The hostile camp lay about four hours’ march away, on the opposite bank, between two forests, and by an inexplicable oversight, had left that portion of the river’s bank absolutely unguarded.
The Janissaries swam to and fro in the water strengthening the posts and stays of the improvised bridge by tying them stoutly together, and by the time the night had begun to grow grey, the first bridge ever thrown over the Raab was ready and the infantry began to cross it.
It was only then that the German-Hungarian camp perceived the design of the enemy, and speedily sent three regiments of musketeers against the Turks, who fought valiantly with the Janissaries, and drove them right back upon the bridge, where a bloody tussle ensued as fresh divisions hastened up to sustain the hardly-pressed Mussulmans.
Meanwhile a second bridge had been got ready, over which Kucsuk’s cavalry quickly galloped and fell upon the rear of the musketeers.
These warriors, taken by surprise and perceiving the preponderance of the enemy, and obtaining no assistance from their own headquarters, quickly flung down their firearms and made helter-skelter for their own trenches.
The next moment the two combating divisions were a confused struggling mass. Kucsuk’s swift Spahis cut off the retreat of the Christian infantry; only for a few moments was there a definite struggle, the tussle being most obstinate round the standards, till at last they also began to totter and fall one after the other, and three thousand Christian souls mounted on high together, pursued by a roar of triumph from the Mussulmans, who, seizing the advanced trenches, planted thereon their half-moon streamers, and plundered the tents which remained defenceless before them.
At that moment the Christian host was near to destruction, and if Kiuprile had crossed the river and Hassan Pasha had shared the fight with Kucsuk, he would have become famous.
But the two chief commanders remained obstinately behind on the further shore. Kiuprile, who the evening before had himself wanted to begin the fight when he had received a negative answer, had now not even saddled his nag, and looked on with sinister sangfroid while the extreme wing of the army was engaged. Hassan, on the other hand, would have liked nothing better if the Janissaries, and Kucsuk their auxiliary, had lost the battle thus begun without orders, and so far from hastening to their assistance remained sitting up in his tower. He could see nothing of the battle, but he heard a cry, and fancying that it was the death-yell of the Janissaries, took his beads from his girdle and began zealously to pray that the Prophet would keep open for them the gates of Paradise.
“Master, master!” exclaimed Yffim Beg, “gird on thy sword and to horse!”
The Pasha heard nothing. At last Yffim Beg, in despair, seized the bell-rope, and pulled the old bell right above Hassan’s head, whereupon the latter rushed in terror to the window.
“What is it? What dost thou want?”
“Hasten, sir!” roared Yffim Beg. “Kucsuk Pasha has beaten the enemy, taken their trenches, and is plundering their tents. Do not allow him to have all the glory of scattering the Christians!”
Hassan leapt from his seat. If he had heard that Kucsuk’s men were being cut to pieces he would have gone on praying, but Kucsuk triumphed—had all the triumph to himself. The thought was a keen spur to his mind. Up everyone who could stir hand or foot! Forward Spahis and Arabs! To battle every true believer! Let the dervishes go up in the tower and sing dirges for the fallen! Let the ground shake beneath the rolling of the guns! Let the horns ring out for now is the day of glory!
In an instant the camp was alert, and crowds of warriors rushed towards the bridge. Every man pressed hard on the heels of his fellow; those who were crowded into the water did their best to reach the opposite shore by swimming; whole companies swam through on horseback, and the heavy iron guns moved forward as rapidly as if they had wings. It was only now that the vast numbers of the Ottoman host became manifest, it seemed suddenly to spring out of the ground in every direction; the tiny little cramped Christian camp over against them looked like an island in an inundation.
In the very centre of the host could be seen Hassan Pasha with a brilliant suite, twenty horsetail banners fluttered around him, the pick of his veterans at his side. On the left was the army of Ismail Pasha; on the right were the hosts of the Moldavians. Their immediate objective was the trenches already occupied by Kucsuk Pasha.
At that moment Yffim Beg was seen galloping along the front of the host with the Vizier’s commands for Kucsuk Pasha.
“Ye remain where now you are, and move no farther till a fresh command arrives. Feriz Beg and his battalion move forward along the outermost wing.”
Hassan could not endure that two such heroes should help each other in the battle, and that the son should deliver the father. Kucsuk beat the tattoo. Feriz Beg moved along the left wing, where he formed the reserve.
Then the reveille sounded; a hideous yell filled the air; the Mussulman host, with bloodthirsty rage, rushed upon the front of the Christian army. No power on earth can save them! But what is this? Suddenly the impetus of the assailants is stayed. Along the front of the camp of the Christian infantry star-shaped trenches have been dug during the night and planted full of sharp stakes. The foremost row of the assailants pause terror-stricken in front of these trenches, and for an instant the onset is arrested. But only for an instant. The powerful impact of the rearward masses flings them into the deadly ditch, one after another they fall upon the pointed stakes, a mortal yell drowns the cry of battle, in a few moments the star-shaped trenches are filled with corpses and the
