"All right; any time you please," returned Richard.
Dripping water at every step, and soaked to the skin, the hussars continued their journey. It was well for them that they did not pause even for a breathing-spell in their wet condition: the cold autumn air would have served them an ill turn had they done so.
A meadow lay before them, in which the horses sank to their fetlocks in the mud. Yet it was a matter of stern necessity to push on. Both the leader and his followers knew that unless men and horses found food and shelter that night, they would all be likely to perish. For two days and nights they had not closed their eyes, and a good night's sleep, with one full meal, seemed indispensable if they were to gain strength for what yet lay before them.
"If the good God would only lead us to a village!" was the prayer of many a young hussar. But their prayers met with an ill response. They had prayed for some snug little village, and they came to a city instead. Gaining a hilltop, they suddenly beheld in the valley before them a pretty town with six church-spires. Their prayer had been more than answered. The town was girt with a wall, after the old German custom, and it seemed unwise to trust themselves within its embrace. A road led around it, to be sure, but was commanded by a high-walled building that looked, to the experienced eye, suspiciously like cavalry barracks. A reconnoissance seemed hazardous where every eye was on the watch for the fugitives; therefore, they were forced to retire to the woods they had just left, and wait for night. Yet they feared to tarry too long, well knowing that Palvicz would send a messenger across the river by boat to notify the garrison commander of their presence in the neighbourhood.
At nightfall the uncertainty of the hussars was dispelled. A bugle sounded its familiar note from the barracks, and the horses pricked up their ears. That well-known "trarara trarara" had always meant to them that their masters were bringing oats for the night and spreading straw for their beds. But no such good luck this time. The fanfare was heard four times,—once at each corner of the wall,—and when the trumpets became silent a roll of drums followed. All this indicated to the listeners that troops were quartered in the town.
To make a détour and avoid both town and barracks was impossible; horses and riders would have perished in the swamp. But go on they must in some way; it was out of the question to bivouac in the open air that cold autumn night. Yet which way were they to turn?
Possibly the reader may wonder that two hundred and twenty Hungarian hussars, those centaurs of modern mythology, should have even stopped to ask such a question, so long as they held their good swords in their hands. But consider, dear reader, that these hussars had not slept for two nights, or eaten anything since the preceding day; that their horses were worn out, their clothes wet through, and their limbs chilled and stiffened by the autumn frost. Military men know only too well how many battles have been lost because of empty stomachs. Many a brave army that has marched out as if to subdue the world has been routed in the end by a despised and inferior enemy, simply because the latter had eaten a good dinner before the battle and the other side had not.
At last help came from an unexpected source,—from that cold and penetrating dampness of which the shivering riders were so bitterly complaining. Such a dense mist arose and spread over the landscape that one could not see twenty steps ahead.
"Now, boys," said Captain Baradlay, turning with satisfaction to his men, "we will play a capital joke on yonder good people. Let every man tear up his saddle-cloth and bind his horse's hoofs with the rags; then we will start."
The men soon guessed his plan, and in a few minutes were ready for further orders. They left the woods and rode silently along the highway, unable to see ahead, but each man following his nose. Not a soul was abroad at that time of night, all good citizens being long since in bed and asleep.