CHAPTER IX.
THE BAPTISM OF BLOOD.
War had begun. Kara Mustapha advanced into Austria, looking neither to the right nor the left, marching onward, onward to Vienna. Such obstacles as he encountered on his way he removed by the might and strength of his forces, as an elephant lifts his ponderous foot to crush a pigmy lying in his path. His march was through burning villages and devastated fields; the glare of his torch illumined the sky, the blood of his victims reddened the earth. Austria's desponding hopes were concentrated upon the Duke of Lorraine; for the King of Poland had not arrived, and the Elector of Bavaria was yet undecided.
The army of the allied enemies increased daily, while that of the Austrians was decimated partly by contagious diseases, partly by a division of their forces, for the defence of the only fortress which was in a condition to arrest the advance of the Turks.
The duke's army, which now numbered twenty-three thousand men, was encamped in front of the fortress of Raab; for here the Turks would make their first attack, and to possess Raab was to hold the key of Upper Hungary and Central Austria. The army had halted there in the course of the afternoon, but, as night approached, the hum of action gradually ceased, and gloomy silence reigned throughout. No groups of merry soldiers gathered round the camp-fires with laugh, or jest, or mirthful song. Some slept from exhaustion and discouragement, others sat mournfully gazing toward the east, which, unlike the dark horizon around, was lit up with a fiery glow, that marked the advance of the ferocious invaders. In one tent pitched on a hillock that overlooked the camp-ground, a faint light shone through the crevices of the curtain; and this glimmering spark was the only sign of life that was to be seen. The rest of the camp was in utter darkness.
The tent whence beamed this solitary light was that of the commander-in-chief, to whom his scouts had just brought intelligence which necessitated prompt action. He had sent for General Caprara and Prince Louis of Baden; and when his interview with them Was at an end, he dispatched his adjutant for Prince Eugene of Savoy.
In a few moments Eugene raised the hangings of the tent and silently saluted his commander. The latter seemed not to have perceived his entrance. He stood before a table, leaning over a map on which he was tracing and retracing lines with his fingers. Eugene stepped closer, and followed the motions of the duke with his eyes. He seemed to understand them; for his countenance expressed anxiety and astonishment.
A long pause ensued, after which the duke raised his head and spoke:
"You have been here for some time?"
"Yes, your highness; I came as soon as I received your orders."
"I saw the shadow of your head on the map. You were watching my fingers attentively. I was glad to see that you were interested. What did you infer from your inspection of the map?"
"I will try to tell your highness as well as I can," was the modest reply. "You began by drawing a line from Stuhlweissenhurg with three fingers. This represented the Turkish army, composed of three columns. Your forefinger represented the left wing, your third the right wing, and your middle finger the main body of the army. The two wings were then detached, and made a circuitous march to capture the fortress of Wesgrim. They again joined the main army, and I saw, with astonishment, that the consolidated forces had flanked Raab, Comorn, and Leopoldstadt, had passed by the shores of the Neusidler Sea, and were now encamped on the banks of the Leitha."
"You have guessed most accurately," cried the duke, who had listened in amazement to Eugene's reply.
"It was not difficult to do," remarked the latter. "Since I have had the honor of serving under your highness, I have studied this map daily. I know every thicket, every forest, every stream laid down upon it. The whole country which it comprises is as familiar to me as if I surveyed it all at a glance. It is not, then, surprising that I should understand the movements of your highness's fingers."
"You think it quite natural—I consider it extraordinary. But you have raised my curiosity to know whether you also were able to interpret what followed."
"After accompanying the enemy to the banks of the Leitha, your highness stopped, raised your hand, and laid your finger upon the fortress of Raab. This, of course, denotes the position of our own army, and the direction in which we are to move."
"Move? We came here to defend this stronghold."
"We have been flanked, and have nothing to gain by a defence of Raab. With your finger, then, upon Raab, you were deliberating as to the route we are to take; since it is evident that, if we are not prompt, we will be cut off from Vienna. You made two divisions of your army. One finger traced a line across the island of Schutt to Presburg, and thence to Vienna; this, I presume, denotes the march of the infantry. The other finger, on the left bank of the Danube, drew a line from Wieselburg to Hamburg, and this route would be for our cavalry—it is too rough for foot-soldiers."
The duke listened with growing interest, and when Eugene ceased, he put his arm affectionately around the neck of the young officer, and exclaimed, "I congratulate you, Eugene. You will be a great captain. You will be a better general than I. Let us hope that you will also be a more fortunate one—that you will complete what I have begun— avenge Austria's wrongs on France, and restore her to her place as one of the four great powers. You have not only the instincts of a soldier, but the quickness and penetration which constitute military genius. My pupil, I think, will ere long become my master."
"Ah!" replied Eugene, "unless you keep me as a pupil, I shall never become a master."
"The little that I know you shall learn from me, Eugene. I have predicted for you a glorious career, and, as far as lies in my power, I will contribute to your success. But success is as much the fruit of policy as of genius. You must not proclaim your preference for me to the world; it will impede your advancement. To obtain promotion you must be an ostensible adherent of my enemies; and for this reason I shall give you some command near the persons of General Caprara and Louis of Baden."
"Your highness, Louis of Baden is not—"
"My enemy, you would say? Believe me, I know human nature better than you do; but I have no resentment against Louis on account of his animosity. He is young, ambitious, and capable; it is therefore but natural that he should covet my position. He will obtain it, for all my enemies will give him their suffrages, and chief among them all is the Margrave Herman. I, on the contrary, have but one friend- -the emperor."
"But the emperor is a host within himself," cried Eugene.
"If you think so, it is because you are unacquainted with the intrigues of the Austrian court. The privy council has more power than Leopold; and the veritable ruler of Austria is the minister of war, who, from his green-covered table, plans our battles and commands our armies. What do you suppose are my instructions from the war department? I must first, with my thirty-three thousand men, hold the entire Turkish army in check; I must garrison Raab, Comorn, and Leopoldstadt; I must defend fifty miles of frontier between the pass of Jublunkau and Pettau; I must oppose the passage of the enemy to Vienna; and having accomplished all these impossibilities, I must end by giving him battle wherever and whenever I meet him." [Footnote: Kausler, "Life of Eugene of Savoy."]
"Impossible, indeed!" cried Eugene, indignantly.
"And, for that very reason, assigned to me as my duty. For, as I shall certainly not accomplish it, there will be an outcry at my incapacity, and a pretext for my removal. I shall fulfil my obligations nevertheless, as conscientiously to foes as to friends. I have borne arms for the emperor against France, Sweden, Hungary, and Turkey; if it serve his interests or those of Austria, I am ready to struggle with his enemies at home; but, if my championship is to be dangerous to my sovereign or to my country, I shall resign without a protest. As for you, my son, the path of glory is open to you; perhaps before another sun has set, you may flesh your maiden sword in the blood of the infidel. You have anticipated my intentions. We are about to march to Vienna. Do you hear the signal? The men are being awakened; and in one hour we must be on our way. I sent for you to bid you farewell. So far, you have been attached to my person, and I have learned to esteem and love you. But the opportunity for you to distinguish yourself is at hand, and I must no longer retain you by me. I assign you to your brother's regiment of dragoons. It belongs to the brigade of Prince Louis, and the division of General Caprara. I part from you reluctantly, but I do it for your own good; and I hope soon to make honorable mention of my favorite officer to the emperor."
"My dear lord," answered Eugene, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "I will do all that I can to deserve your approval. I care for naught else in this world; and if after a battle you say that you are satisfied with me, I shall be richly rewarded for any peril, any sacrifice."
At this moment the curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and the duke's staff entered. He waved his hand in token of adieu to Eugene, at the same time saying:
"And now, colonel, Prince of Savoy, you will join your brother's regiment. It has received its orders, and is in readiness to depart."
Eugene bowed low and left the tent.
The Austrian camp was now alive and in motion, but the men were spiritless and taciturn. Conscious of the immense superiority of the enemy, they advanced to meet him with more of resignation than of hope. Not only were they out-numbered, but their foe was one whose every step was marked by incendiarism and murder. The zest, the incentive to gallantry, was gone; and, believing that they were going forth to death, they went like victims to an inevitable doom. Far different were the feelings with which Eugene mounted his horse, and crossed the field to join the division of General Caprara. He found Prince Louis of Savoy already in the saddle, awaiting his arrival. The brothers greeted each other with fondest affection.
"Dear Eugene," said Louis, "my heart is joyous, since I know that we are to go in company. How sweet and home-like it is to have you with me! By-and-by, we shall see you cutting off Turks' heads as if they were poppies."
"For each one that I send to his account, I mean to claim a kiss from my beautiful sister-in-law."
"You are welcome if you can get them," laughed Louis. "But Urania is not prodigal of her kisses, Eugene; I never was able to obtain a single one until she became my wife. But let us not speak of her. Love is any thing but an incentive to valor; and just now I almost envy you who have never loved. If you intend to be a soldier, twine no myrtle with your laurels until you shall have attained renown."
Eugene's brow darkened, and a gleam of anguish shot athwart his countenance. "I shall never," began he—
But just at that moment the trumpet's peal was heard, and Prince
Louis, galloping off, gave the word of command to move on.
And now was heard the roll of the drum, the clang of arms, the stamp of horses, and the measured tread of men. The infantry took the left, the cavalry the right bank of the Danube. When morning dawned, the camp lay far behind them, but the road was long that led to Vienna.
The two Princes of Savoy rode together. Little had been said by either one, but whenever their eyes met, each read in the glance of the other that he was dearly loved, and then they smiled, and relapsed into silence. After riding in this way for several miles, Prince Louis spoke.
"I wish to ask you something, Eugene. But promise not to ridicule me."
"I promise, with all my heart."
"Then tell me—do you believe in dreams and presentiments?"
Eugene reflected for a while and then said, "Yes—you know that our family have every reason to believe in dreams. Mine have often been realized; and often too, I must confess, that they have deceived me- -but still I am a believer."
"Well, then," said his brother, "I shall meet my death to-day."
Eugene shuddered. "Meet your death!" exclaimed he. "This is a grim jest, dear Louis."
"No jest, brother; a serious prediction. Last night I saw myself mortally wounded, and I heard the wailing of my wife and children, when the news of my death was brought to them. It was so vivid that it awakened me. Dear Eugene, if I fall, be a brother to my Urania, a father to my children."
"I will, I will, Louis, but God forbid that they should need protection from me! Were you to die, I should lose my only friend, for whom have I to love in this world besides yourself, dear brother?"
"Nay, Eugene," returned Louis, "I cannot be your only or your dearest friend, for you do not trust me. From our cousins, the Princes de Conti, I learned that you had endured some great sorrow at the hands of Louvois, the French minister of war. I have waited for you to confide your troubles to me, but—Great God! What is the matter?"
Eugene had reined in his horse with such force, that it seemed to be falling back upon its haunches. His face was deadly pale, and his hand raised imploringly.
"My head reels," murmured he, in return. "I dare not think of the past, much less speak of it. Dear, dear brother, do not exact it of me. Be content to know that, for three days of my life, I was happy beyond the power of man to express—but for three days only. What followed almost cost me my reason; and the mere mention of my misfortune unsettles it to-day. Give me your hand, and let us drop this subject forever, Louis. I have no past; futurity is everything to me."
"So be it," replied Louis, grasping his brother's hand with fervor.
"From this day we are comrades for life!"
Their hands remained clasped for a few seconds: then, as by a simultaneous impulse, the brothers struck spurs into their horses' flanks, and galloped swiftly onward. The troops were allowed to halt but once during the day; they went on and on until sunset, when they arrived within sight of the market-town of Petronelle. Between the city and the tired troopers was a wide plain, whose uniformity was broken here and there by the ruins of ancient Roman fortifications.
Suddenly there was a cry, a clash of swords, and a clang of trumpets uttering strange sounds; and, as the regiment of the Princes of Savoy was defiling along a passage between the ruins, a troop of Tartars that had been in ambuscade behind, sprang out, uttering the most hideous yells.
"Forward!" cried Prince Louis, brandishing his sword.
"Forward!" echoed Eugene, joyfully, spurring his horse into their very midst. For a while the brothers fought side by side, Louis with calm intrepidity, Eugene with the instinct, the enthusiasm, the inspiration of genius. His sword mowed down the Tartars as the reaper's scythe sweeps away the grass; but unhappily the attack had been so sudden, and the cries which had accompanied it so frightful, that the Austrians became panic-stricken, and their ranks disorderly.
In vain the elder Prince of Savoy tried to rally them; in vain Eugene, followed by a few veterans, called upon them to charge; his reckless gallantry availed him nothing. Finally his arm with its unsheathed sword, dropped discouraged at his side.
"Lost, lost!" cried he to his brother. "Lost and disgraced!"
"Yes, by Heaven, they are flying!" was the despairing reply. But as he spoke the words, he saw that he was in error. The galloping horses were coming nearer and nearer, and now they saw that re- enforcement was at hand. The Duke of Lorraine with his cavalry was flying to their rescue, and the fight was resumed. The dragoons, encouraged by the sight of their Commander-in-chief, now charged the Tartars, and they in their turn began to fly.
Prince Louis was eager to pursue them, and, calling his men, the chase began. His horse outstripped the others, and unhappily was so conspicuous a mark, that the arrow of a Calmuck, hidden behind the ruins of a triumphal arch, pierced his breast. Maddened by pain, the animal leaped so high in the air that his rider was thrown to the ground; and while the horse rushed on, his master was trodden down by his own dragoons, who, in the eagerness of pursuit, trampled their unfortunate commander to death.
The enemy had been repulsed, and the troops were in better spirits. Eugene rode from rank to rank, repeating the same words, "Where is my brother? Where is the Prince of Savoy?"
Not a man there could answer his questions, for not one had seen his leader fall. At length, it was remembered that a wounded horse had been seen madly rushing over the plain, but the excited troopers had given no heed to the circumstance; it was an occurrence too common in an engagement, to arrest them for a moment from their pursuit of an enemy.
Eugene's heart was bounding with joy, and he had been seeking his brother to give and receive congratulations. His countenance, which had been glowing with pride, became suddenly disturbed; his flashing eyes grew dull and leaden, and so for one moment he sat, stricken and motionless. But he started from his lethargy, and crying out to his men, "Follow me!" they galloped away to the spot where the dying and the dead were heaped together near the ruined arch where the Tartars had been concealed.
In an instant the unfortunate youth saw the body of his brother. He flung himself from his horse, and knelt down by his side. Gracious Heaven! was that bruised and shapeless mass all that remained of the comeliness and grace of Louis of Savoy!
Eugene bent down, and, lovingly as a mother lifts her newborn infant, he raised his brother's mangled head, and rested it upon his arm. The hot tears that fell upon that poor, bleeding face, awoke the small remnant of life that was pulsating in the dying prince's heart, and his filmy eyes unclosed. Their light was almost extinguished, but Eugene saw that he was recognized, for the feeble spark kindled, and the pale lips fluttered.
"My dream!" were the words he uttered, "my dream!"
"No, no!" cried Eugene, in piercing tones of anguish, while with his trembling hand he stroked his brother's hair and wiped the death-dew from his brow.
"Eugene," murmured Louis, "my wife—my chil—"
"Oh! they shall be mine—mine, beloved," was the passionate reply.
"Kiss me, brother, and—bear the kiss to my Urania."
Eugene stifled his sobs, and kissed the pale, cold lips. A shudder crossed the frame of the dying man, a torrent of blood gushed from his lips, and moving his head so that it rested close to his brother's heart, he expired.
With a groan, Eugene fell upon his lifeless body. How long he had lain there he knew not, when he felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder. He looked up, and beheld the Duke of Lorraine.
"Prince Eugene," said he, "war has claimed from you a terrible sacrifice. You have lost a brother whom you most tenderly loved. But a soldier must conquer grief; and who more than he should remember that death, however painful, cancels all human woes?"
Eugene rose slowly to his feet, and raised his hand all purple with his brother's gore. "See," said he, "my brother has given me the baptism of war, and now I dedicate myself to strife. This blood- besprinkled hand shall smite the Turk, shall ruin his fields, shall devastate his towns.—Ah, Louis! Ambition has hitherto been my incentive to glory, but revenge is stronger than ambition, and revenge shall lift me to greatness!"
The setting sun poured down a stream of light upon the speaker, who, small, delicate, and insignificant, seemed transfigured into the genius of war. The dragoons around looked upon him with awe; and, long years after, they were accustomed to relate the circumstance of Prince Louis's death, and Prince Eugene's vow.
CHAPTER X.
VIENNA.
"The Turks, the Turks! The Tartars are coming! The Duke of Lorraine has been defeated! We are lost!"
Such were the cries in Vienna, on the morning of the 8th of July, 1683. A courier from the Duke of Lorraine had brought news of the unfortunate skirmish near Petronelle, and had warned the emperor of the approach of the enemy. Leopold had acted upon the information at once, and preparations were making by the royal family to evacuate Vienna.
This fact was no sooner known throughout the city, than thousands of its inhabitants prepared to follow. If the emperor deserted his capital, it was because he knew that it must fall; and those who loved their lives were determined to fly. From palace to hut there was but one common feeling—a frenzied desire to go elsewhere— anywhere rather than remain to be butchered by the infidel.
Whosoever possessed a carriage, a wagon, a cart, was an object of greater envy than he who counted his treasures by millions. Incredible prices were offered and received for the roughest of conveyances. Before every house stood vehicles of every kind, crowded with fugitives, upon whom the poorer classes gazed with longing eyes; many of them, by dint of tears and prayers, obtaining liberty to hang on the wagons as they drove away.
And now amid the throng arose a cry. "The emperor! the emperor!"
Yes—he sat in his imperial carriage, pale, mournful, silent. And at his side, sorrowful as he, was the Empress Eleanor. Behind them, in another carriage, came the aja, with the crown prince of Austria in her arms. Alas! not even for that innocent babe was there safety to be found in the doomed city.
The people, like madmen, rushed through the streets behind the imperial cortege. Whither their sovereign went, they determined to follow; for with him, they fancied, they would find refuge from the terrible Turk.
The retinue of the emperor took the way toward the Danube, and the long train of carriages thundered over its wide bridge. At intervals the people shouted:
"Follow his imperial majesty! Whither our sovereign travels, we must go for safety!" And for six hours the bridge was thronged with passengers; some in vehicles, some clinging to vehicles; ladies and lackeys together in rumbles, or together hanging to the carriage- doors. Never in his life had such a cortege followed the Emperor of Austria; and certainly a procession more mournful had never accompanied a sovereign before. Leopold's destination was Linz; but the way was tedious, the roads sandy, and the sun's rays scorching. Poor horses! they were white with sweat; but still the drivers urged them on, for relays there were none. Terror had almost depopulated the country. Toward nightfall the fugitives were compelled to halt, for their tired animals were too stiff to travel farther, and themselves were weary and hungry.
They had reached a small village, where Leopold gave orders to have beds and supper prepared for his pale and worn-out empress.
"Ah, yes!" sighed she, "I am hungry and sleepy."
But from some mismanagement, the wagons containing the beds and provisions of the imperial family had either stopped on the way, or had never left Vienna.
The poor empress folded her hands and began to pray. The emperor bowed his head. "My house is sorely in need," said he, sadly, "but we are all in the hands of Almighty God. Whithersoever it be His will to exile us, I am ready to go; and may His holy will be done!"
The imperial pair then left their carriage, and, a bed being made of the cloaks of the pages, they laid them down to sleep under the dark-blue vault of the spangled heavens. But, at the dawn of day, they resumed their journey. The horses had rested, and the gentlemen of the imperial household had procured some homely refreshments for the famished monarch and his family. It consisted of eggs, milk, and black bread; but hunger lent it savor, and their majesties ate with more relish, perhaps, than they had ever done before.
They set out again. Their way now lay over cornfields, where the farmers, with their maids and men, were gathering the wheat, and binding it into sheaves. They, too, were in terror of the Turks; but, when they saw the imperial cortege slowly plodding its way through the sandy road, they stopped their work, and, coming up to the portieres, intruded their coarse, brutal faces into the very carriages themselves. They stared at the empress and jeered at the emperor; inquired how he liked his crown, and why he did not wear it on his head. They added that it was a fine thing to be on a throne, to be sure; but emperors had a right to their share of trouble in this world, quite as much as other people; perhaps they deserved a little more than others.
When the officers and pages around heard this insolent scoffing, they drew their swords, and would have made short work of the boors; but Leopold forbade the use of violence. "Let them alone," said he, mildly. "They are quite right. It is easy to be a monarch while the sun shines, and the empire prospers; let me hope to prove to my subjects that I can bear my reverses with humility and fortitude. Let these people alone; for all trials come from above, and in His own good time God will help us, and end our tribulations."
The peasants, ashamed, slunk back into their fields, and the imperial retinue went on to Linz, while for those that had remained in Vienna there ensued a period of danger, hardships, and terrible endurance.
Count Rudiger von Starhemberg, who had been chosen to defend Vienna, entered upon his perilous responsibilities with enthusiasm and energy. Rich and poor, great and small, were called upon to contribute to the general welfare. Nobles of high degree worked on the defences; ladies brought baskets of provisions to the laborers; and the mayor of Vienna, by way of setting the example to his inferiors, carried sand all day in a wheelbarrow to the fortifications. But bravely as they worked, each day augmented their danger. The sentinels on St. Stephen's towers could see, by the reddened heavens, that the Turk was approaching. On the 12th of July the summit of the Kahlenberg was seen to be in flames; and the besieged had no need to be told that a monastery had been destroyed, and its occupants perchance put to the sword. Kara Mustapha invested Vienna, and sent to demand the surrender of the city. It was refused, and the siege was begun.
The Turks pitched their tents at the distance of several miles, and began to mine. Meanwhile a terrible fire broke out in Vienna which threatened destruction to its inhabitants. Driven onward by a high wind, it consumed street after street, and at length approached the arsenal, within whose precincts were a shot-tower and the powder- magazine. Thousands of citizens were at the engines, making despairing efforts to arrest the conflagration; but the licking flames came fast and faster toward the shot-tower. The wretched Viennese had given up every hope of salvation, when Count Guido von Starhemberg, the nephew of the commanding general, rescued Vienna at the risk of his own life. Accompanied by a few soldiers, he entered the tower, and deluged the powder-barrels with water. Animated by the noble devotion of the young count, others followed him with new supplies. The windows of the powder-magazine were then walled up, and the fire extinguished.
Scarcely had the Viennese recovered from this threatened catastrophe before danger assailed them from another quarter. The Turkish lines grew closer around the city, and the Duke of Lorraine, who, in the interim, had arrived, and had encamped on an island in the Danube, was forced back to Moravia, there to await the long-promised succor of the King of Poland, and the long-procrastinated re-enforcements of the Elector of Bavaria.
Within the gates their foes were sickness, discouragement, hunger, and mutiny. With these intestine enemies Count von Starhemberg battled manfully. His own spirit and courage were the weapons he used to keep down discontent. Day and night he was in the trenches; and when, by skilful countermining, his men had succeeded in taking the lives of a few hundred Turks, Count von Starhemberg embraced the miners, and took the earliest opportunity of rewarding them.
Undaunted by the Turkish bullets, he visited the ramparts three times daily, until finally he was struck by one of the balls that were constantly aimed at him, and severely wounded in the head. He was picked up insensible, and carried home; but Rudiger Ton Starhemberg had no time to be sick: so three days after he rose from his bed, and, with his head bound up, mounted his horse, and returned to his post.
His short absence had been productive of much evil in Vienna. It had dispirited the timid and emboldened the insubordinate. But Count Rudiger had an iron will, and no sympathy for weakness that endangered the state. An officer having neglected his watch, and permitted the Turks to intrench themselves in front of a bastion whereof he had the guard, Count von Starhemberg gave him his choice between the gallows and a sortie wherein he should meet the death of a soldier. The officer chose the latter alternative, and died after performing prodigies of valor.
Two soldiers had resisted the commands of their captain. Both were arrested, and one of them accused the other of having instigated him to insubordination. In presence of their regiment they were made to throw for their lives, and he who threw the lowest number was taken out and shot.
From the fulfilment of their duty to the country, Count von Starhemberg would exempt neither age nor sex. Two boys of less than twelve years of age were accused of having secret understanding with the enemy, by which, for a rich reward, they were to open the gates at night, and deliver the city into Kara Mustapha's hands. Count von Starhemberg investigated the matter thoroughly, and, the fact having been proved upon the boys, they were executed.
But hunger and disease were fast decreasing the ranks of the besieged. The hospitals were so crowded with patients, that no more could obtain admittance; and the commander, who seemed to have an expedient for every disaster, appealed to the women of Vienna to receive the sufferers in their houses. They responded, as woman does, to the claims of humanity, and, carrying their devotion further than was required, they visited the hospitals, and brought food to the men on the ramparts, to refresh and invigorate them as they worked.
But unhappily, the day came when substantial food was no longer to be gotten. The city was invested, and no supplies could come from without. The Duke of Lorraine had promised re-enforcements toward the end of the month; and yet the 30th day of August had dawned, and no help was vouchsafed.
But there was yet another night to pass before they would despair of his coming. Crowds of men assembled on the towers of St. Stephen's, that they might hear from the lips of the sentinels the first tidings of joy; in the churches women and children were on their knees imploring Heaven to send them succor; while without the Turks, who had just begun a fresh assault, were thinning the ranks of their defenders, and adding to the mournful numbers of the widows and orphans of Vienna.
By morning the Turks had mined a passage to the stronghold of Ravelin. Thither rushed the men with pikes, sabres, and clubs; and behind them came their wives and daughters with boiling pitch and oil, with sacks of sand and ashes, to throw upon the invaders as they emerged from their subterranean passage. The expedient was successful; the enemy was repulsed with loss, and the fall of Vienna averted for another day.
A messenger from the emperor had managed to pass the Turkish lines, promising help to the brave besieged, could they but hold out till the middle of September; but, after ten weeks of struggle, patient waiting, and hope deferred, two weeks seemed an eternity. Nevertheless the indomitable Starhemberg reanimated their courage, not only by words, but by his noble and unselfish endurance of hardship, his fearless defiance of danger. They had resisted fifteen assaults of the enemy, and had made twenty-one sallies outside of the defences. He knew that, if they chose, their valiant souls would sustain them for two weeks longer, and his burning words prevailed.
Once more they rallied, and defended themselves with desperation. Though shells were bursting over their houses and at their feet, though sickness was raging in their hospitals, and hunger was wasting away their kindred, they swore to resist for two weeks longer. So they could but save Vienna, their fatherland, and their emperor, they were willing to endure their sufferings to the bitter end. The Turks pressed closer, but every foot of ground cost them thousands of men; and their advance was disputed by heroes whose bodies were weakened with fasting and sickness. Not a morsel of bread or of fresh meat was to be seen; for a while a cat was esteemed a great delicacy; and, finally, when the rats were exhausted, the poor, famished Viennese were glad to eat mice.
Meanwhile Kara Mustapha went about in his litter, calling upon his men to exterminate these obstinate starvelings, bestowing rewards upon those who had distinguished themselves, and beheading with his own cimeter such as displeased or offended him. After each one of these visits of the commander to his trenches, the Turks made a fresh assault on the city. Had they made a general attack, the besieged were lost; for there were within the walls of Vienna but four thousand men capable of bearing arms, and these were so exhausted by hunger, that they might easily have been overpowered. No amount of heroism could supply the want of bodily strength; and at last Count von Starhemberg himself was forced to acknowledge that they must ere long capitulate.
Every night from the towers of St. Stephen's signal-rockets proclaimed to heaven and earth the distress and despair of the people of Vienna; while the burning eyes of the brave commander were strained to see a responsive light, and his ears intent to listen for the answering boom of the cannon that was to have announced approaching succor. One week of the two had painfully ebbed away; in eight days more Vienna would be sacked, and the Crescent would replace the Cross!
CHAPTER XI.
THE RE-ENFORCEMENTS.
On this same 8th of September—so fraught with discouragement to the suffering inhabitants of Vienna—the Duke of Lorraine held a council of war in his tent with his allies. The King of Poland was there, burning with ardor to rescue the capital of Austria; the Elector of Bavaria had arrived with heavy re-enforcements, which, added to the troops furnished by Saxony, Swabia, and Franconia, swelled the army to eighty-four thousand men. Other volunteers from various parts of Germany had joined the standard of Austria, and all were eager to uphold the cause of Christendom against the unbelieving infidel.
For three days the Polish troops had been occupied building a pontoon bridge, upon which, on the 8th day of September, the allied forces began to cross the Danube.
The first to cross were the King of Poland and the Duke of Lorraine. No sooner had they gained the opposite bank than the army broke out into one universal shout of joy.
John Sobiesky's fine face was beaming with exultation. With a triumphant smile he turned to the duke, who, with his usual serious expression of countenance, was watching the troops while they came across.
"The Turks are lost!" said Sobiesky.
"They were lost from the moment your majesty came to our rescue," was the courteous reply. "From the moment that you assumed the chief command, I felt certain of success."
"My dear duke," said the king, warmly, "I am not so dazzled by your generous praise as not to know which of us is the greater general of the two. If I have accepted your highness's gracious relinquishment of the chief command to me, I shall take good care not to exercise it without advice from yourself. But I am in no trouble now as to the issue of our contest with the Turks. They are already beaten. A general who, at the head of two hundred thousand men, suffers us to construct this bridge within five leagues of his camp, is a man of no ability. He is as good as beaten." [Footnote: John Sobiesky's own words.—See Kausler, "Prince Eugene of Savoy," vol. i., p. 22.]
"Provided we reach Vienna before our poor hungry countrymen will have been forced to surrender."
The king's eyes flashed. "Ay, ay, indeed!" exclaimed he, eagerly; "every thing depends upon that. The main question is, to march to Vienna as quick as possible."
"There are two roads to Vienna," replied the duke.
The king nodded affirmatively. "Yes; the road lying through the valley of the Danube is level; the one that leads to Vienna by the Kahlenberg is steep and toilsome."
"But much shorter," added the duke.
"Let us then select the route over the Kahlenberg," answered the king. "Your highness' understands giving sound advice under the garb of a passing observation."
Their conversation was just then interrupted by the appearance of two young horsemen, who bowed respectfully as they rode by. One wore the rich and becoming uniform of the Polish lancers—this was the crown prince of Poland; the other, more simply attired, was Prince Eugene of Savoy—the youngest colonel in the Austrian service.
At a signal from the King of Poland, the youths reined in their horses.
"My son," said the king, touching the Polish prince on the shoulder, "let me congratulate you that you are about to engage the enemy under the command of one of the most distinguished generals of the age."
The duke shook his head, and smilingly addressed Eugene: "Prince of Savoy," said he, "you see before you a king whose least glory is his crown. Let him be your model, and when you confront the enemy let the thought of John Sobiesky's fame urge you to deeds of prowess."
"Your highness," replied Eugene, "not only when I confront the enemy, but every day and every hour of my life, will I look back with emotion to the time when I beheld the two most eminent commanders of the age contemplating each other's greatness without envy, and accepting each other's suggestions without cavil; and I trust that, from the sight, I may receive inspiration as far as lies within my capacity, to emulate their moral as well as their military worth."
"You will ere long have the opportunity of showing us how proximity to John Sobiesky inspires men to valor," replied the duke. "We are about to march to Vienna. Which road would you take, if you had to choose for the army?"
Eugene's large black eyes wandered over the horizon until they rested on the summit of Kahlenberg. "If we gain those heights, we overlook not only our friends, but the entire camp of the enemy."
"Well answered," said John Sobiesky. "You are a military man by intuition, I see, and are destined to make a figure in the world. You are small in person, but would be great in council. Men of your size and build are more frequently gifted with military genius than those of lofty stature. I suppose," continued he, smiling, "that it is because the brain, which reasons, and the heart that feels, lie close together, and so can help each other. But," said he, interrupting himself, "here comes the Elector Max Emmanuel. Allow me to bid him welcome."
The Duke of Lorraine followed him with his eyes, as, in company with the crown prince, the king rode forward to meet the handsome Prince of Bavaria.
"The Poles did well," said he to himself, "to prefer John Sobiesky to me; and, if I had known him personally, never would I have been his competitor for a throne. He is better fitted to reign and govern than I."
"Has your highness any commands for me?" asked Eugene.
"Yes, my dear young friend," replied the duke, solemnly. "We draw near to Vienna. Avenge your brother's death, but prize and cherish your own life. Do not wantonly expose your person, nor seek for danger, he alone is a hero whose valor is restrained by prudence. I shall place you, nevertheless, where danger is imminent and glory to be earned; so that, when I recommend you for promotion to the emperor, the world may not say that you owe your advancement to favor."
"Your highness's advice shall be followed to the letter," replied Eugene, earnestly. "I will despise danger, that I may avenge my brother; yet will I guard my life, that I may be the protector of his wife and children. But nothing will more inspire me to heroic deeds than the friendship which you so condescendingly evince for me. May God bless and reward you for your sympathy with my suffering heart!"
At the end of three days, the army gained the heights of the Kahlenberg. The men, tired and sleepy, dispersed, and throw themselves down to rest under the trees; their commanders rode farther to the mountain's brow, and there, beneath the fiery rays of the setting sun, lay prisoned Vienna and her Turkish jailers. But above was a cloud of smoke and dust, through which ever and anon leaped columns of fire, while the air was heavy with reverberation of cannon. The Turks were storming the city.
The besieged, mindful of their promise, were defending themselves with desperation. With imperturbable calm, Count von Starhemberg headed every sortie, and his quick eye perceived every little advantage that could be taken; while his wise precautions saved many a life, and warded off many a peril. His redoubts were no sooner damaged than repaired; trench after trench was dug; street by street defended with palisades, improvised of rods and beams.
As night came on, the heavy firing of the Turks ceased, and a dead stillness followed the terrible boom of cannon. The streets were ploughed with balls, the ashes of many a consumed building were scattered about by the wind, while here and there a fitful blaze was seen issuing from a shapeless mass that once had been the stately home of some proud Austrian noble. Pale, ghastly figures wandered among the ruins, searching for food, which, alas! they rarely found. But, amid this "abomination of desolation," they still lifted their eyes to heaven for help, and still clung to hope of rescue.
Count Starhemberg, as usual, had ascended the tower of St. Stephen's; while in the city below every form was prostrate in prayer. With his own hand he fired the nightly rocket, and watched its myriads of stars as they shot heavenward, illumined the darkness, and then fell back into nothingness. His heart beat painfully, as the last scintillations went out, and left but the pall of night behind. But he gazed on in silence, and in anguish unutterable. Suddenly he unclasped his rigid hands, for oh! joy! joy! there was light on the summit of the Kahlenberg; the signal darts up into the sky, and from Herman's peak the cannon proclaims that help is nigh!
One cry of rapture burst from the lips of all who stood around the commander; the warder grasped his speaking-trumpet, and cried out to the crowd below, "The signal is answered!"
The sound was caught up by the eager multitude, the blessed tidings were borne from street to street, and the people with one accord knelt down and thanked God. Noble and simple, aged and young, all hastened to St. Stephen's. Men clasped hands; and strangers that had never met before, embraced one another like friends and kinsmen. Hope had softened all hearts, joy's electric touch had made a thousand interests one: men were no longer segregate, their lives were blended into one great emotion.
Count von Starhemberg was so overcome, that for some moments his tongue refused him utterance. When he spoke, his voice, so accustomed to command, trembled and grew soft—soft and gentle as that of a young maiden.
"Will some one fetch me pen and paper?" said he. And when a portfolio was brought for him to write upon, he could scarcely command his hand while it traced these few words:
"Lose no time; in Heaven's name, be quick, or we are lost!"
"Who will venture to swim across the Danube, and deliver this paper to the Duke of Lorraine?" added he.
Three young men volunteered at once. Count von Starhemberg chose the one that seemed the strongest, and gave it to him.
"Promise me that you will deliver it or die!"
"I promise," was the reply of the young man, who, without tarrying another moment, sprang down the steps and disappeared.
In a few hours, another rocket from the mountain-top announced the safe arrival of the messenger, and promised speedy relief.
Yes, deliverance was at hand. At gray dawn, the army were ready to march, and the King of Poland, the Duke of Lorraine, and Louis of Baden were in the saddle. When all were assembled, John Sobiesky dismounted, and kneeling before the altar of Leopold's chapel, addressed a prayer to Heaven for a blessing on the approaching struggle. In his priestly robes, within the chancel, stood Marcus Avianus, the inspired Capuchin whom the pope had sent to Germany to preach this new crusade. His burning words had done as much, for the cause of Christianity as the stalwart arms of Austria's best warriors; and now, as he raised his hands on high, and eighty thousand men knelt to receive his blessing, their hearts throbbed with joy, for they felt that the God of battles would be with them that day.
The rites done, John Sobiesky bestowed the honor of knighthood upon his son, "thereby commemorating the proudest day of their lives;" and at the conclusion of the ceremony, he addressed the Polish army, exhorting them to fight as became a Christian host in a cause "where death was not only the path to glory, but the way to heaven."
"I have but one command to give my men," said he, in conclusion. "Let them follow their king, and wherever he is to be seen, there let them know that the battle rages fiercest."
A tumultuous shout was the answer to this exhortation. It gathered strength as it passed along the ranks, until it awoke a thousand echoes from the mountain-tops around; while the rays of the sun, like a consecrating fire, glistened from the point of every bayonet, and flashed from the blade of every waving sword.
The cheers of the Christians were borne on the summer air, until the sound reached the very camp of the Turks. It sent consternation to the heart of Kara Mustapha, as he lay smoking his hookah under a tent of silk and velvet. For sixty days he had besieged Vienna with his hundreds of thousands. Against its obstinate defenders warfare had failed; and now that hunger was about to do what he had vainly tried—to paralyze their valor, here came succor, to render his victory doubtful. For he well knew that the Christians were full of ardor, while his Turks were tired of fighting. That he might excite their thirst for blood, he assembled all his prisoners, men, women, and children, together, and, within view of his army, ordered them all to be massacred. The work of death began, and the expiring cries of his victims were the Paynim's answer to the shouts of the Christians, that were raising their hearts to God.
That fearful wail was heard, too, by the beleaguered men of Vienna; and the thought of their butchered kindred gave strength to their famished bodies. They hungered no longer for food! they thirsted for blood.
And now the bells, which for sixty days had been silent, rang out their alarum, calling all to the last great struggle. The sick raised their heads, and felt the glow of health thrilling through their fevered veins; the aged worked like youths—the youths like demi-gods. And full of hope, full of valor, the brave citizens of Vienna awaited the coming of their liberators.
The main body of the allied army was commanded by the Electors of Bavaria and of Saxony; the right wing, by John Sobiesky; the left, by the Duke of Lorraine and Louis of Baden. The plan of the attack had been made according to the suggestions of the King of Poland.
At the side of Louis of Baden rode Eugene of Savoy, his sorrows all forgotten in the excitement of the occasion. His countenance beamed with animation, his eyes darted fire. His black war-horse, too, partook of his enthusiasm: he pranced, leaped into the air, and neighed as if in defiance of the barbs that were to bear his enemies into battle that morning.
"My dear cousin," said Eugene to Louis, "I implore you let me go early into action. Give me something to do as soon as we are in sight of the enemy, and thereby prove me your love."
"You shall have your wish, Eugene. Your division is to open the engagement. As soon as you hear the discharge of the cannon from the heights of the Kahlenberg, you advance."
With a joyful wave of the hand, Eugene sprang forward, and placed himself at the head of his dragoons, where, rigid as a statue, he stood with his eyes raised to the summit of the Kahlenberg.
The first shot rolled like thunder through the valley gorges. The men grasped their muskets, the horses pawed the ground. The second, the third, followed, and every eye glistened, and every heart throbbed. The fourth—THE FIFTH!
"En avant!" cried Eugene; and the dragoons galloped forward. They were to drive the enemy from the valley of the Nussberg, and force the pass of Heiligenstadt. But the Turks disputed every inch of the ground, making breastworks of every hillock, trenches of every hollow. They defended the way with such desperation that the Austrian cavalry began to waver.
An exclamation of fury was heard from the lips of Eugene. "Victory or death!" cried he; and with these words the intrepid youth struck spurs into his horse, and sprang through the pass; his sabre, flashing like lightning through the air, as right and left it dealt destruction to the Janizaries that disputed his passage.
Amazed at such prowess, the dragoons gave one simultaneous cheer, and leaped into the enemy's midst. From that moment they moved on like a granite wall; onward in the track of their gallant commander, all peril disregarding, they fought their way, until, inspired by his heroism, encouraged by the soul-stirring tones of his blithe young voice, they won the pass, and forced the enemy back.
Meanwhile the imperial and Saxon forces had advanced from the Kahlenberg, in one dense column, the sight of which had sorely shaken the confidence of Kara Mustapha in his power to resist them.
On swept the mighty mass, and in a few moments the deep thunder of the cannon reverberated along the mountain gorges; the clashing of swords and the rattling of musketry mingled with the cries of the wounded, and the groans of the dying; while all above was fire and smoke. The passes were reddened with blood, which drop by drop flowed down their declivities, until it met another life-destroying current on its way; and both glided onward to the Danube, empurpling its waters with the mingled gore of Christian and Paynim.
The battle raged, without any decisive advantage, until long after noon. At four o'clock, however, the Ulans of the King of Poland were about to be overpowered by superior numbers, when re-enforcement came in the form of a charge on the right wing of the Turks, by the troops under Charles of Lorraine. Those flying squadrons, beneath whose horses' hoofs the ground is trembling as if upheaved by an earthquake, are headed by Eugene—the indomitable Eugene. On his foam-flecked steed, with a sword in his hand that is gory to the hilt, comes the "little abbe," who was too much of a weakling to obtain a commission in the army of the King of France. If his mother could see him now, she would confess that he was no fit aspirant for a scarlet hat.
Side by side rode Eugene and Louis of Baden, both heading that bloody chase. Over heaps of corpses, over struggling horses, falling timbers, through smoke and fire, they dashed toward the gates of Vienna. Count Starhemberg was there with his handful of braves, making gallant resistance to the Janizaries. But for the mad charge of Eugene, the little garrison would soon have been cut to pieces. But the attack on their rear surprised the Janizaries; they fell back, only to be confronted by the Duke of Lorraine, and, believing resistance to be useless, they fled.
The King of Poland meanwhile was within the gates engaged in a hand- to-hand fight with the enemy in the streets. He was not left long to struggle without help. Once more Eugene and his cavalry came to the rescue; and now the Turkish legions are flying for their lives, while the Christians are shouting for joy and victory!
Kara Mustapha, who was to have made his seat of empire at Vienna, has suddenly become a panic-stricken adventurer. With that singular absence of fortitude which so often distinguishes tyrants in adversity, he fell to weeping like a child, and went whining for protection to the Khan of Tartary.
"Save me, save me!" was his cowardly cry.
The khan shook his head. "We know the King of Poland too well," said he. "Nobody can withstand him."
And from this moment nothing was thought of, in the Turkish camp, but flight. Kara Mustapha's war-horse, with its housings of purple velvet worked in pearls, was too heavy to bear him away from Vienna; he mounted a fleet-footed Arabian, and sped away without thought of the treasures he was leaving behind. His costly tent, his girdles of diamonds, his cimeters inlaid with rubies and sapphires, his six hundred sacks of piastres, all fell into the hands of John Sobiesky.
While joy and jubilee prevailed throughout the streets of Vienna, Eugene of Savoy was on his way to the dwelling of his widowed sister: but, while he sorrowed with Urania and her orphans, his name was being borne upon the trumpet-blast of fame, as chief among the heroes that rescued Vienna from the infidel.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
THE FALL OF BUDA.
As a signal that the conference was at an end, the Emperor Leopold rose from his arm-chair. The president and vice-president followed his example, and the other members of the council bowed and retired. The Margrave of Baden and Count von Starhemberg remained standing by the green table, while the emperor, who had crossed the room, now stood vacantly staring out of a window, drumming with his fingers on one of the panes.
His two counsellors were perfectly au fait to the import of this drumming; it meant that the emperor's thoughts were with his army, which was still in the field, although three years had gone by since the siege of Vienna. During this protracted struggle both parties had fought bravely, but neither one had as yet prevailed against the other. In 1684 the Austrians had gained a brilliant victory over the allied enemy; but, in the course of the same year, the Turks, by their obstinate valor, had forced the Duke of Lorraine to abandon the siege of Buda, which, since then, had remained in their possession, and gave them entire control of Hungary.
The emperor's thoughts, then, were at Buda, while his fingers still drummed on the window-pane. At last he turned around.
"Any news from the army?" asked he, hastily.
"None, your majesty," replied the margrave. "Since the news of the junction of the Duke of Lorraine's forces with those of Prince Louis of Baden and Max Emmanuel, nothing further has been heard as to the progress of the siege."
"And that, of course, signifies that there is nothing good to be told," added Von Starhemberg. "If the Duke of Lorraine had met with any success, he would not have failed to send a courier with the tidings."
"Unhappily, since he has had command of the army, he has had many more reverses to communicate than victories," replied the margrave, with a sigh.
"You forget his brilliant victory at Gran last year," returned the emperor. "Away with your petty ill-will toward the duke! Forget your personal grievances in admiration of his heroism."
"Sire," replied the margrave, somewhat impetuously, "there are personal grievances which will not allow themselves to be forgotten. The Duke of Lorraine, in his dispatches, has not only accused me of neglect in the provisioning and arming of his troops, but has also declared me unqualified for my position, and has recommended another man as minister of war."
"And yet you retain your position," replied the emperor; "so that neither one of you has influence enough with me to injure the other. I have great confidence, nevertheless, in the judgment of my brother-in-law; and, if occasionally he is of opinion that battles are not to be planned on the green table of a council-chamber, but in the field by the man, who is to fight them—not in theories but in praxis—I am inclined to think that he is right."
"One thing I hope that your majesty will do me the justice to remember," answered Von Starhemberg, in a tone of vexation. "It is this: the war department, at my suggestion, advised that Buda should not be assaulted, but that the passes lying behind the city should be seized, Stuhlweissemberg besieged, and Buda, by this means, cut off from all intercourse with Turkey. Thus it would have fallen without bloodshed; whereas we have nothing to expect, as the result of a second direct attack, but the news of a second repulse."
"Should the Duke of Lorraine be forced to raise the siege a second time, I hope that the war department will remember that it was I, and not my commander-in-chief, who rejected their advice. So that, if we should be unfortunate, mine be the blame of the disaster, for I ordered the attack."
At this moment the door of the council-chamber was opened with some precipitation, and the chamberlain of the day appeared on the threshold.
"What do you come to announce?" asked Leopold.
"Sire, a bearer of dispatches from his highness of Lorraine."
"Ah, lupus in fabula" said the emperor, with a smile. "Well—let in the lupus."
"Your majesty," interrupted the Margrave of Baden, "would it not be better for me to receive the dispatches, and communicate their contents to you? The news of another disaster will be a great blow: your mind should be prepared to receive it."
"I am prepared for whatever it may please God to assign," replied Leopold, reverently. "If the news be bad, it is my duty to confront it like a man; if good, let me taste it pure, as it comes from the lips of the messenger. Let him enter!"
The chamberlain stepped back, made a sign to the page in the anteroom, and both sides of the door were flung open.
"Our bearer is a person of distinction," said Leopold to himself. "Both doors are opened for a reigning prince, a grandee of Spain, or—"
Just then the bearer of dispatches appeared—a small, slight person, in a simple uniform, but his breast well covered with orders, both Austrian and Spanish.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy!" exclaimed Leopold, with evident pleasure.
And he made several steps toward the prince.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," muttered the margrave, with an ugly frown; for well he knew that such an envoy would never have been chosen to be the bearer of evil tidings.
Meanwhile Eugene rapidly crossed the room, and knelt before the emperor.
"You forget," said Leopold, raising him, "that a knight of the Golden Fleece is not obliged to conform to the court custom of kneeling. His order kneel before the Almighty alone. Moreover, as grandee of Spain, your highness has a right to appear with covered head."
"Sire, I came hither neither as a grandee nor a knight. I came as the squire of my noble lord, the Duke of Lorraine, and as the soldier and subject of my emperor. Let me, then, greet my sovereign as my heart dictates."
With these words Eugene knelt again.
"Now," said Leopold, "rise, loyal subject, and satisfy my impatience. Tell me, in one word, has Buda fallen?"
"Yes, sire," was the exulting reply.
The emperor raised his grateful eyes to heaven, while his two councillors exchanged glances of dissatisfaction. Leopold saw this, and addressed himself to both.
"Gentlemen," said he, "pray remember that you were opposed to the siege of Buda, and that it was undertaken at the request of the Duke of Lorraine."
"Your majesty told us that you had commanded it yourself," answered the margrave. "The duke, then, has merely carried out orders!"
"Orders given because of his request. He proved to me that Buda could be taken; and, when I commanded this second attempt to reduce it, I merely yielded to his better judgment. But let us change the subject.—You are most welcome," continued he, to Prince Eugene. "And now let us hear the details of your glad tidings."
"Sire, the siege of Buda is an epic, worthy of the pen of a Homer.
None but a great poet can do justice to the deeds of valor of the
Duke of Lorraine."
"Try you, nevertheless," replied Leopold. "But hold! It were selfish to enjoy your narrative alone. The empress and the court shall partake of our happiness to day. Count von Starhemberg, oblige me by opening the door, and recalling the chamberlain."
The count reluctantly obeyed, and the chamberlain reappeared.
"You will announce to the ladies and gentlemen in waiting, that I request the presence of the court. I myself will conduct the empress hither." Then, with a wave of his hand to Prince Eugene, he added, "Await our return."
Not long after, the empress, conducted by her imperial husband, entered the room and took her seat. The ladies and gentlemen in waiting stood behind, and the margrave and Count von Starhemberg were on either side of the emperor.
"And now, Prince Eugene of Savoy," cried Leopold, "let us hear the details of the fall of Buda."
All eyes were turned upon Eugene, who, without boldness or bashfulness, calmly surveyed the brilliant assembly before him. In his plain, dark uniform, his black hair worn naturally and without powder, he presented a striking contrast to the courtiers in their magnificently-embroidered Spanish doublets, and huge, powdered wigs.
He began his narrative, by alluding to the fact that for one hundred and twenty years, in spite of six different attempts on the part of Austria to retake it, the ancient capital of Hungary had been in the hands of the Turks. He quoted the well-known saying of John Sobiesky, "Buda has drunk such torrents of Christian blood, that every handful of earth around its walls is red and moist with gore." He made a few brief remarks on the subject of the last unsuccessful attack, two years before; and then, with all the enthusiasm of a warrior-poet, he entered upon the narration of the seventh siege.
He spoke of the various stratagems, sallies, and skirmishes that preceded the final assault. On the 18th of June the city was invested, and by the end of July the allied army had effected an entrance, and captured so many streets that the besieged had been compelled to retire within the fortress. At the same time, combustibles were thrown into the magazine, which exploded with fearful destruction, and the Duke of Lorraine, compassionating the condition of the brave old commander, Pacha Abdurrahmen, sent a messenger, advising him to capitulate. Abdurrahmen, for all answer, informed the duke that Allah and the Prophet would shortly punish the audacity of the Christians, and, by way of anticipating Divine justice, he caused one hundred Saxons, who had been captured a few days before, to be hanged within view of the besiegers.
This vindictive act was the signal for a new assault, and the fortress was attacked on three sides. The assailants were several times repulsed, for the Turks fought like demons. Undismayed, they stood upon the walls, pouring fire and shot into the Christian ranks until the hair was singed from their heads, and their scorched clothes dropped from their bodies. If the allies were heroic in their attack, the Turks were not less so in their defence. Finally the women, too, were seen, some carrying ammunition, some bringing refreshments to the gunners, while others, singing wild strains of Turkish embateria, hurled stones from the walls upon the invading army.
More than two thousand Austrians had fallen, but they had succeeded in establishing themselves within one of the bastions, and had thereby obtained possession of the prison-tower. The day following, however. Abdurrahmen sprung a mine, which killed one hundred of the imperial troops, and so terrified the others, that they retired in confusion, and the bastion remained in the hands of the Turks.
Once more the Duke of Lorraine offered terms to the besieged, which a second time were indignantly refused. For the grand-vizier had arrived with re-enforcements, and on a plain just behind the city of Buda his troops were drawn up in battle array. The besieged now commenced an attack upon the besiegers; one of their bombs burst almost at the feet of the Duke of Lorraine, killing and wounding several of his staff; another fell into a heap of hand-grenades, which produced a frightful conflagration.
On the first of September Abdurrahmen was again summoned to surrender. The white-haired hero presented two documents to the envoys, one of which was from the high-priest of the Prophet at Constantinople, the other from the Sultan. The first enjoined it upon the pacha, as a religious duty, to defend Buda as the key to the Ottoman empire; the other contained these few emphatic words: "Either fall as a martyr before the sword of the invader, or die as a traitor by the blade of the headsman."
"You see," added Abdurrahmen, calmly, "that no discretion is allowed me. I must prevail against you, or fight until I fall."
This decided the question of capitulation forever; and although the grand-vizier was there with his reserves, the Duke of Lorraine determined to storm the fortress anew. It was a desperate resolve; hut, like Abdurrahmen, he had made up his mind to conquer or die.
At this point of his narration, Eugene paused for breath. The emperor, perceiving that he was fatigued, made a sign to one of the pages in attendance, who thereupon placed a chair for him—a compliment never before paid by a sovereign of Austria to any man below the rank of a reigning prince.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," said Leopold, "as a grandee of Spain, and a knight of the Golden Fleece, you have a right to be seated in the presence of your sovereign. Make use of the privilege, then; for if you stand much longer, I see that you will not have strength to finish your recital; and I would not abridge it by a word. It sounds like martial music to my enraptured ear."
"Sire," replied Eugene, accepting the chair, "'tis no wonder if the boom of the cannon sound like music to the son of Charles V.; above all, when it thunders to proclaim your majesty's success. On the 2d of September began the last assault upon the fortress of Buda. It was impossible not to admire the intrepidity of our enemies: to a man, they seemed to have sworn, like their commander, to defend the post or die amid its ruins. But your majesty's troops were as resolute as they. After a terrible conflict fought over the bodies of their slain comrades, they cut to pieces a detachment of Janizaries that had been sent to oppose their passage."
"'No quarter!' was the watchword of the Moslems. 'No quarter!' cried the Christians in return. 'No quarter!' shouted the Bavarians, as they mounted a breach in the fortress, and fought hand to hand with its frenzied defenders. The latter poured out in such numbers that the Bavarians wavered, and perhaps might have been repulsed, had not the gallant Louis of Baden mounted the breach himself, and called upon his men to follow. They obeyed; the Bavarians rallied, and the prince ordered a fresh attack. Thanks to his valor and able generalship, the Turks were forced back, and fled in confusion; some finding refuge within the walls, others, in their dismay, plunging into the moat. The Bavarians followed the fugitives, and now from every castle-window waved the white flag of surrender."
"To the hero of Buda, the brave Abdurrahmen, our commanders would gladly have granted an honorable retreat. But he refused mercy at the hands of his admiring antagonists. Alone he stood, sabre in hand, defending the breach against our advancing troops, until he fell, pierced by twenty balls, while the bodies of his slain foes lay like a monument of his heroism around him. With the death of Abdurrahmen the struggle ceased, and that night, as a last act of defiance, the Turks sprung a mine in the fortress, and reduced it to a heap of ruins."