"It will cost them dear," said Rakoczy; "Bern is there!"
"Let us go and see," said Stephen; "we may be of use."
CHAPTER IV.
VIENNA IN FLAMES.
For the second time the Croats were about to hurl themselves against the barricade defended by the daring Pole. A cluster of bodies twenty yards in advance of it showed where the first rush had been stayed.
The black nozzles of several guns peeped from the huge pile, and the gunners stood ready with lighted matches.
Looking at Bern, I remembered Rakoczy's story, and really it appeared as if the man were bullet-proof. Others exposed themselves for a moment, and were shot down; he, holding a short riding-whip in his hand, stood with the most perfect sang-froid in the hottest of the fire, cheering, directing, encouraging, and was not hit once.
Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I should have doubted a narrator who told me the story, for the thing was almost incredible even to an eye-witness.
But the Croats were ready. The signal rang out; they went forward in loose formation, slowly at first, afterwards more quickly, a few dropping by the way. Then, with an appalling yell, they literally flew over the ground, brandishing their handjars.
Once at close quarters, the Viennese would go down before them like ripe corn beneath the sickle.