Day dawned at last,—the most harrowing day of their long flight. Ice-clad peaks and fields of snow greeted the eye on every side, with nothing to guide a traveller's course but the sun in the heavens. Two days had passed since the men had tasted food. They sought to quench their thirst with lumps of snow, but only made matters worse.
One thing, however, troubled them more than hunger or thirst. Their horses were beginning to fail them, falling exhausted, one after another, in the deep snow; and whenever one of the animals fell, its rider stood by its side, with tears in his eyes, more than half inclined to lie down too and give up the fight. But old Paul would allow no such nonsense. Alternately swearing and coaxing, and calling upon the saints, he spurred on the stragglers, helped to raise a fallen horse where help was of any avail, brought up the reserve horses to take the places of those left behind, and infused fresh courage into all by the mere force of his example.
"Not a man must be lost!" he cried. "We shall soon be at home now."
"Yes, at home in heaven," muttered one weary hussar to another.
The men were scattered over a distance of two miles, Richard taking the lead and breaking a path through the deep snow, while Paul brought up the rear. It was almost a miracle that their strength still held out. Their clothes were frozen stiff, and their swords had become a grievous burden to them. The horses' girths flapped loosely against their sides, their shoes had fallen off, and their hoofs were torn and bruised. And no one could tell when or how or where it would all end.
One last trial was in store for the weary fugitives: in the afternoon a dense snow-storm met them in the face. Should Richard lead his men by any mischance into a ravine that offered no outlet, they would all be lost. Occasional avalanches came sliding down the steep cliffs, threatening to bury men and horses. Yet they did not quite lose heart. The terrors of their situation had not yet extinguished the spark of hope.
Evening was again approaching when Richard noted that for some time they had been descending. Before long a well-grown fir grove loomed up ahead and proved a grateful asylum to the wanderers. The wind blew through the tree-tops with the sound of some giant organ, but above its tones Richard heard what was the sweetest of music to his ears,—the sound of a woodman's axe. Human beings and human habitations were near. Taking a few of his men, the hussar captain hastened in the direction of the sound, and soon came upon a wood-chopper cutting the branches from a tree he had just felled. Richard called to him in the Moravian tongue.
"Bless the Lord!" answered the wood-chopper in Hungarian, whereupon the hussars nearly smothered him with kisses and embraces. Then they threw themselves down on their faces in the snow and gave thanks for their deliverance from danger. Yes, blessed be the name of the Lord from everlasting to everlasting!
The wood-chopper told them they were expected in the village yonder, only a short distance down the mountain. Word of their approach had already been brought by the guide, who had left them and hurried on ahead to summon help.
The snow ceased, and as the veil of clouds was drawn aside a view was given of what the hussars had come so far to see,—the fair land of Hungary.