Charnyetski, in truth, did not even dare to think that the marshal of
the kingdom would put himself under his command. He wished merely joint
action, and he feared that even that would not be attained because of
the great ambition of Lyubomirski; for the proud magnate had mentioned
more than once to his officers that he wished to attack the Swedes
independently, for thus he could effect something; but if he and
Charnyetski won a victory together, the whole glory would flow to
Charnyetski.
Such was the case, in fact. Charnyetski understood the marshal’s
reasons, and was troubled. He was reading now, for the tenth time, the
copy of the letter which he had sent from Pjevorsk, wishing to see if
he had written anything to offend so irritable a man as Lyubomirski.
He regretted certain phrases; finally he began to regret, on the whole,
that he had sent the letter. Therefore he was sitting gloomy in his
quarters, and every little while he approached the window and looked
out on the road to see if the envoys were not returning. The officers
saw him through the window, and divined what was passing in his mind,
for evident trouble was on his forehead.
“But look,” said Polyanovski to Pan Michael, “there will be nothing
pleasant, for the castellan’s face has become spotted, and that is a
bad sign.”
Charnyetski’s face bore numerous traces of small-pox, and in moments of
great emotion or disquiet it was covered with white and dark spots. As
he had sharp features, a very high forehead and cloudy, Jupiter brows,
a bent nose, and a glance cutting straight through, when in addition
those spots appeared, he became terrible. The Cossacks in their time
called him the spotted dog; but in truth, he was more like a spotted
eagle, and when he led men to the attack and his burka spread out like
great wings, the likeness struck both his own men and the enemy.
He roused fear in these and those. During the Cossack wars leaders of
powerful bands lost their heads when forced to act against Charnyetski.
Hmelnitski himself feared him, but especially the counsels which he
gave the king. They brought upon the Cossacks the terrible defeat of
Berestechko. But his fame increased chiefly after Berestechko, when,
together with the Tartars, he passed over the steppes like a flame,
crushed the uprisen crowds, took towns and trenches by storm, rushing
with the speed of a whirlwind from one end of the Ukraine to the other.
With this same raging endurance was he plucking the Swedes now.
“Charnyetski does not knock out my men, he steals them away,” said Karl
Gustav. But Charnyetski was tired of stealing away; he thought that the
time had come to strike. But he lacked artillery and infantry
altogether, without which nothing decisive could be done, nothing
important effected; hence his eagerness for a junction with
Lyubomirski, who had a small number of cannon, it is true, but brought
with him infantry composed of mountaineers. These, though not over-much
trained as yet, had still been under fire more than once, and might,
for want of better, be used against the incomparable infantry legions
of Karl Gustav.
Charnyetski, therefore, was as if in a fever. Not being able to endure
in the house, he went outside, and seeing Volodyovski and Polyanovski,
he asked,—
“Are the envoys not in sight?”
“It is clear that they are glad to see them,” answered Volodyovski.
“They are glad to see them, but not glad to read my letter, or the
marshal would have sent his answer.”
“Pan Castellan,” said Polyanovski, whom Charnyetski trusted greatly,
“why be careworn? If the marshal comes, well; if not, we will attack as
of old. As it is, blood is flowing from the Swedish pot; and we know
that when a pot once begins to leak, everything will run out of it.”
“There is a leak in the Commonwealth too,” said Charnyetski. “If the
Swedes escape this time, they will be reinforced, succor will come to
them from Prussia, our chance will be lost.” Then he struck his side
with his hand in sign of impatience. Just then was heard the tread of
horses and the bass voice of Zagloba singing,—
“Kaska to the bakehouse went her way,
And Stah said to her, ‘Take me in, let me in,
My love.
For the snow is falling, and the wind is blowing;
Where shall I, poor fellow, put my head
Till morning?’”
“It is a good sign! They are returning joyously,” cried Polyanovski.
That moment the envoys, seeing Charnyetski, sprang from their saddles,
gave their horses to an attendant, and went quickly to the entrance.
Zagloba threw his cap suddenly into the air, and imitating the voice of
the marshal so excellently that whoever was not looking on might be
deceived, cried,—
“Vivat Pan Charnyetski, our leader!”
The castellan frowned, and asked quickly: “Is there a letter for me?”
“There is not,” answered Zagloba; “there is something better. The
marshal with his army passes voluntarily under command of your
worthiness.”
Charnyetski pierced him with a look, then turned to Pan Yan, as if
wishing to say: “Speak you, for this one has been drinking!”
Zagloba was in fact a little drunk; but Skshetuski confirmed his words,
hence astonishment was reflected on the face of the castellan.
“Come with me,” said he to the two. “I beg you also,” said he to
Polyanovski and Pan Michael.
All entered his room. They had not sat down yet when Charnyetski asked:
“What did he say to my letter?”
“He said nothing,” answered Zagloba, “and why he did not will appear at
the end of my story; but now _incipiam_ (I will begin).”
Here he told all as it had happened,—how he had brought the marshal to
such a favorable decision. Charnyetski looked at him with growing
astonishment, Polyanovski seized his own head, Pan Michael’s mustaches
were quivering.
“I have not known you hitherto, as God is dear to me!” cried
Charnyetski, at last. “I cannot believe my own ears.”
“They have long since called me Ulysses,” said Zagloba, modestly.
“Where is my letter?”
“Here it is.”
“I must forgive you for not delivering it. He is a finished rogue! A
vice-chancellor might learn from him how to make treaties. As God
lives, if I were king, I would send you to Tsargrad.”
“If he were there, a hundred thousand Turks would be here now!” cried
Pan Michael.
To which Zagloba said: “Not one, but two hundred thousand, as true as I
live.”
“And did the marshal hesitate at nothing?” asked Charnyetski.
“He? He swallowed all that I put to his lips, just as a fat gander
gulps pellets; his eyes were covered with mist. I thought that from
delight he would burst, as a Swedish bomb bursts. With flattery that
man might be taken to hell.”
“If it can only be ground out on the Swedes, if it can only be ground
out, and I have hope that it will be,” said Charnyetski, delighted.
“You are a man adroit as a fox; but do not make too much sport of the
marshal, for another would not have done what he has to-day. Much
depends on him. We shall march to Sandomir itself over the estates of
the Lyubomirskis, and the marshal can raise with one word the whole
region, command peasants to injure crossings, burn bridges, hide
provisions in the forests. You have rendered a service which I shall
not forget till death; but I must thank the marshal, for as I believe
he has not done this from mere vanity.”
Then he clapped his hands and cried: “A horse for me at once! Let us
forge the iron while it is hot!” Then he turned to the colonels: “Come,
all of you gentlemen, with me, so that the suite may be the most
imposing.”
“And must I go too?” asked Zagloba.
“You have built the bridge between me and the marshal, it is proper
that you be the first to pass over. Besides, I think that they will see
you gladly. Come, come, lord brother, or I shall say that you wished to
leave a half-finished work.”
“Hard to refuse. I must draw my belt tighter, however, lest I shake
into nothing. Not much strength is left me, unless I fortify it with
something.”
“But with what?”
“Much has been told me of the castellan’s mead which I have not tasted
as yet, and I should like to know if it is better than the marshal’s.”
“We will drink a stirrup cup now, but after our return we shall not
limit the cups in advance. You will find a couple of decanters of it in
your own quarters.”
Then the castellan commanded to bring goblets; they drank enough for
brightness and good humor, mounted and rode away.
The marshal received Charnyetski with open arms, entertained him with
food and drink, did not let him go till morning; but in the morning the
two armies were joined, and marched farther under command of
Charnyetski.
Near Syenyava the Poles attacked the Swedes again with such effect that
they cut the rearguard to pieces and brought disorder into the main
army. Only at daybreak did the artillery disperse them. At Lejaysk,
Charnyetski attacked with still greater vigor. Considerable detachments
of the Swedes were mired in soft places, caused by rains and
inundations, and those fell into the hands of the Poles. The roads
became of the worst for the Swedes. Exhausted, hungry, and tortured by
desire of sleep, the regiments barely marched. More and more soldiers
stopped on the way. Some were found so terribly reduced that they no
longer wished to eat or drink, they only begged for death. Others lay
down and died on hillocks; some lost presence of mind, and looked with
the greatest indifference on the approaching pursuers. Foreigners, who
were counted frequently in the ranks of the Swedes, began to disappear
from the camp and go over to Charnyetski. Only the unbroken spirit of
Karl Gustav held the remnant of its dying strength in the whole army.
For not only did an enemy follow the army; various “parties” under
unknown leaders and bands of peasants crossed its road continually.
Those bodies, unformed and not very numerous, could not, it is true,
strike it with offensive warfare, but they wearied it mortally. And
wishing to instil into the Swedes the conviction that Tartars had
already come with assistance, all the Polish troops gave forth the
Tartar shout; therefore “Allah! Allah!” was heard night and day without
a moment’s cessation. The Swedish soldiers could not draw breath, could
not put aside their armor for an instant. More than once a few men
alarmed the whole camp. Horses fell by tens, and were eaten
immediately; for the transport of provisions had become impossible.
From time to time the Polish horsemen found Swedish corpses terribly
disfigured; here they recognized at once the hands of peasants. The
greater part of the villages in the triangle between the San and the
Vistula belonged to the marshal and his relatives; therefore all the
peasants in those parts rose up as one man, for the marshal, unsparing
of his own fortune, had announced that whoever took up arms would be
freed from subjection. Scarcely had this news gone the round of the
region when the peasants put their scythes on staffs and began to bring
Swedish heads into camp: they brought them in every day till
Lyubomirski was forced to prohibit that custom as unchristian. Then
they brought in gloves and boots. The Swedes, driven to desperation,
flayed those who fell into their hands; and the war became more and
more dreadful. Some of the Polish troops adhered yet to the Swedes, but
they adhered only through fear. On the road to Lejaysk many of them
deserted; those who remained made such tumults in the camp daily that
Karl Gustav gave orders to shoot a number of officers. This was the
signal for a general withdrawal, which was effected sabre in hand. Few,
if any, Poles remained; but Charnyetski, gaining new strength, attacked
with still greater vigor.
The marshal gave most effectual assistance. During this period, which
by the way was short, the nobler sides of Lyubomirski’s nature gained,
perhaps, the upper hand over his pride and self-love; therefore he
omitted no toil, he spared neither his health nor his person, he led
squadrons frequently, gave the enemy no rest; and as he was a good
soldier he rendered good services. These, added to his later ones,
would have secured him a glorious memory in the nation, were it not for
that shameless rebellion which toward the end of his career he raised
in order to hinder the reform of the Commonwealth.
But at this time he did everything to win glory, and he covered himself
with it as with a robe. Pan Vitovski, the castellan of Sandomir, an old
and experienced soldier, vied with him. Vitovski wished to equal
Charnyetski himself; but he could not, for God had denied him
greatness.
All three crushed the Swedes more and more, and with such effect that
the infantry and cavalry regiments, to whom it came to form the
rearguard on the retreat, marched with so much fear that a panic arose
among them from the slightest cause. Then Karl Gustav decided to march
always with the rearguard, so as to give courage by his presence.
But in the very beginning he almost paid for this position with his
life. It happened that having with him a detachment of the
life-guards,—the largest of all the regiments, for the soldiers in it
were selected from the whole Scandinavian people,—the king stopped for
refreshment at the village of Rudnik. When he had dined with the parish
priest he decided to sleep a little, since he had not closed his eyes
the night preceding. The life-guards surrounded the house, to watch
over the safety of the king. Meanwhile the priest’s horse-boy stole
away from the village, and coming up to a mare in the field, sprang
upon her colt and raced off to Charnyetski.
Charnyetski was ten miles distant at this time; but his vanguard,
composed of the regiment of Prince Dymitri Vishnyevetski, was marching
under Shandarovski, the lieutenant, about two miles behind the Swedes.
Shandarovski was just talking to Roh Kovalski, who had ridden up that
moment with orders from Charnyetski, when suddenly both saw the lad
flying toward them at all horse speed.
“What devil is that racing up so,” asked Shandarovski, “and besides on
a colt?”
“Some village lad,” said Kovalski.
Meanwhile the boy had ridden to the front of the rank, and only stopped
when the colt, frightened at horses and men, stood on his hind legs and
dug his hoofs into the earth. The youth sprang off, and holding the
colt by the mane, bowed to the knights.
“Well, what have you to say?” asked the lieutenant, approaching him.
“The Swedes are with us at the priest’s house; they say that the king
himself is among them!” said the youth, with sparkling eyes.
“Many of them?”
“Not more than two hundred horses.”
Shandarovski’s eyes now flashed in their turn; but he was afraid of an
ambush, therefore he looked threateningly at the boy and asked,—
“Who sent you?”
“Who was to send me? I jumped myself on the colt, I came near falling,
and lost my cap. It is well that the Swedish carrion did not see me!”
Truth was beating out of the sunburned face of the youth; he had
evidently a great animosity against the Swedes,—he was panting, his
cheeks were burning, he stood before the officers holding the mane of
the colt with one hand, his hair disordered, the shirt open on his
bosom.
“Where is the rest of the Swedish army?” asked the lieutenant.
“At daybreak so many passed that we could not count them; those went
farther, only cavalry remained. But there is one sleeping at the
priest’s, and they say that he is the king.”
“Boy,” answered Shandarovski, “if you are lying, your head will fall;
but if you speak the truth, ask what you please.”
“As true as I live! I want nothing unless the great mighty lord officer
would command to give me a sabre.”
“Give him some blade,” cried Shandarovski to his attendants, completely
convinced now.
The other officers fell to inquiring of the boy where the house was,
where the village, what the Swedes were doing.
“The dogs! they are watching. If you go straight they will see you; but
I will take you behind the alder grove.”
Orders were given at once, and the squadron moved on, first at a trot
and then at a gallop. The youth rode before the first rank bareback on
his colt without a bridle. He urged the colt with his heels, and every
little while looked with sparkling eyes on the naked sabre.
When the village was in sight, he turned out of the willows and led by
a somewhat muddy road to the alder grove, in which it was still
muddier; therefore they slackened the speed of the horses.
“Watch!” said the boy; “they are about ten rods on the right from the
end of the alder grove.”
They advanced now very slowly, for the road was difficult and heavy;
the cavalry horses sank frequently to their knees. At last the alder
grove began to grow thinner, and they came to the edge of the open
space.
Not more than three hundred yards distant, they saw a broad square
rising somewhat, and in it the priest’s house surrounded by poplars,
among which were to be seen the tops of straw beehives. On the square
were two hundred horsemen in rimmed helmets and breastplates.
The great horsemen sat on enormous lean horses, and were in
readiness,—some with rapiers at their shoulders, others with muskets on
their thighs; but they were looking in another direction toward the
main road, from which alone they expected the enemy. A splendid blue
standard with a golden lion was waving above their heads.
Farther on, around the house stood guards by twos. One was turned
toward the alder grove; but because the sun shone brightly and struck
his eyes, and in the alders, which were already covered with thick
leaves, it was almost dark, he could not see the Polish horsemen.
In Shandarovski, a fiery horseman, the blood began to boil like water
in a pot; but he restrained himself and waited till the ranks should be
in order. Meanwhile Roh Kovalski put his heavy hand on the shoulder of
the youth,—
“Listen, horsefly!” said he; “have you seen the king?”
“I saw him, great mighty lord!” whispered the lad.
“How did he look? How can he be known?”
“He is terribly black in the face, and wears red ribbons at his side.”
“Did you see his horse?”
“The horse is black, with a white face.”
“Look out, and show him to me.”
“I will. But shall we go quickly?”
“Shut your mouth!”
Here they were silent; and Roh began to pray to the Most Holy Lady to
permit him to meet Karl, and to direct his hand at the meeting.
The silence continued still a moment, then the horse under Shandarovski
himself snorted. At that the horseman on guard looked, quivered as if
something had been thrown at his saddle, and fired his pistol.
“Allah! Allah! Kill, slay! Uha-u, slay!” was heard in the alder grove;
and the squadron, coming out of the shadow like lightning, rushed at
the Swedes.
They struck into the smoke before all could turn front to them, and a
terrible hewing began; only sabres and rapiers were used, for no man
had time to fire. In the twinkle of an eye the Poles pushed the Swedes
to the fence, which fell with a rattle under the pressure of the
horses’ rumps, and the Poles began to slash them so madly that they
were crowded and confused. Twice they tried to close, and twice torn
asunder they formed two separate bodies which in a twinkle divided into
smaller groups; at last they were scattered as peas thrown by a peasant
through the air with a shovel.
All at once were heard despairing voices: “The king, the king! Save the
king!”
But Karl Gustav, at the first moment of the encounter, with pistols in
hand and a sword in his teeth, rushed out. The trooper who held the
horse at the door gave him the beast that moment; the king sprang on,
and turning the corner, rushed between the poplars and the beehives to
escape by the rear from the circle of battle.
Reaching the fence he spurred his horse, sprang over, and fell into the
group of his men who were defending themselves against the right wing
of the Poles, who had just surrounded the house and were fighting with
the Swedes behind the garden.
“To the road!” cried Karl Gustav. And overturning with the hilt of his
sword the Polish horseman who was raising his sabre above him, with one
spring he came out of the whirl of the fight; the Swedes broke the
Polish rank and sprang after him with all their force, as a herd of
deer hunted by dogs rush whither they are led by their leader.
The Polish horsemen turned their horses after them, and the chase
began. Both came out on the highroad from Rudnik to Boyanovka. They
were seen from the front yard where the main battle was raging, and
just then it was that the voices were heard crying,—
“The king, the king! Save the king!”
But the Swedes in the front yard were so pressed by Shandarovski that
they could not think even of saving themselves; the king raced on then
with a party of not more than twelve men, while after him were chasing
nearly thirty, and at the head of them all Roh Kovalski.
The lad who was to point out the king was involved somewhere in the
general battle, but Roh himself recognized Karl Gustav by the knot of
red ribbons. Then he thought that his opportunity had come; he bent in
the saddle, pressed his horse with the spurs, and rushed on like a
whirlwind.
The pursued, straining the last strength from their horses, stretched
along over the broad road. But the swifter and lighter Polish horses
began soon to gain on them. Roh came up very quickly with the hindmost
Swede; he rose in his stirrups for a better blow, and cut terribly;
with one awful stroke he took off the arm and the shoulder, and rushed
on like the wind, fastening his eyes again on the king.
The next horseman was black before his eyes; he hurled him down. He
split the head and the helmet of the third, and tore farther, having
the king, and the king only, in his eye. Now the horses of the Swedes
began to pant and fall; a crowd of Polish horsemen overtook them and
cut down the riders in a twinkle.
Roh had already passed horses and men, so as not to lose time; the
distance between him and Karl Gustav began to decrease. There were only
two men between him and the king.
Now an arrow, sent from a bow by some one of the Poles, sang near the
ear of Pan Roh, and sank in the loins of the rider rushing before him.
The man trembled to the right and the left; at last he bent backward,
bellowed with an unearthly voice, and fell from the saddle.
Between Roh and the king there was now only one man. But that one,
wishing evidently to save the king, instead of helping turned his
horse. Kovalski came up, and a cannonball does not sweep a man from the
saddle as he hurled him to the ground; then, giving a fearful shout, he
rushed forward like a furious stag.
The king might perhaps have met him, and would have perished
inevitably; but others were flying on behind Roh, and arrows began to
whistle; any moment one of them might wound his horse. The king,
therefore, pressed his heels more closely, bent his head to the mane,
and shot through the space in front of him like a sparrow pursued by a
hawk.
But Roh began not only to prick his own horse with the spurs, but to
beat him with the side of the sabre; and so they sped on one after the
other. Trees, stones, willows, flashed before their eyes; the wind
whistled in their ears. The king’s hat fell from his head; at last he
threw down his purse, thinking that the pitiless rider might be tempted
by it and leave the pursuit; but Kovalski did not look at the purse,
and rolled his horse on with more and more power till the beast was
groaning from effort.
Roh had evidently forgotten himself altogether; for racing onward he
began to shout in a voice in which besides threats there was also a
prayer,—
“Stop, for God’s mercy!”
Then the king’s horse stumbled so violently that if the king had not
held the bridle with all his power the beast would have fallen. Roh
bellowed like an aurochs; the distance dividing him from Karl Gustav
had decreased notably.
After a while the steed stumbled a second time, and again before the
king brought him to his feet Roh had approached a number of yards.
Then he straightened himself in the saddle as if for a blow. He was
terrible; his eyes were bursting out, his teeth were gleaming from
under his reddish mustaches. One more stumble of the horse, another
moment, and the fate of the Commonwealth, of all Sweden, of the entire
war would have been decided. But the king’s horse began to run again;
and the king, turning, showed the barrels of two pistols, and twice did
he fire.
One of the bullets shattered the knee of Kovalski’s horse; he reared,
then fell on his forefeet, and dug the earth with his nose.
The king might have rushed that moment on his pursuer and thrust him
through with his rapier; but at the distance of two hundred yards other
Polish horsemen were flying forward; so he bent down again in his
saddle, and shot on like an arrow propelled from the bow of a Tartar.
Kovalski freed himself from his horse. He looked for a while
unconsciously at the fleeing man, then staggered like one drunk, sat on
the road, and began to roar like a bear.
But the king was each instant farther, farther, farther! He began to
diminish, to melt, and then vanished in the dark belt of pine scrub.
Meanwhile, with shouting and roaring, came on Kovalski’s companions.
There were fifteen of them whose horses held out. One brought the
king’s purse, another his hat, on which black ostrich feathers were
fastened with diamonds. These two began to cry out,—
“These are yours, comrade! they belong to you of right.”
Others asked: “Do you know whom you were chasing? That was Karl
himself.”
“As God is true! In his life he has never fled before any man as before
you. You have covered yourself with immense glory!”
“And how many men did you put down before you came up with the king?”
“You lacked only little of freeing the Commonwealth in one flash, with
your sabre.”
“Take the purse!”
“Take the hat!”
“The horse was good, but you can buy ten such with these treasures.”
Roh gazed at his comrades with dazed eyes; at last he sprang up and
shouted,—
“I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski! Go to all the devils!”
“His mind is disturbed!” cried they.
“Give me a horse! I’ll catch him yet,” shouted Roh.
But they took him by the arms, and though he struggled they brought him
back to Rudnik, pacifying and comforting him along the road.
“You gave him Peter!” cried they. “See what has come to this victor,
this conqueror of so many towns and villages!”
“Ha, ha! He has found out Polish cavaliers!”
“He will grow tired of the Commonwealth. He has come to close
quarters.”
“Vivat, Roh Kovalski!”
“Vivat, vivat, the most manful cavalier, the pride of the whole army!”
And they fell to drinking out of their canteens. They gave Roh one, and
he emptied the bottle at a draught.
During the pursuit of the king along the Boyanovka road the Swedes
defended themselves in front of the priest’s house with bravery worthy
of their renowned regiment. Though attacked suddenly and scattered very
quickly, they rallied as quickly around their blue standard, for the
reason that they were surrounded by a dense crowd. Not one of them
asked for quarter, but standing horse to horse, shoulder to shoulder,
they thrust so fiercely with their rapiers that for a time victory
seemed to incline to their side. It was necessary either to break them
again, which became impossible since a line of Polish horsemen
surrounded them completely, or to cut them to pieces. Shandarovski
recognized the second plan as the better; therefore encircling the
Swedes with a still closer ring, he sprang on them like a wounded
falcon on a flock of long-billed cranes. A savage slaughter and press
began. Sabres rattled against rapiers, rapiers were broken on the hilts
of sabres. Sometimes a horse rose, like a dolphin above the sea waves,
and in a moment fell in the whirl of men and horses. Shouts ceased;
there were heard only the cry of horses, the sharp clash of steel,
gasping from the panting breasts of the knights; uncommon fury had
mastered the hearts of Poles and Swedes. They fought with fragments of
sabres and rapiers; they closed with one another like hawks, caught one
another by the hair, by mustaches, gnawed with their teeth; those who
had fallen from their horses and were yet able to stand stabbed with
their knives horses in the belly and men in the legs; in the smoke, in
the steam from horses, in the terrible frenzy of battle, men were
turned into giants and gave the blows of giants; arms became clubs,
sabres lightning. Steel helmets were broken at a blow, like earthen
pots; heads were cleft; arms holding sabres were swept away. They hewed
without rest; they hewed without mercy, without pity. From under the
whirl of men and horses blood began to flow along the yard in streams.
The great blue standard was waving yet above the Swedish circle, but
the circle diminished with each moment. As when harvesters attack grain
from two sides, and the sickles begin to glitter, the standing grain
disappears and the men see one another more nearly each moment, thus
did the Polish ring become ever narrower, and those fighting on one
side could see the bent sabres fighting on the opposite side.
Pan Shandarovski was wild as a hurricane, and ate into the Swedes as a
famished wolf buries his jaws in the flesh of a freshly killed horse;
but one horseman surpassed him in fury, and that was the youth who had
first let them know that the Swedes were in Rudnik, and now had sprung
in with the whole squadron on the enemy. The priest’s colt, three years
old, which till that time had walked quietly over the land, shut in by
the horses, could not break out of the throng; you would have said he
had gone mad, like his master. With ears thrown back, with eyes
bursting out of his bead, with erect mane, he pushed forward, bit, and
kicked; but the lad struck with his sabre as with a flail; he struck at
random, to the right, to the left, straight ahead; his yellow forelock
was covered with blood, the points of rapiers had been thrust into his
shoulders and legs, his face was cut; but these wounds only roused him.
He fought with madness, like a man who has despaired of life and wishes
only to avenge his own death.
But now the Swedish body had decreased like a pile of snow on which men
are throwing hot water from every side. At last around the king’s
standard less than twenty men remained. The Polish swarm had covered
them completely, and they were dying gloomily, with set teeth; no hand
was stretched forth, no man asked for mercy. Now in the crowd were
heard voices: “Seize the standard! The standard!”
When he heard this, the lad pricked his colt and rushed on like a
flame. When every Swede had two or three Polish horsemen against him,
the lad slashed the standard-bearer in the mouth; he opened his arms,
and fell on the horse’s mane. The blue standard fell with him.
The nearest Swede, shouting terribly, grasped after the staff at once;
but the boy caught the standard itself, and pulling, tore it off in a
twinkle, wound it in a bundle, and holding it with both hands to his
breast, began to shout to the sky,—
“I have it, I won’t give it! I have it, I won’t give it!”
The last remaining Swedes rushed at him with rage; one thrust the flag
through, and cut his shoulder.
Then a number of men stretched their bloody hands to the lad, and
cried: “Give the standard, give the standard!”
Shandarovski sprang to his aid, and commanded: “Let him alone! He took
it before my eyes; let him give it to Charnyetski himself.”
“Charnyetski is coming!” cried a number of voices.
In fact, from a distance trumpets were heard; and on the road from the
side of the field appeared a whole squadron, galloping to the priest’s
house. It was the Lauda squadron; and at the head of it rode
Charnyetski himself. When the men had ridden up, seeing that all was
over, they halted; and Shandarovski’s soldiers began to hurry toward
them.
Shandarovski himself hastened with a report to the castellan; but he
was so exhausted that at first he could not catch breath, for he
trembled as in a fever, and the voice broke in his throat every moment.
“The king himself was here: I don’t know—whether he has escaped!”
“He has, he has!” answered those who had seen the pursuit.
“The standard is taken! There are many killed!”
Charnyetski, without saying a word, hurried to the scene of the
struggle, where a cruel and woful sight presented itself. More than two
hundred bodies of Swedes and Poles were lying like a pavement, one at
the side of the other, and often one above the other. Sometimes one
held another by the hair; some had died biting or tearing one another
with their nails; and some again were closed as in a brotherly embrace,
or they lay one with his head on the breast of his enemy. Many faces
were so trampled that there remained nothing human in them; those not
crushed by hoofs had their eyes open full of terror, the fierceness of
battle, and rage. Blood spattered on the softened earth under the feet
of Charnyetski’s horse, which were soon red above the fetlocks; the
odor of blood and the sweat of horses irritated the nostrils and
stopped breath in the breast.
The castellan looked on those corpses of men as the agriculturist looks
on bound sheaves of wheat which are to fill out his stacks.
Satisfaction was reflected on his face. He rode around the priest’s
house in silence, looked at the bodies lying on the other side, beyond
the garden; then returned slowly to the chief scene.
“I see genuine work here, and I am satisfied with you, gentlemen.”
They hurled up their caps with bloody hands.
“Vivat Charnyetski!”
“God grant another speedy meeting. Vivat! vivat!”
And the castellan said: “You will go to the rear for rest. But who took
the standard?”
“Give the lad this way!” cried Shandarovski; “where is he?”
The soldiers sprang for him, and found him sitting at the wall of the
stable near the colt, which had fallen from wounds and was just
breathing out his last breath. At the first glance it did not seem that
the lad would last long, but he held the standard with both hands to
his breast.
They bore him away at once, and brought him before Charnyetski. The
youth stood there barefoot, with disordered hair, with naked breast,
his shirt and his jacket in shreds, smeared with Swedish blood and his
own, tottering, bewildered, but with unquenched fire in his eyes.
Charnyetski was astounded at sight of him. “How is this?” asked he.
“Did he take the royal standard?”
“With his own hand and his own blood,” answered Shandarovski. “He was
the first also to let us know of the Swedes; and afterward, in the
thickest of the whirl, he did so much that he surpassed me and us all.”
“It is truth, genuine truth, as if some one had written it!” cried
others.
“What is thy name?” asked Charnyetski of the lad.
“Mihalko.”
“Whose art thou?”
“The priest’s.”
“Thou hast been the priest’s, but thou wilt be thy own!” said
Charnyetski.
Mihalko heard not the last words, for from his wounds and the loss of
blood he tottered and fell, striking the castellan’s stirrup with his
head.
“Take him and give him every care. I am the guaranty that at the first
Diet he will be the equal of you all in rank, as to-day he is the equal
in spirit.”
“He deserves it! he deserves it!” cried the nobles.
Then they took Mihalko on a stretcher, and bore him to the priest’s
house.
Charnyetski listened to the further report, which not Shandarovski
gave, but those who had seen the pursuit of the king by Roh Kovalski.
He was wonderfully delighted with that narrative, so that he caught his
head, and struck his thighs with his hands; for he understood that
after such an adventure the spirit must fall considerably in Karl
Gustav.
Zagloba was not less delighted, and putting his hands on his hips, said
proudly to the knights,—
“Ha! he is a robber, isn’t he? If he had reached Karl, the devil
himself could not have saved the king! He is my blood, as God is dear
to me, my blood!”
In course of time Zagloba believed that he was Roh Kovalski’s uncle.
Charnyetski gave orders to find the young knight; but they could not
find him, for Roh, from shame and mortification, had crept into a barn,
and burying himself in the straw, had fallen asleep so soundly that he
came up with the squadron only two days later. But he still suffered
greatly, and dared not show himself before the eyes of his uncle. His
uncle, however, sought him out, and began to comfort him,—
“Be not troubled, Roh!” said he. “As it is, you have covered yourself
with great glory; I have myself heard the castellan praise you: ‘To the
eye a fool,’ said he, ‘so that he looks as though he could not count
three, and I see that he is a fiery cavalier who has raised the
reputation of the whole army.’”
“The Lord Jesus has not blessed me,” said Roh; “for I got drunk the day
before, and forgot my prayers.”
“Don’t try to penetrate the judgments of God, lest you add blasphemy to
other deeds. Whatever you can take on your shoulders take, but take
nothing on your mind; if you do, you will fail.”
“But I was so near that the sweat from his horse was flying to me. I
should have cut him to the saddle! Uncle thinks that I have no reason
whatever!”
“Every creature,” said Zagloba, “has its reason. You are a sprightly
lad, Roh, and you will give me comfort yet more than once. God grant
your sons to have the same reason in their fists that you have!”
“I do not want that! I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski.”