One would not have thought so, however, at the time of the fight. His face was full of confidence; his voice had not lost an atom of its usual cheerfulness. To his troops his presence appeared everywhere as an omen of victory.
Still the position was growing desperate, and though we might have held our own for a while longer, the enemy must finally have captured the heights, as there would have been no one left to defend them.
The colonel had posted my company at a spot where the ascent was fairly easy, and, had the white-coats once broken through, they would have turned the position from the top.
"You must die where you stand," he had said, "for the honour of the Magyars," and we had answered with a cheer.
But the enemy were not at our throats then as they were now, cutting and stabbing, or, seizing us bodily, trying to hurl us over the cliffs.
Still we held our ground, though the company was sadly diminishing in numbers, and every fighting-man who survived was more or less seriously wounded.
I had twice escaped death myself, through the devotion of Mecsey Sándor, who, since the affair in the pass, had taken every opportunity to show his gratitude.
On the second occasion I was engaged hand to hand with an Austrian sergeant, sword against bayonet, when, my foot slipping, down, I went, completely at the fellow's mercy.
Sándor, who though hotly engaged evidently kept one eye on me, was at my side in a moment, and, parrying the sergeant's blow, dealt one himself.
My men cheered as I rose to my feet and again dashed into the thick of the fight.