The Honveds took up the cry, and the sound of their voices drowned all else, while I stood spell-bound.
The first of the assailants had put foot inside the fortress; the first Hungarian flag fluttered on the ramparts.
For one moment I was the proudest, as I was soon to be the most miserable lad in Hungary; for the flag belonged to the 9th Honveds, and the soldier guarding it was my brother.
"That's one better than Count Beula!" shouted Dobozy, when another cheer arose. A little to the left the count appeared--the second to mount the walls.
Perhaps I lost a second--not more--enjoying my triumph; then I shot past the colonel, and reached my brother's side.
He had already received several hurts, but was still gallantly holding his ground against long odds, when I joined him.
"Bravo, old fellow!" I cried, parrying a fierce thrust from an Austrian officer.
"It's all right now, George! I beat him!" he shouted.
At the same moment a savage-looking Croat sprang at him; but there was the rapid gleam of a bayonet, a sharp cry, and the fellow fell dead.
A swift glance showed me Mecsey Sándor, who throughout the fight had, as usual, followed my steps like a dog.