A new sultan had come to the throne, Mahomet II, one of the greatest sovereigns of the house of Othman.  He began his reign with the occupation of Constantinople, 1453, and thus destroyed the last refuge of the Byzantine empire.  At the news of this event all Europe burst into a chorus of lamentation.  The whole importance of the Eastern question at once presented itself before the nations of Christendom.  It was at once understood that the new conqueror would not remain idle within the crumbling walls of Constantinople.

And, indeed, in no long time was published the proud mot d’ordre, “As there is but one God in heaven, so there shall be but one master upon earth.”

Hunyady looked toward Constantinople with heavy heart.  He foresaw the outburst of the storm which would in the first place fall upon his own country, threatening it with utter ruin.  Hunyady, so it seemed, was again left alone in the defence of Christendom.

The approaching danger was delayed for a few years, but in 1456 Mahomet, having finally established himself in Constantinople, set out with the intention of striking a fatal blow against Hungary.  On the borders of that country, on the bank of the Danube, on what was, properly speaking, Servian territory, stood the fortress of Belgrad.  When the danger from the Turks became imminent, the kings of Hungary purchased the place from the despots of Servia, giving them in exchange several extensive estates in Hungary, and had at great expense turned it into a vast fortress, at that time supposed to be impregnable.

Mahomet determined to take the place, and to this end made the most extensive preparations.  He led to the walls of Belgrad an army of not less than one hundred and fifty thousand men.  The approach of this immense host so terrified the young King that he left Hungary and took refuge in Vienna along with his uncle and counsellor, Czillei.

Hunyady alone remained at his post, resolute like a lion attacked.  The energy of the old leader—­he was now nearly sixty-eight—­was only steeled by the greatness of the danger; his forethought and his mental resources were but increased.  As he saw that it would be impossible to do anything with a small army, he sent his friend, John Capistran, an Italian Franciscan, a man animated by a burning zeal akin to his own, to preach a crusade against the enemies of Christendom through the towns and villages of the Great Hungarian Plain.  This the friar did to such effect that in a few weeks he had collected sixty thousand men, ready to fight in defence of the cross.  This army of crusaders—­the last in the history of the nations—­had for its gathering cry the bells of the churches; for its arms, scythes and axes; Christ for its leader, and John Hunyady and John Capistran for his lieutenants.

The two greatest leaders in war of that day contended for the possession of Belgrad.  The same army now surrounded that fortress which a few years before had stormed Constantinople, reputed impregnable.  The same hero defended it who had so often in the course of a single decade defeated the Turkish foe in an offensive war, and who now, regardless of danger, with a small but faithful band of followers, was prepared to do all that courage, resolution, and prudence might effect.