“Allow me, gentlemen, to express my opinion also,” said the experienced German. “I am an old soldier. I have knocked about in all manner of campaigns; I know the value of numbers in war, but also the value of position, and well understand how to weigh the one against the other. I have learnt by experience that one hundred men under favourable conditions are often more than a match for a thousand. I also know how enthusiasm or indifference can multiply or diminish numbers. I can also calculate the relative importance of the various kinds of arms; nor is the military value of patriotism an unknown quantity to me. Now we have ten thousand men, and there are not more than three thousand opposed to us. But we must not lose sight of the fact, that the greater part of our Hungarian forces consists of cavalry, and to storm walls with cavalry is clearly impossible. Scarcely less impossible is it to persuade the mounted Hungarians to fight on foot. I would further remark, that although the Hungarian is a veritable hero when he stands face to face with a foreign foe, nevertheless, whenever I have seen him called upon to fight against his own countrymen (and often enough have I had that opportunity) he becomes as slothful and indifferent as if he were only awaiting the first pretext for taking to his heels. Then, again, we possess a troop of Serbians, whom I consider very good shots, and if we only had them safely behind the walls of that town we might buckle to it against a tenfold superiority; but outside fortifications these people are scarcely worth anything: they are strong enough to defend, but not strong enough to storm a bastion. We ought therefore to demolish the walls as soon as possible: but then, again, we have no cannon, and would have to send as far as Temesvar for our field-artillery, and while they were on their way to us along the vile roads—and of course it is a further question whether the commandant there would send them at all at our bidding—Ali Pasha would have time to return with fresh troops, and we should lose all our labour. I consider, therefore, that we ought not to remain here any longer. We are incapable of conquering that fortress either by assault or blockade. We cannot, on the other hand, suppose that the enemy would be insane enough to be lured into the open field. The most prudent thing, therefore, that we can do under such circumstances, is to set out for Hungary without delay, collect reinforcements and artillery, and then endeavour to force the enemy to an engagement.”
Kemeny, little accustomed to listen to such lengthy discourses, could scarcely wait till Wenzinger paused, and, as if the whole plan of campaign deserved not the slightest thought, he now interrupted him with frivolous impatience.
“Mr. General, leave all that till the afternoon. After dinner we shall see everything in quite another light.”
“No, not after dinner,” blustered the German. “No time is to be lost. We are in the midst of war, where every hour is precious; not at a Diet, where matters may be debated for years together.”
At this sally the Hungarian gentlemen laughed heartily, seized Wenzinger by the arm, and dragged him off to the banquet, joking all the way. “There will be lots of time after dinner!” cried they.
“Well, well,” said Wenzinger, half in jest and half in anger; “it is a fine thing, no doubt, to have soldiers who will do everything but obey your orders!”
Not another word did he speak at table, but he drank all the more.
In the midst of these table-joys, John Uzdi, the commander of the skirmishers, stepped into the Prince’s pavilion with a terrified countenance, and scarce able to speak for excitement.
“Your Highness! I see great clouds of dust approaching from the direction of Segesvar!”
The Prince turned his head towards the messenger, and said with comic phlegm—
“If it gives you any satisfaction to stare at your clouds of dust, pray go on looking at them as long as you please!”
But Wenzinger sprang from his seat.
“I should like to have a look at them myself,” cried he, hastily ordering his heavy charger to be saddled; “possibly the enemy has come out to entice us nearer.”
The others did not trouble themselves about the matter, but continued to make merry.
In a few minutes, however, back came Wenzinger, unable to conceal the secret joy which a professional soldier always feels when his plan is about to succeed.
“Victory, gentlemen!” cried he. “The enemy is marching against us in force. If it is not merely a diversion, and he really means business, the day is ours.”
Some of the gentlemen at once rose from their seats and began buckling on their swords. The Prince, however, remained sitting.
“Are they still a good way off?” he indolently inquired of Wenzinger.
“Scarcely half-an-hour’s march!” exclaimed the latter with sparkling eyes.
“Then let them come a little nearer still, and in the meantime sit down by our side.”
“I’ll be damned if I do!” cried the general angrily. “As it is, I have scarcely time enough to marshal my forces.”
“But why marshal them at all? Let them advance upon the enemy en masse, that he may be terrified out of his life at the bare sight of them.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to scare them away, I want rather to surround them. I shall confront them with one-half the host, the rest I shall distribute as follows: one division shall creep through the maize-fields and cut off the enemy’s retreat to the town; another shall attack him in flank from above the milldam; a third shall remain behind in reserve. Your Highness will join the reserve with your Court.”
“What!” cried Kemeny, deeply offended, “I in the reserve! The proper place for an Hungarian Prince is always the forefront of the battle!”
“That was all very well formerly; but in a general engagement, such precious personages require constant
