It is easy to imagine Sapyeha’s amazement when Kmita not only returned
safely himself, but brought with him a number of tens of horsemen and
his old servant. Kmita had to tell the hetman and Oskyerko twice what
had happened, and how it had happened; they listened with curiosity,
clapping their hands frequently and seizing their heads.
“Learn from this,” said the hetman, “that whoso carries vengeance too
far, from him it often slips away like a bird through the fingers.
Prince Boguslav wanted to have Poles as witnesses of your shame and
suffering so as to disgrace you the more, and he carried the matter too
far. But do not boast of this, for it was the ordinance of God which
gave you victory, though, in my way, I will tell you one thing,—he is a
devil; but you too are a devil! The prince did ill to insult you.”
“I will not leave him behind in vengeance, and God grant that I shall
not overdo it.”
“Leave vengeance altogether, as Christ did; though with one word he
might have destroyed the Jews.”
Kmita said nothing, and there was no time for discussion; there was not
even time for rest. He was mortally wearied, and still he had
determined to go that night to his Tartars, who were posted in the
forests and on the roads in the rear of Boguslav’s army. But people of
that period slept soundly on horseback. Pan Andrei simply gave command
then to saddle a fresh horse, promising himself to slumber sweetly on
the road.
When he was mounting Soroka came to him and stood straight as in
service.
“Your grace!” said he.
“What have you to say, old man?”
“I have come to ask when I am to start?”
“For what place?”
“For Taurogi.”
Kmita laughed: “You will not go to Taurogi, you will go with me.”
“At command!” answered the sergeant, striving not to show his delight.
They rode on together. The road was long, for they had to go around by
forests, so as not to fall into Boguslav’s hands; but Kmita and Soroka
slept a hundred fold, and came to the Tartars without any accident.
Akbah Ulan presented himself at once before Babinich, and gave him a
report of his activity. Pan Andrei was satisfied. Every bridge had been
burned, the dams were cut; that was not all, the water of springtime
had overflowed, changing the fields, meadows, and roads in the lower
places into muddy quagmires.
Boguslav had no choice but to fight, to conquer or perish; it was
impossible for him to think of retreat.
“Very well,” said Kmita; “he has good cavalry, but heavy. He will not
have use for it in the mud of to-day.”
Then he turned to Akbah Ulan. “You have grown poor,” said he, striking
him on the stomach with his fist; “but after the battle you will fill
your paunch with the prince’s ducats.”
“God has created the enemy, so that men of battle might have some one
to plunder,” said the Tartar, with seriousness.
“But Boguslav’s cavalry stands in front of you.”
“There are some hundreds of good horses, and yesterday a regiment of
infantry came and intrenched itself.”
“But could they not be enticed to the field?”
“They will not come out.”
“But turn them, leave them in the rear, and go to Yanov.”
“They occupy the road.”
“Then we must think of something!” Kmita began to stroke his forelock
with his hand: “Have you tried to steal up to them? How far will they
follow you out?”
“A furlong, two,—not farther.”
“Then we must think of something!” repeated Kmita.
But that night they thought of nothing. Next morning, however, Kmita
went with the Tartars toward the camp lying between Suhovol and Yanov,
and discovered that Akbah Ulan had exaggerated, saying that the
infantry was intrenched on that side; for they had little ditches,
nothing more. It was possible to make a protracted defence from them,
especially against Tartars, who did not go readily to the attack of
such places; but it was impossible for men in them to think of enduring
any kind of siege.
“If I had infantry,” thought Kmita, “I would go into fire.”
But it was difficult even to dream of bringing infantry; for, first,
Sapyeha himself had not very many; second, there was no time to bring
them.
Kmita approached so closely that Boguslav’s infantry opened fire on
him; but he did not care. He rode among the bullets and examined,
looked around; and the Tartars, though less enduring of fire, had to
keep pace with him. Then cavalry rushed out and undertook to flank him.
He retreated about three thousand yards and turned again. But they had
ridden back toward the trenches. In vain did the Tartars let off a
cloud of arrows after them. Only one man fell from his horse, and that
one his comrades saved, carried in.
Kmita on returning, instead of riding straight to Suhovola, rushed
toward the west and came to the Kamyonka.
This swampy river had overflowed widely, for that year the springtime
was wonderfully abundant in water. Kmita looked at the river, threw a
number of broken branches into it so as to measure the speed of the
current, and said to Ulan,—
“We will go around their flank and strike them in the rear.”
“Horses cannot swim against the current.”
“It goes slowly. They will swim! The water is almost standing.”
“The horses will be chilled, and the men cannot endure it. It is cold
yet.”
“Oh, the men will swim holding to the horses’ tails! That is your
Tartar way.”
“The men will grow stiff.”
“They will get warm under fire.”
“Kismet (fate)!”
Before it had grown dark in the world, Kmita had ordered them to cut
bunches of willows, dry reeds, and rushes, and tie them to the sides of
the horses. When the first star appeared, he sent about eight hundred
horses into the water, and they began to swim. He swam himself at the
head of them; but soon he saw that they were advancing so slowly that
in two days they would not swim past the trenches. Then he ordered them
to swim to the other bank.
That was a dangerous undertaking. The other bank was steep and swampy.
The horses, though light, sank in it to their bellies. But Kmita’s men
pushed forward, though slowly and saving one another, while advancing a
couple of furlongs.
The stars indicated midnight. Then from the south came to them echoes
of distant fighting.
“The battle has begun!” shouted Kmita.
“We shall drown!” answered Akbah Ulan.
“After me!”
The Tartars knew not what to do, when on a sudden they saw that Kmita’s
horse issued from the mud, evidently finding firm footing.
In fact, a bench of sand had begun. On the top of it there was water to
the horses’ breasts, but under foot was solid ground. They went
therefore more swiftly. On the left distant fires were gleaming.
“Those are the trenches!” said Kmita, quietly. “Let us avoid them, go
around!”
After a while they had really passed the trenches. Then they turned to
the left, and put their horses into the river again, so as to land
beyond the trenches.
More than a hundred horses were swamped at the shore; but almost all
the men came out. Kmita ordered those who had lost their beasts to sit
behind other horsemen, and they moved toward the trenches. First he
left volunteers with the order not to disturb the trenches till he
should have gone around them to the rear. When he was approaching he
heard shots, at first few, then more frequent.
“It is well!” said he; “Sapyeha is attacking!”
And he moved on.
In the darkness was visible only a multitude of heads jumping with the
movement of the horses; sabres did not rattle, armor did not sound; the
Tartars and volunteers knew how to move in silence, like wolves.
From the side of Yanov the firing became more and more vigorous; it was
evident that Sapyeha was moving along the whole line.
But on the trenches toward which Kmita was advancing shouts were heard
also. A number of piles of wood were burning near them, casting around
a strong light. By this light Pan Andrei saw infantry firing rarely,
more occupied in looking in front at the field, where cavalry was
fighting with volunteers.
They saw him too from the trenches, but instead of firing they greeted
the advancing body with a loud shout. The soldiers thought that
Boguslav had sent them reinforcements.
But when barely a hundred yards separated the approaching body from the
trenches, the infantry began to move about unquietly; an increasing
number of soldiers, shading their eyes with their hands, were looking
to see what kind of people were coming.
When fifty yards distant a fearful howl tore the air, and Kmita’s force
rushed like a storm, took in the infantry, surrounded them like a ring,
and that whole mass of men began to move convulsively. You would have
said that a gigantic serpent was stifling a chosen victim.
In this crowd piercing shouts were heard. “Allah!” “Herr Jesus!” “Mein
Gott!”
Behind the trenches new shouts went up; for the volunteers, though in
weaker numbers, recognizing that Pan Babinich was in the trenches,
pressed on the cavalry with fury. Meanwhile the sky, which had been
cloudy for some time, as is common in spring, poured down a heavy,
unexpected rain. The blazing fires were put out, and the battle went on
in the darkness.
But the battle did not last long. Attacked on a sudden, Boguslav’s
infantry went under the knife. The cavalry, in which were many Poles,
laid down their arms. The foreigners, namely, one hundred dragoons,
were cut to pieces.
When the moon came out again from behind the clouds, it lighted only
crowds of Tartars finishing the wounded and taking plunder.
But neither did that last long. The piercing sound of a pipe was heard;
Tartars and volunteers as one man sprang to their horses.
“After me!” cried Kmita.
And he led them like a whirlwind to Yanov.
A quarter of an hour later the ill-fated place was set on fire at four
corners, and in an hour one sea of flame was spread as widely as Yanov
extended. Above the conflagration pillars of fiery sparks were flying
toward the ruddy sky.
Thus did Kmita let the hetman know that he had taken the rear of
Boguslav’s army.
He himself like an executioner, red from the blood of men, marshalled
his Tartars amid the fire, so as to lead them on farther.
They were already in line and extending into column, when suddenly, on
a field as bright as in day, from the fire, he saw before him a
division of the elector’s gigantic cavalry.
A knight led them, distinguishable from afar, for he wore silver-plate
armor, and sat on a white horse.
“Boguslav!” bellowed Kmita, with an unearthly voice, and rushed forward
with his whole Tartar column.
They approached one another, like two waves driven by two winds. A
considerable space divided them; the horses on both sides reached their
greatest speed, and went with ears down like hounds, almost sweeping
the earth with their bellies. On one side large men with shining
breastplates, and sabres held erect in their right hands; on the other,
a black swarm of Tartars.
At last they struck in a long line on the clear field; but then
something terrible took place. The Tartar swarm fell as grain bent by a
whirlwind; the gigantic men rode over it and flew farther, as if the
men and the horses had the power of thunderbolts and the wings of a
storm.
Some of the Tartars sprang up and began to pursue. It was possible to
ride over the wild men, but impossible to kill them at once; so more
and more of them hastened after the fleeing cavalry. Lariats began to
whistle in the air.
But at the head of the retreating cavalry the rider on the white horse
ran ever in the first rank, and among the pursuers was not Kmita.
Only in the gray of dawn did the Tartars begin to return, and almost
every man had a horseman on his lariat. Soon they found Kmita, and
carried him in unconsciousness to Pan Sapyeha.
The hetman himself took a seat at Kmita’s bedside. About midday Pan
Andrei opened his eyes.
“Where is Boguslav?” were his first words.
“Cut to pieces. God gave him fortune at first; then he came out of the
birch groves and in the open field fell on the infantry of Pan
Oskyerko; there he lost men and victory. I do not know whether he led
away even five hundred men, for your Tartars caught a good number of
them.”
“But he himself?”
“Escaped!”
Kmita was silent awhile; then said;—
“I cannot measure with him yet. He struck me with a double-handed sword
on the head, and knocked me down with my horse. My morion was of trusty
steel, and did not let the sword through; but I fainted.”
“You should hang up that morion in a church.”
“I will pursue him, even to the end of the world!” said Kmita.
To this the hetman answered: “See what news I have received to-day
after the battle!”
Kmita read aloud the following words,—
The King of Sweden has moved from Elblang; he is marching on Zamost,
thence to Lvoff against Yan Kazimir. Come, your worthiness, with all
your forces, to save king and country, for I cannot hold out alone.
Charnyetski.
A moment of silence.
“Will you go with us, or will you go with the Tartars to Taurogi?”
Kmita closed his eyes. He remembered the words of Father Kordetski, and
what Volodyovski had told him of Pan Yan, and said,—
“Let private affairs wait! I will meet the enemy at the side of the
country!”
The hetman pressed Pan Andrei’s head. “You are a brother to me!” said
he; “and because I am old, receive my blessing.”