Viola's life, if a woman's tongue could save it. But the determined tone in which the assessor delivered his last sentence, showed her how little hope there was. She replied, nevertheless, that Viola was perhaps less guilty than people fancied.

"I most humbly beg your ladyship's pardon," replied Baron Shoskuty, with his proverbial politeness; "whether his guilt be greater or lesser, it's all the same to us. The only question to ask is, 'Is the prisoner a robber or not?' We do not care whether he killed a hundred people, or whether he never took human life, whether he stole a million or a fourpenny piece; all we ask is; is he a robber? and how was he taken? If taken in arms, and in the fact of actual resistance, we hang him, so please your ladyship."

"But it does not please my ladyship. You cannot possibly hang the poor fellow for a few pence!"

"Nothing more simple," said the assessor, with great unction, "if the case come within the jurisdiction of a court-martial. I have seen cases in which the man whom we hanged would have been let off with a fortnight's confinement by the ordinary courts; but as he fell into our hands, we tied him up."

"I am a weak and ignorant woman," retorted Lady Kishlaki, with increasing vehemence; "but if I'd been there, I'll warrant you, you would not have done it!"

"Of course not! Nothing more natural!" replied Baron Shoskuty, who never let an opportunity go by of paying a compliment to a lady; "your ladyship is the milk, nay, the cream of human kindness! We are rude and uncharitable men. The county has sent us to make an example, and we are bound to make one."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Catspaw, who had given unmistakeable signs of impatience; "time presses,--hadn't we better begin?"

"If you like," said Kishlaki, greatly confused, "we have to examine the witnesses and----"

"We'll soon get the better of the witnesses," said Mr. Skinner. "There is no difficulty in the case. We'd get twice through it before dinner time."

"Viola is as guilty as anybody ever was!" cried Mr. Catspaw, as he walked to the door.

"If he is, it will be shown by the evidence," said a loud sonorous voice; "one ought never to pre-judge a case."

Everybody looked at Völgyeshy, who had spoken the last sentence. The attorney walked up to Mr. Skinner and whispered: "I don't like the fellow!" But Lady Kishlaki, who had hitherto paid no attention to the ill-favoured young man, looked kindly at him.

"You are right," said she; "it's hard that a man should be judged before his case has been inquired into. I know you will pity him."

"I am not an assessor, and have no vote," replied Mr. Völgyeshy, as he left the room with the rest of the party. Mr. Kishlaki remained alone with his wife.

"Consider, Valentine," said she, taking him by the hand--"consider that a sentence of death cannot be pronounced unless the judges are unanimous. Every one of you is highly responsible for the death of this man."

"I know, my love; and if it depends on me--that is to say, if it is possible--I am not bloodthirsty, you know, but----"

"I know you must do your duty; but pray consider that the life of a man, if once taken, cannot be restored!"

"I will do all I can!" sighed the old man, cursing the day on which he accepted his office; and leaving the room, he followed his colleagues to the steward's office, where everything was prepared for the accommodation of the court. Servants, and peasants armed with pitchforks, were posted at the gate to keep the crowd at a distance. Under the shed stood Viola, tied to a post and surrounded by haiduks and Pandurs. In the hall were Tzifra, and Jantshy, the glazier, who had been summoned as witnesses for the prosecution; and at a distance stood the Liptaka and the smith of Tissaret, who volunteered to give evidence for the defence.

"God have mercy upon his soul!" said the Liptaka. "I have little hope."

"So have I," said the smith; "and the thing which grieves me most is that the two rascals there are going to escape," he added, pointing at Tzifra and the Jew.

"I'd like to know who'll hang him!" said an old woman to her neighbour. "I trust they'll have a clever hangman! They say people suffer dreadfully if the hangman does not know his trade."

"Indeed, I heard them say that there's a gipsy that'll hang him. Mayhap it's the sheriff's gipsy. Look there!--there he is. Look how he casts his eyes around! Dear me! I'm afraid of him!"

"Don't talk such nonsense, Verush," said an old man; "Peti is Viola's friend. It's he that brought the children from Tissaret. Did you not see him talking to Viola's wife? Susi would not talk to him in that way, if he were the man that is to hang her husband. Not even yourself would have done that when your husband was alive. But I say, Verush, you'd not occasion for a hangman, eh? You are the woman can worry a man to death and be never the worse for it, eh?"

"How dare you say so!" screamed the widow. "Didn't I have a doctor in his last illness?"

"Never mind!" said another woman. "Tell me who is going to hang him."

"I don't know," said the man.

"Perhaps they won't hang him. They'll give him a pardon."

"A pardon, indeed!" said the man. "Don't you see it's a court-martial. You may whistle for a pardon, if you please."

"What _is_ a court-martial?"

"Why! don't you know? A court-martial is--why it's that the gentlemen sit down together and consult, and hang some one. That's as it ought to be."

"But suppose no one hangs him?"

"How can you ask such stupid questions? To hang a man you must have him first; but who ever heard of a man being sentenced to hanging and let off for the want of a hangman?"

"Just so; but suppose it _were_ to happen after all? What then?"

"Hang me if I know! perhaps the gentlemen themselves will hang him, or they'll hang themselves with disappointment and vexation."[25]

[Footnote 25: See Note VIII.]

The proceedings of the court commenced meanwhile by the swearing in of the judges, the reading of the articles of court-martial, and by Mr. Skinner's laying on the table a written form of indictment, or, in Hungarian judicial language, the "_species facti_." Mr. Völgyeshy's conduct, while these preliminary forms were being got through, was such as to fill the judges with astonishment and disgust. Not only did he read the articles with a loud, clear voice, slowly enunciating and pronouncing every word, instead of giving merely the heads of the various paragraphs; but he also interrupted Mr. Skinner, who wished to relieve the dulness of the lecture by a friendly chat with his neighbour on the bench, by reminding him that the articles were read for the purpose of being listened to. But the disgust of the court was infinitely increased when, after the reading of the "_species facti_," and when they were just in the act of sending for the prisoner, Völgyeshy stopped the proceedings by protesting that the "_species facti_" was by no means such as to warrant the jurisdiction of a court-martial in the present case.