Even now it is painful to look back on the time when I fully expected every hour of each ensuing day to be my last.
Yet night and morning came and went, and I still remained in the dark cell, unable to learn anything concerning my fate.
The only relief to the monotony was the coming of the jailer, and he was such a surly fellow that his visits gave me more pain than pleasure.
A whole week passed in this way, and then I was again taken from the cell and marched to another part of the fortress.
At every step I gazed round anxiously, expecting to see the preparations for my execution.
Young, strong, and healthy, I had no wish to die; yet this horrible uncertainty, this alternation of hope and fear, was actually worse than death.
The faces of the soldiers were stolid and impassive--nothing could be learned from them; while the officer did not even look at me. We crossed the courtyard, and my pulses throbbed with fresh hope as I was led into a spacious room, where a stout, florid man in military uniform sat at a table writing.
Only two of the escort had entered with the officer, and these stood with fixed bayonets.
The florid man left his chair, and pointing to another, said coldly,--
"Sit down there, Herr Botskay. By order of the general commanding, you are to answer these questions in writing, an hour being given you for the task."
To all appearance I was quite cool, but the blood surged through my veins like a rushing torrent, and I could not see the questions on the paper for dizziness.
Apathy and despair vanished. The latent spark of hope kindled into a fresh flame. Here was another chance of life and freedom. Alas! my new and beautiful castle was built on very frail foundations.
The questions numbered nearly a dozen, and were framed in such a manner that by answering them without adding the fullest explanations I should only make my case worse.
A quarter of an hour passed, and I still sat staring stupidly at my blank sheet of paper.
The soldiers stood grimly at attention, the officer leaned on his sword, the stout man sat writing stolidly; no sound but the monotonous ticking of the clock and the beating of my own heart broke the silence.
At last, seizing the pen, I began to write--not in answer to the questions, but a short account of what had passed between Von Theyer and myself, and an explanation of how I came to be in the company of Batori Gabor.
It was rather a lame performance, its chief merit being to afford a reason for Von Theyer's persecution; and when the official came to witness my signature, I felt it would do me but little good.
Another week passed--a week of heart-wearing suspense--before I was again called to attend the court.
A single glance at the faces of my judges extinguished the tiny spark of hope which struggled to keep alive in my breast.
The president spoke in impressive tones, every word sounding distinctly in the quiet room.
It was a long speech, but the whole of it might easily have been compressed into a dozen sentences.
On the first two counts--refusing to surrender at Vilagos, and joining a band of notorious outlaws--I was unanimously found guilty, and sentenced to death.
After this, one would have thought the rest to be of little interest, but the president gravely continued his remarks.
The unlawful killing of Ober was also considered proved, and on the various other charges laid against me the court expressed no opinion.
"Therefore," concluded the president in a solemn voice, "it becomes my painful duty to tell you, George Botskay. that on the second morning from this you will be led out to execution in the market-place of this town, that your death may act as a warning to all those who vainly hope to oppose the imperial government."
My limbs trembled, the blood left my face, but, managing to control my voice, I said calmly, "As a soldier, general, you will know a soldier's feelings. I do not plead for mercy, but there is one favour I would like to beg."
"Speak on, Herr Botskay. It may be in our power to grant it."
"Then I ask that you will at least permit me to die the death of a soldier, and not that of a criminal."
"That," responded the old man, "is impossible, since you ceased to be a soldier when you joined Batori Gabor. As a brigand you were captured, as a brigand you must suffer;" and he waved his hand, directing that I should be removed.
Back again in the lonely cell, my first feeling was one of relief that the period of suspense had ended.
I could no longer be tortured by swift alternations of hopes and fears. The worst had come, and with it a feeling of apathetic stupor.
But the next day, as I sat measuring off the hours by guess-work, a revulsion of feeling set in.
Life was sweet, and all the throbbing vigour of my youth protested hotly against this violent and disgraceful death.
Had it come when I charged with Görgei at the head of our cavalry, or when beside my noble-hearted brother I scaled the ramparts of Buda, the glow of patriotism, of devotion to my outraged country, would have removed half its terrors; but now, in this guise!
Then my thoughts turned to the faithful Mecsey; to John Rakoczy, my true and gallant friend, whom I should never again see; finally passing to the Austrian maiden, whose fair face had never faded from my memory.
Would she believe the untruths which Von Theyer would but too surely circulate?
I shuddered to think what terrible stories his fertile brain might invent when I was no longer able to give them the lie.
Yet, through it all, I never quite lost hope that the beautiful girl would keep her faith in my truth and honour; and this feeling sufficed to raise me from the slough of misery into which I was sinking.
Night came at length, and the surly jailer brought my last supper, which I forced myself to eat.
Then, after a solemn hour spent in prayer, I lay down on my hard bench and slept peacefully as a child.
I had no means of telling the time, but the jailer apparently wakened me earlier than usual, and I was led into a room where, instead of the usual bread and water, a proper breakfast was laid. The apartment was filled with soldiers; and when I had finished, two of them, stepping forward, pinioned my arms tightly behind my back.
It was, as near as I could judge, about ten o'clock when the governor entered, and, after a brief talk with one of the officers, ordered the procession to be formed.
The air was keen, though the sun shone brightly overhead, as we proceeded slowly to the courtyard, where the soldiers halted.
Two other detachments now joined us, and in the midst of each a prisoner walked bareheaded.
They were both officers in Bern's army of Transylvania, so I did not know them, but we exchanged glances of pity and goodwill.
One was an old man with scarred face and white, flowing beard, a veteran Pole, who had spent his life in warfare against the enemies of his country.
His fellow-victim was quite young, hardly older than myself; but he bore himself as proudly as his comrade, gazing at the Austrians without a tremor.
After a delay of ten minutes the arrangements were completed, and the booming of a big gun announced to the townsfolk that the mournful procession was about to issue from the gates of the fortress.
The soldiers closed up their ranks, the order was issued, and we set out, my escort being the last of the three.
I tried hard to march with steady step and unfaltering countenance, but it was hard work.
The fresh morning air, the bright October sun, the merry flight of birds overhead, even the gaudy uniforms of the soldiers, spoke of life, and I was going to lose it.
A lump rose in my throat as we passed through the gateway, but I remembered I was a Magyar, and choked it down.
The pain and misery would soon be at an end, and the white-coats must not think me a coward.
At minute intervals a gun was fired from the ramparts, and the church-bells of the town tolled mournfully in response.
Crossing the one bridge which had not been destroyed during the war, we entered the town proper.
I was astounded at the spectacle.
Two lines of soldiers with loaded rifles guarded the route to the market-place, and kept back the crowds of people who stood on tiptoe and craned their necks in eager anxiety to catch a last view of those about to die.
Not the populace of the town alone had assembled, but the inhabitants of all the surrounding districts had come in thousands to show respect to the victims of Austrian cruelty.
The women sobbed as we went by, and looked at us with a yearning pity that almost broke down my composure. The eyes of the men flashed with fierce hate, and I thought it well that these brave Magyars had no weapons.
Little children were held up in the arms of their fathers to see us, and were that day taught a lesson which they would not forget in many years.
The nearer we approached our destination the denser the crowd became, while the market-place itself was so packed that several persons died of suffocation.
There, during the preceding night, an enormous wooden stage had been erected, and in the centre was a tall gallows.
At the sight of this, I confess freely, my heart sank, and I feared that my courage would desert me.
Now just at this moment I saw the face of the gallant Mecsey Sándor, which acted on my nerves like a strong tonic.
The faithful fellow stood in the very foremost of the crowd, immediately behind the soldiers, and opposite the steps by which the wide platform was reached.
He was very mournful, yet the look in his eyes expressed something more than sorrow.
"Courage, my sweet master, and God bless you!" cried he boldly, while I, turning my head, smiled to show I understood.
"Courage, George Botskay!" exclaimed a second voice. "The Austrians cannot kill your name, which will never die in Magyar-land."
The man who spoke was standing next Mecsey, and I stared in amazement at beholding Dobozy.
What was he doing there?
If he were free, why not "John the Joyous?"
So great a longing suddenly seized me to look on the dear fellow's face once more that I was unnerved, and only by a great effort kept myself from stumbling.
Several other voices now cried, "God bless you, captain!" and I became aware that many men of my old regiment were grouped around Mecsey Sándor and Dobozy.
I smiled a last farewell at them, but my aching eyes sought in vain for the noble figure of their colonel, and I concluded he was still a prisoner, or dead.
Right round the ghastly structure a cordon of troops had been drawn, the space inside being occupied by a regiment of hussars.
Even before meeting him I knew instinctively that Von Theyer was at their head, and the knowledge gave me added courage.
He, at least, should never guess the tortures that I suffered.
I walked firmly, with head erect, gazing boldly at my bitter enemy. He was on horseback, almost at the foot of the wooden steps which led to the scaffold, so that but for my guard I should have brushed against him in passing.
His eyes, full of cruel hatred, met mine; but I trust they detected no sign of fear or blenching in my face.
I mounted the steps, and as the soldiers placed me beneath the gallows a low, deep hum of pity rose from the crowd.
The two officers from Bern's army were stationed some distance away on my right, and the governor, stepping to the front, began reading in a loud, clear voice some official document.
It was a wonderful and impressive scene. The huge platform, with half a dozen high officials and two firing parties; the bronzed hussars, in brilliant uniforms, sitting their horses like statues; the ring of infantry, with the sun shining on their bright, steel bayonets the hushed crowd beyond, angry but impotent--furnished a spectacle that those who beheld never forgot while life lasted.
The governor continued to read, and as he read a little bird with cherry-coloured throat and gay plumage came and perched itself near me on the frowning gallows.
I was watching the tiny fellow with interest when a cry from the crowd, as of pain wrung from some animal, greeted the end of the governor's speech.
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 passions 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 pronounced 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 sturdy warriors opened their ranks. He dashed through, and when in the open space 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 lustily 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 Görgei.
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 gratitude to my eyes.
"The Joyous" wrapped me up comfortably, and giving Mecsey, who was to ride inside, many injunctions, shook my hand in a parting grasp.
"Rouse yourself!" cried he. "Dobozy and I are coming in a few days, and we don't want to be entertained by an invalid."
Dobozy added some lively badinage to cheer my spirits, the two waved their hands in farewell, the coachman cracked his whip, and we were off to the lonely homestead I had not visited during the last two years.