"Cowardly rats, deserting a sinking ship!" exclaimed my brother Stephen; "I would not raise my little finger to help them!"
"It seems to me this insurrection will do good to our cause."
Stephen pushed his chair back from the breakfast-table, and stood up.
"We are Hungarians," said he, "and we fight for our nation. We want no assistance from these Austrian rebels. If they care a kreuzer for their country, why don't they rally round the emperor?"
Laughing at Stephen's expression of disgust, I crossed the room to the little window, and looked into the street.
It was the morning of October 5, 1848, and still fairly early, yet the people of Vienna were pouring by in hundreds, all eager, restless, and apparently too excited to think of such an ordinary thing as breakfast.
Some were mere lads, pale-faced and spectacled, but armed with sword and pistol, and looking very resolute; these were students from the public schools and universities. Mingling with these enthusiastic youths were a few shopkeepers, a more considerable body of respectably-dressed artisans, numbers of National Guards in uniform, and, most significant of all, the men from the slums--bare-headed, dirty, gaunt, but carrying knives, hatchets, clubs, and other death-dealing weapons.
Thus far, this year of 1848 had produced most remarkable changes throughout Europe.
Louis Philippe, King of the French, had been driven into exile; Sicily had revolted against King Bomba; insurrections had arisen at Madrid; the whole of Germany had been, and was, in a state of turmoil; the Prussians had conquered Poland afresh.
Thrones had crumbled into dust, and monarchs and rulers had been swept away like chaff before the wrath of the people.