At a time when all living men in the Commonwealth were mounting their
horses Karl Gustav stayed continually in Prussia, busied in capturing
the towns of that province and in negotiating with the elector.
After an easy and unexpected conquest, the quick soldier soon saw that
the Swedish lion had swallowed more than his stomach could carry. After
the return of Yan Kazimir he lost hope of retaining the Commonwealth;
but while making a mental abdication of the whole, he wished at least
to retain the greater part of his conquest, and above all Royal
Prussia,—a province fruitful, dotted with large towns, wealthy, and
adjoining his own Pomerania. But as that province was first to defend
itself, so did it continue faithful to its lord and the Commonwealth.
The return of Yan Kazimir, and the war begun by the confederation of
Tyshovtsi might revive the courage of Prussia, confirm it in loyalty,
give it will for endurance; therefore Karl Gustav determined to crush
the uprising, and to wipe out Kazimir’s forces so as to take from
Prussians the hope of resistance.
He had to do this for the sake of the elector, who was ever ready to
side with the stronger. The King of Sweden knew him thoroughly, and
doubted not for a moment that if the fortune of Yan Kazimir should
preponderate, the elector would be on his side again.
When, therefore, the siege of Marienburg advanced slowly,—for the more
it was attacked the more stubbornly did Pan Weiher defend it,—Karl
Gustav marched to the Commonwealth, so as to reach Yan Kazimir again,
even in the remotest corner of the land.
And since with him deed followed decision as swiftly as thunder follows
lightning, he raised his army disposed in towns; and before any one in
the Commonwealth had looked around, before the news of his march had
spread, he had passed Warsaw and had rushed into the greatest blaze of
conflagration.
Driven by anger, revenge, and bitterness, he moved on like a storm.
Behind him ten thousand horse trampled the fields, which were still
covered with snow; and taking the infantry from the garrisons, he went
on, like a whirlwind, toward the far south of the Commonwealth.
On the road he burned and pursued. He was not now that recent Karl
Gustav, the kindly, affable, and joyous lord, clapping his hands at
Polish cavalry, winking at feasts, and praising the soldiers. Now,
wherever he showed himself the blood of peasants and nobles flowed in a
torrent. On the road he annihilated “parties,” hanged prisoners, spared
no man.
But as when, in the thick of the pine-woods, a mighty bear rushes
forward with heavy body crushing branches and brush on the way, while
wolves follow after, and not daring to block his path, pursue, press
nearer and nearer behind, so did those “parties” pursuing the armies of
Karl join in throngs denser and denser, and follow the Swedes as a
shadow a man, and still more enduringly than a shadow, for they
followed in the day and the night, in fair and foul weather; before him
too bridges were ruined, provisions destroyed, so that he had to march
as in a desert, without a place for his head or anything with which to
give strength to his body when hungry.
Karl Gustav noted quickly how terrible his task was. The war spread
around him as widely as the sea spreads around a ship lost in the
waters. Prussia was on fire; on fire was Great Poland, which had first
accepted his sovereignty, and first wished to throw off the Swedish
yoke; Little Poland was on fire, and so were Russia, Lithuania, and
Jmud. In the castles and large towns the Swedes maintained themselves
yet, as if on islands; but the villages, the forests, the fields, the
rivers, were already in Polish hands. Not merely a single man, or small
detachments, but a whole regiment might not leave the main Swedish army
for two hours; for if it did the regiment vanished without tidings, and
prisoners who fell into the hands of peasants died in terrible
tortures.
In vain had Karl Gustav given orders to proclaim in villages and towns
that whoso of peasants should bring an armed noble, living or dead,
would receive freedom forever and land as a reward; for peasants, as
well as nobles and townsmen, marched off to the woods. Men from the
mountains, men from deep forests, men from meadows and fields, hid in
the woods, formed ambushes on the roads against the Swedes, fell upon
the smaller garrisons, and cut scouting-parties to pieces. Flails,
forks, and scythes, no less than the sabres of nobles, were streaming
with Swedish blood.
All the more did wrath rise in the heart of Karl, that a few months
before he had gathered in that country so easily; hence he could hardly
understand what had happened, whence these forces, whence that
resistance, whence that awful war for life or death, the end of which
he saw not and could not divine.
Frequent councils were held in the Swedish camp. With the king marched
his brother Adolph, prince of Bipont, who had command over the army;
Robert Douglas; Henry Horn, relative of that Horn who had been slain by
the scythe of a peasant at Chenstohova; Waldemar, Prince of Denmark,
and that Miller who had left his military glory at the foot of Yasna
Gora; Aschemberg, the ablest cavalry leader among the Swedes;
Hammerskiold, who commanded the artillery; and the old robber Marshal
Arwid Wittemberg, famed for rapacity, living on the last of his health,
for he was eaten by the Gallic disease; Forgell, and many others, all
leaders skilled in the capture of cities, and in the field yielding in
genius to the king only.
These men were terrified in their hearts lest the whole army with the
king should perish through toil, lack of food, and the fury of the
Poles. Old Wittemberg advised the king directly against the campaign:
“How will you go, O King,” said he, “to the Russian regions after an
enemy who destroys everything on the way, but is unseen himself? What
will you do if horses lack not only hay, but even straw from the roofs
of cottages, and men fall from exhaustion? Where are the armies to come
to our aid, where are the castles in which to draw breath and rest our
weary limbs? My fame is not equal to yours; but were I Karl Gustav, I
would not expose that glory acquired by so many victories to the fickle
fortune of war.”
To which Karl Gustav answered: “And neither would I, were I
Wittemberg.”
Then he mentioned Alexander of Macedon, with whom he liked to be
compared, and marched forward, pursuing Charnyetski. Charnyetski, not
having forces so great nor so well trained, retreated before him, but
retreated like a wolf ever ready to turn on his enemy. Sometimes he
went in advance of the Swedes, sometimes at their flanks, and sometimes
in deep forests he let them go in advance; so that while they thought
themselves the pursuers, he, in fact, was the hunter. He cut off the
unwary; here and there he hunted down a whole party, destroyed
foot-regiments marching slowly, attacked provision-trains. The Swedes
never knew where he was. More than once in the darkness of night they
began to fire from muskets and cannons into thickets, thinking that
they had an enemy before them. They were mortally wearied; they marched
in cold, in hunger, in affliction, and that _vir molestissimus_ (most
harmful man) hung about them continually, as a hail-cloud hangs over a
grain-field.
At last they attacked him at Golamb, not far from the junction of the
Vyepr and the Vistula. Some Polish squadrons being ready for battle
charged the enemy, spreading disorder and dismay. In front sprang
Volodyovski with his Lauda squadron, and bore down Waldemar, prince of
Denmark; but the two Kavetskis, Samuel and Yan, urged from the hill the
armored squadron against English mercenaries under Wilkinson, and
devoured them in a moment, as a pike gulps a whiting; and Pan Malavski
engaged so closely with the Prince of Bipont that men and horses were
confounded like dust which two whirlwinds sweeping from opposite
quarters bring together and turn into one circling column. In the
twinkle of an eye the Swedes were pushed to the Vistula, seeing which
Douglas hastened to the rescue with chosen horsemen. But even these
reinforcements could not check the onset; the Swedes began to spring
from the high bank to the ice, falling dead so thickly that they lay
black on the snow-field, like letters on white paper. Waldemar, Prince
of Denmark, fell; Wilkinson fell; and the Prince of Bipont, thrown from
his horse, broke his leg. But of Poles both Kavetskis fell; killed also
were Malavski, Rudavski, Rogovski, Tyminski, Hoinski, and Porvanyetski.
Volodyovski alone, though he dived among the Swedish ranks like a
seamew in water, came out without having suffered the slightest wound.
Now Karl Gustav himself came up with his main force and with artillery.
Straightway the form of the battle changed. Charnyetski’s other
regiments, undisciplined and untrained, could not take position in
season; some had not their horses in readiness, others had been in
distant villages, and in spite of orders to be always ready, were
taking their leisure in cottages. When the enemy pressed suddenly on
these men, they scattered quickly and began to retreat to the Vyepr.
Therefore Charnyetski gave orders to sound the retreat so as to spare
those regiments that had opened the battle. Some of the fleeing went
beyond the Vistula; others to Konskovoli, leaving the field and the
glory of the victory to Karl; for specially those who had crossed the
Vyepr were long pursued by the squadrons of Zbrojek and Kalinski, who
remained yet with the Swedes.
There was delight beyond measure in the Swedish camp. No great trophies
fell to the king, it is true,—sacks of oats, and a few empty wagons;
but it was not at that time a question of plunder for Karl. He
comforted himself with this,—that victory followed his steps as before;
that barely had he shown himself when he inflicted defeat on that very
Charnyetski on whom the highest hopes of Yan Kazimir and the
Commonwealth were founded. He could trust that the news would run
through the whole country; that every mouth would repeat, “Charnyetski
is crushed;” that the timid would exaggerate the proportions of the
defeat, and thus weaken hearts and take courage from those who had
grasped their weapons at the call of the confederation of Tyshovtsi.
So when they brought in and placed at his feet those bags of oats, and
with them the bodies of Wilkinson and Prince Waldemar, he turned to his
fretful generals and said,—
“Unwrinkle your foreheads, gentlemen, for this is the greatest victory
which I have had for a year, and may end the whole war.”
“Your Royal Grace,” answered Wittemberg, who, weaker than usual, saw
things in a gloomier light, “let us thank God even for this,—that we
shall have a farther march in peace, though Charnyetski’s troops
scatter quickly and rally easily.”
“Marshal,” answered the king, “I do not think you a worse leader than
Charnyetski; but if I had beaten you in this fashion, I think you would
not be able to assemble your troops in two months.”
Wittemberg only bowed in silence, and Karl spoke on: “Yes, we shall
have a quiet march, for Charnyetski alone could really hamper it. If
Charnyetski’s troops are not before us, there is no hindrance.”
The generals rejoiced at these words. Intoxicated with victory, the
troops marched past the king with shouts and with songs. Charnyetski
ceased to threaten them like a cloud. Charnyetski’s troops were
scattered; he had ceased to exist. In view of this thought their past
sufferings were forgotten and their future toils were sweet. The king’s
words, heard by many officers, were borne through the camp; and all
believed that the victory had uncommon significance, that the dragon of
war was slain once more, and that only days of revenge and dominion
would come.
The king gave the army some hours of repose; meanwhile from Kozyenitsi
came trains with provisions. The troops were disposed in Golamb, in
Krovyeniki, and in Jyrzynie. The cavalry burned some deserted houses,
hanged a few peasants seized with arms in their hands, and a few
camp-servants mistaken for peasants; then there was a feast in the
Swedish camp, after which the soldiers slept a sound sleep, since for a
long time it was the first quiet one.
Next day they woke in briskness, and the first words which came to the
mouths of all were: “There is no Charnyetski!”
One repeated this to another, as if to give mutual assurance of the
good news. The march began joyously. The day was dry, cold, clear. The
hair of the horses and their nostrils were covered with frost. The cold
wind froze soft places on the Lyubelsk highroad, and made marching
easy. The troops stretched out in a line almost five miles long, which
they had never done previously. Two dragoon regiments, under command of
Dubois, a Frenchman, went through Markushev and Grabov, five miles from
the main force. Had they marched thus three days before they would have
gone to sure death, but now fear and the glory of victory went before
them.
“Charnyetski is gone,” repeated the officers and soldiers to one
another.
In fact, the march was made in quiet. From the forest depths came no
shouts; from thickets fell no darts, hurled by invisible hands.
Toward evening Karl Gustav arrived at Grabov, joyous and in good humor.
He was just preparing for sleep when Aschemberg announced through the
officer of the day that he wished greatly to see the king.
After a while he entered the royal quarters, not alone, but with a
captain of dragoons. The king, who had a quick eye and a memory so
enormous that he remembered nearly every soldier’s name, recognized the
captain at once.
“What is the news, Freed?” asked he. “Has Dubois returned?”
“Dubois is killed.”
The king was confused; only now did he notice that the captain looked
as if he had been taken from the grave; and his clothes were torn.
“But the dragoons?” inquired he, “those two regiments?”
“All cut to pieces. I alone was let off alive.”
The dark face of the king became still darker; with his hands he placed
his locks behind his ears.
“Who did this?”
“Charnyetski.”
Karl Gustav was silent, and looked with amazement at Aschemberg; but he
only nodded as if wishing to repeat: “Charnyetski, Charnyetski,
Charnyetski!”
“All this is incredible,” said the king, after a while. “Have you seen
him with your own eyes?”
“As I see your Royal Grace. He commanded me to bow to you, and to
declare that now he will recross the Vistula, but will soon be on our
track again. I know not whether he told the truth.”
“Well,” said the king, “had he many men with him?”
“I could not estimate exactly, but I saw about four thousand, and
beyond the forest was cavalry of some kind. We were surrounded near
Krasichyn, to which Colonel Dubois went purposely from the highroad,
for he was told that there were some men there. Now, I think that
Charnyetski sent an informant to lead us into ambush, since no one save
me came out alive. The peasants killed the wounded. I escaped by a
miracle.”
“That man must have made a compact with hell,” said the king, putting
his hand to his forehead; “for to rally troops after such a defeat, and
be on our neck again, is not human power.”
“It has happened as Marshal Wittemberg foresaw,” put in Aschemberg.
“You all know how to foresee,” burst out the king, “but how to advise
you do not know.”
Aschemberg grew pale and was silent. Karl Gustav, when joyous, seemed
goodness itself; but when once he frowned he roused indescribable fear
in those nearest him, and birds do not hide so before an eagle as the
oldest and most meritorious generals hid before him. But this time he
moderated quickly, and asked Captain Freed again,—
“Has Charnyetski good troops?”
“I saw some unrivalled squadrons, such cavalry as the Poles have.”
“They are the same that attacked with such fury in Golamb; they must be
old regiments. But Charnyetski himself,—was he cheerful, confident?”
“He was as confident as if he had beaten us at Golamb. Now his heart
must rise the more, for they have forgotten Golembo and boast of
Krasichyn. Your Royal Grace, what Charnyetski told me to repeat I have
repeated; but when I was on the point of departing some one of the high
officers approached me, an old man, and told me that he was the person
who had stretched out Gustavus Adolphus in a hand-to-hand conflict, and
he poured much abuse on your Royal Grace; others supported him. So do
they boast. I left amid insults and abuse.”
“Never mind,” said Karl Gustav, “Charnyetski is not broken, and has
rallied his army; that is the main point. All the more speedily must we
march so as to reach the Polish Darius at the earliest. You are free to
go, gentlemen. Announce to the army that those regiments perished at
the hands of peasants in unfrozen morasses. We advance!”
The officers went out; Karl Gustav remained alone. For something like
an hour he was in gloomy thought. Was the victory at Golamb to bring no
fruit, no change to the position, but to rouse still greater rage in
that entire country?
Karl, in presence of the army and of his generals, always showed
confidence and faith in himself; but when he was alone he began to
think of that war,—how easy it had been at first, and then increased
always in difficulty. More than once doubt embraced him. All the events
seemed to him in some fashion marvellous. Often he could see no
outcome, could not divine the end. At times it seemed to him that he
was like a man who, going from the shore of the sea into the water,
feels at every step that he is going deeper and deeper and soon will
lose the ground under his feet.
But he believed in his star. And now he went to the window to look at
the chosen star,—that one which in the Wain or Great Bear occupies the
highest place and shines brightest. The sky was clear, and therefore at
that moment the star shone brightly, twinkled blue and red; but from
afar, lower down on the dark blue of the sky, a lone cloud was
blackening serpent-shaped, from which extended as it were arms, as it
were branches, as it were the feelers of a monster of the sea, and it
seemed to approach the king’s star continually.