JOHN HUNYADI (HUNIADES), THE GREAT CHAMPION OF CHRISTIANITY.
1456.
Very little, if any thing, is known of the father of John Hunyadi, or
of the pedigree of his family; indeed, the very circumstances of his
birth are shrouded in dim legendary light, and yet he looms up all at
once in the proud position of governor of Hungary, the adored idol of
his country, and the admiration of all Christian Europe. It was owing
to his exertions that his family became great, rich, and powerful, but,
at the same time, he guarded Hungary against the evils of domestic war,
and saved her from Moslem rule. He served his country in the capacity
of a brave soldier, an eminent general, and a cautious and energetic
statesman, lending her the aid of his strong arm, his undaunted
courage, and his clear understanding.
[Illustration: HUNYAD CASTLE.]
In his time, during the fifteenth century, through all Europe, and
especially in Hungary, that man was most respected who had earned
the repute of a distinguished soldier. If any one wished to become
conspicuous amongst his countrymen he had to be, first of all, an able
general and a military hero. According to the views of that day,
only he was looked upon as a true man who was a free man, or, in the
nomenclature of that period, a noble man, but every noble was a born
soldier, and soldiering was both his duty and privilege. Martial merit
was recognized as the only real merit, and military service as the
only honorable occupation. By this means every man had the chance of
becoming the possessor of land, and of acquiring nobility, for bravery
was rewarded by the king with a grant of lands, and with the rank of a
noble. As a consequence wars were longed for by many. The common man
(or as he was then styled, the bondman) hoped to acquire land and to be
created a noble, the noble to add to his landed estate, and to rise in
rank. The more land a noble owned, and the greater the number of his
bondmen, the larger the number of the soldiers he was able to equip,
and the greater the military power wielded by him, the better his
prospects of promotion to a higher position in the state, in society,
and about the person of his king. The first games of childhood were
martial games, and the first tasks of youth were military tasks.
Such, no doubt, had also been the early training of John Hunyadi; by
such means he rose, acquired a large fortune, and was able to support a
great army. In truth, however, there is no information whatever extant
as to his early education, for when he first entered upon the stage of
war, in 1437, he was already an accomplished general. In this year the
Turkish sultan, who was constantly attacking, harassing, and laying
waste the vassal states of Hungary, Bosnia, Servia, Wallachia, and
Bulgaria, turned his arms against Servia. The general of the Hungarian
king met the enemy near the fortress of Semendria, where the decisive
battle was to be fought. During this engagement a knight with a coat of
arms, familiar to no one, made his appearance. A black raven, holding
a gold ring in his beak, was painted on his shield. Never before had
they witnessed fighting as gallant as that of the Raven Knight at the
head of his small troop. He was seen now in one place, now in another,
but wherever he showed himself the enemy either fled before him or
was slain. To the Hungarians it seemed as if the god of war himself
had descended to fight under their banners, and they were seized
with wild enthusiasm. The Turkish general, with the remnant of his
army, fled in dismay, and from this day forward the name of the raven
knight continued to be the terror of Turkish warriors. This mysterious
knight was John Hunyadi. To be sure, men like Pongrácz, Szentmiklóssy,
Thalloczy, or Maróthy, had before this day proved themselves heroes
in the many struggles against the Turks. After this memorable battle,
however, the splendor of Hunyadi’s name dimmed the glory of all. With
the people, whose chief delight was martial exploits, and in whose eyes
the Turks were the most dreadful enemy of their country, his prestige
increased from year to year. For Hunyadi, like his powerful antagonist
the Turk, never knew what it was to rest. No other enemy was like
this one he had to cope with. The Turkish state was so organized that
it could not exist without fresh conquests and incessant wars. The
Janissaries wanted occupation and glory, the mounted Spahis new lands,
the immense hordes which marched at the distance of a day’s walk in
advance of the Turkish army were hungry after booty, and the sultans
themselves longed to win fresh conquests and military glory against the
infidels, as the followers of the cross were styled by them.
An enemy like this was a most dangerous neighbor. It is true that
Hungary was divided from the Turkish empire by her vassal states,
Bulgaria, Wallachia, Servia, and Bosnia, but the Turkish sultans
already looked upon these territories as their own, and were constantly
organizing inroads into Hungary from them. Hunyadi had passed his
early life near the border; and, accustomed to the perpetual fighting
going on there, he was also familiarized with the magnitude of the
danger. With an iron will he determined to devote his whole strength to
the struggle against the Turks. By his gallantry he gradually acquired
the fortune necessary for this purpose, for the kings were lavish in
granting to him again and again large estates as a compensation for his
bravery. Nor was he wanting in opportunities against the Turks, for,
having been successively created Count of Temes, ban of Szörény, and
vayvode of Transylvania, it became his duty to defend the border with
the money and army placed in his hands. If the Turks appeared at any
point on a marauding expedition, or to provoke hostilities, Hunyadi
was quick to meet them at once, and did not rest until he had achieved
victory.
In one such expedition, Ishak, the pasha of Semendria, fared badly.
This overbearing Turk, issued from the fortress of Semendria, and,
having overrun the country, left behind him nothing but desolation
and the tears of widows and orphans. Hunyadi, with a small troop,
started in his pursuit, and, coming up with him, he took away from him
the prisoners and the booty he had captured, and drove him and his
army back to the very walls of Semendria. The sultan, upon hearing
the news of this defeat, at once despatched Mezid Bey with an army
of 80,000 men against Hunyadi. Orders were issued to destroy every
thing—property and human life alike; neither the young nor the old
nor the women were to be spared. Hunyadi was well informed as to the
enemy’s movements. He knew that in this campaign the special aim would
be to kill or capture him, for his person stood almost alone in the way
of the Sultan’s conquests and glory. The Turkish commander offered,
on the eve of the battle, an enormous reward to the soldier who would
succeed in capturing Hunyadi. This critical occasion showed not only
the importance attributed to Hunyadi’s person by the Turks, but also
the great love with which he was surrounded and the degree to which he
was idolized by his soldiers and comrades. One of the latter, Simon
Kemény, who knew of the intentions of the enemy, urgently begged his
leader to exchange with him horses and accoutrements. Hunyadi at first
refused, but finally yielded to Kemény’s entreaties and handed him over
his military equipments.
But he built his plan of battle upon this ruse: He ordered five
hundred distinguished soldiers to be stationed near the person of the
devoted officer, and he himself withdrew with his reserve and took up
a position in a remoter spot. The following day the two armies engaged
in battle. Every Turkish warrior sought the famous Hungarian hero; all
were eager for the glory of capturing and killing him, and anxious
to secure the prize set on his head. They all knew his face—which
strikingly resembled that of Simon Kemény—and his accoutrements, which
had been minutely described to them by their comrades. They at once
made a rush on Kemény, the pretended Hunyadi. This gallant hero, with
his five hundred men, stood the brunt of the onslaught with superhuman
courage; the enemy were literally mowed down by their swords, but,
at last, they had to give way to superior numbers, and their brave
leader laid down his life on the battle-field. The Turkish soldiers
precipitated themselves eagerly and with shouts of triumph upon his
inanimate body, when suddenly Hunyadi broke upon them—the real and
living Hunyadi whom the enemy had already thought dead. At this sight,
the enemy, who, a few moments ago, felt sure of their victory, were
seized with a panic, and sought safety in flight. Their leader, Mezid
Bey himself, and his son lay lifeless, with battered skulls, on the
field of battle.
The entire Turkish camp, with immense treasures and its military
stores, as well as numerous prisoners, fell into the hands of the
victorious Hungarians. Many a brave Hungarian warrior, it is true,
had lost his life, and the devoted Simon Kemény had found the death
he expected, but the country was saved, and the Hungarian losses were
as nothing compared with the losses of the Turks. The devout Hunyadi
afterwards caused a chapel to be erected from the proceeds of the
Turkish booty in memory of his martyred comrades.
The news of the ignominious defeat reached Sultan Murat at Adrianople;
he was greatly incensed, and swore dire vengeance against the
Hungarians. He summoned before him his brother-in-law, entrusted to his
command eighty thousand men, and ordered him to invade Hungary, to lay
every thing waste with fire and steel, and to annihilate Hunyadi and
his army. The Turkish commander, letting loose his Tartars, entered
Hungary quite suddenly through Wallachia. The frontier is here formed
by gigantic mountains, and but narrow passes lead from one country
into the other. Through one of these passes, the Vaskapu (Iron Gate),
the Turkish army passed into Hungary. The invaders had hardly time to
rest from their fatigues, when Hunyadi with his army appeared before
the unsuspecting enemy, ready to give battle. Abedin was surprised and
disconcerted; he thought the Hungarians would fly before him, and they
were facing him. Hunyadi entrenched his foot soldiery in a wagon-camp,
whilst he himself with his horse attacked the Spahis (Turkish cavalry).
After scattering the latter, he turned against the Turkish infantry,
the Janissaries, in the rear, but the attack was only a feigned one. As
if fearful of being surrounded, he suddenly began to retreat with his
army to that portion of the valley where the wagon-camp was stationed.
The Janissaries, leaving their protected positions, started with wild
exultation in pursuit of the Hungarians.
Hunyadi, having taken up his position at the fortified place in the
narrow valley, directed a side attack against the Turkish horse and
drove them back upon the fighting Janissaries, whose storming of the
wagon fortress was attended with as little success as that of the waves
beating against the solid rock. The Turkish army could not display
its strength, and confusion and wild disorder soon seized the troops.
Their commander, perceiving that it was impossible to save his army,
mounted his horse and galloped away. Fifteen thousand Hungarians were
opposed, on that occasion, to eighty thousand Turks, inured to war,
well trained, and accustomed to victory. The Turkish Janissaries,
whose impenetrable line never broke, were annihilated; the cavalry,
the far-famed Spahis, were scattered; and the whole Turkish army was
in part massacred and in part put to disorderly flight. The meanest
portion only saved themselves by running away; the best of the warriors
perished, for the Turkish troops were by no means lacking in personal
courage. The principal difference between the opponents was that the
Turkish army was usually too confident of victory, and was often led by
incompetent generals, while among the Hungarians discipline prevailed.
Hunyadi, furthermore, not only gave battle according to plans concerted
by his military genius, but understood also, during the tumult and
confusion of the battle, how to execute with his troops rapid and
precise movements. These qualities had decided the present battle, and
were also the secret of his future triumphs.
All Europe hailed with joy and admiration the splendid victories of the
Hungarian arms, for the whole Christian world had witnessed with alarm
the extension of the power of the dreaded Osmanlis. Not only Hunyadi
himself, but all his companions in arms, felt that, in inflicting such
heavy losses upon the Turks, they were not defending Hungary alone,
but saving all Christendom from that Turkish rule which had exhibited
a boundless appetite for continental extension. Aware of this state
of things, Hunyadi initiated a policy exceeding in boldness the one
hitherto pursued by him. He appealed to all the rulers of Europe—to
some personally, to others through the king and the pontiff of Rome—to
lend him their aid, and he declared that, if they responded to his
appeal, he was ready to begin an offensive war against the Turks.
All Europe received with satisfaction both his plan and request, but
all he could obtain was gracious words and fair promises; aid in any
tangible shape was flowing in but thinly. The Poles (the Hungarian king
Uladislaus being also their king) sent a tolerably large contingent;
in Germany, France, and Bohemia, too, there were many ready to enlist
in a holy war against the unbelieving Turks, as had been formerly
done in the time of the crusaders, and these joined Hunyadi’s camp.
The southern vassal states sent also some forces. The principal
army, however, was still composed of Hunyadi’s Hungarians, which was
joined by the king’s own troops. They may have numbered altogether
forty thousand men. The king himself joined in the offensive campaign
(in July, 1443) and placed himself at the head of the motley army.
His leadership proved an injury rather than an advantage, for the
discipline would have been far more perfect in the army if Hunyadi in
person, with his own men, had taken the lead. The Hungarian general,
nevertheless, defeated the Turks in their own country in four smaller
engagements and in two larger battles. When the Hungarian army
approached the Balkans—the heart of the Turkish empire in Europe—they
were already wading in snow. They nevertheless marched on, undaunted
by the enormous mountains and the impracticable and narrow passes. But
the Turks had already taken up their positions along the difficult
passes, on the mountain tops, and in the passes themselves, in such
a manner that they had made sure of every advantage. Hunyadi quickly
perceived that the position of the sultan behind such entrenchments
and bulwarks was impregnable. Being, therefore, foiled in his desire
to aim an offensive blow at the enemy, he endeavored to entice him
into the plain. In this he succeeded. As he was retreating from the
Balkan passes, slowly and cautiously tracing his way back, the Turkish
army quickly started in his pursuit. The sultan reasoned that the
Hungarian army was, by this time, exhausted with cold, the fatigues,
and the extraordinary exertions, and that it would be an easy matter
to catch them now in their own trap. But he counted without Hunyadi.
When the latter thought the time had come for it, he turned and faced
the enemy. He selected a vantage-ground where the Turkish army could at
no time bring all their forces into play, and must therefore offer to
the Hungarians a chance of beating them in detachments. The struggle
was protracted, for the Turks could afford, to wait. As soon as one
of their generals was defeated, the sultan had him strangled on the
spot, and despatched in his place another general and another army.
The contest went desperately on by the light of the moon. Every one
took part in it; King Uladislaus himself was wounded. The exasperated
Turks, after their ranks had been broken up, did not attempt to fly,
but perished fighting. The commander-in-chief of the sultan’s army was
taken captive.
The Hungarian army returned in triumph to Buda. Close upon their heels
followed the sultan’s envoy, begging for peace. All he now asked for
was to be let alone in his own country, and he in turn would not molest
Hungary. This was an important concession, for the faith of the sultans
had heretofore been held to forbid them to enter into a parley with,
and still less to entreat peace of, the infidel Christians. But the
sultan had just now a special reason for peace. Half of his empire had
risen in arms against him—the Albanians in Europe and Mohammedan rebels
in Asia. As usual with states based upon violence, the discontented
rose on all sides at the news of the first lost battle. This was the
effect of Hunyadi’s campaign.
The terms of peace offered by the sultan were of the most flattering
and tempting nature. He promised a great deal of money, territory,
mines, and captives. Hunyadi was now in favor of peace; he felt that
he must gather strength. Peace was therefore concluded, the king
swearing by the Gospel and the sultan by the Koran. The ambassadors of
the sultan had hardly left Hungary when Cardinal Julian, the pope’s
nuncio, arrived in the country and declared, in the pontiff’s name, the
oath of Uladislaus, the Hungarian king, to be null and void, adjuring
him, at the same time, by all the saints, to hasten and make use of
this opportunity to annihilate the Turks, and insisting that one so
favorable would never occur again. All Europe’s eyes were upon them,
he added, and all Europe wished to take part in the struggle. And,
indeed, the Christian princes hastened to protest against the peace,
and offered money and soldiers in abundance to continue the war.
Meanwhile news arrived that the Italian naval squadron had appeared in
the Turkish waters to intercept the sultan’s crossing over from Asia
to Europe. It was urged that now had come the time to fall upon the
Turkish empire, which was without a master. The papal nuncio summoned
all his eloquence to prove that the peace concluded with the Turk was
not valid, for the word given to an unbeliever was not binding, and God
did not listen to an oath deposited into pagan hands. “All Europe,” he
continued, “scoffed at this peace, and the honor and martial glory of
the Hungarian nation will be like naught if she persisted in keeping
it. It will disgrace her heroic name.”
There was no occasion for adding more; the Hungarians had no wish
to be thought cowards, and to this they preferred perjury. They
enthusiastically resolved upon war. Hunyadi alone remained cold; he had
no faith in big words and promises. But he was compelled to obey the
commands of his king. He collected about 20,000 men, and with these he
again marched into the Turkish empire. The famous European contribution
had dwindled down to a few hundred soldiers and a few thousand florins,
but it was hoped that many of the discontented would join them on their
march. And, indeed, the vayvode of Wallachia joined them with about
10,000 men, but he could not help remarking to the king with regard
to the forces of Sultan Mura, that the latter was in the habit of
surrounding himself when on a hunting expedition with a retinue more
numerous than the entire Hungarian army. It was, however, too late to
think of drawing back.
And now bad news came crowding in; it seemed as if good fortune had
altogether deserted the Hungarians. The Prince of Servia refused to
join them. The Albanians failed in their attempt to cut their way to
the Hungarians, and what seemed most incredible of all, the Italian
naval squadron, whose task it was to have been to hinder the sultan’s
crossing over to Europe, had itself carried over the Turk for good
money. The Hungarians were left alone and forsaken in the foreign
country. There was reason enough now for retreating, and there were
some who counselled retreat. It was Hunyadi’s turn now to interfere.
He declared that he did not fear the Turks under any circumstances,
and if they had got so far they were bound to engage them in battle
by beginning the attack themselves. As soon as Hunyadi came to the
fore, confidence was at once restored; his person inspired the army
with courage, and they continued their march against the Turks. The
two opposing armies met near Varna, on the 10th of November, 1444. The
sultan had pitched his tent on the top of a hill, and near it he had
the document, upon which the treaty of peace was written, hoisted on a
pole. He had with him more than 100,000 men ready for the fray. But the
order of battle of the Hungarian army was again most admirable, such
as could only be suggested by the lofty genius of Hunyadi. To every man
was assigned his part and place, nor was any exception made in this
respect in favor of the king. He obtained a post where no danger could
reach him, and Hunyadi solemnly engaged him not to leave his place
until he himself would call upon him to do so.
The battle now commenced. Hunyadi with his reserve horse-troop went
wherever there was most danger, assisting, encouraging, and commanding.
The first set-to took place between the cavalry. The struggle did not
last long; the brilliant Turkish cavalry was put to flight in disorder.
At this desperate sight the sultan put spurs to his horse, and turning
its head was about to leave the battle-field, but the commanders near
him seized the bridle of his horse, and menaced him with death if
he did not go on with the battle. The sultan, taking courage again,
ordered fresh troops into the fight, and the battle began to rage with
renewed fury. In the midst of the sanguinary contest the two hostile
leaders met face to face. Karafi Bey, his eyes sparkling, fell upon
Hunyadi, and lifted his sword, but before he could strike a blow he
slid from his horse pierced to the heart. The fall of their leader was
the signal for the wild flight of the Turkish horse.
The Polish banner-bearers, surrounding the king, were envious witnesses
of Hunyadi’s victory, and urged Uladislaus, who was hardly able to
restrain his youthful ardor, to participate in the engagement, by
representing to him that victory was already assured, that he should
not leave all the glory to Hunyadi, and that he should, at least, draw
his sword and show himself a hero worthy of the double crown.
The king, forgetting his promise, accompanied by the banner of the
country, made straight for the Janissaries, who had, as yet, hardly
been in the fight. Hunyadi immediately saw the king’s movement, and
followed him as swiftly as he could. Upon this the king penetrated more
deeply still into the ranks of the Janissaries, Hunyadi being unable
now to cut his way to his sovereign. The king’s companions succumbed
one after the other. At last a Janissary succeeded in creeping up close
to the king’s horse, and striking at the horse’s feet with his sword,
he brought it down. Horse and rider fell, and the king was instantly
despatched. The mad fray lasted a few minutes longer, when suddenly
the pale head of the king, in his silver helmet, stuck on a pike,
became visible. At this sight the Hungarian army and their leaders lost
their senses, and the campaign came to a sudden end. The victorious
Hungarians became fugitives, and Hunyadi himself returned to his home
a lonely wanderer. The sultan, in surveying the bloody battle-field,
exclaimed: “I wish my enemies only a victory like this.” The Turks were
not in a condition to pursue the defeated Hungarians.
The discomfited army crept back to their country, bringing with them
the news that Hungary was without a king. The uppermost question now
was who should be elected king. The plight of Hungary at that time was
a sorry one, indeed. The king had left no children behind him, and
yet there was an heir to the throne. When Albert of Hapsburg, the
predecessor of Uladislaus, died, in 1439, his widow was _enceinte_,
and she afterwards gave birth to a boy. The partisans of the late
queen caused this her son, Ladislaus, to be crowned at once. The great
majority, however, and Hunyadi with them, wanted on the throne a man
who would be able to be their leader in the struggle against the Turks.
The result was the election of Uladislaus, the Polish king, in 1440.
The widowed queen with her son repaired to the court of the Duke of
Austria, and from there she caused Hungary to be devastated by the
Bohemian, John Ziska.
It was quite natural that after the death of Uladislaus the whole
nation should look to the child Ladislaus as the future king. But the
Austrian duke claimed a large sum under the title of the expenses of
education of the young prince, a sum which the Hungarians were neither
able nor willing to pay. Whilst this matter was being discussed,
Hunyadi, being the captain-general of the country, was temporarily
entrusted with the conduct of the principal affairs of state. Two years
later he was elected governor of the country, with powers that but
little differed from those of royalty.
As governor he deemed it his paramount duty to resume hostilities
against the Turks. His mind was busy again with the plan to which
he had devoted his life and fortune—namely, to attack the Turks and
to drive them from Europe. In 1448 the sultan, at the head of an
army of 150,000 men, invaded Albania, a country with which Hungary,
owing to their community of interests, deeply sympathized. Hunyadi
thought this an opportune moment to carry out his plan. From abroad
he received again assurances of aid, but in the end they turned
out to be, as before, empty promises. Putting his trust in God and
himself, he started with 24,000 men. It was his purpose to unite
his forces with those of Scanderbeg, the commander-in-chief of the
Albanians. But as soon as the news of Hunyadi’s advance reached
the sultan, he left the Albanians and marched against his old and
most implacable enemy. He offered him peace, but Hunyadi replied
by drawing up his army in battle array. The battle was fought with
great desperation, the fight continuing for days, and although the
Turkish army outnumbered five times the Hungarians, the strategy of
Hunyadi rendered the issue doubtful for some time. At the last moment,
however, it was decided in favor of the Turks. Treason had turned
the scale; the Wallachian vayvode, losing confidence in the wearied
troops of Hunyadi, deserted with 8,000 men and joined the sultan. When
the Hungarians saw this, they refused to listen any further to their
commanders, and, scattering, they fled. Hunyadi himself escaped with
great difficulty only. Whilst wandering towards his country on foot,
unarmed, and through impassable roads, he fell into the hands of two
Turkish marauders. They little knew what a distinguished person they
had captured, but there was no mistake about the golden cross on his
breast. Luckily for Hunyadi they both coveted the cross and began
quarrelling over it, and finally fell to fisticuffs. During their
fight Hunyadi suddenly drew the sword of one of them, slaying him with
it; the other, on seeing this, took to his heels. He had hardly escaped
one danger, when another was in store for him. On his way he had hired
a guide, who, instead of taking him to his own country, brought him to
Brankovitch, the Servian prince, the man who, since the campaign of
1443, had been constantly crossing his plans. The treacherous Servian,
who was licking now the hands of the Hungarians, now of the Turks,
entered into negotiations with the Turkish sultan concerning Hunyadi’s
head. The latter, however, esteemed, even in his enemy, the pure-minded
hero, and refused to entertain so base an offer.
Hunyadi returned to Hungary, and hastened to forget the injury done to
him by the Servian prince; but the Turks he did not forget. In his most
desperate straits he steadily kept before his eyes—the main object of
his life—the ruin of the Turks. In 1453, the child-king, Ladislaus V.,
began his reign; but, although Hunyadi then relinquished his position
as governor of Hungary, he still remained the captain-general of the
country, the commander-in-chief of the army, and as such he missed no
opportunity to injure his arch-enemy.
This same year, 1453, witnessed a most remarkable event in the history
of Europe. Mohammed II., the new sultan, took Constantinople, the
capital of the Greek empire and the gate of Europe, and made it the
capital of his empire. “There is one God in heaven, and one Lord
on earth, and I am that Lord!” exclaimed the sultan on entering
Constantinople. All Europe trembled; Hunyadi alone remained calm and
prepared for war. After a few minor engagements, Turks and Hungarians
stood face to face again near Belgrade in 1456. This fortress was the
gate of Hungary, and the great sultan wanted to get possession of
it. For this purpose he determined to make a supreme effort, feeling
that the seizure of this fortified place would decide the fate of
generations to come. He led over 150,000 men under the walls of that
famous fortress, and hastened to station his ships on the Danube, on
which Belgrade lies, in order to cut off the communication between
the Hungarian army and the garrison, and thus to isolate the latter.
The Hungarian army itself did not number, even now, over 15,000 men,
hardly more than those whom Hunyadi had been able to collect by his own
exertions. Only this time, however, the great captain did not stand
alone, but received great help from another quarter. A monk of magic
eloquence, John Capistrano, who was sent by the pope to the country
to preach a crusade, had, by the irresistible power of his appeals,
collected 60,000 crusaders to assist Hunyadi. These men were armed with
scythes and pole-axes only, and were led by the sound of bells instead
of words of military command; but their fanaticism was quite equal to
that of the Mohammedan Turk.
With an army composed of such warriors Hunyadi engaged in the great
contest. His first effort was directed to the river, in order to
relieve the garrison of the fortress. After an engagement of five
hours, the great naval squadron of the Turks was scattered by the
small galleys which had been the objects of the enemy’s ridicule, but
which were led to the attack by fanatic crusaders under the captaincy
of Hunyadi. This restored the communication of the Hungarian army with
the Hungarian garrison. Still Mohammed looked with scorn at the rabble
collected on the opposite bank, the leaders of whom were largely monks,
and he swore an oath that in two months’ time, he would plant the proud
crescent on the walls of Buda, the capital of Hungary. For eight days
and eight nights the Turkish guns roared against Belgrade, and on the
ninth day Mohammed ordered a general assault. The assault was renewed
three times, and three times were the Turks repulsed. At the last
moment, when the strength of the besieged seemed ready to give way, the
Hungarian commander ordered the fascines soaked with oil and pitch,
which were piled up in the ditches, to be set on fire and to be hurled
at the storming men. Confusion seized the assailants, and each sought
safety for himself, for he who did not escape met with a miserable
death in the flames. Meanwhile the defence was rapidly changing into
an attack along the whole line; the crusaders, mad with the excitement
of the struggle, rushed forward, while Hunyadi directed an orderly
attack against the Turkish camp. The engagement now became general, and
the sultan himself received a wound. Dismayed, he took to flight, his
troops following. Nothing could keep them longer together; the immense
army was scattered to the winds, leaving behind them, under the walls
of the famous fortress, 40,000 killed and 300 cannon.
At that most glorious moment of Hunyadi’s life, when the Turks were
put to flight by the bare mention of his name, this Christian hero,
suddenly and without any premonition, breathed his last. He did not
live to hear the panegyrics and felicitations of all Europe, the
grateful recognition of his services by his own nation. His mighty
frame sank under the weight of the fatigue of war, and, after a brief
agony, he expired. His inveterate enemy, the great sultan himself,
expressed grief at the news of his death, pronouncing him to be the
ablest general in Europe.
Many there were, however, who rejoiced at his death. For, like all
great men, he too had enemies against whom he was engaged in a
life-and-death struggle as much as against the Turks. He had his
envious rivals from the moment he had struggled into fame and had
acquired a fortune. These men cared little to remember that he was
indebted for both to his talents and courage. Some of the great lords,
who were able to trace back their pedigrees to past centuries, looked
upon him, the son of a simple noble, as an upstart. When he afterwards
became captain-general and governor, they refused to obey him, but he
made them obey by force of his arms. They were only silenced, however;
in their innermost hearts they both hated and feared him. Among these
were Garay, Brankovics, and Czilley, all of them connections of the
royal house. The latter, Ulric Czilley, a wily and base man, who,
though a foreigner, had pushed himself into the first place near the
minor King Ladislaus V., was unremitting in his intrigues against
him. He and his companions made the shallow-minded young king believe
that Hunyadi and his two sons, who were growing into manhood, were
ambitious of the crown, and, under this pretext, but without the king’s
knowledge, they laid traps for him. The fearless hero faced all such
base machinations with the loftiness of a truly martial spirit. The
secret attacks he met with caution and straightforwardness, and the
slanderous insinuation that he coveted the throne he refuted by the
simplicity of his life. Rich enough to have at any moment ten thousand
men at his back, he was always as modest and unselfish as a monk. His
detractors reflected on his great wealth, forgetting that his entire
income was spent in armaments against the Turks.
He lived and died like a true knight, and in Hungarian history he will
live forever as their grandest hero. If he did not achieve his most
ardent wish, the expulsion of the Turks from Europe, his will always
remain the merit of having made the arms of Hungary respected and
feared by the Turks, and they no longer dared to look upon his country
as an easy conquest. Over sixty years elapsed before a Turkish sultan
again ventured to threaten Belgrade.
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