The Turkish army was now completely beaten; more than a thousand of its dead lay in the streets and around the church, and only the mountain passes, into which it was not prudent for the Hungarians to follow them, saved them from utter annihilation.
George Veer therefore sounded the recall, whilst Banfi, with restless rage, rushed hither and thither after the flying foe. All in vain; every way was barred by the trunks of trees which the Turks had hewn down in hot haste.
"We must let them escape!" cried Veer, thrusting his sabre into its sheath.
"Say not so! say not so!" cried Banfi excitedly, and riding up to the top of a hillock, he seemed to be observing something in the distance. Suddenly he exclaimed with a joyful voice—"Look yonder. The fire-signals have just been lit!"
And indeed on the crests of the Gyalyui Mountains the fire-signals could be seen flashing up one by one in a long line.
"Those are our people!" cried Banfi, with fresh enthusiasm. "The Turk is caught in the trap. Forward!" And remarshalling his squadrons, he galloped towards the barricaded forest paths, heedless of the warnings of the more circumspect Veer.
Meanwhile Ali Pasha, abandoning his tents, camels, and booty-laden wagons to the enemy, sent Dzem Haman, the Albanian commander, on before, to level the roads over the snowy mountains.
As now Dzem Haman was advancing through the darkness and superintending the labours of his Albanian pioneers, he heard voices in the steep rock above his head, and a company of armed men suddenly emerged from the mountain passes before his eyes.
The troops on both sides challenged each other simultaneously.