THE RED, WHITE, AND GREEN.

by Herbert Hayens.

CHAPTER I.

WILL THE REGIMENT MARCH?

"Cowardly rats, deserting a sinking ship!" exclaimed my brother Stephen; "I would not raise my little finger to help them!"

"It seems to me this insurrection will do good to our cause."

Stephen pushed his chair back from the breakfast-table, and stood up.

"We are Hungarians," said he, "and we fight for our nation. We want no a.s.sistance from these Austrian rebels. If they care a kreuzer for their country, why don't they rally round the emperor?"

Laughing at Stephen's expression of disgust, I crossed the room to the little window, and looked into the street.

It was the morning of October 5, 1848, and still fairly early, yet the people of Vienna were pouring by in hundreds, all eager, restless, and apparently too excited to think of such an ordinary thing as breakfast.

Some were mere lads, pale-faced and spectacled, but armed with sword and pistol, and looking very resolute; these were students from the public schools and universities. Mingling with these enthusiastic youths were a few shopkeepers, a more considerable body of respectably-dressed artisans, numbers of National Guards in uniform, and, most significant of all, the men from the slums--bare-headed, dirty, gaunt, but carrying knives, hatchets, clubs, and other death-dealing weapons.

Thus far, this year of 1848 had produced most remarkable changes throughout Europe.

Louis Philippe, King of the French, had been driven into exile; Sicily had revolted against King Bomba; insurrections had arisen at Madrid; the whole of Germany had been, and was, in a state of turmoil; the Prussians had conquered Poland afresh.

Thrones had crumbled into dust, and monarchs and rulers had been swept away like chaff before the wrath of the people.

But of all the European countries, none in this wild gale of popular fury was so severely tried as the proud empire of Austria.

In northern Italy, the veteran Radetzky was upholding the black and yellow flag of Austria against a host of insurgents; in Bohemia, the Slavs, bent on founding a great Slav nation, were suppressed with difficulty by the Austrian general, Prince Windischgratz; my own gallant land of Hungary had drawn the sword to win back the ancient rights of which it had been deprived by the Viennese government; while here at Vienna, in the very heart of the empire, thousands of men were working their hardest to overthrow their own Kaiser.

With these people neither Stephen nor I had the least sympathy. We were Hungarians, but royalists, loving our country with a fond and faithful affection, yet wishful to preserve our loyalty to the emperor-king.

News of the dispute between Hungary and Austria had reached us in London, and we had just arrived at Vienna on our homeward journey.

My brother Stephen was eighteen years of age, and my senior by twelve months.

In figure he was tall and elegant; his face was regularly oval, with a pale complexion; his forehead was high and broad, his mouth small and well formed. His black hair fell in long curls almost to his shoulders; he wore a black moustache in the Hungarian fashion; and his eyes were dark and fiery.

A true Magyar, every inch of him, he might have stood beside King Stephen of glorious memory.

He came to join me at the little window, and we were still gazing intently at the throngs below, when some one, hurrying up the stairway, knocked at the door.

"Come in!" I cried, and turning round added hastily, "Why, it is Rakoczy, looking as miserable as a caged bird! Are the folks too busy demonstrating to get you some breakfast?"

The newcomer closed and locked the door, and came over to us.

John Rakoczy, or "John the Joyous," as we called him, was, like ourselves, a Hungarian, though there was a slight mixture of German blood in his veins.

He was a handsome man, several years older than myself, with chestnut hair, dark-blue eyes, and a frank, open, jovial face.

His merry laugh and light-hearted manners had earned him the t.i.tle of "John the Joyous;" but on this October morning his face was gloomy and troubled.

He placed himself between us, so that he could speak to both without raising his voice.

"Heard the news?" he asked.

"We've heard the row!" I replied. "These poor people will strain their throats."

"The city's in a state of insurrection. The students and the Nationals and the Burgher Guards are going to overthrow the government."

"Barking dogs never bite," said Stephen sarcastically.

"These will soon--they're only sharpening their teeth; and the Richters are to help them."

"The Richter Grenadiers?" I exclaimed.

"Yes. Our fellows have beaten Jellachich, who is in sore straits; and Latour, the war minister, has ordered the grenadiers to march to his a.s.sistance. They are in a state of mutiny, and the citizens are backing them up."

Earlier in the year, Croatia, under its Ban or Governor, Baron Jellachich, had revolted from Hungary; and though at first the emperor had denounced the rising, he had now taken Jellachich under his protection.

"Count Latour can take care of himself," said Stephen; "he is a man, not a lath."

Our companion rubbed his hands together softly, and, lowering his voice to a whisper, said,--

"This affair is serious. Don't ask how I obtained the information, but you can rely on its truth. A secret meeting was held last night in the city. The chiefs of the extreme party were present, and to-morrow, when the regiment marches out, has been fixed for a general rising."

"This is interesting to the Viennese," said my brother, "but not to us."

"Wait a bit. You know what happened a few days since in Pesth?"

Stephen's face flushed with shame, and I hung my head.

On September 28, Count Lamberg, the Austrian commander-in-chief, had been seized in the streets of Pesth by an armed rabble, and cruelly put to death--a foul crime that would long stain the fair name of Hungary.

"To-morrow," Rakoczy continued, "the victim will be Count Latour, and the butchers will cry, 'Long live Hungary!'"

"What do we want with such brutes?" cried Stephen pa.s.sionately. "Cannot we fight and win our battles with our own swords? We shall be disgraced for ever by this rabble!"

"The count must be put on his guard," I exclaimed. "I will go to his hotel and inform him of the plot."

"It will be useless trouble," said Stephen. "One man cannot fight against thirty thousand, and the count is too brave a veteran to yield."

"He must yield or die," said John. "I have learned enough to know that.

The chiefs of the revolution have decided to kill him unless he recalls the order for the regiment to march."