CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE ROYAL FOREST.
The Royal Forest lies on the left bank of the Rákos, near Isaszeg. Three highroads lead through it, and all three unite at Isaszeg, which thus forms the gateway to Pest.
The Hungarian army was bent on reaching Pest, and it was for this that it was now fighting. The enemy held the forest, and for six hours the Hungarian forces had been fighting their way through, when both sides prepared for a last desperate struggle.
The Austrians planned to strike a decisive blow against their opponents' centre. Sixteen troops of light cavalry, lancers, and dragoons, two cuirassier regiments, eight batteries of cannon, and two mortar batteries crossed the Rákos above Isaszeg and descended like an avalanche on the Hungarian centre. The Hungarians, drawn up in close order, occupied that circular space which even now shows the traces of having once been trampled by many feet. There were three thousand hussars in a body. Against them the enemy levelled their field-batteries, planting them in the spaces between the different divisions of their troops and on the wings, and opened a murderous fire. There was but one way to meet this fire, and that was to make a sudden cavalry charge which should throw the enemy's ranks into confusion and make it impossible to distinguish between friend and foe. Thus the artillerists would be compelled to desist. This plan was executed. Over the whole battle-field the trumpets sounded the charge. The earth trembled under the mighty shock, and the forest rang with the battle-cry, in which was presently mingled the clashing of steel, as thousands of swords met in deadly strife. A cloud of dust veiled the scene for a space, and when it cleared one might have witnessed the living enactment of the hero-epics of old,—six or seven thousand knights indiscriminately mingled, and every man seeking his foe. Horses were rearing and snorting, flashing swords rang blade against blade, red shakos, shining helmets, and four-cornered caps were densely crowded in one swaying, surging, struggling mass.
In the stress of the conflict, two leaders who towered by a head above their fellows suddenly caught sight of each other. One was Richard Baradlay, the other Otto Palvicz. It was like the meeting of two lightning flashes from two thunder-clouds. They broke through the mass of fighting warriors about them and pushed their way toward each other. The horsemen opened a lane through their ranks for the two champions, as if recognising that here was the heaven-ordained decision. The swords of these two mighty warriors should decide the issue; let them fight it out.
They fell on each other, neither of them taking thought to parry his opponent's blow, but each striking at one and the same instant with all the strength of his arm and the fury of his passion. Rising in their stirrups and swinging aloft their swords, they aimed each at the other's head. Like two flashes of lightning, both blades descended at once, and both warriors fell in the same moment from their horses. Truly, it was a well-aimed stroke that felled Richard Baradlay, and had he not borne the charmed life of the heroes of the Iliad and the Niebelungenlied, that day had been his last on earth. Otto Palvicz's sword had cleft his opponent's shako, cutting through the metal crown; but, as often happens in such strokes, the blade was so turned in its course that the flat of the sword and not the edge spent its force on the hussar captain's head. Yet the fearful blow was even thus enough to stun Richard, and throw him unconscious to the ground.
His own stroke, however, descending like a thunderbolt from heaven, was more effective. Cleaving the helmet of the cuirassier major, it left a gaping wound on his skull.
No sooner had the two champions fallen than there followed a furious conflict over their bodies, each side striving to rescue its fallen hero. Old Paul, who had spurred his horse after his master, sprang from his saddle and threw himself on Richard's body. The hoofs of trampling steeds soon stamped the life out of the faithful servant, but he had succeeded in saving the one being in this world whom he loved. With unselfish affection, he had shielded his dear master and cheerfully laid down his life for him.
At that moment the sound as of an approaching army fell on the ear. What did it mean? The woods were ringing with the battle-cry, "Éljen a haza!"[4] The Hungarian reserve corps had arrived and was pushing to the front. Its batteries opened fire on the enemy, and the militia battalions drove the foe out of the woods. The battle was at last decided. The Austrian trumpeters sounded the retreat, and the battle-field was left deserted, except for the dead and the wounded. When the Hungarians sent out to gather them up, Otto Palvicz was found to be still alive.