The fatal moment was fast approaching, and I cast a farewell glance at Mecsey and his companions.

The faithful fellow was in a state of terrible excitement, those around him being hardly less moved.

Their faces alternated with hope and fear, grief, rage, despair, anxiety--in short, all the pa.s.sions that the human face is capable of expressing. But, above all, it seemed to me they were waiting.

Waiting for what?

The idea which suddenly flashed across my mind made me tremble. Was it possible that these great-hearted men were mad enough to dream of a rescue?

From my heart I hoped and prayed this was not the secret of their excitement.

The thing was utterly impossible, and could only lead to the shedding of much innocent blood.

Life had never seemed so glorious a possession as it did just then, but I would have forfeited it a hundred times rather than expose those thousands of men and women to the horrors of an Austrian butchery.

Yet I was powerless to avert the evil, if, indeed, the trusty Mecsey had planned such a mad project.

However, in a few brief moments now everything would be decided. My fellow-victims were to suffer first, and, kneeling in the positions appointed, they submitted to the bandaging of their eyes.

I kept my head steadfastly turned from the cruel scene, as did the vast majority of the crowd.

The firing parties advanced.

"Long live Hungary!" cried the younger soldier.

"Long live Poland!" cried the veteran, the voices of both being equally cool and collected.

"Fire!"

The report of the volleys rang out, and a groan burst from the spectators.

From the victims themselves there came not a sound.

When next I looked round, the two bodies had been removed, and the governor was beginning to read from a second paper. It was a recital of my various crimes, and the sentence p.r.o.nounced by the military tribunal.

Slowly, expressively, giving each word with due distinctness, he read on, while I watched Mecsey's face, and prayed that the speech might come to an end before mischief was done.

Yet, all unknown to me, the question of my life or death hung on the length of time occupied by that pompous old man.

It could not be said I had abandoned hope, since, after the finding of the court-martial, I had never entertained any; all my suspense now was centered in the action of Mecsey and his companions.

That their presence, and the selection of their particular position, was due to some settled purpose, there could be little doubt; and I felt equally sure that every man of that desperate party was in possession of hidden weapons.

What was the signal they waited for?

Suddenly, in the midst of the reading, there came a cry from the outskirts of the crowd--a cry caught up and repeated by thousands of voices, till the volume of sound rolled over the whole market-place.

Mecsey and his confederates threw their caps high into the air, and yelled like madmen; the governor, deadly pale, stopped his reading and called to Von Theyer, who hastily mounted the platform; the infantry, waiting for orders, gripped their rifles with grim resolution; the hussars bared their swords and prepared for the word to charge.

Yet the people made no attempt at a rescue; only in one place they formed a lane along which a horseman galloped frantically amidst such a wild outburst of cheering as Arad never knew before or since.

During those few moments I must have suffered more agony than falls to the lot of many men in a lifetime.

Of what was happening I had not the slightest idea, only I saw Von Theyer return to his men, and heard his short, quick words of command.

At the same time the infantry faced about and presented a steel-girt barrier to the crowd.

Yet the cheering did not cease--it grew louder; and now we on the platform could hear such words as "The Kaiser! Long live Francis Josef!

Long live the Kaiser!"

At the first sign of danger the soldiers on the platform surrounded me in a body, and the executioner was already arranging the noose when the horseman reached the line of infantry.

What he said I knew not, but those st.u.r.dy warriors opened their ranks.

He dashed through, and when in the open s.p.a.ce Von Theyer would have turned him back, he struck him from the saddle, at the same time shouting out something in a loud tone.

Springing to the ground, he left his horse with heaving flanks and spume-flaked nostrils, and scrambled up the wooden steps, crying aloud and waving a large white envelope.

As one in a dream I watched him approach the governor and hand him the mysterious missive.

Then he turned to me, and I forgot all about death, for the strange messenger was "John the Joyous."

Never had the name fitted him more admirably. His cheeks were flushed with happiness; his eyes bright and sparkling; every feature had part in the joyous smile that overspread his handsome face.

I could not think or reason--in fact there was no necessity, for John Rakoczy had come.

The crowd shouted l.u.s.tily until the governor, waving the white envelope, went to the edge of the platform.

Then the cheering ceased and all was silent save for the voice of the governor as he read from a sheet of paper the free pardon of His Most Gracious Majesty, Kaiser Francis Josef, to George Botskay, sometime captain on the staff of General Arthur Gorgei.

He added some further words, to which the people responded with a wild cheer, and then began to disperse, while I stood dumfounded with the rope yet round my neck.

The market-place emptied slowly; the infantry formed up in companies and marched to the fortress; the hussars, headed by Von Theyer looking black and scowling, trotted off; only the governor's personal escort remained.

Then the old man harshly told me I was at liberty; and he, too, went away, leaving me with my chivalrous friend.

This startling swing back from the very brink of the grave left me weak and dazed. I had hardly sufficient strength to thank the man who had saved my life.

"Wait a bit," said he smilingly. "There will be plenty of time for all that. We have many things to tell each other, but you must get back a little strength first. Come, lean on me. Mecsey has a carriage ready, and I am going to send you to Gyula."

"Aren't you coming?"

"In a day or two. There is a little business in Arad to be settled first."

So greatly had my nerves been weakened by the shock that I did not guess what the business was, and permitted him to lead me away without protest.

At one of the inns Mecsey waited with a carriage, and many of the old Honveds stood in front of the house.

Dobozy was there too, and the true-hearted kindness of my former companions brought tears of grat.i.tude to my eyes.