I remember laughing to myself and thinking it would be even safer at Debreczin with Kossuth and the members of the Diet.
Bang! bang! The firing grew heavier, and our losses more considerable; but, as Rakoczy had said, there was no retreat for the 9th Honveds.
After the mess we had made of it before, we were bound to get inside the fortress--that is, if any of us survived to reach the walls, which seemed doubtful.
Meanwhile most of the ladder-men were dead or disabled. The stormers had taken their places, and were trying to rear the ladders against the ramparts.
Stephen was with them, his face aflame, his eyes burning with excitement.
We were quite near when he got one planted, and instantly began to climb.
The light was breaking now, and our fellows cheered madly as they beheld the lithe, graceful figure springing to the top.
A group of Croats, led by an officer, waited patiently with bayonets fixed, and I groaned at the thought of what must happen.
Inspired by his example, the men crowded behind him eagerly--too eagerly, as it proved; for the ladder, groaning and creaking beneath their weight, snapped off, and the whole party dropped with a crash to the ground.
Several never moved again, and I must confess I hoped Stephen was hurt, since it would save him from a sadder fate. To our astonishment, however, he jumped up from the wriggling mass, and was soon cheering on the survivors to fresh efforts.