Zagloba when he stood before the hetman did not answer his joyous
greeting, but put his hands behind his back, pouted his lips, and
looked on him like a just but stern judge. Sapyeha was pleased when he
saw that mien, for he expected some pleasantry and said,—
“How are you, old rogue? Why twist your nose as if you had found some
unvirtuous odor?”
“In the whole camp of Sapyeha it smells of hashed meat and cabbage.”
“Why? Tell me.”
“Because the Swedes have cut up a great many cabbage-heads!”
“There you are! You are already criticising us. It is a pity they did
not cut you up too.”
“I was with a leader under whom we are the cutters, not the cut.”
“The hangman take you! if they had even clipped your tongue!”
“Then I should have nothing to proclaim Sapyeha’s victory with.”
“Ah, lord brother, spare me! The majority already forget my service to
the country, and belittle me altogether. I know too that there are many
who make a great outcry against my person; still, had it not been for
that rabble of a general militia, affairs might have gone differently.
They say that I have neglected the enemy for night feasting; but the
whole Commonwealth has not been able to resist that enemy.”
Zagloba was somewhat moved at the words of the hetman, and answered,—
“Such is the custom with us, always to put the blame on the leader. I
am not the man to speak evil of feasting, for the longer the day, the
more needful the feast. Pan Charnyetski is a great warrior; still,
according to my head, he has this defect,—that he gives his troops for
breakfast, for dinner, and for supper nothing but Swedes’ flesh. He is
a better leader than cook; but he acts ill, for from such food war may
soon become disgusting to the best cavaliers.”
“Was Charnyetski very much enraged at me?”
“No, not very! In the beginning he showed a great change; but when he
discovered that the army was unbroken, he said at once: ‘The will of
God, not the might of men! That is nothing! any general may lose a
battle. If we had Sapyehas only in the land, we should have a country
in which every man would be an Aristides.’”
“For Pan Charnyetski I would not spare my blood!” answered Sapyeha.
“Every other would have lowered me, so as to exalt himself and his own
glory, especially after a fresh victory; but he is not that kind of
man.”
“I will say nothing against him but this,—that I am too old for such
service as he expects of soldiers, and especially for those baths which
he gives the army.”
“Then are you glad to return to me?”
“Glad and not glad, for I hear of feasting for an hour, but somehow I
don’t see it.”
“We will sit down to the table this minute. But what is Charnyetski
undertaking now?”
“He is going to Great Poland to help those poor people; from there he
will march against Steinbock and to Prussia, hoping to get cannon and
infantry from Dantzig.”
“The citizens of Dantzig are worthy people, and give a shining example
to the whole Commonwealth. We shall meet Charnyetski at Warsaw, for I
shall march there, but will stop a little first around Lublin.”
“Then have the Swedes besieged Lublin again?”
“Unhappy place! I know not how many times it has been in the hands of
the enemy. There is a deputation here now from Lubelsk, and they will
appear with a petition asking me to save them. But as I have letters to
despatch to the king and the hetmans, they must wait awhile.”
“I will go gladly to Lublin, for there the fair heads are comely beyond
measure, and sprightly. When a woman of that place is cutting bread,
and puts the loaf against herself, the crust on the lifeless bread
blushes from delight.”
“Oh, Turk!”
“Your worthiness, as a man advanced in years, cannot understand this;
but I, like May, must let my blood out yet.”
“But you are older than I.”
“Only in experience, not in years. I have been able _conservare
juventutem meam_ (to preserve my youth), and more than one man has
envied me that power. Permit me, your worthiness, to receive the
Lubelsk deputation. I will promise to aid them at once; let the poor
men comfort themselves before we comfort the poor women.”
“That is well,” said the hetman; “then I will write the letters.” And
he went out.
Immediately after were admitted the deputies from Lubelsk, whom Zagloba
received with uncommon dignity and seriousness. He promised assistance
on condition that they would furnish the army with provisions,
especially with every kind of drink. When the conditions were settled,
he invited them in the name of the voevoda to supper. They were glad,
for the army marched that night toward Lublin. The hetman himself was
active beyond measure, for it was a question with him of effacing the
memory of the Sandomir defeat by some military success.
The siege began, but advanced rather slowly. During this time Kmita was
learning from Volodyovski to work with the sabre, and made uncommon
progress. Pan Michael, knowing that his art was to be used against
Boguslav’s neck, held back no secret. Often too they had better
practice; for, approaching the castle, they challenged to single combat
the Swedes, many of whom they slew. Soon Kmita had made such advance
that he could meet Pan Yan on equal terms; no one in the whole army of
Sapyeha could stand before him. Then such a desire to try Boguslav
seized his soul that he was barely able to remain at Lublin, especially
since the spring brought back to him strength and health. His wounds
had healed, he ceased to spit blood, life played in him as of old, and
fire gleamed in his eyes. At first the Lauda men looked at him
frowningly; but they dared in not attack, for Volodyovski held them
with iron hand; and later, when they considered his acts and his deeds,
they were reconciled completely, and his most inveterate enemy, Yuzva
Butrym, said,—
“Kmita is dead; Babinich is living, let him live.”
The Lubelsk garrison surrendered at last, to the great delight of the
army; then Sapyeha moved his squadrons toward Warsaw. On the road they
received tidings that Yan Kazimir himself, with the hetmans and a fresh
army, was advancing to aid them. News came too from Charnyetski, who
was marching to the capital from Great Poland. The war, scattered
through the whole country, was gathering at Warsaw, as a cloud
scattered in the sky gathers and thickens to give birth to a storm with
thunders and lightnings.
Sapyeha marched through Jelehi, Garvolin, and Minsk to the Syedlets
highway, to join the general militia of Podlyasye. Pan Yan took command
of this multitude; for though living in Lubelsk, he was near the
boundary of Podlyasye, and was known to all the nobles, and greatly
esteemed by them as one of the most famous knights in the Commonwealth.
In fact, he soon changed that nobility, gallant by nature, into a
squadron second in no way to regular troops.
Meanwhile they moved from Minsk forward to Warsaw very hastily, so as
to stop at Praga one day. Fair weather favored the march. From time to
time May showers sped past, cooling the ground and settling the dust;
but on the whole the weather was marvellously fair,—not too hot, not
too cold. The eye saw far through the transparent air. From Minsk they
went mounted; the wagons and cannon were to follow next day. An immense
eagerness reigned in the regiments; the dense forests on both sides of
the whole road were ringing with echoes of military songs, the horses
nodded as a good omen. The squadrons regularly and in order flowed on,
one after the other, like a river shining and mighty; for Sapyeha led
twelve thousand men, besides the general militia. The captains leading
the regiments were gleaming in their polished cuirasses; the red flags
waved like gigantic flowers above the heads of the knights.
The sun was well toward its setting when the first squadron, that of
Lauda, marching in advance, beheld the towers of the capital. At sight
of this, a joyful shout tore from the breasts of the soldiers.
“Warsaw! Warsaw!”
That shout flew like thunder through all the squadrons, and for some
time was to be heard over two miles of road the word, “Warsaw! Warsaw!”
Many of Sapyeha’s knights had never been in the capital; many of them
had never seen it; therefore the sight made an uncommon impression on
them. Involuntarily all reined in their horses; some removed their
caps, others made the sign of the cross; tears streamed from the eyes
of others, and they stood in silent emotion. All at once Sapyeha came
out from the rear ranks on a white horse, and began to fly along the
squadrons.
“Gentlemen!” cried he, in a piercing voice, “we are here first! To us
luck, to us honor! We will drive the Swedes out of the capital!”
“We’ll drive them! We’ll drive them! We’ll drive them!”
And there rose a sound and a thunder. Some shouted continually, “We’ll
drive them!” Others cried, “Strike, whoso has manhood!” Others,
“Against them, the dog-brothers!” The rattle of sabres was mingled with
the shouts of the knights. Eyes flashed lightning, and from under
fierce mustaches teeth were gleaming. Sapyeha himself was sputtering
like a pine torch. All at once he raised his baton, and cried,—
“Follow me!”
Near Praga the voevoda restrained the squadron and commanded a slow
march. The capital rose more and more clearly out of the bluish
distance. Towers were outlined in a long line on the azure of the sky.
The red many-storied roofs of the Old City were gleaming in the evening
light. The Lithuanians had never seen anything more imposing in their
lives than those white lofty walls pierced with multitudes of narrow
windows; those walls standing like lofty swamp-reeds over the water.
The houses seemed to grow some out of others, high and still higher;
but above that dense and close mass of walls with windows and roofs,
pointed towers pierced the sky. Those of the soldiers who had been in
the capital previously, either at an election or on private affairs,
explained to the others what each pile meant and what name it bore.
Zagloba especially, as a person of experience, told all to the Lauda
men, and they listened to him eagerly, wondering at his words and the
city itself.
“Look at that tower in the very centre of Warsaw! That is the citadel
of the king. Oh that I could live as many years as I have eaten dinners
at the king’s table! I would twist Methuselah into a ram’s horn. The
king had no nearer confidant than me; I could choose among
starostaships as among nuts, and give them away as easily as hob-nails.
I have given promotion to multitudes of men, and when I came in
senators used to bow to me to the girdle, in Cossack fashion. I fought
duels also in presence of the king, for he loved to see me at work; the
marshal of the palace had to close his eyes.”
“That is a tremendous building!” said Roh Kovalski: “and to think that
these dogs have it all in hand!”
“And they plunder terribly,” added Zagloba. “I hear that they even take
columns out of the walls and send them to Sweden; these columns are of
marble and other valuable stones. I shall not recognize the dear
corners; various writers justly describe this castle as the eighth
wonder of the world. The King of France has a respectable palace, but
it is a fool in comparison with this one.”
“And that other tower over there near it, on the right?”
“That is St. Yan. There is a gallery from the castle to it. I had a
vision in that church, for I remained behind once after vespers; I
heard a voice from the arches, crying, ‘Zagloba, there will be war with
such a son the Swedish king, and great calamities will follow.’ I was
running with all my breath to the king to tell him what I had heard,
when the primate caught me by the neck with his crosier. ‘Don’t tell
follies,’ said he; ‘you were drunk!’ That other church just at the side
belongs to the Jesuit college; the third tower at a distance is the law
courts; the fourth at the right is the marshals, and that green roof is
the Dominicans. I could not name them all, even if I could wield my
tongue as well as I do my sabre.”
“It must be that there is not another such city in the world,” said one
of the soldiers.
“That is why all nations envy us!” answered Zagloba.
“And that wonderful pile on the left of the castle?”
“Behind the Bernardines?”
“Yes.”
“That is the Radzeyovski Palace, formerly the Kazanovski. It is
considered the ninth wonder of the world; but there is a plague on it,
for in those walls began the misfortune of the Commonwealth.”
“How is that?” asked a number of voices.
“When the vice-chancellor Radzeyovski began to dispute and quarrel with
his wife, the king took her part. You know, gentlemen, what people said
of this; and it is true that the vice-chancellor thought that his wife
was in love with the king, and the king with her; then afterward,
through hatred, he fled to the Swedes, and war began. To tell the
truth, I was in the country at the moment, and did not see the end of
the affair, I got it from hearsay; but I know this, that she made sweet
eyes, not at the king, but at some one else.”
“At whom?”
Zagloba began to twirl his mustaches: “At him to whom all are hurrying
like ants to honey; but it does not beseem me to mention his name, for
I have always hated boastfulness. Besides, the man has grown old, and
from sweeping out the enemy of the country, I am worn as a broom; but
once there was no greater beauty and love maker than I. Let Roh
Kovalski—”
Here Zagloba saw that by no means could Roh remember those times;
therefore he waved his hand, and said,—
“But what does he know of this affair?”
Then he pointed out the palaces of Ossolinski and Konyetspolski,
palaces which were in size almost equal to the Radzeyovski; finally the
splendid villa Regia; and then the sun went down, and the darkness of
night began to fill the air.
The thunder of guns was heard on the walls of Warsaw, and trumpets were
sounded a considerable time and prolonged, in sign that the enemy was
approaching.
Sapyeha also announced his coming by firing from muskets, to give
courage to the inhabitants; and that night he began to transport his
army across the Vistula. First the Lauda squadron passed; second the
squadron of Pan Kotvich; then Kmita’s Tartars; then Vankovich’s
squadron; after that, eight thousand men. In this way the Swedes, with
their accumulated plunder, were surrounded and deprived of
communication; but nothing remained to Sapyeha except to wait till
Charnyetski from one side, and from the other Yan Kazimir with the
hetmans of the kingdom, marched up, and meanwhile to see that no
reinforcements stole through to the city.
The first news came from Charnyetski, but not overfavorable, for he
reported that his troops and horses were so exhausted that at that
moment he could not take part in the siege. From the time of the battle
of Varka, they were under fire day after day; and from the first months
of the year they had fought twenty-one great battles with the Swedes,
not counting the engagements of scouting-parties and the attacks on
smaller detachments. He had not obtained infantry in Pomerania, and had
not been able to advance to Dantzig; he promised, at most, to hold in
check with the rest of his forces that Swedish army which under the
brother of the king, Radzivill, and Douglas, was stationed at Narev,
and apparently was preparing to come to the aid of the besieged.
The Swedes prepared for defence with the bravery and skill peculiar to
them. They burned Praga before the arrival of Sapyeha; they had begun
already to throw bombs into all the suburbs, such as the Cracow and the
Novy-Sviat, and on the other side against the church of St. Yerzy and
the Virgin Mary. Then houses, great buildings, and churches flamed up.
In the daytime smoke rolled over the city like clouds, thick and dark.
At night those clouds became red, and bundles of sparks burst forth
from them toward the sky. Outside the walls, crowds of people were
wandering, without roofs over their heads, without bread; women
surrounded Sapyeha’s camp, and cried for charity; people were seen as
thin as pincers from hunger; children were dying for want of food, in
the arms of emaciated mothers; the suburbs were turned into a vale of
tears and misery.
Sapyeha, having neither infantry nor cannon, waited and waited for the
coming of the king. Meanwhile he aided the poor, sending them in groups
to the less injured neighborhoods, in which they might survive in some
way. He was troubled not a little when he foresaw the difficulties of
the siege, for the skilled engineers of Sweden had turned Warsaw into a
strong fortress. Behind the walls were three thousand trained soldiers,
led by able and experienced generals; on the whole, the Swedes passed
as masters in besieging and defending great fortresses. To solace this
trouble, Sapyeha arranged daily feasts, during which the goblets
circled freely; for that worthy citizen and uncommon warrior had this
failing,—he loved company and the clatter of glasses above all things,
and therefore neglected frequently service for pleasure.
His diligence in the daytime he balanced by negligence at night. Till
sunset he worked faithfully, sent out scouts, despatched letters,
inspected pickets himself, examined the informants brought in; but with
the first star even fiddles were heard in his quarters. And when once
he felt joyous he permitted everything, sent for officers even though
on guard or appointed to scouting expeditions, and was angry if any one
failed to appear, since for him there was no feast without a throng. In
the morning Zagloba reproached him seriously, but in the night the
servants bore Zagloba himself without consciousness to Volodyovski’s
quarters.
“Sapyeha would make a saint fall,” he explained next day to his
friends; “and what must happen to me, who have been always fond of
sport? Besides, he has some kind of special passion to force goblets on
me, and I, not wishing to seem rude, yield to his pressing; this I do
to avoid offending the host. But I have made a vow that at the coming
Advent I shall have my back well covered with discipline (stripes), for
I understand myself that this yielding cannot remain without penance;
but now I have to keep on good terms with him, out of fear that I might
fall into worse company and indulge myself altogether.”
There were officers who without the eye of the hetman accomplished
their service; but some neglected it terribly in the evenings, as
ordinary soldiers do when they feel no iron hand above them.
The enemy was not slow to take advantage of this. Two days before the
coming of the king and the hetmans, Sapyeha arranged his most splendid
feast, for he was rejoiced that all the troops were coming, and that
the siege would begin in earnest. All the best known officers were
invited; the hetman, ever in search of an opportunity, announced that
that feast would be in honor of the king. To Kmita, Zagloba, Pan Yan,
Pan Stanislav, and Kharlamp were sent special orders to come without
fail, for the hetman wished to honor them particularly for their great
services. Pan Andrei had just mounted his horse to go with a party, so
that the orderly found the Tartars outside the gate.
“You cannot show the hetman disrespect, and return rudeness for
kindness,” said the officer.
Kmita dismounted and went to ask advice of his comrades.
“This is dreadfully awkward for me,” said he. “I have heard that a
considerable body of cavalry has appeared near Babitsi. The hetman
himself commanded me to learn absolutely who they are, and now he asks
me to the feast. What must I do?”
“The hetman has sent an order to let Akbah Ulan go with the
scouting-party,” answered the officer.
“An order is an order!” said Zagloba, “and whoso is a soldier must
obey. Be careful not to give an evil example; and besides it would not
be well for you to incur the ill-will of the hetman.”
“Say that I will come,” said Kmita to the orderly.
The officer went out. The Tartars rode off under Akbah Ulan; and Kmita
began to dress a little, and while dressing said to his comrades,—
“To-day there is a feast in honor of his Royal Grace; to-morrow there
will be one in honor of the hetmans of the kingdom, and so on to the
end of the siege.”
“Only let the king come and this will be at an end,” answered
Volodyovski; “for though our gracious lord is fond of amusing himself
in every trouble, still service must go on more diligently, since every
man, and among others Pan Sapyeha, will endeavor to show his zeal.”
“We have had too much of this, too much! There is no question on that
point,” said Pan Yan. “Is it not a wonder to you that such a laborious
leader, such a virtuous man, such a worthy citizen, has this weakness?”
“Just let night come and straightway he is another person, and from a
grand hetman turns into a reveller.”
“But do you know why these banquets are not to my taste?” asked Kmita.
“It was the custom of Yanush Radzivill to have them almost every
evening. Imagine that, as if by some wonder, whenever there was a
banquet, either some misfortune happened, some evil tidings came, or
some new treason of the hetman was published. I do not know whether it
was blind chance or an ordinance of God; but it is enough that evil
never came except in time of a banquet. I tell you that at last it went
so far that whenever they were setting the table the skin began to
creep on us.”
“True, as God is dear to me!” added Kharlamp. “But it came from this,
that the prince hetman chose that time to announce his intrigues with
the enemy of the country.”
“Well,” said Zagloba, “at least we have nothing to fear from the honest
Sapyeha. If he will ever be a traitor, I am of as much value as my
boot-heel.”
“There is nothing to be said on that point. He is as honest as bread
without a raw spot,” put in Pan Michael.
“And what he neglects in the evening he repairs in the day-time,” added
Kharlamp.
“Then we will go,” said Zagloba, “for to tell the truth I feel a void
in my stomach.”
They went out, mounted their horses, and rode off; for Sapyeha was on
the other side of the city and rather far away. When they arrived at
the hetman’s quarters they found in the yard a multitude of horses, and
a crowd of grooms, for whom a keg of beer had been set out, and who, as
is usual, drinking without measure, had begun to quarrel; they grew
quiet, however, at sight of the approaching knights, especially when
Zagloba fell to striking with the side of his sabre those who were in
his way, and to crying with a stentorian voice: “To your horses,
rascals, to your horses! You are not the persons invited to the
banquet.”
Sapyeha received the officers as usual, with open arms; and since he
had been drinking a little with his guests, he began at once to tease
Zagloba.
“With the forehead, Lord Commander!” said he.
“With the forehead, Lord Kiper,” answered Zagloba.
“If you call me that,” said Sapyeha, “I will give you wine which is
working yet.”
“Very good, if it will make a tippler of a hetman!”
Some of the guests, hearing this, were alarmed; but Zagloba, when he
saw the hetman in good humor, permitted himself everything, and Sapyeha
had such a weakness for Zagloba that he not only was not angry, but he
held his sides, and called those present to witness what he endured
from that noble.
Then began a noisy and joyous banquet. Sapyeha drank to each guest
separately, raised toasts to the king, the hetmans, the armies of both
peoples (Poland and Lithuania), Pan Charnyetski, the whole
Commonwealth. Pleasure increased, and with it noise and talk. From
toasts it came to songs. The room was filled with steam from the heads
of the guests, and the odor of mead and wines. From outside the windows
came in no less of an uproar, and even the noise of steel. The servants
had begun to fight with sabres. Some nobles rushed out to restore
order, but they increased the confusion.
Suddenly there rose a shout so great that the banqueters in the hall
became silent.
“What is that?” asked one of the colonels. “The grooms cannot make such
an uproar as that.”
“Silence, gentlemen!” said the hetman, disturbed.
“Those are not ordinary shouts!”
All at once the windows shook from the thunder of cannon and discharges
of musketry.
“A sortie!” cried Volodyovski; “the enemy is advancing!”
“To horse! To sabres!”
All sprang to their feet. There was a throng at the door; then a crowd
of officers rushed to the yard, calling to their grooms for horses.
But in the disturbance it was not easy for each one to find his own.
Meanwhile from beyond the yard alarmed voices began to shout in the
darkness,—
“The enemy is advancing! Pan Kotvich is under fire!”
All rushed with what breath was in their horses to their squadrons,
jumping over fences and breaking their necks in the darkness. An alarm
began in the whole camp. Not all the squadrons had horses at hand, and
those who had not began the uproar first of all. Throngs of soldiers on
foot and on horseback struck against one another, not being able to
come to order, not knowing who was a friend and who an enemy, shouting
and roaring in the middle of the dark night. Some cried that the King
of Sweden was advancing with his whole army.
The Swedish sortie had really struck with a mighty impetus on Kotvich’s
men. Fortunately, being sick, he was not at the banquet, and therefore
could offer some kind of immediate resistance; still it was not a long
one, for he was attacked by superior numbers and covered with musketry
fire, hence was forced to retreat. Oskyerko came first to his
assistance with his dragoons. They answered musketry fire with musketry
fire. But neither could Oskyerko’s dragoons withstand the pressure, and
in a moment they began to withdraw more and more hastily, leaving the
ground covered with corpses. Twice did Oskyerko endeavor to bring them
to order, and twice was he beaten back, so that the soldiers could only
cover their retreat by firing in groups. At last they scattered
completely; but the Swedes pressed on like an irrepressible torrent
toward the hetman’s quarters. More and more regiments issued from the
city to the field; after the infantry came cavalry; they brought out
even field-guns. It looked like a general battle, and it seemed as
though the enemy sought one.
Volodyovski, rushing from the hetman’s quarters, met his own squadron,
which was always in readiness, half way, going toward the sound of the
alarm and the shots. It was led by Roh Kovalski, who, like Kotvich, was
not at the banquet; but Roh was not there because he had not been
invited. Volodyovski gave orders to set fire with all speed to a couple
of sheds, so as to light up the field, and he hurried to the battle. On
the road he was joined by Kmita with his terrible volunteers, and that
half of the Tartars which had not gone on the scouting expedition. Both
came just in time to save Kotvich and Oskyerko from utter disaster.
The sheds had now blazed up so well that everything could be seen as at
noontide. In this light the Lauda men, aided by Kmita, struck the
infantry regiments, and passing through their fire took them on sabres.
The Swedish cavalry sprang to assist their own men, and closed mightily
with the Lauda squadron. For a certain time they struggled exactly like
two wrestlers who seizing each other by the bodies use their last
strength,—now this one bends the other, and now the other bends this;
but men fell so frequently in their ranks that at last the Swedes began
to be confused. Kmita with his fighters rushed into the thick of the
struggle. Volodyovski as usual cleared an opening; near him the two
gigantic Skshetuskis fought, and Kharlamp with Roh Kovalski; the Lauda
men emulated Kmita’s fighters,—some shouting terribly, others, as the
Butryms, rolling on in a body and in silence.
New regiments rushed forward to the aid of the broken Swedes; but
Vankovich, whose quarters were near Volodyovski’s and Kmita’s, was a
little later than they and supported them. At last the hetman led all
the troops to the engagement, and began to advance in order. A fierce
battle sprang up along the whole line from Mokotov to the Vistula.
Then Akbah Ulan, who had gone with the scouts, appeared on a foaming
horse before the hetman.
“Effendi!” cried he; “a chambul of cavalry is marching from Babitsi to
the city, and convoying wagons; they wish to enter the gates.”
Sapyeha understood in one moment what that sortie in the direction of
Mokotov meant. The enemy wished to draw away troops on the meadow road,
so that that auxiliary cavalry and a provision train might enter the
gates.
“Run to Volodyovski!” cried the hetman to Akbah Ulan; “let the Lauda
squadron, Kmita, and Vankovich stop the road. I will send them
reinforcements at once.”
Akbah Ulan put spurs to his horse; after him flew one, and a second,
and a third orderly. All rushed to Volodyovski and repeated the order
of the hetman.
Volodyovski turned his squadron immediately; Kmita and the Tartars
caught up with him; going across the field, they shot on together, and
Vankovich after them.
But they arrived too late. Nearly two hundred wagons had entered the
gate; a splendid detachment of cavalry following them was almost within
radius of the fortress. Only the rearguard, composed of about one
hundred men, had not come yet under cover of the artillery. But these
too were going with all speed. The officer, riding behind, urged them
on.
Kmita, seeing them by the light of the burning shed, gave forth such a
piercing and terrible shout, that the horses at his side were
frightened; he recognized Boguslav’s cavalry, that same which had
ridden over him and his Tartars at Yanov.
Mindful of nothing, he rushed like a madman toward them, passed his own
men, and fell first blindly among their ranks. Fortunately the two
Kyemliches, Kosma and Damian, sitting on the foremost horses, rode with
him. At that moment Volodyovski struck the flank like lightning, and
with this one blow cut off the rearguard from the main body.
Cannon began to thunder from the walls; but the main division,
sacrificing their comrades, rushed in with all speed after the wagons.
Then the Lauda men and Kmita’s forces surrounded the rearguard as with
a ring, and a merciless slaughter began.
But it was of short duration. Boguslav’s men, seeing that there was no
rescue on any side, sprang from their horses in a moment, threw down
their weapons, and shouted with sky-piercing voices, heard in the
throng and the uproar, that they surrendered.
Neither the volunteers nor the Tartars regarded their shouts, but hewed
on. At this moment was heard the threatening and shrill voice of
Volodyovski, who wanted informants,—
“Stop! stop! take them alive!”
“Take them alive!” cried Kmita.
The biting of steel ceased. The Tartars were commanded to bind the
enemy, and with the skill peculiar to them they did this in a twinkle;
then the squadrons pushed back hastily from the cannon-fire. The
colonels marched toward the sheds,—the Lauda men in advance, Vankovich
in the rear, and Kmita, with the prisoners, in the centre, all in
perfect readiness to repulse attack should it come. Some of the Tartars
led prisoners on leashes; others of them led captured horses. Kmita,
when he came near the sheds, looked carefully into the faces of the
prisoners to see if Boguslav was among them; for though one of them had
sworn under a sword-point that the prince was not in the detachment,
still Kmita thought that perhaps they were hiding him purposely. Then
some voice from under the stirrup of a Tartar cried to him,—
“Pan Kmita! Colonel! Rescue an acquaintance! Give command to free me
from the rope on parole.”
“Hassling!” cried Kmita.
Hassling was a Scot, formerly an officer in the cavalry of the voevoda
of Vilna, whom Kmita knew in Kyedani, and in his time loved much.
“Let the prisoner go free!” cried he to the Tartar, “and down from the
horse yourself!”
The Tartar sprang from the saddle as if the wind had carried him off,
for he knew the danger of loitering when the “bagadyr” commanded.
Hassling, groaning, climbed into the Tartar’s lofty saddle. Kmita then
caught him above the palm, and pressing his hand as if he wished to
crush it, began to ask insistently,—
“Whence do you come? Tell me quickly, whence do you come? For God’s
sake, tell quickly!”
“From Taurogi,” answered the officer.
Kmita pressed him still more.
“But—Panna Billevich—is she there?”
“She is.”
Pan Andrei spoke with still greater difficulty, for he pressed his
teeth still more closely.
“And—what has the prince done with her?”
“He has not succeeded in doing anything.”
Silence followed; after a while Kmita removed his lynxskin cap, drew
his hand over his forehead and said,—
“I was struck in the battle; blood is leaving me, and I have grown
weak.”