September 6, the Polish troops arrived at Vansosh and disposed
themselves for rest, so that before battle horses and men might gain
strength. Pan Gosyevski, the hetman, decided to halt there four or five
days; but events interfered with his reckoning.
Babinich, as a man knowing the boundary well, was sent on a
reconnoissance; he was given two light Lithuanian squadrons and a fresh
chambul of Tartars, for his own Tartars were over-much wearied.
Gosyevski enjoined on him earnestly, before starting, to obtain an
informant and not to return empty-handed. But Babinich merely laughed,
thinking to himself that he needed no urging, and that he would bring
prisoners, even if he had to find them in the intrenchments of Prostki.
In fact, he returned in forty-eight hours, bringing a number of
Prussians and Swedes, and among them an officer of note, Von Rössel,
captain in a Prussian regiment under Boguslav.
The party was received in the camp with great applause. There was no
need of torturing the captain, for Babinich had already done that on
the road by putting the sword-point to his throat. From his statements
it transpired that not only the Prussian regiments of Count Waldeck
were in Prostki, but also six Swedish regiments under command of
Major-General Israel; of these, four were of cavalry under Peters,
Frytjotson, Tauben, and Ammerstein, with two of infantry under the
brothers Engel. Of Prussian regiments, which were very well equipped,
besides that of Count Waldeck himself, there were four,—those of the
Prince of Wismar, Bruntsl, Konnaberg, General Wahlrat,—with four
squadrons of Boguslav’s command, two being of Prussian nobles, and two
of his own men.
Supreme command was held by Count Waldeck; in reality, however, he
obeyed in everything Prince Boguslav, to whose influence the Swedish
general Israel also yielded.
But the most important intelligence given by Rössel was this,—that two
thousand chosen infantry of Pomerania were hastening from Elko to
reinforce Prostki; but Count Waldeck, fearing lest these men might be
taken by the horde, wished to leave the fortified camp, join the
Pomeranians, and then make intrenchments a second time. Boguslav,
according to Rössel, was so far rather strongly opposed to leaving
Prostki, and only during the last days began to incline toward this
action. Gosyevski on hearing this news was greatly rejoiced, for he was
certain that victory would not miss him. The enemy might defend
themselves for a long time in the intrenchments, but neither the
Swedish nor the Prussian cavalry could resist the Poles in the open
field.
Prince Boguslav seemed to understand this fact as well as Gosyevski,
and for this special reason he did not much approve Waldeck’s plans.
But he was too vain not to yield before even the reproach of excessive
caution. Besides, he was not distinguished for patience. It might be
reckoned almost with certainty that he would grow weary of waiting in
trenches, and would seek fame and victory in the open field. Gosyevski
had simply to hasten his advance on the enemy at the moment when they
were leaving the intrenchments.
So thought he; so thought other colonels, such as Hassan Bey, who led
the horde; Voynillovich, who led the king’s regiment; Korsak, a
light-horse colonel; Volodyovski, Kotvich, and Babinich. All agreed on
one point,—that it was necessary to give up further rest, and march in
the night; that is, in a few hours. Meanwhile Korsak sent his banneret,
Byeganski, to Prostki to inform the advancing army every hour of what
was taking place in the camp. Volodyovski and Babinich took Rössel to
their quarters to learn something more of Boguslav. The captain was
greatly alarmed at first, for he felt still at his throat Kmita’s
sabre-point, but wine soon loosened his tongue. Since he had served
once in the Commonwealth in a foreign command, he had learned Polish;
therefore he was able to answer the questions of the little knight, who
did not know German.
“Have you been long in the service of Prince Boguslav?” asked
Volodyovski.
“I do not serve in his army,” answered Rössel, “but in the elector’s
regiment, which was put under his command.”
“Then do you know Pan Sakovich?”
“I have seen him in Königsberg.”
“Is he with the prince?”
“He is not; he remained in Taurogi.”
Volodyovski sighed and moved his mustaches. “I have no luck, as usual,”
said he.
“Be not grieved, Michael,” said Babinich. “You will find him; if not, I
shall.”
Then he turned to Rössel: “You are an old soldier; you have seen both
armies, and you know our cavalry of old: what do you think,—on whose
side will be victory?”
“If they meet you outside the trenches, on yours; but you cannot take
the trenches without infantry and cannon, especially since everything
is done there with Radzivill’s head.”
“Then do you consider him such a great leader?”
“Not only is that my opinion, but it is the general opinion in both
armies. They say that at Warsaw the Most Serene King of Sweden followed
his advice, and therefore won a great battle. The prince, as a Pole,
has a better knowledge of your method of warfare and can manage more
quickly. I saw myself that the King of Sweden after the third day of
battle embraced him in front of the army and kissed him. It is true
that he owed his life to him; for had it not been for the shot of the
prince— But it is a terror to think of it! He is besides an
incomparable knight, whom no man can meet with any weapon.”
“H’m!” said Volodyovski, “maybe there is such a man.”
When he had said this, his mustaches trembled threateningly. Rössel
looked at him, and grew suddenly red. For a time it seemed that either
he would burst a blood-vessel or break into laughter; but at last he
remembered that he was in captivity, and controlled himself quickly.
But Kmita with his steel eyes looked at him steadily and said,—
“That will be shown to-morrow.”
“But is Boguslav in good health?” asked Volodyovski; “for the fever
shook him a long time, and must have weakened him.”
“He is, and has been this long time, as healthy as a fish, and takes no
medicine. The doctor at first wanted to give him many preservatives,
but immediately after the first came a paroxysm. Prince Boguslav gave
orders to toss that doctor up from sheets; and that helped him, for the
doctor himself got a fever from fright.”
“To toss him up from sheets?” asked Volodyovski.
“I saw it myself,” answered Rössel. “Two sheets were placed one above
the other, and the doctor put in the centre of them. Four strong
soldiers took the sheets by the corners, and threw up the poor doctor.
I tell you, gentlemen, that he went nearly ten ells into the air, and
he had hardly come down when they hurled him up again. General Israel,
Count Waldeck, and the prince were holding their sides from laughter.
Many of the officers too were looking at the spectacle, till the doctor
fainted. Then the prince was free of his fever, as if some hand had
removed it.”
Though Pan Michael and Babinich hated Boguslav, still they could not
restrain themselves from laughter when they heard of this joke.
Babinich struck his knees and cried,—
“Ah, the scoundrel! how he helped himself!”
“I must tell Zagloba of this medicine,” said Pan Michael.
“It cured him of the fever,” said Rössel; “but what is that, when the
prince does not restrain sufficiently the impulses of his blood, and
therefore will not live to ripe age?”
“I think so too,” muttered Babinich. “Such as he do not live long.”
“Does he give way to himself in the camp?” asked Pan Michael.
“Of course,” answered Rössel. “Count Waldeck laughed, saying that his
princely grace takes with him waiting-maids. I saw myself two handsome
maidens; his attendants told me that they were there to iron his
lace—but God knows.”
Babinich, when he heard this, grew red and pale; then he sprang up, and
seizing Rössel by the arm began to shake him violently.
“Are they Poles or Germans?”
“Not Poles,” said the terrified Rössel. “One is a Prussian noblewoman;
the other is a Swede, who formerly served the wife of General Israel.”
Babinich looked at Pan Michael and drew a deep breath; the little
knight was relieved too, and began to move his mustaches.
“Gentlemen, permit me to rest,” said Rössel. “I am dreadfully tired,
for the Tartar led me ten miles with a lariat.”
Kmita clapped his hands for Soroka, and committed the prisoner to him;
then he turned with quick step to Pan Michael.
“Enough of this!” said he. “I would rather perish a hundred times than
live in this ceaseless alarm and uncertainty. When Rössel mentioned
those women just now, I thought that some one was going at my temple
with a club.”
“It is time to finish!” said Volodyovski, shaking his sabre.
At that moment trumpets sounded at the hetman’s quarters; soon trumpets
answered in all the Lithuanian squadrons, and pipes in the chambuls.
The troops began to assemble, and an hour later were on the march.
Before they had gone five miles a messenger hurried up from Byeganski
of Korsak’s squadron, with intelligence for the hetman that a number of
troopers had been seized from a considerable body occupied in
collecting on that side of the river all the wagons and horses of the
peasants. Interrogated on the spot, they acknowledged that the tabor of
the whole army was to leave Prostki about eight o’clock in the morning,
and that commands were issued already.
“Let us praise God and urge on our horses,” said Gosyevski. “Before
evening that army will be no longer in existence.”
He sent the horde neck and head to push with utmost endeavor between
Waldeck’s troops and the Pomeranian infantry hastening to aid them.
After the horde went Lithuanians; being mainly of the light squadrons,
they came right after the horde.
Kmita was in the front rank of the Tartars, and urged on his men till
the horses were steaming. On the road he bowed down on the saddle,
struck his forehead on the neck of his horse, and prayed with all the
powers of his soul,—
“Grant me, O Christ, to take vengeance, not for my own wrongs, but for
the insults wrought on the country! I am a sinner; I am not worthy of
Thy grace; but have mercy on me! Permit me to shed the blood of
heretics, and for Thy praise I will fast and scourge myself every week
on this day till the end of my life.”
Then to the Most Holy Lady of Chenstohova, whom he had served with his
blood, and to his own patron besides, did he commit himself; and strong
with such protection, he felt straightway that an immense hope was
entering his soul, that an uncommon power was penetrating his limbs,—a
power before which everything must fall in the dust. It seemed to him
that wings were growing from his shoulders; joy embraced him like a
whirlwind, and he flew in front of his Tartars, so that sparks were
scattered from under the hoofs of his steed. Thousands of wild warriors
bent forward to the necks of their ponies, and shot along after him.
A river of pointed caps rose and fell with the rush of the horses; bows
rattled behind the men’s shoulders; in front went the sound from the
tramp of iron hoofs; from behind flew the roar of the oncoming
squadrons, like the deep roar of a great swollen river.
And thus they flew on in the rich starry night which covered the roads
and the fields. They were like a mighty flock of ravening birds which
had smelled blood in the distance. Fields, oak-groves, meadows, sped
past, till at last the waning moon became pale and inclined in the
west. Then they reined in their beasts, and halted for final
refreshment. It was not farther now than two miles from Prostki.
The Tartars fed their horses with barley from their hands, so that the
beasts might gain strength before battle; but Kmita sat on a fresh pony
and rode farther to look at the camp of the enemy.
After half an hour’s ride he found in the willows the light-horse party
which Korsak had sent to reconnoitre.
“Well,” asked Kmita, “what is to be heard?”
“They are not sleeping, they are bustling like bees in a hive,”
answered the banneret. “They would have started already, but have not
wagons sufficient.”
“Can the camp be seen from some point near at hand?”
“It can from that height which is covered with bushes. The camp lies
over there in the valley of the river. Does your grace wish to see it?”
“Lead on.”
The banneret put spurs to his horse, and they rode to the height. Day
was already in the sky, and the air was filled with a golden light; but
along the river on the opposite low bank there lay still a dense fog.
Hidden in the bushes, they looked at that fog growing thinner and
thinner.
At last about two furlongs distant a square earthwork was laid bare.
Kmita’s glance was fixed on it with eagerness; but at the first moment
he saw only the misty outlines of tents and wagons standing in the
centre along the intrenchments. The blaze of fires was not visible; he
saw only smoke rising in lofty curls to the sky in sign of fine
weather. But as the fog vanished Pan Andrei could distinguish through
his field-glass blue Swedish and yellow Prussian banners planted on the
intrenchments; then masses of soldiers, cannon, and horses.
Around there was silence, broken only by the rustle of bushes moved by
the breeze, and the glad morning twitter of birds; but from the camp
came a deep sound.
Evidently no one was sleeping, and they were preparing to march, for in
the centre of the intrenchment was an unusual stir. Whole regiments
were moving from place to place; some went out in front of the
intrenchments; around the wagons there was a tremendous bustle. Cannon
also were drawn from the trenches.
“It cannot be but they are preparing to march,” said Kmita.
“All the prisoners said: ‘They wish to make a junction with the
infantry; and besides they do not think that the hetman can come up
before evening; and even if he were to come up, they prefer a battle in
the open field to yielding that infantry to the knife.’”
“About two hours will pass before they move, and at the end of two
hours the hetman will be here.”
“Praise be to God!” said the banneret.
“Send to tell our men not to feed too long.”
“According to order.”
“But have they not sent away parties to this side of the river?”
“To this side they have not sent one. But they have sent some to their
infantry, marching from Elko.”
“It is well!” said Kmita.
And he descended the height, and commanding the party to hide longer in
the rushes, moved back himself with all the breath in his horse to the
squadron.
Gosyevski was just mounting when Babinich arrived. The young knight
told quickly what he had seen and what the position was; the hetman
listened with great satisfaction, and urged forward the squadrons
without delay.
Babinich’s party went in advance; after it the Lithuanian squadrons;
then that of Voynillovich, that of Lauda, the hetman’s own, and others.
The horde remained behind; for Hassan Bey begged for that with
insistence, fearing that his men might not withstand the first onset of
the heavy cavalry. He had also another reckoning.
He wished, when the Lithuanians struck the enemy’s front, to seize the
camp with his Tartars; in the camp he expected to find very rich
plunder. The hetman permitted this, thinking justly that the Tartars
would strike weakly on the cavalry, but would fall like madmen on the
tabor and might raise a panic, especially since the Prussian horses
were less accustomed to their terrible howling.
In two hours, as Kmita had predicted, they halted in front of that
elevation from which the scouting-party had looked into the
intrenchments, and which now concealed the march of all the troops. The
banneret, seeing the troops approaching, sprang forward like lightning
with intelligence that the enemy, having withdrawn the pickets from
this side of the river, had already moved, and that the rear of the
tabor was just leaving the intrenchments.
When he heard this, Gosyevski drew his baton from the holsters of the
saddle, and said,—
“They cannot return now, for the wagons block the way. In the name of
the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! There is no reason to hide longer!”
He beckoned to the bunchuk-bearer; and he, raising the horse-tail
standard aloft, waved it on every side. At this sign all the horse-tail
standards began to wave, trumpets thundered, Tartar pipes squeaked, six
thousand sabres were gleaming in the air, and six thousand throats
shouted,—
“Jesus! Mary!”
“Allah uh Allah!”
Then squadron after squadron rose in a trot from behind the height. In
Waldeck’s camp they had not expected guests so soon, for a feverish
movement set in. The drums rattled uninterruptedly; the regiments
turned with front to the river.
It was possible to see with the naked eye generals and colonels flying
between the regiments; they hurried to the centre with the cannon, so
as to bring them forward to the river.
After a while both armies were not farther than a thousand yards from
each other. They were divided only by a broad meadow, in the centre of
which a river flowed. Another moment, and the first streak of white
smoke bloomed out from the Prussian side toward the Poles.
The battle had begun.
The hetman himself sprang toward Kmita’s troops,—
“Advance, Babinich! advance in God’s name against that line!” And he
pointed with his baton to the gleaming regiment of cavalry.
“Follow me!” commanded Pan Andrei. And pressing his horse with spurs,
he moved at a gallop toward the river.
More swiftly than an arrow from a bow did they shoot forward. The
horses had gained their highest speed, and were running with ears
dropped back, and bodies stretched out like the bodies of hounds. The
riders bent forward to the manes of their horses, and howling, lashed
onward the beasts, which now did not seem to touch earth; they rushed
with that impetus into the river. The water did not restrain them, for
they came upon a broad ford, level and sandy; they reached the other
bank, and sprang on in a body.
Seeing this, the regiment of armored cavalry moved toward them, first
at a walk, then at a trot, and did not go faster; but when Kmita’s
front had come within twenty yards, the command “Fire!” was heard, and
a thousand arms with pistols were stretched forward.
A line of smoke ran from one end of the rank to the other; then the two
bodies struck each other with a crash. The horses reared at the first
blow; over the heads of the combatants glittered sabres through the
whole length of the line. A serpent as it were of lightning flew from
end to end. The ominous clang of blades against helmets and
breastplates was heard to the other side of the river. It seemed as if
hammers were ringing in forges on plates of steel. The line bent in one
moment into a crescent; for since the centre of the German cavalry
yielded, pushed back by the first onset, the wings, against which less
force was directed, kept their places. But the armored soldiers did not
let the centre be broken, and a terrible slaughter began. On one side
enormous men covered with armor resisted with the whole weight of
horses; on the other the gray host of Tartars pushed with the force of
accumulated impetus, cutting and thrusting with an inconceivable
rapidity which only uncommon activity and ceaseless practice can give.
As when a host of woodcutters rush at a forest of pine-trees there is
heard only the sound of axes, and time after time some lofty tree falls
to the ground with a fearful crash, so every moment some one of the
cavalry bent his shining head and rolled under his horse. The sabres of
Kmita’s men glittered in their eyes, cut around their faces, eyes,
hands. In vain does a sturdy soldier raise his heavy sword; before he
can bring it down, he feels a cold point entering his body; then the
sword drops from his hand, and he falls with bloody face on the neck of
his horse. When a swarm of wasps attack in an orchard him who is
shaking down fruit, vainly does the man ward them off with his hands,
try to free himself, dodge aside; they reach his face skilfully, reach
his neck, and each one drives into him a sharp sting. So did Kmita’s
raging men, trained in so many battles, rush forward, hew, cut, thrust,
spread terror and death more and more stubbornly, surpassing their
opponents as much as a skilful craftsman surpasses the sturdiest
apprentice who is wanting in practice. Therefore the German cavalry
began to fall more quickly; and the centre, against which Kmita himself
was fighting, became so thin that it might break at any moment.
Commands of officers, summoning soldiers to shattered places, were lost
in the uproar and wild shouting; the line did not come together quickly
enough, and Kmita pressed with increasing power. Wearing chain-mail, a
gift from Sapyeha, he fought as a simple soldier, having with him the
young Kyemliches and Soroka. Their office was to guard their master;
and every moment some one of them turned to the right or the left,
giving a terrible blow; but Kmita rushed on his chestnut horse to the
thickest of the fight, and having all the secrets of Pan Michael, and
gigantic strength, he quenched men’s lives quickly. Sometimes he struck
with his whole sabre; sometimes he barely reached with the point;
sometimes he described a small circle merely, but quick as lightning,
and a horseman flew head downward under his beast, as if a thunderbolt
had hurled him from the saddle. Others withdrew before the terrible
man.
At last Pan Andrei slashed the standard-bearer in the temple; he gave
forth a sound like that which a cock gives if his throat is cut, and
dropped the standard from his hand. At that moment the centre broke,
and the disordered wings forming two chaotic bodies fled swiftly to the
farther lines of the Prussian army.
Kmita looked through the broken centre into the depth of the field, and
saw at once a regiment of red dragoons flying like wind to the aid of
the broken cavalry.
“That is nothing!” thought he; “Volodyovski will cross the ford in a
moment to aid me.”
At that instant was heard the thunder of cannon so loud that the earth
trembled in its foundations; musketry rattled from the intrenchment to
those ranks of the Poles who had pushed forward most. The whole field
was covered with smoke, and in that smoke Kmita’s volunteers and
Tartars closed with the dragoons.
But from the side of the river no one came with assistance.
The enemy had let Kmita pass the ford purposely, and then covered the
ford with such a dreadful shower from cannons and muskets that no
living foot could pass through it.
The troops of Pan Korsak tried first, and turned back in disorder; next
the squadron of Voynillovich went to the middle of the ford, and turned
back,—slowly, it is true, for that was the king’s regiment, one of the
most valiant in the army, but with a loss of twelve noted nobles and
nineteen soldiers.
The water in the ford which was the only passage through the river was
plashing under the blows of balls as under a dense pouring rain.
Cannon-balls flew to the other bank, casting around clouds of sand.
Gosyevski himself rode up on a gallop, and when he had seen this, he
knew that it was impossible for one living man to reach the opposite
bank.
And still that might decide the fate of the battle. Then the forehead
of the hetman frowned sternly. For a while he looked through his glass
along the whole line of the enemy’s troops, and cried to the orderly,—
“Rush to Hassan Bey; let the horde pass the deep bank as it can, and
strike the tabor. What they find in the wagons will be theirs! There
are no cannon there; it will be only hand to hand.”
The horseman sprang forward with what breath was in his horse; but the
hetman advanced to where under willows on the meadow stood the Lauda
squadron, and halted before it.
Volodyovski was at the head of the squadron, gloomy and silent; but he
looked in the eyes of the hetman, and his mustaches quivered.
“What do you think?” asked the hetman; “will the Tartars cross?”
“The Tartars will cross, but Kmita will perish!” answered the little
knight.
“As God lives!” cried the hetman, suddenly; “this Kmita, if he had a
head on his shoulders, might win the battle, not perish!”
Volodyovski said nothing; still he thought: “It was necessary either
not to send any regiment across the river, or to send five.”
The hetman looked awhile yet through his glass at the distant confusion
which Kmita was making beyond the river; but the little knight, not
being able to endure any longer, drew near him, and holding his
sabre-point upward, said,—
“Your worthiness, if there were an order, I would try the ford again.”
“Stop!” said Gosyevski, rather sharply; “it is enough that those will
perish.”
“They are perishing already,” replied Volodyovski.
And in truth the uproar was becoming more definite and greater every
moment. Evidently Kmita was retreating to the river.
“As God lives, I wanted that!” cried the hetman, suddenly; and he
sprang like a thunderbolt to Voynillovich’s squadron.
In fact, Kmita was retreating. After they had met the red dragoons, his
men fought with their last strength; but the breath was already failing
in their breasts, their wearied hands were drooping, and bodies were
falling faster and faster; only hope that aid might come any moment
from beyond the river kept courage in them yet.
Half an hour more passed, and the cry of “Strike!” was heard no longer;
but to the aid of the red dragoons sprang Boguslav’s regiment of heavy
cavalry.
“Death is coming!” thought Kmita, seeing them approaching from the
flank.
But he was a soldier who never had a doubt, for a moment, not only of
his life, but of victory. Long and hazardous practice had given him
also great knowledge of war; therefore lightning at dusk does not flash
and then die out so quickly as the following thought flashed to the
head of Pan Andrei: Evidently the Poles could not cross the ford to the
enemy; and since they could not, he would lead the enemy to them.
Boguslav’s regiment was coming on at full sweep, and not more than a
hundred yards distant; in a moment they could strike and scatter his
Tartars. Pan Andrei raised the pipe to his mouth, and whistled so
shrilly that the nearest dragoon horses rose on their haunches.
That instant other pipes of the Tartar leaders repeated the whistle;
and not so swiftly does the whirlwind twist the sand as that chambul
turned its horses in flight.
The remnant of the mailed cavalry, the red dragoons, and Boguslav’s
regiment sprang after them with all speed.
The shouts of the officers—“Naprzod (Forward)!” and “Gott mit uns (God
with us)!”—rang like a storm, and a marvellous sight was seen then.
Over the broad meadow rushed the disordered and confused chambul of
Tartars, straight to the ford, which was rained on with bullets and
balls; and they tore onward, as if carried with wings. Every Tartar lay
on the horse, flattened himself, hid himself in the mane and the neck,
in such fashion that had it not been for the cloud of arrows flying
back toward the cavalry, it might be said that the horses were rushing
on riderless; after them, with roaring, shouting, and trampling,
followed gigantic men, with upraised swords gleaming in their right
hands.
The ford was nearer and nearer; there was half a furlong left yet, and
evidently the Tartar horses were using their last strength, for the
distance between them and the cavalry was quickly decreasing.
A few moments later the front ranks of the pursuers began to cut with
their swords the Tartars closing the rear. The ford was right there; it
seemed that in a few springs the horses would be in it.
Suddenly something wonderful happened.
Behold, when the chambul had run to the ford, a shrill whistle of pipes
was heard again on the wings, and the whole body, instead of rushing
into the river to seek safety on the other bank, opened in two, and
with the speed of swallows sprang to the right and left, with and
against the flow of the river.
But the heavy regiments, rushing right on their shoulders with the
highest horse-speed, raced into the ford with the same force, and only
when in the water did the horsemen begin to hold in their furious
beasts.
The cannon, which up to that moment had been showering a rain of iron
on the gravel, were silent in a second; the gunners had to spare their
own army.
But Gosyevski was waiting for precisely that instant as for salvation.
The cavalry were hardly in the water when the terrible royal squadron
of Voynillovich rushed at it like a hurricane; then the Lauda, the
Korsak, the two squadrons of the hetman, and the volunteer squadron;
after that, the armored squadron of Prince Michael Radzivill.
A terrible shout, “Kill, slay!” thundered in the air; and before the
Prussian regiments could halt, concentrate, use their swords, the
Voynillovich squadron had scattered them as a whirl of air scatters
leaves; they crushed the red dragoons, pushed back Boguslav’s regiment,
cut it in two, and drove it over the field toward the main army of
Prussia.
In one moment the river was red with blood. The cannon began to play
again; but too late, for eight squadrons of Lithuanian cavalry were
sweeping with thunder and roar over the meadow, and the whole battle
was transferred to the other side of the river.
The hetman was flying with one of his own squadrons, his face radiant
with joy, and with fire in his eyes; for once he had the cavalry beyond
the river, he was certain of victory.
The squadrons, emulating one another in slashing and thrusting, drove
before them the remnant of the dragoons and the cavalry, which fell in
a dense body; for the heavy horses were not able to flee swiftly, and
merely covered the pursuers against missiles from the front.
Meanwhile Waldeck, Boguslav, Radzivill, and Israel sent forward all
their cavalry to restrain the onset, and hastened themselves to put the
infantry in line. Regiment after regiment ran out of the tabor, and
took their places on the plain. They thrust the butts of their heavy
spears into the earth, with the heads pointing forward, inclined like a
fence to the enemy.
In the next rank musketeers stretched forward the barrels of their
muskets. Between the quadrangles of regiments they placed cannon in hot
haste. Neither Boguslav nor Waldeck nor Israel flattered themselves
that their cavalry could restrain that of the Poles very long, and
their whole hope was in the artillery and the infantry. Meanwhile in
front of the infantry the mounted regiments struck breast against
breast. But that happened which the Prussian leaders foresaw.
The pressure of the Lithuanian cavalry was so terrible that their
opponents could not restrain them for one moment, and the first hussar
regiments split them as a wedge splits wood, and went without breaking
a lance through the dense mass, as a ship driven by strong wind goes
through waves. The streamers were visible nearer and nearer; at times
the heads of the hussar horses rose above the throng of the Prussians.
“On your guard!” cried the officers, standing in the quadrangle of
infantry.
At this word the Prussian soldiers braced themselves more firmly on
their feet, and strained their arms holding the spears; and all hearts
were beating violently, for the terrible hussars had come wholly in
sight, and were bearing down straightway against them.
“Fire!” was the word of command.
Muskets rattled in the second and third ranks of the quadrangle. Smoke
covered the men. A moment later the roar of the coming squadron was
nearer. They are right there! All at once, amid the smoke, the first
rank of infantry see there above them, almost over their heads,
thousands of horses’ hoofs, wide nostrils, inflamed eyes; a crash of
broken spears is heard; a fearful shout rends the air; Polish voices
shouting, “Slay!” and German voices, “Gott erbarme Dich meiner (God
have mercy on me)!”
That regiment is broken, crushed; but in the spaces between other
regiments cannon begin to play. Other squadrons come up. Each one
strikes after a moment on a forest of lances; but perhaps not every one
will break the forest which it strikes, for none has such terrible
force as Voynillovich’s squadron. Shouting increases on the whole field
of battle. Nothing can be seen; but from the mass of combatants groups
of yellow infantry escape in disorder, fleeing from some regiment which
evidently was also beaten.
Horsemen in gray colors pursue, cut, and trample these men, and shout,—
“Lauda! Lauda!”
That was Volodyovski, who with his squadron had fought against a second
quadrangle.
But others were “sticking” yet; victory might still incline to the
Prussians, especially as at the tabor stood two regiments intact,
which, since the tabor was safe, might be summoned at any moment.
Waldeck had in truth lost his head. Israel was not present, for he had
been sent with the cavalry; but Boguslav was watching and managing
everything. He led the whole battle, and seeing the increase of great
peril, sent Pan Byes for those regiments.
Byes urged on his horse, and half an hour later returned bareheaded,
with terror and despair in his face.
“The horde is in the tabor!” shouted he, hurrying up to Boguslav.
At that moment unearthly howling was heard on the right wing; this
howling came nearer and nearer.
Suddenly appeared crowds of Swedish horsemen approaching in terrible
panic; after them were fleeing weaponless, bareheaded infantry; after
the infantry, in confusion and disorder, came wagons drawn by wild and
terrified horses. All this mass was rushing at random from the tabor
toward the infantry in the meadow. In a moment they fell on the
infantry, put them into disorder, scattered them, especially when in
front they were pressed by Lithuanian cavalry.
“Hassan Bey has reached the tabor!” cried Gosyevski, with ecstasy; and
he let out his last two squadrons like falcons from their rest.
At the same moment that these two squadrons strike the infantry in
front, their own wagons rush against them on the flank. The last
quadrangles burst as if under the stroke of a hammer. Of the whole
brilliant Swedish-Prussian army there is formed one gigantic mass, in
which the cavalry are mingled with the infantry. Men are overturning,
trampling, and suffocating one another; they throw off their clothing,
cast away their arms. The cavalry press them, cut them, crush them,
mash them. It is no longer a battle lost; it is a ruin, one of the most
ghastly of the war.
Boguslav, seeing that all was lost, resolved to save at least himself
and some of the cavalry. With superhuman exertion he collected a few
hundred horsemen, and was fleeing along the left wing in the direction
of the river’s course.
He had already escaped from the main whirl, when Prince Michael
Radzivill, leading his own hussars, struck him on the flank and
scattered his whole detachment at a blow. After this Boguslav’s men
fled singly or in small groups. They could be saved only by the speed
of their horses.
In fact, the hussars did not pursue, but struck on the main body of
infantry, which all the other squadrons were cutting to pieces. The
broken detachment fled over the field like a scattered herd of deer.
Boguslav, on Kmita’s black steed, is rushing like the wind, striving in
vain by cries to gather around him even a few tens of men. No one obeys
him; each man flees on his own account, glad that he has escaped from
the disaster, and that he has no enemy in front of him. But rejoicing
was vain. They had not gone a thousand yards when howling was heard in
front, and a gray host of Tartars sprang forth from the river, near
which they had been lurking till then.
This was Kmita with his men. Leaving the field, after he had brought
the enemy to the ford, he turned so as to cut off retreat to the
fugitives.
The Tartars, seeing the cavalry scattered, scattered themselves in a
moment to catch them more easily, and a murderous pursuit began. Two or
three Tartars cut off one trooper, and he rarely defended himself; more
frequently he seized his rapier by the point, and extended the hilt to
the Tartars, calling for mercy. But the Tartars, knowing that they
could not lead these prisoners home, took only officers who could give
ransom; the common soldiers received a knife in the throat, and died,
unable to say even “God!” Those who fled to the last were stabbed in
the back and shoulders; those under whom the horses did not fall were
caught with lariats.
Kmita rushed for a time over the field, hurling down horsemen and
seeking Boguslav with his eyes; at last he beheld him, and knew him at
once by the horse, by the blue ribbon, and the hat with black ostrich
feathers.
A cloud of white steam surrounded the prince; for just the moment
before two Nogais had attacked him. One he killed with a pistol-shot,
and the other he thrust through with a rapier; then seeing a larger
party rushing from one side, and Kmita from the other, he pressed his
horse with spurs, and shot on like a hunted deer followed by hounds.
More than fifty men rushed in a body after him; but not all the horses
ran equally, so that soon the fifty formed a long serpent, the head of
which was Boguslav and the neck Kmita.
The prince bent forward in his saddle; the black horse appeared not to
touch the earth with his feet, but was black over the green grass, like
a swallow sweeping close to the ground; the chestnut stretched his neck
like a crane, put back his ears, and seemed as if trying to spring from
his skin. Single willows, clumps of them, groups of alder, shot past;
the Tartars were behind, a furlong, two, three furlongs, but they ran
and ran. Kmita threw his pistols from the holsters to lighten the
horse’s burden; with eyes fastened on Boguslav, with fixed lips, he
almost lay on the neck of the horse, pricked his foaming sides with
spurs, till soon the foam falling to the earth became rose-colored.
But the distance between him and the prince not only did not decrease a
single inch, but began to increase.
“Woe!” thought Pan Andrei, “no horse on earth can overtake that one.”
And when after a few springs the distance increased still more, he
straightened himself in the saddle, let the sword drop on its pendant,
and putting his hands around his mouth, shouted in a trumpet-like
voice: “Flee, traitor, flee before Kmita! I will get you, if not
to-day, to-morrow.”
These words had barely sounded in the air, when on a sudden the prince,
who heard them, looked around, and seeing that Kmita alone was
pursuing, instead of fleeing farther described a circle, and with
rapier in hand rushed upon him.
Pan Andrei gave forth a terrible cry of joy, and without lessening
speed raised his sabre for a blow.
“Corpse! corpse!” shouted the prince; and wishing to strike the more
surely, he restrained his horse.
Kmita, when he had come up, held in his own beast till his hoofs sank
in the earth, and rapier met sabre.
They closed in such fashion that the two horses formed almost one body.
A terrible sound of steel was heard, quick as thought; no eye could
catch the lightning-like movement of rapier and sabre, nor distinguish
the prince from Kmita. At times Boguslav’s hat appeared black, at times
Kmita’s steel morion gleamed. The horses whirled around each other. The
swords clinked more and more terribly.
Boguslav, after a few strokes, ceased to despise his opponent. All the
terrible thrusts which he had learned from French masters were parried.
Sweat was now flowing freely from his face with the rouge and white; he
felt weariness in his right arm already. Wonder seized him, then
impatience, then rage; therefore he determined to finish, and he thrust
so terribly that the hat fell from his head.
Kmita warded with such force that the prince’s rapier flew to the side
of the horse; and before Boguslav could defend himself again, Kmita cut
him with the very end of the sabre in the forehead.
“Christ!” cried the prince in German, rolling to the earth.
He fell on his back.
Pan Andrei was as if stunned for the moment, but recovered quickly. He
dropped his sabre on its pendant, made the sign of the cross, sprang
from his horse, and seizing the hilt, again approached the prince.
He was terrible; for pale as a sheet from emotion, his lips were
pressed, and inexorable hatred was in his face.
Behold his mortal enemy, and such a powerful one, lying now at his feet
in blood, still alive and conscious, but conquered, and not with
foreign weapons nor with foreign aid.
Boguslav looked at him with widely opened eyes, watching carefully
every move of the victor; and when Kmita stood there above him, he
cried quickly,—
“Do not kill me! Ransom!”
Kmita, instead of answering, stood with his foot on Boguslav’s breast,
and pressed with all his power; then he placed the point of his sabre
on the prince’s throat so that the skin yielded under the point,—he
only needed to move his hand, to press more firmly. But he did not kill
him at once. He wished to sate himself yet with the sight, and make the
death of his enemy more grievous. He transfixed Boguslav’s eyes with
his own eyes, and stood above him, as a lion stands above an overthrown
buffalo.
The prince, from whose forehead blood was flowing more and more
copiously, so that the whole upper part of his head was as if in a
pool, spoke again, but now with a greatly stifled voice, for the foot
of Pan Andrei was crushing his breast,—
“The maiden—listen—”
Barely had Pan Andrei heard these words when he took his foot from
Boguslav’s breast, and raised his sword. “Speak!” said he.
But Boguslav only breathed deeply for a time; at last, with a voice now
stronger, he said,—
“The maiden will die, if you kill me. The orders are given.”
“What have you done with her?” asked Kmita.
“Spare me, and I will give her to you. I swear on the Gospel.”
Pan Andrei struck his forehead with his fist. It was to be seen for a
time that he was struggling with himself and with his thoughts; then he
said,—
“Hear me, traitor! I would give a hundred such degenerate ruffians for
one hair of hers. But I do not believe you, you oath-breaker!”
“On the Gospel!” repeated the prince. “I will give you a safe-conduct
and an order in writing.”
“Let it be so. I will give you your life, but I will not let you out of
my hands. You will give me the letter; but meanwhile I will give you to
the Tartars, with whom you will be in captivity.”
“Agreed,” answered Boguslav.
“Remember,” said Pan Andrei, “your princely rank did not preserve you
from my hand, nor your army, nor your fencing. And be assured that as
many times as you cross my path, or do not keep word, nothing will save
you,—even though you were made Emperor of Germany. Recognize me! Once I
had you in my hands, now you are lying under my feet!”
“Consciousness is leaving me,” said the prince. “Pan Kmita, there must
be water near by. Give me to drink, and wash my wound.”
“Die, parricide!” answered Kmita.
But the prince, secure of life, recovered all his self-command, and
said,—
“You are foolish, Pan Kmita. If I die, she too—” Here his lips grew
pale.
Kmita ran to see if there was not some ditch near at hand, or even some
pool. The prince fainted, but for a short time; he revived, happily for
himself, when the first Tartar, Selim, son of Gazi Aga, the banneret
among Kmita’s Tartars, was coming up, and seeing the enemy weltering in
blood, determined to pin him to the earth with the spear-point of the
banner. The prince in that terrible moment still had strength
sufficient to seize the point, which, being loosely fastened, fell from
the staff.
The sound of that short struggle brought back Pan Andrei.
“Stop! son of a dog!” cried he, running from a distance.
The Tartar, at the sound of the familiar voice, pushed up to his horse
with fear. Kmita commanded him to go for water, and remained himself
with the prince; for from afar were to be seen approaching at a gallop
the Kyemliches, Soroka, and the whole chambul, who, after they had
caught all the horsemen, came to seek their leader.
Seeing Pan Andrei, the faithful Nogais threw up their caps with loud
shouts.
Akbah Ulan sprang from his horse and began to bow to him, touching with
his hand his forehead, his mouth, and his breast. Others smacking their
lips, in Tartar fashion, looked with greediness into the eyes of the
conquered; some rushed to seize the two horses, the chestnut and the
black, which were running at a distance each with flying mane.
“Akbah Ulan,” said Kmita, “this is the leader of the army which we
conquered this morning, Prince Boguslav Radzivill. I give him to you;
and do you keep him, for dead or alive they will pay you for him
liberally. Now take care of him; put on him a lariat, and lead him to
camp.”
“Allah! Allah! We thank the leader! We thank the conqueror!” cried all
the Tartars in one voice; and again was heard the smacking of a
thousand lips.
Kmita mounted and went with a part of the Tartars to the field of
battle. From a distance he saw the standard-bearers with their
standards, but of the squadrons there were only a few men present; the
rest had gone in pursuit of the enemy. Crowds of camp servants were
busy on the battle-field, plundering the corpses and fighting here and
there with the Tartars, who were plundering also. The latter looked
specially terrible, with knives in their hands, and with arms stained
to the elbows. You would have said that a flock of crows had dropped
from the clouds to the battle-plain. Their wild laughter and shouts
were heard over the whole meadow.
Some holding in their lips knives still steaming drew with both hands
dead men by the feet; others in sport threw at one another severed
heads. Some were filling bags; others, as in a bazaar, were holding up
bloody garments, praising their value, or examining the weapons which
they had taken.
Kmita passed over the field where he had first met the cavalry. Bodies
of men and horses, cut with swords, lay scattered there; but where
squadrons had cut infantry, there were whole piles of corpses, and
pools of stiffened blood plashed under foot like muddy water in a
swamp.
It was difficult to advance through the fragments of broken lances,
muskets, corpses, overturned wagons, and troops of Tartars pushing
around.
Gosyevski was still on the intrenchment of the fortified camp, and with
him were Prince Michael Radzivill, Voynillovich, Volodyovski, Korsak,
and a number of men. From this height they took in with their eyes the
field far away to its uttermost edges, and were able to estimate the
whole extent of the victory and the enemy’s defeat.
Kmita, on beholding these gentlemen, hastened his pace; and Gosyevski,
since he was not only a fortunate warrior but an honorable man without
a shadow of envy in his heart, had barely seen Pan Andrei, when he
cried,—
“Here comes the real victor! He is the cause of winning the day. I
first declare this in public. Gracious gentlemen, thank Pan Babinich;
for had it not been for him we could not have crossed the river.”
“Vivat Babinich!” cried a number of voices. “Vivat, vivat!”
“Where did you learn war, O soldier,” cried the hetman, with
enthusiasm, “that you know what to do in a moment?”
Kmita did not answer, for he was too tired. He merely bowed on every
side, and passed his hand over his face, soiled with sweat and with
powder-smoke. His eyes gleamed with an uncommon light, and still the
vivats sounded incessantly. Division after division returned from the
field on foaming horses; and those who came joined their voices from
full breasts in honor of Babinich. Caps flew into the air; whoso had a
pistol still loaded gave fire.
Suddenly Kmita stood in the saddle, and raising both hands high,
shouted,—
“Vivat Yan Kazimir, our lord and gracious father!”
Here there was such a shout as if anew battle had begun. Unspeakable
enthusiasm seized all. Prince Michael ungirded his sabre, which had a
hilt set with diamonds, and gave it to Kmita. The hetman threw his own
costly cloak on the shoulders of the hero, who again raised his hands,—
“Vivat our hetman, victorious leader!”
“May he increase and flourish!” answered all, in a chorus.
Then they brought together the captured banners, and thrust them into
the embankment at the feet of the leaders. The enemy had not taken one
of theirs. There were Prussian, Prussian of the general militia,
nobles’, Swedish, and Boguslav flags; the whole rainbow of them was
waving at the embankment.
“One of the greatest victories of this war!” cried the hetman. “Israel
and Waldeck are in captivity, the colonels have fallen or are in
captivity, the army is cut to pieces.” Here he turned to Kmita: “Pan
Babinich, you were on that side, you must have met Boguslav; what has
happened to him?”
Here Pan Michael looked diligently into Kmita’s eyes, but Kmita said
quickly,—
“God has punished Boguslav with this hand.” Then he stretched forth his
right hand; but at that moment the little knight threw himself into his
arms.
“Yendrek,” cried he, “I am not envious! May God bless you!”
“You formed my hand!” answered Pan Andrei, with effusion.
But a further expression of brotherly feeling was stopped by Pan
Michael Radzivill.
“Is my cousin killed?” asked he, quickly.
“Not killed,” answered Kmita, “for I granted him life; but he is
wounded and captive, and over there my Nogais are bringing him.”
At these words astonishment was depicted on Volodyovski’s face, and the
eyes of the knight were turned to the plain, on which appeared a party
of some tens of Tartars approaching slowly; at last, when they had
passed a group of broken wagons, they came within some tens of yards of
the intrenchment.
The hetman and the officers saw that the Tartar riding in advance was
leading a prisoner; all recognized Boguslav, but in what a change of
fortune!
He, one of the most powerful lords in the Commonwealth; he, who even
yesterday was dreaming of independent rule; he, a prince of the German
Empire,—was walking now with a lariat around his neck, at the side of a
Tartar horse, without a hat, with bloody head bound in a filthy rag!
But such was the venom in the hearts of the knights against this
magnate that his terrible humiliation did not excite the pity of any,
and nearly all mouths shouted at the same moment,—
“Death to the traitor! Bear him apart on sabres! Death, death!”
Prince Michael covered his eyes with his hand, for still that was a
Radzivill led with such humiliation. Suddenly he grew red and shouted,—
“Gracious gentlemen! that is my cousin, that is my blood, and I have
spared neither life nor property for the country. He is my enemy who
will raise a hand against that ill-fated man.”
The knights were silent at once.
Prince Michael was universally beloved for his bravery, liberality, and
devotion to the country. Even when all Lithuania fell into the hands of
the Northerners, he alone defended himself in Nyesvyej, and in the time
of the Swedish wars he contemned the persuasions of Prince Yanush, and
was one of the first to join the confederacy of Tyshovtsi. His voice
therefore found hearing at once. Finally, it may be that no one wished
to oppose so powerful a man; it is enough that the sabres were placed
at once in the scabbards, and even some officers, clients of the
Radzivills, exclaimed,—
“Take him from the Tartars! Let the Commonwealth judge him, but let not
honorable blood be insulted by Pagans.”
“Take him from the Tartars!” repeated the prince; “we will find surety,
and he will pay the ransom himself. Pan Voynillovich, move your men and
let them take him by force, if it is impossible otherwise.”
“I offer myself as a surety to the Tartars,” said Pan Gnoinski.
Then Volodyovski pushed up to Kmita and said: “Yendrek, what have you
done? He will go safely out of this trouble!”
Kmita sprang forward like a wounded wild-cat.
“With the permission of your highness,” cried he. “This is my prisoner!
I granted him life, but under conditions to which he swore by his
heretical gospel; and may I fall dead here if he will go out of the
hands into which I gave him before he fulfils everything!”
When he had said this, he struck his horse, blocked the road, and his
inborn impulsiveness had almost carried him away; for his face began to
writhe, he distended his nostrils, and his eyes began to cast
lightning.
Meanwhile Voynillovich pressed him with his horse. “Aside, Pan
Babinich!” cried he.
“Aside, Pan Voynillovich!” roared Kmita, and struck with the hilt of
his sabre Voynillovich’s horse with such force that the steed tottered
on his legs as if struck by a ball and dug the ground with his
nostrils. Then there rose a fierce shout among the knights, so that
Gosyevski pushed forward and cried,—
“Silence, gentlemen! Gracious prince, in virtue of my authority as
hetman, I declare that Pan Babinich has a right to the prisoner, and
that whoso wishes to free him from Tartar hands must give guarantee to
his conqueror.”
Prince Michael mastered his indignation, calmed himself, and said,
directing his speech to Pan Andrei,—
“Say what you wish.”
“That he observe the conditions with me before he leaves captivity.”
“But he will keep them when he is free.”
“Impossible! I do not believe him.”
“Then I swear for him, by the Most Holy Mother, whom I recognize, and
on the word of a knight, that all will be observed to you. In the
opposite case you may make demand on my honor and property.”
“That is sufficient for me!” said Kmita. “Let Pan Gnoinski go as
hostage, for otherwise the Tartars will make resistance. I will give
way on your word.”
“I thank you, Cavalier!” answered Prince Michael. “Do not fear, either,
that he will receive his freedom at once, for I will give him to the
hetman by right, and he will remain a prisoner until the king
pronounces sentence.”
“That will be so!” answered the hetman; and ordering Voynillovich to
sit on a fresh horse, for that one was hardly able to stand, he sent
him with Pan Gnoinski for the prince.
But the affair did not pass easily yet; for Hassan Bey made a terrible
resistance, and only the sight of Pan Gnoinski and the promise of a
ransom of a hundred thousand thalers could pacify him.
In the evening Prince Boguslav found himself in the tents of Gosyevski.
He was cared for with attention; two physicians did not leave him for a
moment, and both guaranteed his life, for the wound, since it had been
given with the very end of the sabre, was not too serious.
Volodyovski could not forgive Kmita for having granted the prince his
life, and from sorrow avoided him all day. It was only in the evening
that Pan Andrei himself went to Pan Michael’s tent.
“Fear the wounds of God!” cried the little knight, at sight of him; “I
should have expected this of any other than of you, to let that traitor
go alive!”
“Listen to me, Michael, before you condemn me,” said Kmita, gloomily.
“I had him under my foot and held my sabre point at his throat, and
then do you know what the traitor said? That there were commands given
to kill Olenka in Taurogi if he should be slain. What had I,
unfortunate man, to do? I purchased her life with his life. What had I
to do? By the cross of Christ, what had I to do?”
Here Pan Andrei began to pull his hair, to stamp, from bewilderment;
and Volodyovski thought for awhile, then said,—
“I understand your despair; but still—you see, you have let go a
traitor who may bring grievous suffering to the country. There is no
denying, Yendrek, that you have rendered wonderful service to-day; but
at last you sacrificed the public good to your own private ends.”
“And what would you have done if you were told that there was a knife
at the throat of Panna Anusia?”
Pan Michael’s mustaches quivered fiercely. “I do not offer myself as an
example. H’m! what would I have done? But Pan Yan, who has a Roman
soul, would not have let him live; and besides, I am certain that God
would not have let innocent blood flow for the reason he mentioned.”
“Let me do penance. Punish me, O God, not according to my heavy sin,
but according to Thy mercy; for to sign a sentence against that dove—”
Here Kmita closed his eyes. “Angels forefend! Never, never!”
“It is passed,” said Volodyovski.
Here Pan Andrei took a paper out of his bosom. “See, Michael, what I
obtained. This is a command to Sakovich, to all the officers of
Radzivill, and to the Swedish commandants. We forced him to write it,
though he could barely move his hand. Prince Michael himself saw to
that. This is freedom for her, safety for her. I will lie in the form
of a cross every day for a year, I will have myself scourged, I will
build a church, but I will not sacrifice her life. I have not a Roman
soul. Well, I am not a Cato like Pan Yan, true! But I will not
sacrifice her; no, by a hundred thunders, I will not, even if at last I
am roasted in hell on a spit—”
Kmita did not finish, for Pan Michael sprang up to him and stopped his
mouth with his hand, crying in a terrified voice,—
“Do not blaspheme, for you will draw the vengeance of God on her. Beat
your breast, quickly, quickly!”
And Pan Andrei began to beat his breast: “Mea culpa! mea culpa! mea
maxima culpa!” At last the poor soldier burst into loud weeping, for he
did not know himself what to do.
Pan Michael let him have his cry out; then he pacified him, and asked,—
“And what will you undertake now?”
“I will go with my men whither I am sent, as far as Birji. Only let the
men and horses draw breath first. On the road I will shed as much
heretical blood as I can, to the glory of God.”
“And you will have your merit. Do not lose heart, Yendrek. God is
merciful!”
“I will go directly ahead. All Prussia is open at present; only here
and there shall I light upon small garrisons.”
Pan Michael sighed: “Oh, I would go with you as gladly as to paradise.
But I must keep my command. You are fortunate to lead volunteers.
Yendrek, listen, brother! and when you find both, take care of that
one, so that no evil befall her. God knows, she may be predestined to
me.”
When he had said this, the little knight cast himself into the arms of
Pan Andrei.