We were not very cheerful in camp that night. We were tired out with marching and fighting, saddened by the loss of many brave companions, while the shame of that morning's rout hung over us like a pall.
True, the Austrians had finally been repulsed; but the credit of that was not ours. That belonged to Görgei and the veterans of the second division.
The runaways were sulky and ashamed; the officers--some of whom had been literally carried off by the crowd of fugitives--were furiously angry.
For myself, I was on fatigue duty till a late hour, and Dobozy volunteered to help me: hard work would divert his mind somewhat from dwelling on the death of his comrade.
It was nearly midnight when we rejoined our brother-officers, who, wrapped in their mantles, lay in a ring on the ground. Some had forgotten the disaster in sleep, others were still chatting quietly over the events of the day.
Rakoczy was absent; he had been sent for by the chief, who wished to consult him, or more likely, perhaps, to give him some orders for the morning.
Dobozy and I lay down side by side, wrapped ourselves in our mantles, and tried to snatch an hour or two's sleep.
In this my companion happily succeeded, but I was less fortunate, being weighed down by a sense of uneasiness as to my brother's fate.
After that momentary glimpse of him riding at the head of the hussars, he had vanished, and no one seemed to know what had become of him.
True, he might have rejoined Görgei, and been sent with a message to Aulich; but the general gloom of the day made me nervous and fanciful, and I lay awake until Rakoczy returned.