That night Volodyovski went on a scouting expedition, and about morning
returned with a number of informants. These men asserted that the King
of Sweden was at Shchebjeshyn in person, and would soon be at Zamost.
Zamoyski was rejoiced at the news, for he hurried around greatly, and
had a genuine desire to try his walls and guns on the Swedes. He
considered, and very justly, that even if he had to yield in the end he
would detain the power of Sweden for whole months; and during that time
Yan Kazimir would collect troops, bring the entire Tartar force to his
aid, and organize in the whole country a powerful and victorious
resistance.
“Since the opportunity is given me,” said he, with great spirit, at the
military council, “to render the country and the king notable service,
I declare to you, gentlemen, that I will blow myself into the air
before a Swedish foot shall stand here. They want to take Zamoyski by
force. Let them take him! We shall see who is better. You, gentlemen,
will, I trust, aid me most heartily.”
“We are ready to perish with your grace,” said the officers, in chorus.
“If they will only besiege us,” said Zagloba, “I will lead the first
sortie.”
“I will follow, Uncle!” cried Roh Kovalski; “I will spring at the king
himself!”
“Now to the walls!” commanded Zamoyski.
All went out. The walls were ornamented with soldiers as with flowers.
Regiments of infantry, so splendid that they were unequalled in the
whole Commonwealth, stood in readiness, one at the side of the other,
with musket in hand, and eyes turned to the field. Not many foreigners
served in these regiments, merely a few Prussians and French; they were
mainly peasants from Zamoyski’s inherited lands. Sturdy, well-grown
men, who, wearing colored jackets and trained in foreign fashion,
fought as well as the best Cromwellians of England. They were specially
powerful when after firing it came to rush on the enemy in hand-to-hand
conflict. And now, remembering their former triumphs over Hmelnitski,
they were looking for the Swedes with impatience. At the cannons, which
stretched out through the embrasures their long necks to the fields as
if in curiosity, served mainly Flemings, the first of gunners. Outside
the fortress, beyond the moat, were squadrons of light cavalry, safe
themselves, for they were under cover of cannon, certain of refuge, and
able at any moment to spring out whithersoever it might be needed.
Zamoyski, wearing inlaid armor and carrying a gilded baton in his hand,
rode around the walls, and inquired every moment,—
“Well, what—not in sight yet?” And he muttered oaths when he received
negative answers on all sides. After a while he went to another side,
and again he asked,—
“Well, what—not in sight yet?”
It was difficult to see the Swedes, for there was a mist in the air;
and only about ten o’clock in the forenoon did it begin to disappear.
The heaven shining blue above the horizon became clear, and immediately
on the western side of the walls they began to cry,—
“They are coming, they are coming, they are coming!”
Zamoyski, with three adjutants and Zagloba, entered quickly an angle of
the walls from which there was a distant view, and the four men began
to look through field-glasses. The mist was lying a little on the
ground yet, and the Swedish hosts, marching from Vyelanchy, seemed to
be wading to the knees in that mist, as if they were coming out of wide
waters. The nearer regiments had become very distinct, so that the
naked eye could distinguish the infantry; they seemed like clouds of
dark dust rolling on toward the town. Gradually more regiments,
artillery, and cavalry appeared.
The sight was beautiful. From each quadrangle of infantry rose an
admirably regular quadrangle of spears; between them waved banners of
various colors, but mostly blue with white crosses, and blue with
golden lions. They came very near. On the walls there was silence;
therefore the breath of the air brought from the advancing army the
squeaking of wheels, the clatter of armor, the tramp of horses, and the
dull sound of human voices. When they had come within twice the
distance of a shot from a culverin, they began to dispose themselves
before the fortress. Some quadrangles of infantry broke ranks; others
prepared to pitch tents and dig trenches.
“They are here!” said Zamoyski.
“They are the dog-brothers!” answered Zagloba. “They could be counted,
man for man, on the fingers. Persons of my long experience, however, do
not need to count, but simply to cast an eye on them. There are ten
thousand cavalry, and eight thousand infantry with artillery. If I am
mistaken in one common soldier or one horse, I am ready to redeem the
mistake with my whole fortune.”
“Is it possible to estimate in that way?”
“Ten thousand cavalry and eight thousand infantry. I have hope in God
that they will go away in much smaller numbers; only let me lead one
sortie.”
“Do you hear? They are playing an aria.”
In fact, trumpeters and drummers stepped out before the regiments, and
military music began. At the sound of it the more distant regiments
approached, and encompassed the town from a distance. At last from the
dense throngs a few horsemen rode forth. When half-way, they put white
kerchiefs on their swords, and began to wave them.
“An embassy!” cried Zagloba; “I saw how the scoundrels came to Kyedani
with the same boldness, and it is known what came of that.”
“Zamost is not Kyedani, and I am not the voevoda of Vilna,” answered
Zamoyski.
Meanwhile the horsemen were approaching the gate. After a short time an
officer of the day hurried to Zamoyski with a report that Pan Yan
Sapyeha desired, in the name of the King of Sweden, to see him and
speak with him.
Zamoyski put his hands on his hips at once, began to step from one foot
to the other, to puff, to pout, and said at last, with great
animation,—
“Tell Pan Sapyeha that Zamoyski does not speak with traitors. If the
King of Sweden wishes to speak with me, let him send me a Swede by
race, not a Pole,—for Poles who serve the Swedes may go as embassadors
to my dogs; I have the same regard for both.”
“As God is dear to me, that is an answer!” cried Zagloba, with
unfeigned enthusiasm.
“But devil take them!” said the starosta, roused by his own words and
by praise. “Well, shall I stand on ceremony with them?”
“Permit me, your worthiness, to take him that answer,” said Zagloba.
And without waiting, he hastened away with the officer, went to Yan
Sapyeha, and, apparently, not only repeated the starosta’s words, but
added something very bad from himself; for Sapyeha turned from the town
as if a thunderbolt had burst in front of his horse, and rode away with
his cap thrust over his ears.
From the walls and from the squadrons of the cavalry which were
standing before the gate they began to hoot at the men riding off,—
“To the kennel with traitors, the betrayers! Jew servants! Huz, huz!”
Sapyeha stood before the king, pale, with compressed lips. The king too
was confused, for Zamost had deceived his hopes. In spite of what had
been said, he expected to find a town of such power of resistance as
Cracow, Poznan, and other places, so many of which he had captured;
meanwhile he found a fortress powerful, calling to mind those of
Denmark and the Netherlands, which he could not even think of taking
without guns of heavy calibre.
“What is the result?” asked the king, when he saw Sapyeha.
“Nothing! Zamoyski will not speak with Poles who serve your Royal
Grace. He sent out his jester, who reviled me and your Royal Grace so
shamefully that it is not proper to repeat what he said.”
“It is all one to me with whom he wants to speak, if he will only
speak. In default of other arguments, I have iron arguments; but
meanwhile I will send Forgell.”
Half an hour later Forgell, with a purely Swedish suite, announced
himself at the gate. The drawbridge was let down slowly over the moat,
and the general entered the fortress amid silence and seriousness.
Neither the eyes of the envoy nor those of any man in his suite were
bound; evidently Zamoyski wished him to see everything, and be able to
report to the king touching everything. The master of Zamost received
Forgell with as much splendor as an independent prince would have done,
and arranged all, in truth, admirably, for Swedish lords had not one
twelfth as much wealth as the Poles had; and Zamoyski among Poles was
well-nigh the most powerful. The clever Swede began at once to treat
him as if the king had sent the embassy to a monarch equal to himself;
to begin with, he called him “Princeps,” and continued to address him
thus, though Pan Sobiepan interrupted him promptly in the beginning,—
“Not princeps, _eques polonus_ (a Polish nobleman), but for that very
reason the equal of princes.”
“Your princely grace,” said Forgell, not permitting himself to be
diverted, “the Most Serene King of Sweden and Lord,” here he enumerated
his titles, “has not come here as an enemy in any sense; but, speaking
simply, has come on a visit, and through me announces himself, having,
as I believe, a well-founded hope that your princely grace will desire
to open your gates to him and his army.”
“It is not a custom with us,” answered Zamoyski, “to refuse hospitality
to any man, even should he come uninvited. There will always be a place
at my table for a guest; but for such a worthy person as the Swedish
monarch the first place. Inform then the Most Serene King of Sweden
that I invite him, and all the more gladly since the Most Serene
Carolus Gustavus is lord in Sweden, as I am in Zamost. But as your
worthiness has seen, there is no lack of servants in my house;
therefore his Swedish Serenity need not bring his servants with him.
Should he bring them I might think that he counts me a poor man, and
wishes to show me contempt.”
“Well done!” whispered Zagloba, standing behind the shoulders of Pan
Sobiepan.
When Zamoyski had finished his speech he began to pout his lips, to
puff and repeat,—
“Ah, here it is, this is the position!”
Forgell bit his mustache, was silent awhile, and said,—
“It would be the greatest proof of distrust toward the king if your
princely grace were not pleased to admit his garrison to the fortress.
I am the king’s confidant. I know his innermost thoughts, and besides
this I have the order to announce to your worthiness, and to give
assurance by word in the name of the king, that he does not think of
occupying the possessions of Zamost or this fortress permanently. But
since war has broken out anew in this unhappy land, since rebellion has
raised its head, and Yan Kazimir, unmindful of the miseries which may
fall on the Commonwealth, and seeking only his own fortune, has
returned within the boundaries, and, together with pagans, comes forth
against our Christian troops, the invincible king, my lord, has
determined to pursue him, even to the wild steppes of the Tartars and
the Turks, with the sole purpose of restoring peace to the country, the
reign of justice, prosperity, and freedom to the inhabitants of this
illustrious Commonwealth.”
Zamoyski struck his knee with his hand without saying a word; but
Zagloba whispered,—
“The Devil has dressed himself in vestments, and is ringing for Mass
with his tail.”
“Many benefits have accrued to this land already from the protection of
the king,” continued Forgell; “but thinking in his fatherly heart that
he has not done enough, he has left his Prussian province again to go
once more to the rescue of the Commonwealth, which depends on finishing
Yan Kazimir. But that this new war should have a speedy and victorious
conclusion, it is needful that the king occupy for a time this
fortress. It is to be for his troops a point from which pursuit may
begin against rebels. But hearing that he who is the lord of Zamost
surpasses all, not only in wealth, antiquity of stock, wit,
high-mindedness, but also in love for the country, the king, my master,
said at once: ‘He will understand me, he will be able to appreciate my
intentions respecting this country, he will not deceive my confidence,
he will surpass my hopes, he will be the first to put his hand to the
prosperity and peace of this country.’ This is the truth! So on you
depends the future fate of this country. You may save it and become the
father of it; therefore I have no doubt of what you will do. Whoever
inherits from his ancestors such fame should not avoid an opportunity
to increase that fame and make it immortal. In truth, you will do more
good by opening the gates of this fortress than if you had added a
whole province to the Commonwealth. The king is confident that your
uncommon wisdom, together with your heart, will incline you to this;
therefore he will not command, he prefers to request, he throws aside
threats, he offers friendship; not as a ruler with a subject, but as
powerful with powerful does he wish to deal.”
Here General Forgell bowed before Zamoyski with as much respect as
before an independent monarch. In the hall it grew silent. All eyes
were fixed on Zamoyski. He began to twist, according to his custom, in
his gilded armchair, to pout his lips, and exhibit stern resolve; at
last he thrust out his elbows, placed his palms on his knees, and
shaking his head like a restive horse, began,—
“This is what I have to say! I am greatly thankful to his Swedish
Serenity for the lofty opinion which he has of my wit and my love for
the Commonwealth. Nothing is dearer to me than the friendship of such a
potentate. But I think that we might love each other all the same if
his Swedish Serenity remained in Stockholm and I in Zamost; that is
what it is. For Stockholm belongs to his Swedish Serenity, and Zamost
to me. As to love for the Commonwealth, this is what I think. The
Commonwealth will not improve by the coming in of the Swedes, but by
their departure. That is my argument! I believe that Zamost might help
his Swedish Serenity to victory over Yan Kazimir; but your worthiness
should know that I have not given oath to his Swedish Grace, but to Yan
Kazimir; therefore I wish victory to Yan Kazimir, and I will not give
Zamost to the King of Sweden. That is my position!”
“That policy suits me!” said Zagloba.
A joyous murmur rose in the hall; but Zamoyski slapped his knees with
his hands, and the sounds were hushed.
Forgell was confused, and was silent for a time; then he began to argue
anew, insisted a little, threatened, begged, flattered. Latin flowed
from his mouth like a stream, till drops of sweat were on his forehead;
but all was in vain, for after his best arguments, so strong that they
might move walls, he heard always one answer,—
“But still I will not yield Zamost; that is my position!”
The audience continued beyond measure; at last it became awkward and
difficult for Forgell, since mirth was seizing those present. More and
more frequently some word fell, some sneer,—now from Zagloba, now from
others,—after which smothered laughter was heard in the hall. Forgell
saw finally that it was necessary to use the last means; therefore he
unrolled a parchment with seals, which he held in his hand, and to
which no one had turned attention hitherto, and rising said with a
solemn, emphatic voice,—
“For opening the gates of the fortress his Royal Grace,” here again he
enumerated the titles, “gives your princely grace the province of
Lubelsk in perpetual possession.”
All were astonished when they heard this, and Zamoyski himself was
astonished for a moment. Forgell had begun to turn a triumphant look on
the people around him, when suddenly and in deep silence Zagloba,
standing behind Zamoyski, said in Polish,—
“Your worthiness, offer the King of Sweden the Netherlands in
exchange.”
Zamoyski, without thinking long, put his hands on his hips and fired
through the whole hall in Latin,—
“And I offer to his Swedish Serenity the Netherlands!”
That moment the hall resounded with one immense burst of laughter. The
breasts of all were shaking, and the girdles on their bodies were
shaking; some clapped their hands, others tottered as drunken men, some
leaned on their neighbors, but the laughter sounded continuously.
Forgell was pale; he frowned terribly, but he waited with fire in his
eyes and his head raised haughtily. At last, when the paroxysm of
laughter had passed, he asked in a short, broken voice,—
“Is that the final answer of your worthiness?”
Zamoyski twirled his mustache. “No!” said he, raising his head still
more proudly, “for I have cannon on the walls.”
The embassy was at an end.
Two hours later cannons were thundering from the trenches of the
Swedes, but Zamoyski’s guns answered them with equal power. All Zamost
was covered with smoke, as with an immense cloud; moment after moment
there were flashes in that cloud, and thunder roared unceasingly. But
fire from the heavy fortress guns was preponderant. The Swedish balls
fell in the moat or bounded without effect from the strong angles;
toward evening the enemy were forced to draw back from the nearer
trenches, for the fortress was covering them with such a rain of
missiles that nothing living could endure it. The Swedish king, carried
away by anger, commanded to burn all the villages and hamlets, so that
the neighborhood seemed in the night one sea of fire; but Zamoyski
cared not for that.
“All right!” said he, “let them burn. We have a roof over our heads,
but soon it will be pouring down their backs.”
And he was so satisfied with himself and rejoiced that he made a great
feast that day and remained till late at the cups. A resounding
orchestra played at the feast so loudly that, in spite of the thunder
of artillery, it could be heard in the remotest trenches of the Swedes.
But the Swedes cannonaded continually, so constantly indeed that the
firing lasted the whole night. Next day a number of guns were brought
to the king, which as soon as they were placed in the trenches began to
work against the fortress. The king did not expect, it is true, to make
a breach in the walls; he merely wished to instil into Zamoyski the
conviction that he had determined to storm furiously and mercilessly.
He wished to bring terror on them; but that was bringing terror on
Poles.[6] Zamoyski paid no attention to it for a moment, and often
while on the walls he said, in time of the heaviest cannonading,—
“Why do they waste powder?”
Volodyovski and the others offered to make a sortie, but Zamoyski would
not permit it; he did not wish to waste blood. He knew besides that it
would be necessary to deliver open battle; for such a careful warrior
as the king and such a trained army would not let themselves be
surprised. Zagloba, seeing this fixed determination, insisted all the
more, and guaranteed that he would lead the sortie.
“You are too bloodthirsty!” answered Zamoyski. “It is pleasant for us
and unpleasant for the Swedes; why should we go to them? You might
fall, and I need you as a councillor; for it was by your wit that I
confounded Forgell so by mentioning the Netherlands.”
Zagloba answered that he could not restrain himself within the walls,
he wanted so much to get at the Swedes; but he was forced to obey. In
default of other occupation he spent his time on the walls among the
soldiers, dealing out to them precautions and counsel with importance,
which all heard with no little respect, holding him a greatly
experienced warrior, one of the foremost in the Commonwealth; and he
was rejoiced in soul, looking at the defence and the spirit of the
knighthood.
“Pan Michael,” said he to Volodyovski, “there is another spirit in the
Commonwealth and in the nobles. No one thinks now of treason or
surrender; and every one out of good-will for the Commonwealth and the
king is ready to give his life sooner than yield a step to the enemy.
You remember how a year ago from every side was heard, ‘This one has
betrayed, that one has betrayed, a third has accepted protection;’ and
now the Swedes need protection more than we. If the Devil does not
protect them, he will soon take them. We have our stomachs so full here
that drummers might beat on them, but their entrails are twisted into
whips from hunger.”
Zagloba was right. The Swedish army had no supplies; and for eighteen
thousand men, not to mention horses, there was no place from which to
get supplies. Zamoyski, before the arrival of the enemy, had brought in
from all his estates for many miles around food for man and horse. In
the more remote neighborhoods of the country swarmed parties of
confederates and bands of armed peasants, so that foraging detachments
could not go out, since just beyond the camp certain death was in
waiting.
In addition to this, Pan Charnyetski had not gone to the west bank of
the Vistula, but was circling about the Swedish army like a wild beast
around a sheepfold. Again nightly alarms had begun, and the loss of
smaller parties without tidings. Near Krasnik appeared certain Polish
troops, which had cut communication with the Vistula. Finally, news
came that Pavel Sapyeha, the hetman, was marching from the north with a
powerful Lithuanian army; that in passing he had destroyed the garrison
at Lublin, had taken Lublin, and was coming with cavalry to Zamost.
Old Wittemberg, the most experienced of the Swedish leaders, saw the
whole ghastliness of the position, and laid it plainly before the king.
“I know,” said he, “that the genius of your Royal Grace can do wonders;
but judging things in human fashion, hunger will overcome us, and when
the enemy fall upon our emaciated army not a living foot of us will
escape.”
“If I had this fortress,” answered the king, “I could finish the war in
two months.”
“For such a fortress a year’s siege is short.”
The king in his soul recognized that the old warrior was right, but he
did not acknowledge that he saw no means himself, that his genius was
strained. He counted yet on some unexpected event; hence he gave orders
to fire night and day.
“I will bend the spirit in them,” said he; “they will be more inclined
to treaties.”
After some days of cannonading so furious that the light could not be
seen behind the smoke, the king sent Forgell again to the fortress.
“The king, my master,” said Forgell, appearing before Zamoyski,
“considers that the damage which Zamost must have suffered from our
cannonading will soften the lofty mind of your princely grace and
incline it to negotiations.”
To which Zamoyski said: “Of course there is damage! Why should there
not be? You killed on the market square a pig, which was struck in the
belly by the fragment of a bomb. If you cannonade another week, perhaps
you’ll kill another pig.”
Forgell took that answer to the king. In the evening a new council was
held in the king’s quarters; next day the Swedes began to pack their
tents in wagons and draw their cannon out of the trenches, and in the
night the whole army moved onward.
Zamost thundered after them from all its artillery, and when they had
vanished from the eye two squadrons, the Shemberk and the Lauda, passed
out through the southern gate and followed in their track.
The Swedes marched southward. Wittemberg advised, it is true, a return
to Warsaw, and with all his power he tried to convince the king that
that was the only road of salvation; but the Swedish Alexander had
determined absolutely to pursue the Polish Darius to the remotest
boundaries of the kingdom.