CHAPTER XX

THE FIGHT FOR THE GOLD

Of late Mr. Gerzson Satrakovics had invented for himself a peculiar sort of pastime.

He had renounced bear hounds and grey hounds and all other kinds of dogs, he did not care a jot when partridge shooting began, but he hung up his gun on a nail and began regularly visiting one after another the session courts of the counties of Arad, Biehar and Temes, in all of which he was a justice of the peace, and moving resolutions.

The object of these resolutions was to induce the three counties to endeavour with their united strength, and in conjunction with the Transylvanian counties of Hunyad, Fehér and Zarand, to extirpate the robber bands that had so long been terrorizing the whole district. He compiled lists of the atrocities perpetrated in the various localities and connected them all with the name of one particular robber, the notorious "Fatia Negra." He produced convincing proofs of the existence of a combination extending from the depths of the dungeons to the summits of the mountains which was held together by the magic influence of this one man and he left no stone unturned to bring him to book.

He, naturally, became quite a laughing stock for his pains, and his acquaintances could not for the life of them understand what had come to the man.

"Why, old fellow!" said Count Kengyelesy to him one day, after he had been indulging in an unusually fiery philippic at Quarter Sessions, "why, old fellow, what sort of venom have you swallowed that makes you perorate so savagely against this worthy Fatia Negra. If anybody has cause to complain against him it is I, for he relieved me of 1,000 ducats on the high road, and so cleverly did the rascal manage it, that I cannot find it in my heart to bear him any ill-will. But what have you got to do with him I should like to know? What is all this cock and bull story you keep on spouting out concerning organized robber bands and mysterious chieftains? Is it your ambition, my friend, to become public prosecutor?"

"Yes, it is, and public prosecutor I will be, too. I want six counties to place their armed constabulary at my beck and call, and if they do, I'll wager that I'll so purify all these Alpine regions that the robbers will not have a single lurking hole left."

"Rubbish! Don't make a fool of yourself. Besides, they say that Fatia Negra has flown to America."

"Newspaper lies. He is here, I know he is."

"And suppose he is, what harm can he do? This band has been cut off to the very last man. They have all been sentenced heavily, the older men to twenty years penal servitude, the younger men to penal servitude for life. I had it from Hátszegi himself who was the president of the mixed commission that tried them, and signed the judgment himself. The whole fraternity is now sitting in chains in the trenches of Gyula Fehérvár and we have seen the last of it."

"What guarantee have you of that?"

"What guarantee?--why the security of the whole region ever since. Why, everyone there can now sleep with open doors and if you yourself were to lie dead drunk in the public thoroughfare you would not have your money stolen from your pocket any more."

Squire Gerzson protested vehemently against the assumption that he was in the habit of sprawling tipsily on the king's high road.

"I'll tell you," said he, "why everything is so secure just now. The confiscated gold of Fatia Negra is still at Gyula Fehérvár, as a forfeit to the crown, and, sooner or later, must be sent to Vienna. Fatia Negra is _not_ dead, his robber band has _not_ been captured and does _not_ sit in irons at Gyula Fehérvár, and the present tranquillity and imagined security suit their plans nicely. The band now pretends to have vanished, but just you wait till the gold is sent under convoy from Gyula Fehérvár to Vienna--and you will see some fun."

"How do you know that?"

"I know it sir, because I know that this man, this brazen faced, iron-fisted man is not such a chicken-hearted creature as to allow a half-million or so to be snatched from him without stirring every nerve and muscle to try and win it back again. For I know that hitherto he has always triumphed over the power of the law and has always escaped from the most dangerous ambushes."

"Well, all I can say is that I do not understand what you have to do with this worthy man."

* * * * *

The falsely coined gold pieces deposited at Gyula Fehérvár, had, after the trial was over, to be sent to Hungary to be recoined. The precious consignment filled two post-wagons and was of the estimated value of a million and a half. Four and twenty Uhlans were told off to escort it. This was a more than sufficient protection for the most costly treasure at ordinary times. Moreover, in Hungary, cavalry has always inspired the mob with terror. During the disturbances at the time of the cholera outbreak, two squadrons of Hussars were easily able to quell the whole riot. It was impossible to calculate how many robbers and peasants the four and twenty Uhlans were capable of coping with. So, at least, the county magistrates believed.

The soldiers were commanded by a lieutenant, the post-wagons were under the charge of an official accountant and a comptroller. All the postillions were provided with pistols and it was strictly ordered that the wagons were not to travel on the high-road after six o'clock. There was no lack of precaution, anyhow!

Now when the post wagons had reached the celebrated Bridge of Piski,[45] lo, there and then, face to face, four and twenty horsemen came, riding towards them from the opposite side of the bridge and the five and twentieth was Fatia Negra.

[Footnote 45: It was here that a small band of Hungarians under Czsez and Kureny held a whole Austrian army at bay on Feb. 9, 1849.--_Tr._]

All the four and twenty had black crape wound round their faces, their clothes had the lining turned outwards and they were well provided with swords, csákánys[46] and muskets. Fatia Negra himself rode a vigorous black stallion and held in his hand a broad, naked sword.

[Footnote 46: Hooked axes.]

The horse of the Uhlan lieutenant took fright at the sight of the black faces and began to rear, it was as much as his rider could do to prevent him from springing over the parapet of the bridge.

Fatia Negra and his band halted in the centre of the bridge and did not budge from the spot.

The lieutenant was a brave soldier, who never lost his presence of mind; he tightened the reins of his plunging horse and turning towards Black-Mask, exclaimed: "Who are you, what do you want, and why do you block up the bridge?"

A deep, thundrous manly voice replied to him from afar: "I am Fatia Negra. The treasure which you have with you is mine,--it has been stolen from me. I now want to have it back again. I have brought hither a man to every man of yours, we are as strong as you. I meet you openly in the light of day. Give me back my gold or you shall have a taste of my iron."

The lieutenant, who was one of the best swordsmen and one of the bravest heroes in the regiment, did not think twice about accepting the challenge, but put spurs to his steed and fell upon the adventurer who awaited him in the middle of the bridge.

He encountered a terrible antagonist. Fatia Negra warded every blow and countered instantly; the young officer was thrown into confusion by the superior dexterity of his opponent, and it was only a soldier's sense of honour that induced him to continue an attack which was bound to end fatally for himself: practised fencers always know at once whether they can vanquish their antagonist or not. At the same time it was really surprising that Fatia Negra did not immediately take advantage of his strength and skill. He seemed to be sparing his enemy, nay, he even retreated before him step by step.

Meanwhile the _melée_ on the bridge had become general. The lancers hastened to the assistance of their leader, the black masks slashed away at them with their csákánys, and soon there were very few among the combatants who had not received a lance thrust or a csákány blow. The adventurers were forced by the lancers to the opposite end of the bridge, when the miller, who lived in the mill beside the bridge, thrust his head out of the window and shouted: "Take care, soldiers! the beams of the bridge have been sawn through!"

Was this the fact? Was it the plan of the adventurers to entice the horses on to the bridge in order that it might break down beneath their weight?--or was the miller also an accomplice and only shouted this because the soldiers were gaining the upperhand? In either case the warning cry had a magical effect upon the pursuers, for they immediately turned back in alarm and strove to reach their own end of the bridge again.

And now they perceived what a two fold trap the cunning adventurers had set for them, for whilst the lancers had been fighting with the mounted robbers, a large band of footpads armed with firearms had surrounded the post wagons in their rear, disarmed the postillions and were now engaged in attempting to overturn the wagons into the ditch by the roadside.

The lancers dashed towards the wagons and freed them in a moment from the hands of the mob which, on their appearance, dispersed among the brushwood by the roadside from whence they began firing.

Not far from the bridge was a _csárdá_, and there the cavalry and the post-wagons sought a refuge. And indeed they needed it. The number of the footpads armed with guns was about a couple of hundred; they enfiladed the whole road and, more than that, it was easy to perceive that some of the tall roadside poplars had been sawn through beforehand so that they might be made to fall down and thus make it impossible for the post wagons across the road behind the backs of the soldiers, to force their way through.

The soldiers had, indeed, no reason to fear that the rabble, nine-tenths of which had no professional knowledge of the art of war, would boldly storm the _csárdá_, for in such a case the soldiers would know how to defend themselves vigourously, well provided as they were with carbines; but they were well aware of one thing, to wit, that if they allowed themselves to be surprised after nightfall they were lost, for the robbers could then set fire to the house over their heads and burn them alive.

For their lives they cared nothing; it is a soldier's business to die; but how to save the enormous sum of money intrusted to them--that was the problem. Four and twenty horsemen in a solid mass might, with a desperate effort, cut their way through a mob, despite every obstacle, but to take the heavy wagons along with them was impossible, for the road in front was barred by the mob; the bridge and the road behind by the felled poplars.

Fortunately, the officer in command had read the history of Napoleon's Russian campaign and he recollected how the guard on one occasion had saved the military chest from the Cossacks when the wagon, from want of horses, had to be left behind. He now applied his knowledge practically.

The ducats were taken out of the post-wagons and distributed among the soldiers; knapsacks, cartridge-boxes, belts and shakos were filled with the treasure; not a cent was left in the wagons, yet they nailed down the chests inside them carefully that it might take all the longer to break them open. Then they mounted the postilions and the civilians on the spare horses, hastily threw open the gates and the whole band rushed into the courtyard.

A sharp volley poured in upon them from every side; some of them were wounded, but none mortally, for their assailants either fired from afar or aimed badly. And this was well, for every dead man among them would have been worth 100,000 guldens.

Fatia Negra and his horsemen stood close at hand with their loaded muskets pointed in their hands, but they did not fire.

"Let the lancers run if they like!" cried Fatia Negra. "Give all your attention to the wagons!"

The cavalry soon escaped from the mob of sharpshooters, leaped over the barriers and began galloping rapidly back to Széb safe and sound. And they had need to haste, for it was easy to foresee that as soon as the cry of victory behind their backs had changed into a cry of fury, it would be a sign that Fatia Negra's band was rushing after them.

And, indeed, scarce a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when they could perceive clouds of dust whirling up behind them which proved that the audacious adventurers, after discovering the fraud, were actually in pursuit.

What unheard of audacity! In broad daylight, on the King's highway, within the borders of a highly civilized, well-organized state, a troop of adventurers d