CHAPTER IX.

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.

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.