Thirteen at Table | Page 9

terror, and dropped his axe.
Taking advantage of this, Barnab‡s darted on his enemy, and dragging
him with irresistible force to the window, he dashed him from it.
"On here! as many as you are!" he shouted furiously, the blood gushing
from his mouth from the blow of a stone. "On! all who wish a fearful

death!"
At that instant, a shriek of terror rose within the house.
The Wallachians had discovered the little back door which Simon had
left open, and, stealing through it, were already inside the house, when
the shrieks of a servant girl gave the besieged notice of their danger.
Barnab‡s, seizing his club, hurried in the direction of the sounds; he
met his brother on the stairs, who had likewise heard the cry, and
hastened thither with his gun in his hand, accompanied by the widow.
"Go, sister!" said J—zsef, "take my wife and children to the attics; we
will try to guard the staircase step by step. Kiss them all for me. If we
die, the villains will put us all in one grave-- we shall meet again!"
The widow retired.
The two brothers silently pressed hands, and then, standing on the steps,
awaited their enemies. They did not wait long.
The bloodhounds with shouts of vengeance rushed on the narrow stone
stairs.
"Hah! thus near I love to have you, dogs of hell!" cried Barnab‡s,
raising his iron club with both hands, and dealing such blows right and
left, that none whom it reached rose again. The stairs were covered
with the dead and wounded, while their death cries, and the sound of
the heavy club, echoed fearfully through the vaulted building.
The foremost of the gang retreated as precipitately as they had
advanced, but were continually pressed forward again by the members
from behind, while Barnab‡s drove them back unweariedly, cutting an
opening through them with the blows of his club.
He had already beaten them back nearly to the bottom of the stairs,
when one of the gang, who had concealed himself in a niche, pierced
him through the back with a spike.

Dashing his club amongst the retreating crowd, he turned with a cry of
rage, and seizing his murderer by the shoulders, dragged him down
with him to the ground.
The first four who rushed to help the murderer were shot dead by
J—zsef B‡rdy, who, when he had fired off both his muskets, still
defended his prostrated brother with the butt-end of one, until he was
overpowered and disarmed; after which a party of them carried him out
to the iron cross, and crucified him on it amidst the most shocking
tortures.
On trying to separate the other brother from his murderer, they found
them both dead. With his last strength Barnab‡s had choked his enemy,
whom he still held firmly in his deadly grip, and they were obliged to
cut off his hand in order to disengage the Wallachian's body.
Tam‡s, the eldest brother, now alone survived. Seated in his armchair
he calmly awaited his enemies, with a large silver chandelier burning
on the table before him.
As the noise approached his chamber, he drew from its jeweled sheath
his broad curved sword, and, placing it on the table before him,
proceeded coolly to examine the ancient blade, which was inscribed
with unknown characters.
At last the steps were at the door; the handle was turned--it had not
even been locked.
The magnate rose, and, taking his sword from the table, he stood
silently and calmly before the enemies, who rushed upon him with
fearful oaths, brandishing their weapons still reeking with the blood of
his brothers.
The nobleman stood motionless as a statue until they came within two
paces of him, when suddenly the bright black steel gleamed above his
head, and the foremost man fell at his feet with his skull split to the
chin. The next received a deep gash in the shoulder of his outstretched
arm, but not a word escaped the magnate's lips, his countenance

retained its cold and stern expression as he looked at his enemies in
calm disdain, as if to say, "Even in combat a nobleman is worth ten
boors."
Warding off with the skill of a professed swordsman every blow aimed
at him, he coolly measured his own thrusts, inflicting severe wounds on
his enemies' faces and heads; but the more he evaded them the more
furious they became. At last he received a severe wound in the leg from
a scythe, and fell on one knee; but without evincing the slightest pain,
he still continued fighting with the savage mob, until, after a long and
obstinate struggle, he fell without a murmur, or even a death-groan.
The enraged gang cut his body to pieces, and in a few minutes they