IN THE ROYAL FOREST.
The Royal Forest lies on the left bank of the RAikos, near Isaszeg.
Three highroads lead through it, and all three unite at Isaszeg, which
thus forms the gateway to Pest.
The Hungarian army was bent on reaching Pest, and it was for this that
it was now fighting. The enemy held the forest, and for six hours the
Hungarian forces had been fighting their way through, when both sides
prepared for a last desperate struggle.
The Austrians planned to strike a decisive blow against their
opponents' centre. Sixteen troops of light cavalry, lancers, and
dragoons, two cuirassier regiments, eight batteries of cannon, and two
mortar batteries crossed the RAikos above Isaszeg and descended like an
avalanche on the Hungarian centre. The Hungarians, drawn up in close
order, occupied that circular space which even now shows the traces of
having once been trampled by many feet. There were three thousand
hussars in a body. Against them the enemy levelled their
field-batteries, planting them in the spaces between the different
divisions of their troops and on the wings, and opened a murderous
fire. There was but one way to meet this fire, and that was to make a
sudden cavalry charge which should throw the enemy's ranks into
confusion and make it impossible to distinguish between friend and
foe. Thus the artillerists would be compelled to desist. This plan was
executed. Over the whole battle-field the trumpets sounded the charge.
The earth trembled under the mighty shock, and the forest rang with
the battle-cry, in which was presently mingled the clashing of steel,
as thousands of swords met in deadly strife. A cloud of dust veiled
the scene for a space, and when it cleared one might have witnessed
the living enactment of the hero-epics of old,--six or seven thousand
knights indiscriminately mingled, and every man seeking his foe.
Horses were rearing and snorting, flashing swords rang blade against
blade, red shakos, shining helmets, and four-cornered caps were
densely crowded in one swaying, surging, struggling mass.
In the stress of the conflict, two leaders who towered by a head above
their fellows suddenly caught sight of each other. One was Richard
Baradlay, the other Otto Palvicz. It was like the meeting of two
lightning flashes from two thunder-clouds. They broke through the mass
of fighting warriors about them and pushed their way toward each
other. The horsemen opened a lane through their ranks for the two
champions, as if recognising that here was the heaven-ordained
decision. The swords of these two mighty warriors should decide the
issue; let them fight it out.
They fell on each other, neither of them taking thought to parry his
opponent's blow, but each striking at one and the same instant with
all the strength of his arm and the fury of his passion. Rising in
their stirrups and swinging aloft their swords, they aimed each at the
other's head. Like two flashes of lightning, both blades descended at
once, and both warriors fell in the same moment from their horses.
Truly, it was a well-aimed stroke that felled Richard Baradlay, and
had he not borne the charmed life of the heroes of the Iliad and the
Niebelungenlied, that day had been his last on earth. Otto Palvicz's
sword had cleft his opponent's shako, cutting through the metal crown;
but, as often happens in such strokes, the blade was so turned in its
course that the flat of the sword and not the edge spent its force on
the hussar captain's head. Yet the fearful blow was even thus enough
to stun Richard, and throw him unconscious to the ground.
His own stroke, however, descending like a thunderbolt from heaven,
was more effective. Cleaving the helmet of the cuirassier major, it
left a gaping wound on his skull.
No sooner had the two champions fallen than there followed a furious
conflict over their bodies, each side striving to rescue its fallen
hero. Old Paul, who had spurred his horse after his master, sprang
from his saddle and threw himself on Richard's body. The hoofs of
trampling steeds soon stamped the life out of the faithful servant,
but he had succeeded in saving the one being in this world whom he
loved. With unselfish affection, he had shielded his dear master and
cheerfully laid down his life for him.
At that moment the sound as of an approaching army fell on the ear.
What did it mean? The woods were ringing with the battle-cry, "_A%ljen
a haza!_"[4] The Hungarian reserve corps had arrived and was pushing
to the front. Its batteries opened fire on the enemy, and the militia
battalions drove the foe out of the woods. The battle was at last
decided. The Austrian trumpeters sounded the retreat, and the
battle-field was left deserted, except for the dead and the wounded.
When the Hungarians sent out to gather them up, Otto Palvicz was found
to be still alive.
[Footnote 4: Long live our country!]