by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXV.
GOOD OLD FRIENDS.
It was the evening of the thirteenth of August. The Hungarians hadthat day laid down their arms. A-dA?n Baradlay sat at an open window inthe fading twilight, writing letters to his mother and his wife,informing them that he should await his fate where he was, even as theRoman senators had calmly awaited theirs, sitting in their curulechairs and scorning to fly before the invader. He viewed the situationwith the calmness of a philosopher and showed none of the feverishuneasiness of those who were intent only on their own personal safety.He had not even thought to provide himself with a passport, as so manyof his associates had done.
While he thus sat, writing his letters and heedless of hissurroundings, a stranger approached him.
"Am I addressing A-dA?n Baradlay?" he asked.
"That is my name," replied A-dA?n. "May I ask yours in return?"
"My name is Valentine Schneiderius, evangelical clergyman ofPukkersdorf. I have brought you a letter, but am in haste and mustnot linger. As long as the Russians are in our rear the way is open;but presently it will be closed." He delivered his letter andwithdrew.
A-dA?n broke the seal and read:
"DEAR FRIEND,--I shall never forget the ties that unite our families. Your late lamented father was my friend, and nothing could now induce me to look on and see the destruction of a true patriot like yourself. Would to God I could help many more! I send you an English passport, all signed and sealed, to take you out of the country. Write any name you choose in the blank space. Burn this.
"Your old friend, "ZEBULON TALLA%ROSSY.
"P.A S. Go by way of Poland and you won't be known. When safe, think of your country; perhaps you can yet do something for your poor people.
"Z.A T."
A-dA?n examined the passport and found it complete in everydetail,--even to being creased and soiled like a much-handleddocument. Then he threw it down, ashamed at the thought of using it tosave his life when so many of his comrades in arms were in danger ofdeath or captivity. Yet the mere prospect of safety made his pulsebeat more rapidly, and involuntarily his thoughts turned to those dearones at home who looked to him for comfort and support,--his wife andtwo little children.
He read once more the last words of Zebulon's postscript; they showedno little shrewdness on the writer's part. What if he could reallysecure aid for his country abroad? The temptation was too great. Hetook up the passport again and glanced at the signatures on its back.Among them was RideghvAiry's. No, that man should never enjoy thetriumph of hissing in his ear: "This is the last step to that height!"
He burned Zebulon's letter, as well as the two he had just written tohis wife and his mother, and, summoning his servant, bade him hastento Nemesdomb and inform his mother of his flight to a foreign country;she should hear further particulars from him later. Then he completedhis preparations for a hasty departure, wrote in the name "AlgernonSmith" on the passport, put the paper in his pocket, called acarriage, and set out on his flight.
The enemy's first outpost was successfully passed. The commandingofficer examined his passport, found it correct, and affixed hissignature. A-dA?n was free to go on. His second station was Gyapju,whence he wished to continue directly to VAirad, and thence by way ofSzigeth into Galicia. At Gyapju he was conducted to the commandant'squarters. Entering with an unconcerned air, he inquired to whom heshould show his papers. There were several officers in the room, oneof whom asked him to wait a few minutes until the commandant came in.Meanwhile an adjutant made the necessary examination of his passportand found it apparently all right; the one thing now required was thesignature of the commanding officer.
The entrance of the latter caused A-dA?n a violent start. The man beforehim was--Leonin Ramiroff, grown to manly proportions and wearing thestern, soldierly look of one entrusted with military responsibility.The adjutant called his attention to the paper awaiting his signature,assuring him that it was all in order. Leonin took up a pen, wrote hisname, and then turned to hand the passport to A-dA?n. The latter felthis heart stop beating as he met that sharp, penetrating gaze.
"You are not Mr. Algernon Smith," exclaimed the Russian officer inEnglish, drawing himself up to his full height; "you are A-dA?nBaradlay."
A-dA?n's heart sank within him. "And are you going to betray me?" heasked, likewise in English.
"You are my prisoner."
"This from you, Leonin Ramiroff, my bosom friend of old, my faithfulcomrade on a long winter journey when we were chased by wolves; you,the man who plunged into the icy river to save me at the risk of yourown life?"
"I was merely a young lieutenant in the guard then," replied Leonincoldly.
"And now will you hand me over to my bitterest foes, to the derisivelaughter of the conqueror, to a miserable death on the scaffold?"
"I am now a colonel of lancers," was the other's only reply; and withthat he tore the passport in two and threw it under the table. "Takethe prisoner away and put him under guard."
The adjutant took A-dA?n by the arm and led him out. The house was fullof officers and their servants, so that no place could be found forthe prisoner but a little shanty built of boards, adjoining thestable. Here he was confined, and a Cossack stationed with his carbineoutside as guard.
Every three hours the guard was changed. Being acquainted withRussian, A-dA?n understood the order given to his jailer,--"If he triesto escape, shoot him."
At nine o'clock in the evening a thunder-storm came up. The raindescended in torrents, and in the flashes of lightning the captivecould look through the cracks in his prison-wall and see the Cossackstanding ankle-deep in mud and water, his carbine ready for instantuse. The storm passed over; the tower-clock struck eleven; in theadjoining stable A-dA?n heard the Russian cavalrymen snoring, whiletheir horses were stamping under an improvised shed near by.
Suddenly he heard his name called, cautiously and in a whisper.
"Who is calling me?" he asked.
"I--the guard."
"What! do you know me, too?"
"Do you remember your sledge-driver on the Mohilev steppe,--the timewe were nearly eaten up by the wolves? You stood by me then, and I'mgoing to stand by you now. At the back of your shanty is a looseboard,--the fourth from the bottom. You can push it aside and crawlout. The horse-shed is behind. My horse has his saddle and bridle on;you'll know him by his white tail. He's the fastest runner in theregiment. Mount him and make for the garden in the rear, and thenfollow the storm. You'll find the horse a good one, and easy on thebit. Don't be afraid of me if I shoot after you; I'm bound to do it,though I'm not to blame for all the loose boards in your prison. Andone word more: when you have mounted my horse, and want him to go,press his flanks with your knees, but don't whip him. If you use thewhip he'll stand stock-still, and the harder you whip the stillerhe'll stand. More than one horse-thief has come to grief for want ofknowing that. His name is Ljubicza, and he likes to be called by it.If you whisper in his ear, 'Hurrah, Ljubicza!' he'll dart away likethe wind."
A-dA?n felt renewed life thrill through his veins. He lost no time infollowing his humble friend's directions. Finding the loose board,which seemed to be secured only by a rusty nail, he softly removed it,and squeezed through the opening. Making his way to the horse-shed, hesoon picked out the white-tailed horse, swung himself on to its backand turned it around. Then, pressing his knees inward, he whispered,"Hurrah, Ljubicza!" The well-trained animal darted away through thegarden.
At the sound of the galloping horse the guard sprang forward, drew hiscarbine to his shoulder, and, whispering, "St. George preserve him!"pulled the trigger. At the report all the sleepers leaped to theirfeet.
"What's up?"
"Prisoner escaped."
"After him!"
A score of Cossacks threw themselves on their horses and gave chase,discharging their pi
eces in the darkness as they rode. An occasionalflash of lightning revealed the fugitive ahead of them, and stimulatedthe pursuers to renewed efforts. But the fleet stallion soon overtookthe storm, and it proved a good travelling companion, wrapping thefugitive in its mantle of rain, and drowning with its thunder-clapsthe beating of his horse's hoofs. It took the side of the escapedprisoner, and he was not caught.