The young man was Számuelly, and when he stopped at Szoboszló he was mad with rage. He ordered the station master to be flogged, as well as some workmen, and when his train reached the signal-box and saw that a white flag had been hoisted on the church spire he ordered the train back and ran into the town with his terrorists, accompanied by a fair-haired, blue-eyed woman on horseback. He arrested three men at random, Körner a mill-owner, Joseph Tokay a police officer, and Ladislaus Fekete the mayor, and had them hanged on trees in front of a chemist’s shop. “Be quick!” he said, and cleaned his nails while the execution was being carried out. Then he boarded his train again and went on. In Kaba he had the curate, the notary and the magistrate hurriedly tortured, and moved on again, because the Rumanians were coming. Thence he went to Szolnok, where he took hostages and had them hanged. One hundred and fifty were executed. They were all Hungarians—and Christians.... Steps approached the house and Mrs. Huszár exclaimed in alarm: “The parson!” The Reformed minister, Sebastian Kovács, looked frightfully thin in his black coat. His face was ashen and fresh furrows played round his mouth. He spoke pantingly, as if he had been running hard, and turned to me. “God protected you that you did not come with me. When I reached the Ipoly both Reds and Czechs came rushing towards me. I had no choice, so ran into the river and threw myself into the water, which was simply swept around me by bullets. The Reds fired volleys after me.” That was the history of the journey I should have had to share. “You would undoubtedly have been shot or arrested,” the minister went on. “The Czechs wanted to intern me, and the Reds were hunting for me. For three days I hid among the crops before I dared to come home. I hear that a Czech shell struck the church; we had arms hidden under the roof.” Bullets were again whistling in the street. The minister shuddered and looked anxiously round, then he smiled, embarrassed: “Since then my nerves won’t stand it. I had rather too much of it.” He sat down almost in a state of collapse, and although he was a young man he looked very old. * * * * * _May 30th–31st._ The banks of the river were unusually silent this evening. Just as it was getting dark the soldiers rolled a hogshead into the museum garden—the museum serves as a barracks. We heard one of them saying under our window that there was going to be a distribution of rum. What does that mean? The patrol passed. Then the strains of a Gypsy band filtered through the night. Silence followed. It must have been about two in the morning when a voice mingled with my dreams. I woke, but could not at once grasp its meaning. [Illustration: “SZÁMUELLY ... TOOK HOSTAGES AND HAD THEM HANGED.” ] “Attack....” “Who?” “The Reds!...”