by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XVIII.
GREGORY BOKSA.
The night after the battle A-dA?n and Richard passed in a neighbouringvillage, and both were engaged until morning in restoring such orderas they could among the defeated troops.
"If we could only offer them something to eat," said Richard. "Thesmell of a good roast would rally the men quickly enough."
Yes, but a good roast was not to be had. The enemy had passed throughthat village twice, and had left very poor pickings for those thatcame after them. Bread was at hand, as the provision train had beensaved, but meat was wanting.
"How glad we should be now to see Gregory Boksa, our ox-herd, with hisfifty head of cattle!" exclaimed A-dA?n; and a patrol was sent out tosearch for the man, who, it was thought, might have found a place ofsafety for himself and his charge. But the search, which was continueduntil late in the evening, proved fruitless. At length, however, Boksamade his appearance, but without his oxen, and leading his horsebehind him. Evidently he had dismounted to show how grievously lame hewas. He groaned and sighed piteously as he came limping into camp,using his pole-axe for a crutch, and appearing utterly exhausted.
"Boksa, what has happened to you?" asked A-dA?n.
"Ah, sir," moaned the ox-driver, "you may well ask what has happenedto me. A good deal has happened to me. I am all done up. I shall neveragain be the man I was. Oh, oh! my backbone is broken. That cursedcannon-ball! A big forty-pounder hit me."
Mausmann and his comrades burst into a loud laugh at this.
"But where is our herd of oxen?" was the question from every side.
"Ah, if I only knew! Just as the fight was beginning, I took my knifeout of my boot-leg and opened my knapsack to get my bread and bacon,and have a quiet little lunch, when all at once the Germans began toblaze away at me, so that I dropped knife, bread, and bacon, andthought for sure my last hour had come. Whiz! a ball grazed by me, andit was a twenty-eight pounder, as sure as I'm alive. It was achain-shot, too, a couple of twenty-eight pounders joined together."
"You ran away," said A-dA?n, interrupting the narrative, "we understandthat. But where are the oxen?"
"How should I know, with cannon-balls singing about my ears so that Icouldn't look around without losing my head?"
"Look here, brother," interposed Richard, addressing A-dA?n, "that isn'tthe way to handle this case. Let me try my hand. Now, you cowardlyrascal, the long and short of it is, you ran away at the first shot,and left your herd in the enemy's hands. Here, corporal, fetch out theflogging-bench and give him fifty with the strap."
At these words Gregory Boksa changed his limping, broken-backedattitude and suddenly straightened up. Holding his head high andsmiting his chest with his clenched fist, he burst out haughtily:
"That is more than I will submit to. My name is Gregory Boksa,nobleman; and, besides, I beg to remind the captain that the Hungariandiet has done away with flogging, even for the common people."
"All right," returned Richard; "when you have received your fiftystrokes you may go and appeal to the diet. We are not legislatingnow."
The order was faithfully executed, poor Gregory bellowing lustily thewhile, after which he was obliged to return and thank the hussarofficer for his lesson.
"Now, then," said Richard, "did the Germans shoot forty-pounders?"
"If you please, sir," replied Boksa humbly, "they didn't even fire apistol at me."
"Disarm him," was the other's order, "and set him on his horse. Thenlet him go whither he will. A soldier who is not ashamed to run awaydeserves to feel the rod on that part of his body which he shows tothe enemy."
Stripped of his sword and pistols and pole-axe, and with his whip hungaround his neck, poor Boksa was mounted on his piebald nag andignominiously driven out of camp.
Drawing out his pipe, he looked into the bowl, took off his cap andexamined it, and then inspected his tobacco-pouch; after which hereplaced his cap, pocketed his pipe, closed his tobacco-pouch, androde on. Was he hatching some deep scheme of revenge?
He rode back over the very road by which he had that day taken hisflight,--straight toward the enemy's camp. Suddenly he was challengedin the darkness:
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Oh, how you frightened me," exclaimed the ox-herd. "I am a deserter."
The sentinel ordered Boksa to wait there until the patrol came to leadhim away. Soon a file-leader appeared with a common soldier andreceived Gregory's statement that he was a runaway from the Hungariancamp and wished to speak with the commander. He had chanced upon theencampment of a cavalry regiment, whose colonel was at the momentplaying cards in his tent with some of his officers. Being told that adeserter was outside, waiting to speak with him, he ordered the man tobe admitted.
The officers became interested at once in the newcomer, who appearedat the same time cowardly and haughty, angry and humble; who wore thelook of a suppliant and gnashed his teeth with rage, kissed everyone's hand, and swore by all the saints while he was doing it.
"Why did you desert?" asked the colonel.
"Because they had me flogged; me, whose family has been noble forseventy-seven generations. And then they took away my arms, whichcannot lawfully be taken from a nobleman even for debt, and drove meout of the camp like a dog. All right! There are other people over themountains, and Gregory Boksa can find a market for his serviceselsewhere."
"And in what capacity did you serve?" demanded the colonel.
"As ox-herd."
"As a non-combatant, then. Now I understand why you are so fierce."
"Oh, I can handle my man in an honest fight," answered Gregory, "butI'm a bit put out where loud shooting is going on."
The officers laughed at this naA-ve confession.
"Very well," said the colonel; "it so happens that we need a man nowwho can manage oxen. We have captured a herd from the enemy, and youshall have the care of it."
At these words Gregory Boksa seized the colonel's hand and kissed it."Ah, sir," he cried, "may the saints bless you! You shall find me afaithful servant, who will go through fire and water to serve you.I'll soon show you what an artist I am in my calling."
Being introduced to the corporal in charge, Boksa offered, with thezeal of one newly entering upon a responsible position, to take up hisquarters for the night among his oxen, with his good horse at hisside. Surely, when one is hired to discharge certain duties he mustdischarge them to the best of his ability. He had a good thick cloakto wrap himself in, and, besides, he could smoke if he chose, outthere in the open air,--a solace that would be denied him if he passedthe night in the stable.
Accordingly the zealous ox-herd was given permission to lie down withhis oxen if he wished. Gregory Boksa first ascertained the directionof the wind, that he might choose his position with the herd toleeward; and after rehearsing his grievances once more to the adjutantand the corporal and as many others as would listen to him, he wrappedhimself in his mantle and bade them all good night. They laughedheartily at the poor man, even while they gave him their assurances ofsympathy; but they did not forget to keep a watchful eye on hismovements through it all.
His actions, however, were not of the sort to arouse suspicion. Firsthe drew out his pipe and opened his tobacco-pouch; then he removed hishat. Perhaps he was wont to pray before going to sleep; and verylikely, too, he found it easier to go to sleep with his pipe in hismouth. After filling and lighting that trusty companion of hismeditations, he lay down on his stomach--he had good and sufficientreasons for not lying on his back--and puffed away in apparentcontent. Then, to pass away the time, he took his knife and began toscrape off the accumulated dirt and grease from the edge of his felthat, gathering the scrapings together in the palm of his hand. The hatwas old and dilapidated; it had weathered many a storm, was full ofholes, and was so stained with sweat and dust and rain that itsoriginal colour had become a matter of pure conjecture. Unquestionablyit stood in sad need of the cleaning which its owner now undertook toperform.
When the ox-herd had col
lected a little heap of scrapings in thehollow of his hand, he raised the lid of his pipe and emptied them onthe burning tobacco, whereupon such a penetrating and offensive odourarose as had never before saluted the nose of man or beast. What theconnection may be between the nervous system of an ox and an odour ofthis sort, neither Oken nor Cuvier has explained; but allcattle-raisers and ox-herds know that, after inhaling these pungentfumes, an ox ceases to be an ox and becomes a wild animal. It is as ifhe were reduced to his original untamed condition: he falls into arage, breaks away, tries to toss on his horns every one who opposeshim, runs down and tramples upon all in his path, and, in short,becomes utterly unmanageable.
As soon as the leader of the herd scented the powerful stench whichBoksa had raised, he sprang up from his bed on the ground, tossed hishead, and sniffed the breeze. A fresh puff of smoke from Gregory'spipe made the now excited animal shake his head till the bell he worearound his neck rang aloud. Then he lashed his sides with his tail andgave a short, hoarse bellow like that of a wild bull. Next he began toleap and plunge and throw his head this way and that, whereupon allthe rest of the herd sprang up in great excitement. In a state ofevident alarm and panic, the oxen all backed away from the quarterwhence came the offensive odour, their horns lowered as if inexpectation of attack from some unseen enemy. The consequence of thisretreat in a body was that the hedge was broken down--it could nothave withstood the strain even had it been of iron--and the whole herdwent dashing away over the meadow beyond in the wildest confusion.
At the sound of this outbreak, officers, orderlies, and corporals camerunning to the scene and called upon Gregory to know what it allmeant. It needed no lengthy explanation on his part, however, to showthat the herd was running away. It did no good to ply the whip orbelabour the animals with the flat of one's sword: they crowded thesentinels to one side, ran over the watch-fires, and broke completelythrough the lines, with loud bellowing and a deafening thunder ofhoofs on the hollow ground. Why they behaved so was a mystery to all.Surely Gregory Boksa had done nothing whatever to them; he could nothave aroused them to such a mad stampede. He had been lying there onhis stomach, quietly smoking, all the while.
"What is going on here? What does this mean?" cried the colonel,approaching the newly appointed ox-herd.
The latter removed his pipe and put it away in his pocket, as isbecoming when a man is addressed by his superiors, and then, with anair of profound wisdom, proceeded to explain matters. "The oxen haveseen a vision, sir," said he.
"A vision?" repeated the colonel, puzzled.
"Yes, sir; that is no uncommon occurrence. Cattle-dealers and butchersknow very well what that means, but the ox-herd understands it bestof all. You see, the ox dreams just like a human being, and when hehas a vision in his sleep he goes mad and runs till he is so tired hecan't run another step. Then comes the gathering of the frightenedanimals together again and driving them back. But you leave that tome: I understand the business. Once let me get after them on mywhite-faced horse with my long whip, and I'll have every one of themback again in no time."
"Make haste about it then," said the colonel; "for they might strayaway out of your reach. And there is one of the sentinels yonder; heshall mount and go with you."
Painfully and with many groans Gregory Boksa climbed into his saddle;but once seated and with his feet in the stirrups, he seemed to havegrown there. "Now, Colonel," he cried, "just watch and see how soonI'll be back again."
The officer failed to note the cunning and ironical tone in whichthese words were uttered, and which was very different from theox-herd's earlier manner of speech.
With a loud crack of his whip and a goat-like spring of his piebaldsteed, Boksa was over the hedge and after the vanishing herd, thedragoon galloping after him. Gregory knew that his long-lashed whipwas of more use just then than fifty swords. Three cavalrymen couldnot, to save their lives, catch an ox that had once gone wild. Thetask before the ox-herd was like a Spanish bull-fight of giganticproportions; but as often as he cracked his whip, marvellous resultswere sure to follow. With incredible skill he soon had the fiftyrunaway cattle together. Turning his horse now in this direction, nowin that, he gathered the animals, one by one, about their leader. Thedragoon meanwhile followed close at his heels, shouting and swearingat the herd as he rode.
When at length the cattle were gathered into one compact body, Boksasuddenly spurred his horse into their very midst and delivered twostinging blows with his wire-tipped whip-lash on the leader's back,which of course made the animal run all the faster. At this thedragoon began to suspect that Gregory was up to mischief, and hecalled out to know why he did not turn the herd back toward the camp.But he appealed to deaf ears. All at once Boksa refused to understanda word of German, and the dragoon's command of Hungarian did notextend beyond a few oaths.
"_Teremtette!_[2] Don't chase the oxen like that!" But Gregory wasdetermined not to hear him. "Hold on, _betyAir_,[3] or it'll be theworse for you." The ox-herd, however, only lashed his animals the morefuriously. "If you can't hear me when I call," shouted the dragoon,"perhaps you'll listen to this." And drawing one of his pistols, hedischarged it at the unruly ox-driver.
[Footnote 2: _Teremtette_, zooks!]
[Footnote 3: _BetyAir_, stupid bumpkin.]
Gregory looked around as the ball whistled by his head. "Just see thebooby!" he shouted tauntingly; "couldn't hit the side of a barn! Nowlet's have the other."
The soldier fired his second pistol, with no better success.
"Now then, try your sword!" challenged Gregory Boksa, half turning inhis saddle, and bidding the other defiance. And yet he himself wasentirely defenceless except for his ox-whip.
The dragoon was in deadly earnest. Drawing his sword, he charged uponthe ox-driver at full tilt. The latter swung his whip and aimed a cutas if at his pursuer's left cheek. The dragoon parried on the leftwith his sword and received a stinging blow on his right cheek. ThenGregory Boksa aimed his whip as if at the soldier's right ear, andwhen the dragoon parried on that side he got another sharp cut, thistime on his left cheek. A cursed weapon to deal with, that aimed inone direction and hit in another! The dragoon swore in German andHungarian together.
A third time the ox-herd made his whip-lash whistle through the air,and this time the sharp wire on the end flew straight at the nostrilsof the soldier's horse. The animal, stung on this very tender spot,reared and pirouetted, and finally, with a leap to one side, threw itsrider.
Gregory Boksa, paying no further heed to the dragoon, galloped afterhis runaway herd, and guided it in the right direction. It was dark,and a thick mist lay over the fields. He was free to go whithersoeverhe chose.
The two Baradlay brothers, meanwhile, were busy restoring order intheir camp, and it was toward morning when A-dA?n sought his couch.Richard laid his head on the table before him; he could sleep verywell so. Suddenly, as the day was beginning to dawn, a trampling ofmany hoofs and the cracking of a whip awoke the sleepers. Richard ranto the window and beheld Gregory just dismounting from his horse, andsurrounded by his herd of oxen. The sweat ran from the animals'panting sides, and their quivering nostrils breathed forth clouds ofsteam. They saw no more visions; they were tame, submissive, obedientsubjects.
Richard and A-dA?n hastened out. Gregory Boksa drew himself up and gavethe military salute.
"Gregory Boksa, you are a man of the right sort!" exclaimed Richard,clapping him on the shoulder. "So the herd is all here, is it?"
"The whole fifty head, sir."
"Aha! Now all respect to you. Paul, hand him the flask and let himdrink to his very good health."
"Pardon me," said Gregory, waving aside the offered flask with aserious air; "first, I have certain matters to attend to." Then,turning to Richard, "Yesterday I swore that the fifty lashes should bepaid for, and now I have come to settle the score. There is thepayment,--fifty for fifty. Now, Captain, have the goodness to give mea receipt, stating that the fifty strokes with the strap are 'null andvoid.'"
> "What do you want of such a receipt, Boksa?" asked Richard.
"I want it as a proof that the fifty I received yesterday don't count;so that when any one brings them up against me I can contradict him,and show him my evidence in black and white."
"All right, Boksa, you shall have it." And Richard went back to hisroom, took pen, ink, and paper, and drew up a certificate, statingthat the fifty lashes administered to Gregory Boksa were therebydeclared to be null, void, and of no validity. The words "null, void,and of no validity" gave Gregory no little comfort, as well as thefact that the document was countersigned by A-dA?n Baradlay. The ox-herdstuck the certificate into the pocket of his dolman with muchsatisfaction, and received back his sword, pistols, and pole-axe.
"Now then, where is the flask?" said he.
Old Paul handed him the bottle, and he did not put it down till he haddrained the last drop.
"And now tell me," said Richard, "how you managed to get the oxenback."
Gregory Boksa shrugged his shoulders, tightened his belt, drew downone corner of his mouth, wrinkled his nose, raised his eyebrows, andfinally thus delivered himself over one shoulder: "Well, you see, Iwent to the German colonel and asked him kindly to let me have mycattle back again. The German is a good fellow, and, without wastingwords over the matter, he gave me the animals all back, and one or twoextra, with his compliments and best wishes to Captain Baradlay."
More than this was not to be got from Gregory Boksa. The loud-mouthedbraggart, who was never tired of rehearsing deeds which he had notperformed, took a fancy, now that he had actually carried through agenuine bit of daring, to keep as still as a mouse about it; and noone ever heard from him the smallest account of how he passed thatnight.