Long afterwards Rakoczy told me that my servant was far from being alone in his foresight.
Many gallant officers thought the general should refuse to be made the figure-head, now that everything was in ruins; but Görgei was a true patriot. He thought of the welfare of his distracted country, and manfully threw himself into the breach.
He had sacrificed everything for his countrymen; now he was prepared to lose even their goodwill and esteem.
The chance had come too late. Paskewitch, with his two corps of veterans, was pressing on one side; General Luders barred the way into Transylvania; Görgei's old opponent, Schlick, at the head of the Austrian advanced guard, was hurrying from Temesvar to hem him in, and there was none to help.
On the twelfth of August he wrote a letter to the Russian general, offering to capitulate, and laid it before his chief officers, who sorrowfully acknowledged that nothing else could be done, unless they were willing to fight a battle which would be only a massacre.
These details were told me later by Rakoczy, for at the time of their happening I was riding with Mecsey over villanous by-roads to Arad, and only arrived on the morning of the thirteenth of August, the date fixed for the surrender.
Mecsey urged me to turn back at once; but although I could do no good, I determined to proceed to Vilagos, where the laying down of arms was to take place.
As it chanced, a robe which Mecsey had procured completely hid my uniform, and I was wearing a kalpag--a round fur cap ornamented by a white heron's plume.
Crowds of peasants swarmed in the country roads, while people of higher degree rode on horseback or in light latticed-side wagons to witness the mournful spectacle.
And it was mournful in the extreme.