On the battlefield

Laurel to the past!

If we write the name of a hero on each letter, it is not a wreath: it will be named Forest!

The battle of Tapioca-Bicske had already been lost; the Austrian army fought valiantly on this day. Bastich’s veterans repulsed our attacked young soldiers after a bloody tussle, the retreat was unstoppable.

And our backs were eaten by the flooded Tápió, and its only one bridge, to which the confused army hurried together.

The Austrian cavalry rushed to chase.

Dipold’s cannons stopped them, greeting the approaching Ban hussars with a card. Finally, the cannons were also lost there.

The corps leaders gave up the battle and fled through waders, squeezing them off the bridge.

The battle was lost, the cannons were lost, the glory of the sun was lost, and yet another blow came that the whole corps should be lost there; the Sternberg brigade hurried forward from Nagy-Káta to the cannon and took the fleeing Hungarian corps to the side.

Eight centuries of Austrian cavalry came down in a crowd from the mounds of sand; if this strikes the waist of the troubled army, the whole corps is lost.

There were only six centuries of reserve hussars that could be sent against them: they, too, were depressed, discouraged by the lost battle. But their leader was Major Sebő.-2-

Just a man, just a sword.

But even a man, a sword, is enough to draw a mark of thought into the course of history that says, “Stop here now, another chapter begins.”

The Austrian cavalry approached with a quick trot, and its leader, Colonel Riedesel, rode far ahead.

An athleta, a giant; a full six-foot-tall man with Hercules shoulders, a hundred steps ahead of his regiment, and, flashing his sword, summoned the Hungarian hussars from afar: is there a knight among them who dares to leave the line of war, and only galloped forward in the middle of the plane, into his eyes dare to look at the most southern knight of the Austrian army?

There was such a knight.

To the proud challenge, the Major of the Hungarian Hussars, Sebő, advanced to the championship meeting.

He was a tough knight, too, who always had the courage to smash the scythe of death with his sword.

As in the time of the former hero’s knighthood, where before the battle the leaders arose into a valiant duel: the scenes of Zalán’s running seemed to come to life in the knight’s tournament, which the two best champions of the Hungarian and Austrian cavalry wrecked against each other.

They also met in the open air between the two enemy troops, leaving their regiments alone and clashed there without any hassle.

Both swords flashed only once, and with them both fell out of the hands of his valiant knight.

They both inflicted disarming wounds on each other in the same clash; the sword of the Hungarian knight ruined the hand of the Austrian giant in his wrist, while he himself lost his thumb from the fierce blow of the opponent.

But that was not the end of the duel.

As the two dalias simultaneously uttered the sword from the right at one moment, he suddenly grabbed each other, and the tusa began with his bare hands, his left hand shaking.

Riedesel was taller, but Sebő was more skillful; quickly throat -3-he grabbed his opponent, cut his spur to the side of his paripa, the two stallions turned to each other with their sides stretched, and with it both knights fell to the ground.

He rushed to the aid of the leaders of the two enemy cavalry.

By the time they got there, only one of the two heroes brawling on the ground had risen: the Wound; Riedesel was still dead.

Like the fall of Goliath into the camp of Israel, this heroic scene inspired the Hungarian hussars to a new heroic determination: they repulsed the Sternberg cavalry regiment, and while they captured the first attack with their swords, the red siphoes, the 3rd and 9th, arrived. unbreakable knights of the battalion; they then showed how to visit an enemy nailed; by five o’clock in the afternoon the battle, the lost cannons, the abandoned battlefield, and the glory of the sun were won back.


The same hussar regiment camped on the shores of Berettyó in the first days of August. The day of our glory was already in decline. Only the smart paripas may feel what people are talking about: they are listening to the tears of their owners in addition to the fires and passing on what they have heard to each other. One night, when they were tied to their stakes, for some sort of conversation, in the quietest time, they began to win, to rage; they tore their ramparts, and broke through the camp line, and left their knights and ran into the wilderness. Not even half of them could be brought together: much of it ran into the world.

Maybe they sensed in advance what was next?