A week later Kmita crossed the boundaries of Electoral Prussia at
Raygrod. It came to him easily enough; for before the departure of the
full hetman he disappeared in the woods so secretly that Douglas felt
sure that his party too had marched with the whole Tartar-Lithuanian
division to Warsaw, and he left merely small garrisons in the castles
for the defence of those parts.
Douglas, with Radzeyovski and Radzivill, followed Gosyevski.
Kmita heard of this before passing the boundary, and grieved greatly
that he could not meet his mortal enemy eye to eye, and lest punishment
might come to Boguslav from other hands,—namely, from Volodyovski, who
also had made a vow against him.
Hence, not being able to wreak vengeance on the person of the traitor
for the wrongs done the Commonwealth and himself, he wreaked it in
terrible fashion on the lands of the elector.
That very night in which the Tartars had passed the boundary pillar,
the heavens grew red from flames. An uproar was heard, with the weeping
of people trampled by the foot of war. Whoso was able to beg for mercy
in the Polish tongue was spared at command of the leader; but German
settlements, colonies, villages, and hamlets were turned into a river
of fire, and the terrified inhabitants went under the knife.
And not so swiftly does oil spread over the sea when the sailor pours
it to pacify the waves, as that chambul of Tartars and volunteers
spread over quiet and hitherto safe regions. It seemed that every
Tartar was able to double and treble himself, to be at the same time in
a number of places, to burn, to slay. They spared not even grain in the
field, nor trees in the gardens.
Kmita had held his Tartars so long in the leash that at last, when he
let them free like a flock of birds of prey, they grew almost wild in
the midst of slaughter and destruction. One surpassed the other; and
since they could not take captives, they swam from morning till evening
in blood.
Kmita himself, having in his heart no little fierceness, gave it full
freedom, and though he did not steep his own hands in the blood of
defenceless people, he looked with pleasure on the flow of blood. In
his soul he was at rest, and conscience reproached him with nothing;
for this was not Polish blood, and besides it was the blood of
heretics; therefore he judged that he was doing a work pleasing to God,
and especially to the saints of the Lord.
The elector, a vassal, therefore a servant of the Commonwealth and
living from its bounties, was the first to raise his sacrilegious hand
against it; therefore punishment was his due, and Kmita was purely an
instrument of God’s vengeance.
For this reason, when in the evening he was repeating his Litany in
peace by the blaze of burning German settlements, and when the screams
of the murdered interrupted the tally of his prayers, he began again
from the beginning, so as not to burden his soul with the sin of
inattention to the service of God.
But he did not cherish in his heart savage feelings alone; for, besides
piety, various other feelings moved it, connected by memory with
distant years. Therefore those times came frequently to his mind when
he attacked Hovanski with such glory, and his former comrades stood as
if alive before his eyes,—Kokosinski; the gigantic
Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus; the spotted Ranitski, with senatorial blood in
his veins; Uhlik, playing on the flageolet; Rekuts, on whom human blood
was not weighing; and Zend, imitating birds and every kind of beast.
They all, save perhaps Rekuts alone, were burning in hell; and behold,
if they were living now, they might wallow in blood without bringing
sin on their souls, and with profit to the Commonwealth.
Here Pan Andrei sighed at the thought of how destructive a thing
license is, since in the morning of youth it stops the road for the
ages of ages to beautiful deeds.
But he sighed more than all for Olenka. The deeper he entered the
Prussian country, the more fiercely did the wounds of his heart burn
him, as if those fires which he kindled roused at the same time his old
love. Almost every day then he said in his heart to the maiden,—
“Dearest dove, you may have forgotten me, or if you remember, disgust
fills your heart; but I, at a distance or near, in the night or the
day-time, in labor for the country and toils, am thinking ever of you,
and my soul flies to you over pine-woods and waters, like a tired bird,
to drop down at your feet. Only to the country and to you would I give
all my blood; but woe is me, if in your heart you proclaim me an outlaw
forever.”
Thus meditating, he went ever farther to the north along the boundary
belt. He burned and slew, sparing no one. Sadness throttled him
terribly. He would like to be in Taurogi on the morrow; but the road
was still long and difficult, for at last they began to ring all the
bells in the province of Prussia.
Every one living seized arms to resist the dreadful destroyers;
garrisons were brought in from towns the remotest, regiments were
formed of even village youths, and soon they were able to place twenty
men against every Tartar.
Kmita rushed at these commands like a thunderbolt, beat them, hanged
men, escaped, hid, and again sailed out on a wave of fire; but still he
could not advance so swiftly as at first. More than once it was
necessary to attack in Tartar fashion, and hide for whole weeks in
thickets or reeds at the banks of a lake. The inhabitants rushed forth
more and more numerously, as if against a wolf; and he bit too like a
wolf,—with one snap of his jaws he gave death, and not only defended
himself, but did not desist from attack.
Loving genuine work, he did not leave a given district, in spite of
pursuit, until he had annihilated it for miles around with fire and
sword. His name reached, it is unknown by what means, the mouths of the
people, and bearing terror and fright, thundered on to the shores of
the Baltic.
Babinich might, it is true, return within the boundaries of the
Commonwealth, and in spite of Swedish detachments, move quickly to
Taurogi; but he did not wish to do so, for he desired to serve not only
himself but the country.
Now came news which gave courage for defence and revenge to the people
in Prussia, but pierced the heart of Babinich with savage sorrow. News
came like a thunderclap of a great battle at Warsaw, which the King of
Poland had lost. “Karl Gustav and the elector have beaten all the
troops of Yan Kazimir,” people repeated to one and another with delight
throughout Prussia. “Warsaw is recaptured!” “This is the greatest
victory of the war, and now comes the end of the Commonwealth!” All men
whom the Tartars seized and put on the coals to obtain information,
repeated the same; there was also exaggerated news, as is common in
time of war and uncertainty. According to this news the Poles were cut
to pieces, the hetmans had fallen, and Yan Kazimir was captured.
Was all at an end, then? Was that rising and triumphing Commonwealth
naught but an empty illusion? So much power, so many troops, so many
great men and famous warriors; the hetmans, the king, Charnyetski with
his invincible division, the marshal of the kingdom, other lords with
their attendants,—had all perished, had all rolled away like smoke? And
are there no other defenders of this hapless country, save detached
parties of insurgents who certainly at news of the disaster will pass
away like a fog?
Kmita tore the hair from his head and wrung his hands; he seized the
wet earth, pressed palms-full of it to his burning head.
“I shall fall too,” said he; “but first this land will swim in blood.”
And he began to fight like a man in despair. He did not hide longer, he
did not attack in the forest and reeds, he sought death; he rushed like
a madman on forces three times greater than his own, and cut them to
pieces with sabres and hoofs. In his Tartars all traces of human
feeling died out, and they were turned into a herd of wild beasts. A
predatory people, but not over-much fitted for fighting in the open
field, without losing their genius for surprises and ambush, they, by
continual exercise, by continual conflict, had trained themselves so
that breast to breast they could hold the field against the first
cavalry, and scatter quadrangles even of the Swedish guard. In their
struggles with the armed mob of Prussia, a hundred of those Tartars
scattered with ease two and even three hundred sturdy men armed with
spears and muskets.
Kmita weaned them from weighting themselves with plunder; they took
only money and gold, which they sewed up in their saddles, so that when
one of them fell the survivors fought with rage for his horse and his
saddle. Growing rich in this manner, they lost none of their swiftness,
well-nigh superhuman. Recognizing that under no leader on earth could
they find such rich harvests, they grew attached to Babinich, as hounds
to the hunter, and with real Mohammedan honesty placed after battle in
the hands of Soroka and the Kyemliches the lion’s share of the plunder
which belonged to the “bagadyr.”
“Allah!” said Akbah Ulan, “few of them will see Bagche-Serai, but all
who go back will be murzas.”
Babinich, who from of old knew how to live upon war, collected great
riches; but death, which he sought more than gold, he found not.
A month passed again in battles and labors surpassing belief. The
Tartar horses, though fed with barley and Prussian wheat, needed
absolutely even a couple of days’ rest; therefore the young colonel,
wishing also to gain news and fill the gaps in his ranks with fresh
volunteers, withdrew, near Dospada, to the Commonwealth.
News soon came, and so joyful that Kmita almost lost his wits. It
turned out to be true that the equally valiant and unfortunate Yan
Kazimir had lost a great three-days’ battle at Warsaw, but for what
reason?
The general militia in an immense majority had gone home, and the part
which remained did not fight with such spirit as at the taking of
Warsaw, and on the third day of the battle a panic set in. But for the
first two days the victory was inclining to the side of Poland. The
regular troops, not in sudden partisan warfare, but in a great battle
with the most highly trained soldiers of Europe, exhibited such skill
and endurance that amazement seized the Swedish and Brandenburg
generals themselves.
Yan Kazimir had won immortal glory. It was said that he had shown
himself a leader equal to Karl Gustav, and that if all his commands had
been carried out the enemy would have lost the general battle, and the
war would have been ended.
Kmita received these tidings from eye-witnesses, for he had stumbled
upon nobles who, serving in the general militia, had taken part in the
battle. One of them told him of the brilliant attack of the hussars,
during which Karl himself, who, despite the entreaties of his generals,
would not withdraw, came near perishing. All showed the falsehood of
the report that the army had been routed or the hetmans had fallen. On
the contrary, the whole force, except the general militia, remained
intact, and withdrew in good order along the country.
From the bridge of Warsaw which was giving way cannon had fallen; but
they were pulled through the Vistula in a breath. The army swore by
everything that under such a leader as Yan Kazimir they would, in the
coming battle, conquer Karl Gustav, the elector, and whomsoever it
might be necessary to conquer. As to the recent battle it was only a
trial, though unfavorable, but full of solace for the future.
Kmita was at a loss to know how the first news could have been so
terrible. They explained to him that Karl Gustav had sent out
exaggerated reports purposely; in fact, he did not know well what to
do. The Swedish officers whom Pan Andrei seized a week later confirmed
this opinion.
He learned also from them that beyond others the elector lived in fear,
and was thinking more and more of his own safety; for a multitude of
his men had fallen at Warsaw, and disease had seized those remaining so
terribly that it was destroying them more quickly than battles. At the
same time the men of Great Poland, eager to make good Uistsie and all
wrongs, had attacked the monarchy of Brandenburg itself, burning and
slaying, leaving nothing behind them but land and water. According to
the officers, the hour was near in which the elector would abandon the
Swedes, and join the more powerful.
“It is needful to touch him with fire somewhat,” thought Kmita, “so
that he may do this the more quickly.”
And since his horses were rested already, and he had made good the
losses among his men, he passed the boundary again at Dospada, and
rushed on the German settlements like a spirit of destruction.
Various “parties” followed his example. He found a weaker defence;
hence he accomplished more. News came ever more joyful, more
gladdening, so that it was difficult to believe it.
First of all, it was said that Karl Gustav, who, after the Warsaw
battle, had pushed on to Radom, was retreating at breakneck speed to
Royal Prussia. What had happened? Why was he retreating? There was no
answer to this for a time, till at last the name of Charnyetski
thundered again through the Commonwealth. He was victorious at Lipets,
victorious at Stjemeshno; at Rava itself he had cut to pieces the
rearguard of the retreating Karl; then, learning that two thousand
cavalry were returning from Cracow, he attacked that body, and did not
let one man escape to announce the defeat. Colonel Forgell, brother of
the general, thirteen captains, and twenty-four lieutenants went into
captivity. Others gave the numbers as twice greater; some insisted in
their enthusiasm that Yan Kazimir had not suffered a defeat, but had
won a victory at Warsaw, and that his march along the country was only
a stratagem for the destruction of the enemy.
Kmita himself began to think the same; for being a soldier from
youthful years, he understood war, but had never heard of a victory
after which the victor was in a worse condition than before. The Swedes
were evidently in a worse condition, and just after the battle at
Warsaw.
Pan Andrei called to mind at that moment the words of Zagloba, when at
their last meeting he said that victories would not improve the Swedish
cause, but that one defeat might destroy it.
“That is a chancellor’s head,” pondered Kmita, “which reads in the
future as in a book.”
Here he remembered the further predictions,—how he, Kmita or Babinich,
would go to Taurogi, find his Olenka, persuade her, marry her, and have
descendants to the glory of the Commonwealth. When he remembered this,
fire entered his veins; he wished not to lose a moment, but to leave
Prussians and slaughter for a time, and fly to Taurogi.
On the eve of his starting there came to him a noble of Lauda, of
Volodyovski’s squadron, with a letter from the little knight.
“We are going with Sapyeha and Prince Michael Radzivill against
Boguslav and Waldeck,” wrote Pan Michael. “Join us, since a field for
just vengeance will be found, and it is proper to pay the Prussians for
harm done the Commonwealth.”
Pan Andrei could not believe his own eyes, and for some time he
suspected the noble of being sent by some Prussian or Swedish
commandant of purpose to lead him with the chambul into ambush. Had
Gosyevski come a second time to Prussia? It was impossible not to
believe. The handwriting was Volodyovski’s, the arms Volodyovski’s, and
Pan Andrei remembered the noble too. Then he inquired where Gosyevski
was, and to what point he intended to go.
The noble was rather dull. It was not for him to know whither the
hetman was marching; he knew only that he was two days distant, and
that the Lauda squadron was with him. Charnyetski had borrowed it for a
while, but had sent it back long ago, and now it was marching under
lead of the hetman. “They say,” concluded the noble, “that we must go
to Prussia, and the soldiers are greatly delighted. But our work is to
obey and to strike.”
Kmita, when he had heard the narrative, did not hesitate long. He
turned his chambul, went with forced marches to the hetman, and after
two days fell late at night into the arms of Volodyovski, who, pressing
him, said at once,—
“Count Waldeck and Prince Boguslav are in Prostki, making intrenchments
to secure themselves with a fortified camp. We shall march on them.”
“To-day?” asked Kmita.
“To-morrow before daybreak,—that is, in two or three hours.”
Here they embraced each other again. “Something tells me that God will
give him into our hands!” exclaimed Kmita, with emotion. “And I think
so too.”
“I have made a vow to fast till death on the day in which I meet him.”
“The protection of God will not fail you,” said Volodyovski. “I shall
not be envious, either, if this lot falls to you, for your wrong is
greater. Yendrek, let me look at you! You have grown perfectly black
from the weather; but you have acquitted yourself. The whole division
looks with the greatest esteem on your labor. Nothing behind you but
ruins and corpses! You are a born soldier; and it would go hard with
Zagloba himself, were he here, to invent in self-praise deeds better
than those you have done.”
“But where is Zagloba?”
“He remained with Sapyeha; for he fell into weeping and despair after
Kovalski.”
“Then has Kovalski fallen?”
Volodyovski pressed his lips. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Whence should I know? Tell me!”
“Prince Boguslav!”
Kmita turned in his place, as if thrust with a point, and began to draw
in air with a hiss; at last he gritted his teeth, and casting himself
on the bench, rested his head on his palms in silence.
Volodyovski clapped his hands, and ordered the attendant to bring
drink; then he sat near Kmita, filled a cup for him, and began,—
“Ron Kovalski died such a cavalier’s death that God grant any man of us
to die no worse. It is enough to inform you that Karl Gustav himself
after the battle celebrated his funeral, and a whole regiment of the
guards fired a salute over his coffin.”
“If only not at those hands, at those hellish hands!” exclaimed Kmita.
“Yes, at the hands of Boguslav; we know that from hussars who with
their own eyes saw the sad end.”
“Were you not there then?”
“In battle places are not chosen, but a man stands where he is ordered.
If I had been there, either I should not be here now, or Boguslav would
not be making trenches at Prostki.”
“Tell me how it all happened. It will only increase the anger.”
Pan Michael drank, wiped his yellow mustaches, and began:—
“Of a certainty you are not lacking in narratives of the Warsaw battle,
for every one is speaking of it; therefore I shall not dwell on it too
long. Our gracious lord—God give him health and long years! for under
another king the country would have perished amid disasters—has shown
himself a famous leader. Had there been such obedience as there was
command, had we been worthy of the king, the chroniclers would have to
describe a new Polish victory at Warsaw equal to those at Grünwald and
Berestechko. Speaking briefly, on the first day we beat the Swedes; on
the second, fortune inclined now to one, now to the other, but still we
were uppermost. At that time the Lithuanian hussars, in which Kovalski
served under Prince Polubinski, a great soldier, went to the attack.
When they were passing I saw them as I see you this moment, for I was
with the Lauda men on a height near the intrenchments. They were twelve
hundred strong,—men and horses such as the world had not seen. They
passed twenty rods distant from our flank; and I tell you that the
earth trembled under them. We saw the Brandenburg infantry planting
their pikes in the ground in a hurry, to meet the first onrush. Then
began firing from muskets, till the smoke covered them entirely. We
looked. The hussars had given rein to their horses. O God, what a
sweep! They fell into the smoke,—disappeared! My soldiers began to
shout, ‘They will break them, they will break them!’ For a while the
hussars were invisible; then something thundered, and there was a sound
as if in a thousand forges men were beating anvils with hammers. We
look. Jesus! Mary! The elector’s men are lying like stones on a street,
like wheat through which a tempest has passed; and the hussars far away
beyond, their streamers glittering. They are bearing down on the
Swedes! They struck cavalry; the cavalry were down like a pavement!
They struck a second regiment; they left that like a pavement! There
was a roar, cannon were thundering; we saw them when the wind bore the
smoke aside. They were smashing Swedish infantry. Everything was
fleeing, rolling, opening; they went on as if over a highway. They had
passed almost through the whole army, when they struck a regiment of
the horse-guard, in which was Karl Gustav himself; and like a whirlwind
they scattered the horse-guard.”
Here Pan Michael stopped, for Kmita had closed his eyes with his fists
and was exclaiming,—
“O Mother of God! To see such a thing once and then die!”
“Such an attack my eyes will never see again,” continued the little
knight. “We too were commanded to spring forward. I saw no more, but
what I tell I heard from the mouth of a Swedish officer who was at the
side of Karl and saw with his own eyes the end. That Forgell who fell
into our hands afterward at Rava, rushed up to Karl. ‘O King,’ cried
he, ‘save Sweden! save yourself! Aside, aside! Nothing can stop them!’
But Karl answered: ‘No use to yield; we must meet them or perish.’
Other generals rush up, implore, entreat, in vain. The king moved
forward; they strike. The Swedes are broken more quickly than you can
count ten. One fell, another was trampled, others were scattered like
peas. The king defended himself single-handed. Kovalski rode up and
knew Karl Gustav, for he had seen him twice before. A horseman shielded
the king; but those who were present said that lightning does not kill
more quickly than Kovalski cut him in two. Then the king rushed at Pan
Roh.”
Volodyovski again interrupted his narrative and breathed deeply; but
Kmita cried at once,—
“Oh, finish, or the soul will go out of me!”
“They rushed at each other so that the breasts of the horses struck.
They raged. ‘I look,’ said the officer; ‘the king with his horse is on
the ground.’ He freed himself, touched the trigger of his pistol,
missed. The king’s hat had fallen. Roh then made for the head of Karl
Gustav,—had his sword raised; the Swedes were weak from terror, for
there was no time to save Karl, when Boguslav rose as if from under the
earth, fired into the very ear of Kovalski, broke his head and his
helmet.”
“O my God! he had not time to bring down the sword?” screamed Pan
Andrei, tearing his hair.
“God did not grant him that grace,” said Pan Michael. “Zagloba and I
talked of what had happened. The man had served with the Radzivills
from years of youth; he considered them his masters, and at sight of
Radzivill it must be that he was confused. Perhaps the thought had
never come to his head to raise a hand on Radzivill. It happens that
way! Well, he paid with his life. Zagloba is a wonderful man, for he is
not Roh’s uncle at all, and not his relative; still another man would
not have been in such despair for a son. And, to tell the truth, there
was no reason, for one might envy Kovalski such a glorious death; a
noble and a soldier is born to give his life, if not on the present day
then on the morrow; men will write of Kovalski, and posterity will
celebrate his name.”
Pan Michael was silent; after a while he made the sign of the cross and
said,—
“Eternal rest give him, O Lord, and may light shine on him forever!”
“For the ages of ages!” said Kmita.
Both whispered prayers for a certain time, maybe asking for themselves
a similar death, if only not at the hands of Prince Boguslav. At last
Pan Michael said,—
“Father Pyekarski assured us that Roh went straight to heaven.”
“Of course he did, and our prayers are not needed for him.”
“Prayers are always needed; for they are inscribed to the credit of
others, and maybe to our own.”
“My hope is in the mercy of God,” said Kmita, sighing. “I trust that
for what I have done in Prussia, even a couple of years will be taken
from me in purgatory.”
“Everything there is reckoned. What a man works out here with his
sabre, the heavenly secretary records.”
“I too served with Radzivill,” said Kmita, “but I shall not be confused
at sight of Boguslav. My God, my God! Prostki is not far away!
Remember, O Lord, that he is Thy enemy too, for he is a heretic who
more than once has blasphemed Thy true faith.”
“And is an enemy of the country,” added Pan Michael. “We have hope that
his end is approaching. Zagloba, speaking in grief and in tears and as
if inspired, foretold the same after that attack of the hussars. He
cursed Boguslav so that the hair stood on the head of every man
listening. Prince Michael Radzivill, who is marching with us against
him, saw also in a dream two golden trumpets, which the Radzivills have
on their shield, gnawed by a bear, and he said at once next day,
‘Misfortune will meet me or some other Radzivill.’”
“By a bear?” asked Kmita, growing pale.
“By a bear.”
Pan Andrei’s face became clear as if a gleam of the morning dawn had
fallen on it; he raised his eyes, stretched his hands toward heaven and
said with a solemn voice,—
“I have a bear on my shield. Praise to Thee, O Lord on high! Praise to
Thee, Most Holy Mother! O Lord, O Lord! I am not worthy of this grace.”
When he heard this Pan Michael was greatly moved, for he recognized at
once that that was an omen from heaven.
“Yendrek!” cried he, “to make sure, press the feet of Christ before the
battle; and I will implore him against Sakovich.”
“Prostki! Prostki!” repeated Kmita, as in a fever. “When do we move?”
“Before day, and soon it will begin to dawn.”
Kmita approached the broken window of the cottage and cried: “The stars
are paling already. _Ave, Maria_.”
Then came the distant crowing of a cock, and with it low trumpeting. A
few “Our Fathers” later, movement began in the whole village. The
clatter of steel was heard, and the snorting of horses. Dark masses of
cavalry assembled on the highway.
The air began to be filled with light; a pale gleam was silvering the
points of the spears, twinkling on the naked sabres, bringing out of
the shade mustached threatening faces, helmets, kolpaks, Tartar
sheepskin caps, fur cloaks, quivers. At last the advance with Kmita in
the vanguard was moving toward Prostki; the troops stretched in a long
line over the road, and marched quickly.
The horses in the first ranks fell to snorting greatly, after them
others, as a good portent for the soldiers.
White mists hid the meadows yet, and the fields.
Round about was silence; only land-rails were playing in the grass, wet
with dew.