Thus as I now moved forward with difficulty, pushing aside the wet plants which were continually peppering me in the face, all at once I saw white bandages become illuminated. They belonged to wounded soldiers who had been overtaken by the supply column. For better or worse, they were now pushing themselves into the thicket in order to avoid being trampled down by the horses. I called to them. They identified themselves as men of the 7^th, 8^th and 9^th Jäger Bataillonen, while they cursed in their Steirisch, Kärnterisch, and Krainerisch tongues about their steeds. I wasn't surprised by this, as the rudeness of the Magyars was sufficiently well known, and these were obviously louts of that kind. Quite certainly, I wondered to myself, why weren't any of the wounded so wise as to just sit themselves easily up onto the empty wagons, instead of trying to press past the column with such difficulty. Hence I asked one of the Jäger why they hadn't done this. With abusive language he then related to me that they had also wanted to do this, but that the driver wouldn't allow them up onto the wagon, and that he threatened them with his whip. With that I felt anger swirling within me. As we came to a more open spot, I called up to the driver, who was guiding the cart next to me. "Nemdudom," he snarled back. I shouted to him once more. As his answer, he cut loose on his horses. Again, I had already become steaming hot. I did a quick jump forward and descended onto the bridle and the reins. The horses stood up on their hind legs and then stood motionless. With this the column faltered to a stop. "Sit yourselves up there," I cried to the Jäger, several of whom didn't allow me to say it a second time for they had immediately gone about getting up onto the wagon. At that the noble Magyar shouted, "Nemsabat!" ⁽²²⁾ and grabbed for his whip. I didn't concern myself about that and continued to urge the Jäger onto the wagon. With this the Hungarian blackguard snatched out his whip and fell upon the wounded with it. I felt the blood surge and rise in my throat. It came forth as a strangling lump with my age. I have never been hot tempered but was, on the contrary, always, even if I ever became truly furious, still very rational with my anger. But here I fully lost my self-control. With a furious cry of rage, I let go of the reins and flew at the driver of the cart. I roared some curse, in response to which the Magyar had more than his former vocabulary. I tore him down from the wagon, wrung the whip from out of his fist, and then flung, no, smashed him onto the rocky edge of the road. I then proceeded to let the lashes whip down on this "Kanaille" with all my available strength, so quickly, one after the other, that I had already put it to him three to four times before he could even think about standing back up. However, the lash soon became caught in a tree branch above me, and thus the Hungarian sought to use the resulting pause to jump up at me. But I gave him such a juicy kick, that he again flew back to the ground. I pulled with all my might on the entangled whip until finally the lashes tore apart. I then proceeded to let loose onto the "Falotten" on the ground with the resulting whip handle. He rolled himself together there like a hedgehog and howled like a dog when it hears music. The more I hit on him, the more frenzied I became. I soon broke the whip's handle. But I didn't do like the "Pinzgauer" in all the welfare ballads who satisfied themselves with the stub end after the shaft had been broken. No, I slammed on his head with the stub end of the whip and then flew at the "Schweinhund" with bare fists -- that is to say that my fists did less here wheras my feet did more. I was mothered in my boundless rage since I hadn't been able to abate myself on his shaggy head. I had thrown my rifle aside when I had restrained the horses. This was good fortune. Otherwise, I would have smashed his head in with the stock. But certainly he also received enough in this manner. I stepped on him, stomped on him, and knocked around on him, in the places where I had just hit him. At the start he still defended himself as he dreadfully screamed and cursed; but soon he became stiller and stiller and gave up all opposition. I don't know how long I had cut loose on him in this manner. At last he became completely still and unconcious and I became tired and breathless from the anger and the exertion. "Now he is finished." "He deserved it." said the wounded Jäger who had just witnessed this as they called down to me their appreciation and approval. I wasn't at all embarassed by them nor by what I had done. On the contrary, a feeling of boundless satisfaction came over me.

"During this chastisement the horses were well behaved and remained standing as still as ice and seemed to receive a great deal of satisfaction over the fact that their driver had also once been permitted to receive his due share of what he had, in any case, done to them all too often. After I had abated myself I again awoke, you might say, to normal consciousness and now wondered greatly why the other drivers hadn't hastened to the aid of their Kamerad. Since they didn't see a rifle or a back-pack on me, and since I had pulled a "Billroth-Battist" of an Oberjäger over my usual coat, they seemed to have mistaken me for an Offizier. This is very easily understood when one considers the confusion, the dimness, and my threatening roar of rage with which I let my blows whiz down. Further back there were two drivers sitting on one wagon. I leapt back, fetched one of them down from the wagon, and gave him charge of the vacant team of the so badly mauled supply hand. I then loaded the wounded onto the empty wagons and went on my way. Let no one who reads this call me a brute! It would have been a pitiful chap who would have handled it differently had he been in my position. Yet to this day I still feel sincere satisfaction over this behavior of mine. Thrashing on the wounded with a whip! Is there anything over which one could become more wild? From what was described earlier, it should have been put forth clearly enough to what miserable depths the wounded had to suffer through most terribly. Thus, now venture to consider for yourselves this wretched creature, a slave driver of horses, a man who had it better in war than in peace, who slept when we kept watch, who was dry when we were swimming for days in the damp morass, who was safe behind he firing line while death threatened us a thousand times over, who drank and ate himself full while we were with thirst and hunger, and who attacked the wounded with a whip! I have paid him back with his own stuff. The dog wasn't dead, but I discovered later on the next day that because of bone breaks and contusions he would have to be sent to a hospital. Certainly they couldn't find a square inch of his hide that didn't shine with all the colors of the spectrum. I believe, with great satisfaction, that I am able to accept this as certain. Yes indeed, these Hungarians. Nearly everyone knows some song to sing about this worthless but immeasurably arrogant and conceited race; the Austrain Offizier as well as the everyday man. Refer for example to the behavior of the Hungarian Artillerie batteries which we had behind us. If we were in the front line, then they particularly wouldn't bother themselves with the Welschen Artillerie and infantry. Their observers were nowhere to be found. We often had to specify the targets to them ourselves, targets which we had noticed with the naked eye.

If the Brigadier, Oberstleutnant Scotti from the 8^th Jäger Battalion, would request Artillerie support, then they would always have some sort excuse; they didn't have enough ammunition or their telephone lines had been shot apart, etc. And then they would report that even if they could fire, then the Welschen would in turn begin to silence our Batterien with their heavy shells. Those were our Herrn Artilleristen -- this cowardly band, with all their clattering and rattling, was naturally most unwelcome. "These damned cockroaches should be undone!" But the other hand if Hungarian Infanterie would have to go into the firing line then they were suddenly able to shoot skillfully and well.