That was just like "John the Joyous," and my eyes were dim as I placed the paper in my pocket.
The faded characters, barely legible now, meet my eyes as I write; for that scrap of soiled paper remains one of my most sacred treasures, and it lies in a little golden casket on my desk.
"Have you found him, captain?"
The speaker was Mecsey, and when I shook my head sadly he immediately began to question the soldiers.
Here, again, we were at fault. No one really knew where the colonel was, some asserting he had been taken to Gros-Wardein with Görgei, others saying he had gone south with his regiment to Nagy Kikinda.
We spent another hour in questioning various men who had escaped from Vilagos, but could gain no news of the colonel, though several stated positively that the 9th Honveds had marched southward under a strong escort.
Then I held council with Mecsey, and we decided to separate, he to reconnoitre Gros-Wardein, while I followed my old regiment. At the end of a week we were to meet again at Arad, by which time it was likely that one of us would have discovered my missing friend.
"Good-bye, captain," said Mecsey, grasping the hand I held out to him, "and take the colonel's advice. It's easier to get into an Austrian prison than out of one."
"All right, my trusty fellow; I shall keep my eyes open, though I'm not tall enough for the Austrians to cut down."
So we parted, guessing little of the events which would happen before we met again.