"Well spoken!" said Rakoczy, and a familiar voice behind us echoed the words.

The second speaker was Gorgei himself, who had come from his tent in time to hear what was said.

The count smiled, showing his white teeth.

"Captain Botskay must have been terribly annoyed at finding himself out of reach of danger," he said sweetly.

Here again it was impossible to take offence at his words, though they might, and most likely did, convey a false meaning.

Gorgei, however, came handsomely to the rescue.

"It would be something of a novelty," he said bluntly. "I doubt if he has been out of danger before since the war began.--But I say, colonel, somebody made a horrible mess of it last night. You'll have to put your fellows in the front next time."

Rakoczy saw his chance of getting in a counter-stroke on the count, and seized it.

"Yes," he said, smiling pleasantly, "I was afraid the affair would fall through without us, though I hear Count Beula did not fail through want of trying."

"There's praise for you, count!" cried Gorgei with a broad laugh. "But we'll have another try soon, and then, if you don't succeed, I'll lead the stormers myself.--Captain Botskay, you're just in time to take a message to Pesth;" and he carried Stephen off to his tent.

The colonel and I stayed awhile chatting, but not being over fond of the count's company, we took the first opportunity to go.

As soon as the wounded were brought in, the gunners resumed the bombardment, while Hentzi, on his side, not only replied to our fire, but sent hundreds of sh.e.l.ls hurtling across the water into the town.

Stephen told us that the state of the city was pitiable. Whole quarters had been destroyed, and hundreds of people, not only homeless but in imminent danger of their lives, were camping on the Rakos, whither they had carried the wounded soldiers, both Hungarian and Austrian.

Meanwhile Gorgei thundered day and night at the walls, while the stout-hearted garrison worked like slaves, repairing the breaches, erecting breastworks, and doing everything possible to strengthen their position.

All the officers who were not of Kossuth's party grumbled openly at this waste of time and loss of valuable lives; but since the fortress had to be taken, every one felt the sooner the better.

During the evening of the twenty-first of May we marched to the trenches and lay on our arms, once more waiting for the signal to rush forward.

"The general means to get in this time," said Rakoczy. "There are nearly twenty thousand of us, all told, in the trenches."

"He can't afford to risk a second repulse," remarked my brother, who, in spite of all our efforts, had insisted on joining us. "By the way, Aulich has driven the Austrians back to Presburg."

"But for this folly we should be under the walls of Vienna now."

"What time is the attempt to be made?" I asked.

"Midnight, I believe; so we've some time to wait yet."

After that, relapsing into silence, we sat in the gathering gloom, each busy with his own thoughts; and sad enough mine, at least, were.

CHAPTER XV.

_HOW STEPHEN CARRIED THE FLAG._

"George!"

"All right, old boy," I answered in a whisper, rubbing my eyes. "I believe I've been asleep."

"I'm sure you have. But wake up now; the word to be ready has come."

At the very moment of waking I knew something was wrong, but it was not until my brother spoke the second time that I remembered where we were.

By some odd chance I had been dreaming of the years gone by, when Stephen and I were merry children playing in the old home at Gyula.

The past had returned to me so vividly--the sound of my father's voice, the picture of my mother's beautiful face and loving smile--that even now I could scarcely grasp the truth.

I had forgotten all about the cruel war, the trenches, the coming a.s.sault, and the near danger of death, so that the shock of awakening unnerved me for the moment.

The word had come! What word? Where was I? Ah! my memory returned with a rush, and I sprang to my feet.

"Steady, old fellow," said my brother cheerfully; "we mustn't make a noise yet."

I pressed his hand and whispered,--

"I had forgotten. I was dreaming we were children at home again."

"Don't, George; you hurt me," said he sharply, as if in pain, though I only pressed his hand gently.

It was past midnight, and the men were in their places, while the bands stood ma.s.sed behind the lines.

The colonel came to us, and shook each by the hand.

"One never knows what may happen," he said. "There will be a fearful struggle. After Gorgei's words the other day, my regiment can't go back; so, in case of accidents, you know--" And he shook our hands again.

Rakoczy seemed much graver than usual, but I think he was filled with pity on his men's account.

Stephen was, on the contrary, much more cheerful.

"George and I had a solemn leave-taking the other night," he said gaily, "and yet we didn't see a shot fired."

"Ah!" exclaimed the colonel, responding to his humour; "we have no chance of missing our way this time."

He moved off to his place, and again all was still.

The silence and the darkness got on my nerves. I dreaded yet longed for the signal at the same time.

We did not see the count, but he had sent a sarcastic message to Stephen during the evening, appointing a meeting inside the fortress.

I leaned on my sword, staring into the darkness.