At the very first discharge of the cannons, Rakoczy retired the greater part of the regiment, confident that the enemy would not attack for some time.

My company was left to further the deception, and between the discharges of the big guns the men kept up a vigorous musketry fire, which, though it did little or no damage, warned the enemy we were still in our places.

It was gloomy work standing there in the thick fog, while the shot and sh.e.l.l screaming over our heads lopped the branches from the trees or tore great holes in the ground. Occasionally a man would sink with a deep groan, but for the most part we were untouched; and when at length the colonel sent us word to withdraw, we were able to carry off all our wounded.

The fog by now had become so thick that we could not see the trees, though we felt them frequently; but out of the wood the marching was easier.

We tramped on in the midst of the darkness like a regiment of lost souls.

The earth was blotted out completely. It was worse even than what we had encountered in the mountains. We could see nothing, and hear nothing beyond the m.u.f.fled sound of our own footsteps.

As far as I could tell, we might be marching right into the midst of the Austrian troops.

The fog filled our nostrils and throats, almost choking us.

The intense silence was appalling. For my part, I should gladly have welcomed the roar of hostile cannon, just to be sure we were still in the land of the living.

The wound in my shoulder, which Mecsey Sandor had bandaged, bled afresh; my head grew heavy; my eyes ached with pain; I felt hardly able to keep upright. Once my foot slipped, and the man against whom I stumbled, taking my arm, supported me.

I was ashamed of my weakness, yet it was good to lean upon a strong arm, and for a time I walked quite steadily.

An extraordinary accident put an end to my powers of endurance, and left me with no more strength than that of a baby.

We were walking step for step, my companion and I, when suddenly I brought my foot, not to the ground, but into the air, and pitching forward, fell into icy-cold water.

My companion came too. Others followed us, some dropping clear into the water, some breaking holes in the coating of ice that before our arrival had covered its surface.

In the thick fog we had walked into a stream. Fortunately it was of no great depth, the water being only up to our waists; but the shock, the bitter cold, and the struggle for breath took away all my remaining strength.

The soldier, however, kept firm hold, and pulling me on my feet, pushed and dragged me till we reached the opposite side, when another man pulled me out.

Concerning the rest of the inarch I remember very little. Two men seemed to be carrying me cradle-fashion, and occasionally a tall, dimly-seen figure put some food into my mouth.

Sometimes they placed me on the ground, where I stayed for hours; then raising me again they carried me as before.

The fog went with us all the time, so I could not divide night from day, and no sound ever broke the weird silence.

At last there came a time--how long or short soever from the beginning of the journey I did not know--when I saw the burning of many lights, as of huge watch-fires, and heard the shouting of men.

My bearers joined in the noise, and then, putting me down, fell to waving their arms violently, and the black shadows going to and fro across the lights looked like windmills.

After that they took me to some covered place, where, being warm and comfortable, I straightway fell asleep.

From then my impressions grew more distinct. I remember seeing Rakoczy's face, which looked less cheerful than usual, and the spectacled countenance of Gorgei.

I thought Stephen also looked sorrowfully at me, but that was a dream, as I afterwards discovered.

It would have suited me to lie thus snug and cosy for ever; but the march was not ended, and one day I was carried into the open and placed in the bottom of a cart.

Several other men were already there, and one in particular groaned most miserably at every jolt of the clumsy vehicle.

Of course, I saw little of what went on, but the fog had departed, and the blessed light of day itself cheered me, while it was good again to hear the different sounds--the rumbling of wheels, the neigh of horses, the shouts of the drivers, the steady tramp, tramp as of the marching of thousands of men.

That ghostly regiment, gliding through the blackness, unseen, unheard, had in my weakened state preyed on my nerves.

Now I was really in the land of living beings again, and I smiled to myself at hearing the crack of the carter's whip, and the familiar words addressed to the horses.

Somewhere on the journey we halted a long, long time, and at length proceeded very slowly and cautiously.

We were crossing the Theiss on a narrow and temporary bridge, though the infantry had gone over on the ice.

Soon after this the wounded man at my side ceased his groaning, which enabled me to go to sleep; but I did not guess that the poor fellow would never disturb any of us again.

The next time the wagon halted, a man, clambering into it, brought a flask, from which several of us drank.

The stuff, whatever its name, had a strange flavour, something like new milk; but it warmed me all over, and even before the cart again started I was sound asleep.

CHAPTER X.

_ON THE SICK LIST._

I awoke to find myself lying on a heap of straw in a mud hovel, having one very narrow door, and a window about a foot square, through which the daylight tried to force a way.

The meagre light from two candles showed that I was not the only inmate of this poverty-stricken dwelling.

Ranged round the walls were five other figures, each on a bundle of straw and wrapped in a bunda.

The air was very close, and there was a strong smell of pigs, which made me think that some unfortunate animals had been turned out, or perhaps converted into pork, to make room for us.

However, I felt warm, and warmth in those days was the greatest happiness.

I positively shuddered at the mere remembrance of the intense cold of the last week or two.

It was all very calm and still, when a man in the opposite corner sat up, and in a high-pitched voice began to sing with all his might the well-known revolutionary song of Petofi--"Rise, Magyars, rise!"

He was evidently in a high state of fever and perfectly delirious, but he went right through the song without a mistake or a pause, and finished by cheering l.u.s.tily for Hungary.

Seen by the dim light, the spectacle was wonderfully striking. The bandages stained with blood, the face deadly white, the large, dark, fiery eyes burning with fever, the thin arm, freed from its covering, energetically beating time--all these moved me profoundly.

"That's Petreskey," said the man next to me. "He takes a fit every now and then and makes that row. We came from Kapolna in the same cart, and if the black and yellow dogs hadn't shot my arm off, I'd have pitched him out. Who wants to hear that stuff? Lie down, will you, and let a fellow go to sleep."

"Shut up, Janko! Can't you see the chap's out of his mind? Let the poor beggar sing. It does him good."

"Shut up yourself!" growled my neighbour. "D'you think I want to lie here listening to that rubbish when my good right arm's gone from the shoulder? 'Rise, Magyars, rise' won't put that on again."