Fortunately, my personal effects were in the camp, so that I was able to join the others properly dressed, though, of course, I had to endure much good-humoured raillery.
After supper we lingered for a half-hour's chat, and the general asked me to relate the story of my personal adventures.
At the part where we abandoned the horses, Görgei exclaimed laughingly, "Now we are on the track, gentlemen. It seems to me that our friend has been hunted by wolves. First, he sacrifices the animals; then he empties his pistols; next, his servant gives up his life; then, one by one, he discards his garments to the ravening pack."
"It's the wrong time of year for wolves, general."
"Ach, so it is. Well, go on, Botskay. We're all wondering what it means."
As the story unfolded bit by bit, the fellows craned forward eagerly, being loud in their applause when I told how Mecsey and Popkoff followed me into the dark waters.
"That Mecsey is a servant worth having," said Görgei; "and the Russian proved a very plucky fellow."
"His men showed the white feather, though," growled Mizvy, who always fastened on the seamy side of things.
"I think I should have done the same," cried Szondi, with a laugh. "This underground travelling isn't much to my liking."
"Some of these Muscovites would have been none the worse for a good bath," chimed in another fellow.