After that victory Charnyetski permitted at last the army to take
breath and feed the wearied horses; then he was to return to Sandomir
by forced marches, and bend the King of Sweden to his fall.
Meanwhile Kharlamp came to the camp one evening with news from Sapyeha.
Charnyetski was at Chersk, whither he had gone to review the general
militia assembled at that town. Kharlamp, not finding the chief, betook
himself at once to Pan Michael, so as to rest at his quarters after the
long journey.
His friends greeted him joyously; but he, at the very beginning, showed
them a gloomy face and said,—
“I have heard of your victory. Fortune smiled here, but bore down on us
in Sandomir. Karl Gustav is no longer in the sack, for he got out, and,
besides, with great confusion to the Lithuanian troops.”
“Can that be?” cried Pan Michael, seizing his head.
Pan Yan, Pan Stanislav, and Zagloba were as if fixed to the earth.
“How was it? Tell, by the living God, for I cannot stay in my skin!”
“Breath fails me yet,” said Kharlamp; “I have ridden day and night, I
am terribly tired. Charnyetski will come, then I will tell all from the
beginning. Let me now draw breath a little.”
“Then Karl has gone out of the sack. I foresaw that, did I not? Do you
not remember that I prophesied it? Let Kovalski testify.”
“Uncle foretold it,” said Roh.
“And whither has Karl gone?” asked Pan Michael.
“The infantry sailed down in boats; but he, with cavalry, has gone
along the Vistula to Warsaw.”
“Was there a battle?”
“There was and there was not. In brief, give me peace, for I cannot
talk.”
“But tell me one thing. Is Sapyeha crushed altogether?”
“How crushed! He is pursuing the king; but of course Sapyeha will never
come up with anybody.”
“He is as good at pursuit as a German at fasting,” said Zagloba.
“Praise be to God for even this, that the army is intact!” put in
Volodyovski.
“The Lithuanians have got into trouble!” said Zagloba. “Ah, it is a bad
case! Again we must watch a hole in the Commonwealth together.”
“Say nothing against the Lithuanian army,” said Kharlamp. “Karl Gustav
is a great warrior, and it is no wonder to lose against him. And did
not you, from Poland, lose at Uistsie, at Volbor, at Suleyov, and in
ten other places? Charnyetski himself lost at Golembo. Why should not
Sapyeha lose, especially when you left him alone like an orphan?”
“But why did we go to a dance at Varka?” asked Zagloba, with
indignation.
“I know that it was not a dance, but a battle, and God gave you the
victory. But who knows, perhaps it had been better not to go; for among
us they say that the troops of both nations (Lithuanian and Poland) may
be beaten separately, but together the cavalry of hell itself could not
manage them.”
“That may be,” said Volodyovski; “but what the leaders have decided is
not for us to discuss. This did not happen, either, without your
fault.”
“Sapyo must have blundered; I know him!” said Zagloba.
“I cannot deny that,” muttered Kharlamp.
They were silent awhile, but from time to time looked at one another
gloomily, for to them it seemed that the fortune of the Commonwealth
was beginning to sink, and yet such a short time before they were full
of hope and confidence.
“Charnyetski is coming!” said Volodyovski; and he went out of the room.
The castellan was really returning; Volodyovski went to meet him, and
began to call from a distance,—
“The King of Sweden has broken through the Lithuanian army, and escaped
from the sack. There is an officer here with letters from the voevoda
of Vilna.”
“Bring him here!” cried Charnyetski. “Where is he?”
“With me; I will present him at once.”
Charnyetski took the news so much to heart that he would not wait, but
sprang at once from his saddle and entered Volodyovski’s quarters.
All rose when they saw him enter; he barely nodded and said,—
“I ask for the letter!”
Kharlamp gave him a sealed letter. The castellan went to the window,
for it was dark in the cottage, and began to read with frowning brow
and anxious face. From instant to instant anger gleamed on his
countenance.
“The castellan has changed,” whispered Zagloba to Pan Yan; “see how his
beak has grown red. He will begin to lisp right away, he always does
when in anger.”
Charnyetski finished the letter. For a time he twisted his beard with
his whole hand; at last he called out with a jingling, indistinct
voice,—
“Come this way, officer!”
“At command of your worthiness!”
“Tell me the truth,” said Charnyetski, with emphasis, “for this
narrative is so artfully put together that I am unable to get at the
affair. But—tell me the truth, do not color it—is the army dispersed?”
“Not dispersed at all, your grace.”
“How many days are needed to assemble it?”
Here Zagloba whispered to Pan Yan: “He wants to come at him from the
left hand as it were.”
But Kharlamp answered without hesitation,—
“Since the army is not dispersed, it does not need to be assembled. It
is true that when I was leaving, about five hundred horse of the
general militia could not be found, were not among the fallen; but that
is a common thing, and the army does not suffer from that; the hetman
has even moved after the king in good order.”
“You have lost no cannon?”
“Yes, we lost four, which the Swedes, not being able to take with them,
spiked.”
“I see that you tell the truth; tell me then how everything happened.”
“_Incipiam_ (I will begin),” said Kharlamp. “When we were left alone,
the enemy saw that there was no army on the Vistula, nothing but
parties and irregular detachments. We thought—or, properly speaking,
Pan Sapyeha thought—that the king would attack those, and he sent
reinforcements, but not considerable, so as not to weaken himself.
Meanwhile there was a movement and a noise among the Swedes, as in a
beehive. Toward evening they began to come out in crowds to the San. We
were at the voevoda’s quarters. Pan Kmita, who is called Babinich now,
a soldier of the first degree, came up and reported this. But Pan
Sapyeha was just sitting down to a feast, to which a multitude of noble
women from Krasnik and Yanov had assembled—for the voevoda is fond of
the fair sex—”
“And he loves feasting!” interrupted Charnyetski.
“I am not with him; there is no one to incline him to temperance,” put
in Zagloba.
“Maybe you will be with him sooner than you think; then you can both
begin to be temperate,” retorted Charnyetski. Then he turned to
Kharlamp: “Speak on!”
“Babinich reported, and the voevoda answered: ‘They are only pretending
to attack; they will undertake nothing! First,’ said he, ‘they will try
to cross the Vistula; but I have an eye on them, and I will attack
myself. At present,’ said he, ‘we will not spoil our pleasure, so that
we may have a joyous time! We will eat and drink.’ The music began to
tear away, and the voevoda invited those present to the dance.”
“I’ll give him dancing!” interrupted Zagloba.
“Silence, if you please!” said Charnyetski.
“Again men rush in from the bank saying that there is a terrible
uproar. ‘That’s nothing!’ the voevoda whispered to the page; ‘do not
interrupt me!’ We danced till daylight, we slept till midday. At midday
we see that the intrenchments are bristling, forty-eight pound guns on
them; and the Swedes fire from time to time. When a ball falls it is
the size of a bucket; it is nothing for such a one to fill the eyes
with dust.”
“Give no embellishments!” interrupted Charnyetski; “you are not with
the hetman.”
Kharlamp was greatly confused, and continued: “At midday the voevoda
himself went out. The Swedes under cover of these trenches began to
build a bridge. They worked till evening, to our great astonishment;
for we thought that as to building they would build, but as to crossing
they would not be able to do that. Next day they built on. The voevoda
put the troops in order, for he expected a battle.”
“All this time the bridge was a pretext, and they crossed lower down
over another bridge, and turned your flank?” interrupted Charnyetski.
Kharlamp stared and opened his mouth, he was silent in amazement; but
at last said,—
“Then your worthiness has had an account already?”
“No need of that!” said Zagloba; “our grandfather guesses everything
concerning war on the wing, as if he had seen it in fact.”
“Speak on!” said Charnyetski.
“Evening came. The troops were in readiness, but with the first star
there was a feast again. This time the Swedes passed over the second
bridge lower down, and attacked us at once. The squadron of Pan
Koshyts, a good soldier, was at the edge. He rushed on them. The
general militia which was next to him sprang to his aid; but when the
Swedes spat at them from the guns, they took to their heels. Pan
Koshyts was killed, and his men terribly cut up. Now the general
militia, rushing back in a crowd on the camp, put everything in
disorder. All the squadrons that were ready advanced; but we effected
nothing, lost cannon besides. If the king had had more cannon and
infantry, our defeat would have been severe; but fortunately the
greater number of the infantry regiments with the cannon had sailed
away in boats during the night. Of this no one of us knew.”
“Sapyo has blundered! I knew it beforehand!” cried Zagloba.
“We got the correspondence of the king,” added Kharlamp, “which the
Swedes dropped. The soldiers read in it that the king is to go to
Prussia to return with the elector’s forces, for, he writes, that with
Swedish troops alone he cannot succeed.”
“I know of that,” said Charnyetski. “Pan Sapyeha sent me that letter.”
Then he muttered quietly, as if speaking to himself: “We must follow
him to Prussia.”
“That is what I have been saying this long time,” put in Zagloba.
Charnyetski looked at him for a while in thoughtfulness. “It is
unfortunate,” said he, aloud; “for if I had returned to Sandomir the
hetman and I should not have let a foot of them out alive. Well! it has
passed and will not return. The war will be longer; but death is fated
to this invasion and to these invaders.”
“It cannot be otherwise!” cried the knights in chorus; and great
consolation entered their hearts, though a short time before they had
doubted.
Meanwhile Zagloba whispered something in Jendzian’s ear; he vanished
through the door, and soon returned with a decanter. Seeing this,
Volodyovski inclined to the knee of the castellan.
“It would be an uncommon favor for a simple soldier,” he began.
“I will drink with you willingly,” said Charnyetski; “and do you know
why?—because we must part.”
“How is that?” cried the astonished Pan Michael.
“Sapyeha writes that the Lauda squadron belongs to the Lithuanian army,
and that he sent it only to assist the forces of the kingdom; that now
he will need it himself, especially the officers, of whom he has a
great lack. My Volodyovski, you know how much I love you; it is hard
for me to part with you, but here is the order. It is true Pan Sapyeha
as a courteous man leaves the order in my power and discretion. I might
not show it to you.—Well, it is as pleasant to me as if the hetman had
broken my best sabre. I give you the order precisely because it is left
to my discretion, and do your duty. To your health, my dear soldier!”
Volodyovski bowed again to the castellan’s knees; but he was so
distressed that he could not utter a word, and when Charnyetski
embraced him tears ran in a stream over his yellow mustaches.
“I would rather die!” cried he, pitifully. “I have grown accustomed to
toil under you, revered leader, and there I know not how it will be.”
“Pan Michael, do not mind the order,” cried Zagloba, with emotion. “I
will write to Sapyo myself, and rub his ears for him fittingly.”
But Pan Michael first of all was a soldier; therefore he flew into a
passion,—
“But the old volunteer is ever sitting in you. You would better be
silent when you know not the question. Service!”
“That is it,” said Charnyetski.