stonework.  The “High-Water Commission” found it necessary to close all the drains, and steam-pumps were brought into requisition; the town was in fact besieged by water, and the enemy was literally at the gates.  The ordinary business of life was suspended.  The greeting in the street was not, “Good-day; how are you?” but, “What of the Danube?” “Do you know the last reading of the register?” “Does the water still rise?”

“Still rising”—­this was always the answer.  On the morning of the 23d the river had risen upwards of two feet in twenty-four hours.  Hundreds of people now thought seriously of flight from the doomed city.  There was a complete exodus to the heights behind Buda.  The suspension bridge was crowded day and night by the citizens, carrying with them their wives, their children, and a miscellaneous collection of valuables.  In the town the shopkeepers removed their goods to the upper stories, plastering up the doors and windows of the basement with cement; and careful householders laid in provisions for several days’ consumption.  The authorities had enough on their hands; amongst other things they had to provide means of rescue, if necessary, for the inhabitants of Old Buda, New Pest, and other low-lying quarters.  The names of all public buildings standing on higher levels, or otherwise suitable as places of refuge, were notified in the event of a catastrophe.  Boats also were drawn up on the Corso and in some of the squares.  From the want of these precautions there had resulted that lamentable loss of life in 1838.

Furthermore, the public were to be informed when the danger became imminent by the firing of cannon-shots from the citadel on the lofty Blocksberg, which dominates the town on the Buda side.  The day of the 24th had been wild and stormy, the evening was intensely dark; but notwithstanding, thousands, nay half Pest, crowded the river-bank.  For hours this surging multitude moved hither and thither on the Corso, drawn together by the sense of common danger and distress.

I was there amongst the rest, peering into the darkness.  My brother’s arm was linked in mine, and we stood for some time on the Corso, just above the fruit-market, facing Buda; but nothing, not even the outline of the hills, was visible in the thick, black darkness of the night.  “Ah! what is that?—­look!” cried my brother, with a pressure of the arm that sent an electric shock through my body.  Yes, sure enough, there was a flash of fire high up on the Blocksberg that made a rift in the darkness; and then, before we had time for speech, there came a sharp, ringing, detonating sound that made every window in the Corso rattle again.  Once, twice, thrice the booming cannon roared out its terrible warning.  It was the appointed signal, and we all knew that now the waters had risen so high that Old Buda and other low-lying districts were in danger.