Almost twenty days passed. The king remained continually at the
junction of the rivers, and sent couriers to fortresses and commands in
every direction toward Cracow and Warsaw, with orders for all to hasten
to him with assistance. They sent him also provisions by the Vistula in
as great quantities as possible, but insufficient. After ten days the
Swedes began to eat horse-flesh; despair seized the king and the
generals at thought of what would happen when the cavalry should lose
their horses, and when there would be no beasts to draw cannon. From
every side too there came unpleasant news. The whole country was
blazing with war, as if some one had poured pitch over it and set fire.
Inferior commands and garrisons could not hasten to give aid, for they
were not able to leave the towns and villages. Lithuania, held hitherto
by the iron hand of Pontus de la Gardie, rose as one man. Great Poland,
which had yielded first of all, was the first to throw off the yoke,
and shone before the whole Commonwealth as an example of endurance,
resolve, and enthusiasm. Parties of nobles and peasants rushed not only
on the garrisons in villages, but even attacked towns. In vain did the
Swedes take terrible vengeance on the country, in vain did they cut off
the hands of prisoners, in vain did they send up villages in smoke, cut
settlements to pieces, raise gibbets, bring instruments of torture from
Germany to torture insurgents. Whoso had to suffer, suffered; whoso had
to die, died; but if he was a noble, he died with a sabre; if a
peasant, with a scythe in his hand. And Swedish blood was flowing
throughout all Great Poland; the peasants were living in the forests,
even women rushed to arms; punishments merely roused vengeance and
increased rage. Kulesha, Jegotski, and the voevoda of Podlyasye moved
through the country like flames, and besides their parties all the
pine-woods were filled with other parties. The fields lay untilled,
fierce hunger increased in the land; but it twisted most the entrails
of the Swedes, for they were confined in towns behind closed gates, and
could not go to the open country. At last breath was failing in their
bosoms.
In Mazovia the condition was the same. There the Barkshoe people
dwelling in forest gloom came out of their wildernesses, blocked the
roads, seized provisions and couriers. In Podlyasye a numerous small
nobility marched in thousands either to Sapyeha or to Lithuania.
Lyubelsk was in the hands of the confederates. From the distant Russias
came Tartars, and with them the Cossacks constrained to obedience.
Therefore all were certain that if not in a week in a month, if not in
a month in two, that river fork in which Karl Gustav had halted with
the main army of the Swedes would be turned into one great tomb to the
glory of the nation; a great lesson for those who would attack the
Commonwealth.
The end of the war was foreseen already; there were some who said that
one way of salvation alone remained to Karl,—to ransom himself and give
Swedish Livland to the Commonwealth.
But suddenly the fortune of Karl and the Swedes was bettered.
Marienburg, besieged hitherto in vain, surrendered, March 20, to
Steinbock. His powerful and valiant army had then no occupation, and
could hasten to the rescue of the king.
From another direction the Markgraf of Baden, having finished levies,
was marching also to the river fork with ready forces, and soldiers yet
unwearied.
Both pushed forward, breaking up the smaller bands of insurgents,
destroying, burning, slaying. Along the road they gathered in Swedish
garrisons, took the smaller commands, and increased in power, as a
river increases the more it takes streams to its bosom.
Tidings of the fall of Marienburg, of the army of Steinbock, and the
march of the Markgraf of Baden came very quickly to the fork of the
river, and grieved Polish hearts. Steinbock was still far away; but the
markgraf, advancing by forced marches, might soon come up and change
the whole position at Sandomir.
The Polish leaders then held a council in which Charnyetski, Sapyeha,
Michael Radzivill, Vitovski, and Lyubomirski, who had grown tired of
being on the Vistula, took part. At this council it was decided that
Sapyeha with the Lithuanian army was to remain to watch Karl, and
prevent his escape, Charnyetski was to move against the Markgraf of
Baden and meet him as quickly as possible; if God gave him victory, he
would return to besiege Karl Gustav.
Corresponding orders were given at once. Next morning the trumpets
sounded to horse so quietly that they were barely heard; Charnyetski
wished to depart unknown to the Swedes. At his recent camp-ground a
number of unoccupied parties of nobles and peasants took position at
once. They kindled fires and made an uproar, so that the enemy might
think that no one had left the place; but Charnyetski’s squadrons moved
out one after another. First marched the Lauda squadron, which by right
should have remained with Sapyeha; but since Charnyetski had fallen
greatly in love with this squadron, the hetman was loath to take it
from him. After the Lauda went the Vansovich squadron, chosen men led
by an old soldier half of whose life had been passed in shedding blood;
then followed the squadron of Prince Dymitri Vishnyevetski, under the
same Shandarovski who at Rudnik had covered himself with immeasurable
glory; then two regiments of Vitovski’s dragoons, two regiments of the
starosta of Yavorov; the famed Stapkovski led one; then Charnyetski’s
own regiment, the king’s regiment under Polyanovski, and Lyubomirski’s
whole force. No infantry was taken, because of haste; nor wagons, for
the army went on horseback.
All were drawn up together at Zavada in good strength and great
willingness. Then Charnyetski himself went out in front, and after he
had arranged them for the march, he withdrew his horse somewhat and let
them pass so as to review well the whole force. The horse under him
sniffed, threw up his head and nodded, as if wishing to greet the
passing regiments; and the heart swelled in the castellan himself. A
beautiful view was before him. As far as the eye reached a river of
horses, a river of stern faces of soldiers, welling up and down with
the movement of the horses; above them still a third river of sabres
and lances, glittering and gleaming in the morning sun. A tremendous
power went forth from them, and Charnyetski felt the power in himself;
for that was not some kind of collection of volunteers, but men forged
on the anvil of battle, trained, exercised, and in conflict so
“venomous” that no cavalry on earth of equal numbers could withstand
them. Therefore Charnyetski felt with certainty, without doubt, that he
would bear asunder with sabres and hoofs the army of the Markgraf of
Baden; and that victory, felt in advance, made his face so radiant that
it gleamed on the regiments.
“With God to victory!” cried he at last.
“With God! We will conquer!” answered mighty voices.
And that shout flew through all the squadrons like deep thunder through
clouds. Charnyetski spurred his horse to come up with the Lauda
squadron, marching in the van.
The army moved forward.
They advanced not like men, but like a flock of ravening birds which
having wind of a battle from afar, fly to outstrip the tempest. Never,
even among Tartars in the steppes, had any man heard of such a march.
The soldiers slept in the saddles; they ate and drank without
dismounting; they fed the horses from their hands. Rivers, forests,
villages, were left behind them. Scarcely had peasants hurried out from
their cottages to look at the army when the army had vanished behind
clouds of dust in the distance. They marched day and night, resting
only just enough to escape killing the horses.
At Kozyenitsi they came upon eight Swedish squadrons under Torneskiold.
The Lauda men, marching in the van, first saw the enemy, and without
even drawing breath sprang at them straightway and into the fire. Next
advanced Shandarovski, then Vansovich, and then Stapkovski.
The Swedes, thinking that they had to deal with some mere common
parties, met them in the open field, and two hours later there was not
a living man left to go to the markgraf and tell him that Charnyetski
was coming. Those eight squadrons were simply swept asunder on sabres,
without leaving a witness of defeat. Then the Poles moved straight on
to Magnushev, for spies informed them that the markgraf was at Varka
with his whole army.
Volodyovski was sent in the night with a party to learn how the army
was disposed, and what its power was.
Zagloba complained greatly of that expedition, for even the famed
Vishnyevetski had never made such marches as this; therefore the old
man complained, but he chose to go with Pan Michael rather than remain
with the army.
“It was a golden time at Sandomir,” said he, stretching himself in the
saddle; “a man ate, drank, and looked at the besieged Swedes in the
distance; bat now there is not time even to put a canteen to your
mouth. I know the military arts of the ancients, of the great Pompey
and Cæsar; but Charnyetski has invented a new style. It is contrary to
every rule to shake the stomach so many days and nights. The
imagination begins to rebel in me from hunger, and it seems to me
continually that the stars are buckwheat pudding and the moon cheese.
To the dogs with such warfare! As God is dear to me, I want to gnaw my
own horses’ ears off from hunger.”
“To-morrow, God grant, we shall rest after finishing the Swedes.”
“I would rather have the Swedes than this tediousness! O Lord! O Lord!
when wilt Thou give peace to this Commonwealth, and to Zagloba a warm
place at the stove and heated beer, even without cream? Batter along,
old man, on your nag, batter along, till you batter your body to death.
Has any one there snuff? Maybe I could sneeze out this sleepiness
through my nostrils. The moon is shining through my mouth, looking into
my stomach, but I cannot tell what the moon is looking for there; it
will find nothing. I repeat, to the dogs with such warfare!”
“If Uncle thinks that the moon is cheese, then eat it, Uncle,” said Roh
Kovalski.
“If I should eat you I might say that I had eaten beef; but I am afraid
that after such a roast I should lose the rest of my wit.”
“If I am an ox and Uncle is my uncle, then what is Uncle?”
“But, you fool, do you think that Althea gave birth to a firebrand
because she sat by the stove?”
“How does that touch me?”
“In this way. If you are an ox, then ask about your father first, not
about your uncle: for a bull carried off Europa, but her brother, who
was uncle to her children, was a man for all that. Do you understand?”
“To tell the truth, I do not; but as to eating I could eat something
myself.”
“Eat the devil and let me sleep! What is it, Pan Michael? Why have we
halted?”
“Varka is in sight,” answered Volodyovski. “See, the church tower is
gleaming in the moonlight.”
“But have we passed Magnushev?”
“Magnushev is behind on the right. It is a wonder to me that there is
no Swedish party on this side of the river. Let us go to those thickets
and stop; perhaps God may send us some informant.”
Pan Michael led his detachment to the thicket, and disposed it about a
hundred yards from the road on each side, ordering the men to remain
silent, and hold the bridles closely so the horses might not neigh.
“Wait,” said he. “Let us hear what is being done on the other side of
the river, and perhaps we may see something.”
They stood there waiting; but for a long time nothing was to be heard.
The wearied soldiers began to nod in the saddles. Zagloba dropped on
the horse’s neck and fell asleep; even the horses were slumbering. An
hour passed. The accurate ear of Volodyovski heard something like the
tread of a horse on a firm road.
“Hold! silence!” said he to the soldiers.
He pushed out himself to the edge of the thicket, and looked along the
road. The road was gleaming in the moonlight like a silver ribbon;
there was nothing visible on it, still the sound of horses came nearer.
“They are coming surely!” said Volodyovski.
All held their horses more closely, each one restraining his breath.
Meanwhile on the road appeared a Swedish party of thirty horsemen. They
rode slowly and carelessly enough, not in line, but in a straggling
row. Some of the soldiers were talking, others were singing in a low
voice; for the night, warm as in May, acted on the ardent souls of the
soldiers. Without suspicion they passed near Pan Michael, who was
standing so hard by the edge of the thicket that he could catch the
odor of horses and the smoke of pipes which the soldiers had lighted.
At last they vanished at the turn of the road. Volodyovski waited till
the tramp had died in the distance; then only did he go to his men and
say to Pan Yan and Pan Stanislav,—
“Let us drive them now, like geese, to the camp of the castellan. Not a
man must escape, lest he give warning.”
“If Charnyetski does not let us eat then and sleep,” said Zagloba, “I
will resign his service and return to Sapyo. With Sapyo, when there is
a battle, there is a battle; but when there is a respite, there is a
feast. If you had four lips, he would give each one of them enough to
do. He is the leader for me! And in truth tell me by what devil are we
not serving with Sapyo, since this regiment belongs to him by right?”
“Father, do not blaspheme against the greatest warrior in the
Commonwealth,” said Pan Yan.
“It is not I that blaspheme, but my entrails, on which hunger is
playing, as on a fiddle—”
“The Swedes will dance to the music,” interrupted Volodyovski. “Now,
gentlemen, let us advance quickly! I should like to come up with them
exactly at that inn in the forest which we passed in coming hither.”
And he led on the squadron quickly, but not too quickly. They rode into
a dense forest in which darkness enclosed them. The inn was less than
two miles distant. When Volodyovski had drawn near, he went again at a
walk, so as not to alarm the Swedes too soon. When not more than a
cannon-shot away, the noise of men was heard.
“They are there and making an uproar!” said Pan Michael.
The Swedes had, in fact, stopped at the inn, looking for some living
person to give information. But the place was empty. Some of the
soldiers were shaking up the main building; others were looking in the
cow-house, in the shed, or raising the thatch on the roof. One half of
the men remained on the square holding the horses of those who were
searching.
Pan Michael’s division approached within a hundred yards, and began to
surround the inn with a Tartar crescent. Those of the Swedes standing
in front heard perfectly, and at last saw men and horses; since,
however, it was dark in the forest they could not see what kind of
troops were coming; but they were not alarmed in the least, not
admitting that others than Swedes could come from that point. At last
the movement of the crescent astonished and disturbed them. They called
at once to those who were in the buildings.
Suddenly a shout of “Allah!” was heard, and the sound of shots, in one
moment dark crowds of soldiers appeared as if they had grown out of the
earth. Now came confusion, a flash of sabres, oaths, smothered shouts;
but the whole affair did not last longer than the time needed to say
the Lord’s Prayer twice.
There remained on the ground before the inn five bodies of men and
horses; Volodyovski moved on, taking with him twenty-five prisoners.
They advanced at a gallop, urging the Swedish horses with the sides of
their sabres, and arrived at Magnushev at daybreak. In Charnyetski’s
camp no one was sleeping; all were ready. The castellan himself came
out leaning on his staff, thin and pale from watching.
“How is it?” asked he of Pan Michael. “Have you many informants?”
“Twenty-five prisoners.”
“Did many escape?”
“All are taken.”
“Only send you, soldier, even to hell! Well done! Take them at once to
the torture, I will examine them.”
Then the castellan turned, and when departing said,—
“But be in readiness, for perhaps we may move on the enemy without
delay.”
“How is that?” asked Zagloba.
“Be quiet!” said Volodyovski.
The prisoners, without being burned, told in a moment what they knew of
the forces of the markgraf,—how many cannons he had, what infantry and
cavalry. Charnyetski grew somewhat thoughtful; for he learned that it
was really a newly levied army, but formed of the oldest soldiers, who
had taken part in God knows how many wars. There were also many Germans
among them, and a considerable division of French; the whole force
exceeded that of the Poles by several hundred. But it appeared from the
statements of the prisoners that the markgraf did not even admit that
Charnyetski was near, and believed that the Poles were besieging Karl
Gustav with all their forces at Sandomir.
The castellan had barely heard this when he sprang up and cried to his
attendant: “Vitovski, give command to sound the trumpet to horse!”
Half an hour later the army moved and marched in the fresh spring
morning through forests and fields covered with dew. At last Varka—or
rather its ruins, for the place had been burned almost to the ground
six years before—appeared on the horizon.
Charnyetski’s troops were marching over an open flat; therefore they
could not be concealed from the eyes of the Swedes. In fact they were
seen; but the markgraf thought that they were various “parties” which
had combined in a body with the intent of alarming the camp.
Only when squadron after squadron, advancing at a trot, appeared from
beyond the forest, did a feverish activity rise in the Swedish camp.
Charnyetski’s men saw smaller divisions of horsemen and single officers
hurrying between the regiments. The bright-colored Swedish infantry
began to pour into the middle of the plain; the regiments formed one
after another before the eyes of the Poles and were numerous,
resembling a flock of many-colored birds. Over their heads were raised
toward the sun quadrangles of strong spears with which the infantry
shielded themselves against attacks of cavalry. Finally, were seen
crowds of Swedish armored cavalry advancing at a trot along the wings;
the artillery was drawn up and brought to the front in haste. All the
preparations, all the movements were as visible as something on the
palm of the hand, for the sun had risen clearly, splendidly, and
lighted up the whole country.
The Pilitsa separated the two armies.
On the Swedish bank trumpets and kettle-drums were heard, and the
shouts of soldiers coming with all speed into line. Charnyetski ordered
also to sound the crooked trumpets, and advanced with his squadrons
toward the river.
Then he rushed with all the breath of his horse to the Vansovich
squadron, which was nearest the Pilitsa.
“Old soldier!” cried he to Vansovich, “advance for me to the bridge,
there dismount and to muskets! Let all their force be turned on you!
Lead on!”
Vansovich merely flushed a little from desire, and waved his baton. The
men shouted and shot after him like a cloud of dust driven by wind.
When they came within three hundred yards of the bridge, they slackened
the speed of their horses; then two thirds of them sprang from the
saddles and advanced on a run to the bridge.
But the Swedes came from the other side; and soon muskets began to
play, at first slowly, then every moment more briskly, as if a thousand
flails were beating irregularly on a barn-floor. Smoke stretched over
the river. Shouts of encouragement were thundering from one and the
other command. The minds of both armies were bent to the bridge, which
was wooden, narrow, difficult to take, but easy to defend. Still over
this bridge alone was it possible to cross to the Swedes.
A quarter of an hour later Charnyetski pushed forward Lyubomirski’s
dragoons to the aid of Vansovich.
But the Swedes now attacked the opposite front with artillery. They
drew up new pieces one after another, and bombs began to fly with a
howl over the heads of Vansovich’s men and the dragoons, to fall in the
meadow and dig into the earth, scattering mud and turf on those
fighting.
The markgraf, standing near the forest in the rear of the army, watched
the battle through a field-glass. From time to time he removed the
glass from his eyes, looked at his staff, shrugged his shoulders and
said with astonishment: “They have gone mad; they want absolutely to
force the bridge. A few guns and two or three regiments might defend it
against a whole army.”
Vansovich advanced still more stubbornly with his men; hence the
defence grew still more resolute. The bridge became the central point
of the battle, toward which the whole Swedish line was approaching and
concentrating. An hour later the entire Swedish order of battle was
changed, and they stood with flank to their former position. The bridge
was simply covered with a rain of fire and iron. Vansovich’s men were
falling thickly; meanwhile orders came more and more urgent to advance
absolutely.
“Charnyetski is murdering those men!” cried Lyubomirski on a sudden.
Vitovski, as an experienced soldier, saw that evil was happening, and
his whole body quivered with impatience; at last he could endure no
longer. Spurring his horse till the beast groaned piteously, he rushed
to Charnyetski, who during all this time, it was unknown why, was
pushing men toward the river.
“Your grace,” cried Vitovski, “blood is flowing for nothing; we cannot
carry that bridge!”
“I do not want to carry it!” answered Charnyetski.
“Then what does your grace want? What must we do?”
“To the river with the squadrons! to the river! And you to your place!”
Here Charnyetski’s eyes flashed such lightnings that Vitovski withdrew
without saying a word.
Meanwhile the squadrons had come within twenty paces of the bank, and
stood in a long line parallel with the bed of the river. None of the
officers or the soldiers had the slightest suspicion of what they were
doing.
In a flash Charnyetski appeared like a thunderbolt before the front of
the squadrons. There was fire in his face, lightning in his eyes. A
sharp wind had raised the burka on his shoulders so that it was like
strong wings: his horse sprang and reared, casting fire from his
nostrils. The castellan dropped his sword on its pendant, took the cap
from his head, and with hair erect shouted to his division,—
“Gentlemen! the enemy defends himself with this water, and jeers at us!
He has sailed through the sea to crush our fatherland, and he thinks
that we in defence of it cannot swim through this river!”
Here he hurled his cap to the earth, and seizing his sabre pointed with
it to the swollen waters. Enthusiasm bore him away, for he stood in the
saddle and shouted more mightily still,—
“To whom God, faith, fatherland, are all, follow me!”
And pressing the horse with the spurs so that the steed sprang as it
were into space, he rushed into the river. The wave plashed around him;
man and horse were hidden under water, but they rose in the twinkle of
an eye.
“After my master!” cried Mihalko, the same who had covered himself with
glory at Rudnik; and he sprang into the water.
“After me!” shouted Volodyovski, with a shrill but thin voice; and he
sprang in before he had finished shouting.
“O Jesus! O Mary!” bellowed Zagloba, raising his horse for the leap.
With that an avalanche of men and horses dashed into the river, so that
it struck both banks with wild impetus. After the Lauda squadron went
Vishnyevetski’s, then Vitovski’s, then Stapkovski’s, after that all the
others. Such a frenzy seized the men that the squadrons crowded one
another in emulation; the shouts of command were mingled with the roar
of the soldiers; the river overflowed the banks and foamed itself into
milk in a moment. The current bore the regiments down somewhat; but the
horses, pricked with spurs, swam like a countless herd of dolphins,
snorting and groaning. They filled the river to such a degree that the
mass of heads of horses and riders formed as it were a bridge on which
a man might have passed with dry foot to the other bank.
Charnyetski swam over first; but before the water had dropped from him
the Lauda squadron had followed him to land; then he waved his baton,
and cried to Volodyovski,—
“On a gallop! Strike!”
And to the Vishnyevetski squadron under Shandarovski,—
“With them!”
And so he sent the squadrons one after another, till he had sent all.
He stood at the head of the last himself, and shouting, “In the name of
God! with luck!” followed the others.
Two regiments of Swedish cavalry posted in reserve saw what was
happening; but such amazement had seized the colonels that before they
could move from their tracks the Lauda men, urging their horses to the
highest speed, and sweeping with irresistible force, struck the first
regiment, scattered that, as a whirlwind scatters leaves, hurled it
against the second, brought that to disorder; then Shandarovski came
up, and a terrible slaughter began, but of short duration; after a
while the Swedish ranks were broken, and a disordered throng plunged
forward toward the main army.
Charnyetski’s squadron pursued them with a fearful outcry, slashing,
thrusting, strewing the field with corpses.
At last it was clear why Charnyetski had commanded Vansovich to carry
the bridge, though he had no thought of crossing it. The chief
attention of the whole army had been concentrated on that point;
therefore no one defended, or had time to defend, the river itself.
Besides nearly all the artillery and the entire front of the Swedish
army was turned toward the bridge; and now when three thousand cavalry
were rushing with all impetus against the flank of that army, it was
needful to change the order of battle, to form a new front, to defend
themselves even well or ill against the shock. Now rose a terrible
haste and confusion; infantry and cavalry regiments turned with all
speed to face the enemy, straining themselves in their hurry, knocking
one against another, not understanding commands in the uproar, acting
independently. In vain did the officers make superhuman efforts; in
vain did the markgraf move straightway the regiments of cavalry posted
at the forest; before they came to any kind of order, before the
infantry could put the butt ends of their lances in the ground to hold
the points to the enemy, the Lauda squadron fell, like the spirit of
death, into the very midst of their ranks; after it a second, a third,
a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth squadron. Then began the day of
judgment! The smoke of musketry fire covered, as if with a cloud, the
whole scene of conflict; and in that cloud screams, seething, unearthly
voices of despair, shouts of triumph, the sharp clang of steel, as if
in an infernal forge, the rattling of muskets; at times a flag shone
and fell in the smoke; then the gilded point of a regimental banner,
and again you saw nothing; but a roar was heard more and more terrible,
as if the earth had broken on a sudden under the river, and its waters
were tumbling down into fathomless abysses.
Now on the flank other sounds were heard. This was Vansovich, who had
crossed the bridge and was marching on the new flank of the enemy.
After this the battle did not last long.
From out that cloud large groups of men began to push, and run toward
the forest in disorder, wild, without caps, without helmets, without
armor. Soon after them burst out a whole flood of people in the most
dreadful disorder. Artillery, infantry, cavalry mingled together fled
toward the forest at random, in alarm and terror. Some soldiers cried
in sky-piercing voices; others fled in silence, covering their heads
with their hands. Some in their haste threw away their clothing; others
stopped those running ahead, fell down themselves, trampled one
another; and right there behind them, on their shoulders and heads,
rushed a line of Polish cavaliers. Every moment you saw whole ranks of
them spurring their horses and rushing into the densest throngs of men.
No one defended himself longer; all went under the sword. Body fell
upon body. The Poles hewed without rest, without mercy, on the whole
plain; along the bank of the river toward the forest, as far as the eye
could reach you saw merely pursued and pursuing; only here and there
scattered groups of infantry offered an irregular, despairing
resistance; the cannons were silent. The battle ceased to be a battle;
it had turned into a slaughter.
All that part of the army which fled toward the forest was cut to
pieces; only a few squadrons of Swedish troopers entered it. After them
the light squadrons of Poles sprang in among the trees.
But in the forest peasants were waiting for that unslain remnant,—the
peasants who at the sound of the battle had rushed together from all
the surrounding villages.
The most terrible pursuit, however, continued on the road to Warsaw,
along which the main forces of the Swedes were fleeing. The young
Markgraf Adolph struggled twice to cover the retreat; but beaten twice,
he fell into captivity himself. His auxiliary division of French
infantry, composed of four hundred men, threw away their arms; three
thousand chosen soldiers, musketeers and cavalry, fled as far as
Mnishev. The musketeers were cut down in Mnishev; the cavalry were
pursued toward Chersk, until they were scattered completely through the
forest, reeds, and brush; there the peasants hunted them out one by one
on the morrow.
Before the sun had set, the army of Friederich, Markgraf of Baden, had
ceased to exist.
On the first scene of battle there remained only the standard-bearers
with their standards, for all the troops had followed the enemy. And
the sun was well inclined to its setting when the first bodies of
cavalry began to appear from the side of the forest and Mnishev. They
returned with singing and uproar, hurling their caps in the air, firing
from pistols. Almost all led with them crowds of bound prisoners. These
walked at the sides of the horses they were without caps, without
helmets, with heads drooping on their breasts, torn, bloody, stumbling
every moment against the bodies of fallen comrades. The field of battle
presented a terrible sight. In places, where the struggle had been
fiercest, there lay simply piles of bodies half a spear-length in
height. Some of the infantry still held in their stiffened hands long
spears. The whole ground was covered with spears. In places they were
sticking still in the earth; here and there pieces of them formed as it
were fences and pickets. But on all sides was presented mostly a
dreadful and pitiful mingling of bodies, of men mashed with hoofs,
broken muskets, drums, trumpets, caps, belts, tin boxes which the
infantry carried; hands and feet sticking out in such disorder from the
piles of bodies that it was difficult to tell to what body they
belonged. In those places specially where the infantry defended itself
whole breastworks of corpses were lying.
Somewhat farther on, near the river, stood the artillery, now cold,
some pieces overturned by the onrush of men, others as it were ready to
be fired. At the sides of them lay the cannoneers now held in eternal
sleep. Many bodies were hanging across the guns and embracing them with
their arms, as if those soldiers wished still to defend them after
death. The brass, spotted with blood and brains, glittered with ill
omen in the beams of the setting sun. The golden rays were reflected in
stiffened blood, which here and there formed little lakes. Its
nauseating odor was mingled over the whole field with the smell of
powder, the exhalation from bodies, and the sweat of horses.
Before the setting of the sun Charnyetski returned with the king’s
regiment, and stood in the middle of the field. The troops greeted him
with a thundering shout. Whenever a detachment came up it cheered
without end. He stood in the rays of the sun, wearied beyond measure,
but all radiant, with bare head, his sword hanging on his belt, and he
answered to every cheer,—
“Not to me, gentlemen, not to me, but to the name of God!”
At his side were Vitovski and Lyubomirski, the latter as bright as the
sun itself, for he was in gilded plate armor, his face splashed with
blood; for he had worked terribly and labored with his own hand as a
simple soldier, but discontented and gloomy, for even his own regiments
shouted,—
“Vivat Charnyetski, _dux et victor_ (commander and conqueror)!”
Envy began then to dive into the soul of the marshal.
Meanwhile new divisions rolled in from every side of the field; each
time an officer came up and threw a banner, captured from the enemy, at
Charnyetski’s feet. At sight of this rose new shouts, new cheers,
hurling of caps into the air, and the firing of pistols.
The sun was sinking lower and lower.
Then in the one church that remained after the fire in Varka they
sounded the Angelus; that moment all uncovered their heads. Father
Pyekarski, the company priest, began to intone: “The Angel of the Lord
announced unto the Most Holy Virgin Mary!” and a thousand iron breasts
answered at once, with deep voices: “And she conceived of the Holy
Ghost!”
All eyes were raised to the heavens, which were red with the evening
twilight; and from that bloody battle-field began to rise a pious hymn
to the light playing in the sky before night.
Just as they had ceased to sing, the Lauda squadron began to come up at
a trot; it had chased the enemy farthest. The soldiers throw more
banners at Charnyetski’s feet. He rejoiced in heart, and seeing
Volodyovski, urged his horse toward him and asked,—
“Have many of them escaped?”
Pan Michael shook his head as a sign that not many had escaped, but he
was so near being breathless that he was unable to utter one word; he
merely gasped with open mouth, time after time, so that his breast was
heaving. At last he pointed to his lips, as a sign that he could not
speak. Charnyetski understood him and pressed his head.
“He has toiled!” said he; “God grant us more such.”
Zagloba hurried to catch his breath, and said, with chattering teeth
and broken voice,—
“For God’s sake! The cold wind is blowing on me, and I am all in a
sweat. Paralysis will strike me. Pull the clothes off some fat Swede
and give them to me, for everything on me is wet,—wet, and it is wet in
this place. I know not what is water, what is my own sweat, and what is
Swedish blood. If I have ever expected in my life to cut down so many
of those scoundrels, I am not fit to be the crupper of a saddle. The
greatest victory of this war! But I will not spring into water a second
time. Eat not, drink not, sleep not, and then a bath! I have had enough
in my old years. My hand is benumbed; paralysis has struck me already;
gorailka, for the dear God!”
Charnyetski, hearing this, and seeing the old man really covered
completely with the blood of the enemy, took pity on his age and gave
him his own canteen.
Zagloba raised it to his mouth, and after a while returned it empty;
then he said,—
“I have gulped so much water in the Pilitsa, that we shall soon see how
fish will hatch in my stomach; but that gorailka is better than water.”
“Dress in other clothes, even Swedish,” said Charnyetski.
“I’ll find a big Swede for Uncle!” said Roh.
“Why should I have bloody clothes from a corpse?” said Zagloba; “take
off everything to the shirt from that general whom I captured.”
“Have you taken a general?” asked Charnyetski, with animation.
“Whom have I not taken, whom have I not slain?” answered Zagloba.
Now Volodyovski recovered speech: “We have taken the younger markgraf,
Adolph; Count Falckenstein, General Wegier, General Poter Benzij, not
counting inferior officers.”
“But the Markgraf Friederich?” asked Charnyetski.
“If he has not fallen here, he has escaped to the forest; but if he has
escaped, the peasants will kill him.”
Volodyovski was mistaken in his previsions. The Markgraf Friederich
with Counts Schlippenbach and Ehrenhain, wandering through the forest,
made their way in the night to Chersk; after sitting there in the
ruined castle three days and nights in hunger and cold, they wandered
by night to Warsaw. That did not save them from captivity afterward;
this time, however, they escaped.
It was night when Charnyetski came to Varka from the field. That was
perhaps the gladdest night of his life, for such a great disaster the
Swedes had not suffered since the beginning of the war. All the
artillery, all the flags, all the officers, except the chief, were
captured. The army was cut to pieces, driven to the four winds; the
remnants of it were forced to fall victims to bands of peasants. But
besides, it was shown that those Swedes who held themselves invincible
could not stand before regular Polish squadrons in the open field.
Charnyetski understood at last what a mighty result this victory would
work in the whole Commonwealth,—how it would raise courage, how it
would rouse enthusiasm; he saw already the whole Commonwealth, in no
distant future, free from oppression, triumphant. Perhaps, too, he saw
with the eyes of his mind the gilded baton of the grand hetman on the
sky.
He was permitted to dream of this, for he had advanced toward it as a
true soldier, as a defender of his country, and he was of those who
grow not from salt nor from the soil, but from that which pains them.
Meanwhile he could hardly embrace with his whole soul the joy which
flowed in upon him; therefore he turned to Lyubomirski, riding at his
side, and said,—
“Now to Sandomir! to Sandomir with all speed! Since the army knows now
how to swim rivers, neither the San nor the Vistula will frighten us!”
Lyubomirski said not a word; but Zagloba, riding a little apart in
Swedish uniform, permitted himself to say aloud,—
“Go where you like, but without me, for I am not a weathercock to turn
night and day without food or sleep.”
Charnyetski was so rejoiced that he was not only not angry, but he
answered in jest,—
“You are more like the belfry than the weathercock, since, as I see,
you have sparrows in your head. But as to eating and rest it belongs to
all.”
To which Zagloba said, but in an undertone. “Whoso has a beak on his
face has a sparrow on his mind.”