Sakovich’s forces were cut up to such a degree that he was barely able
himself to take refuge in the forests near Ponyevyej with four other
men. Then he wandered through the forests disguised as a peasant for a
whole month, not daring to put his head out into the open light.
But Babinich rushed upon Ponyevyej, cut down the infantry posted there
as a garrison, and pursued Hamilton, who was unable to flee to Livonia
because of the considerable Polish forces assembled in Shavli, and
farther on, near Birji, turned toward the east in hope of being able to
break through to Vilkomir. He had doubts about saving his own regiment,
but did not wish to fall into the hands of Babinich; for the report was
spread everywhere that that stern warrior, not to burden himself, gave
orders to slay every prisoner.
The ill-fated Englishman therefore fled like a deer hunted by wolves,
and Babinich hunted him all the more venomously. Hence he did not
return to Volmontovichi, and he did not even inquire what party it was
that he had saved.
The first hoar-frosts had begun to cover the earth in the morning;
escape became more difficult thereby, for the tracks of hoofs remained
on the earth. In the forest there was no pasture, in the field the
horses suffered stern hunger. The foreign cavalry did not dare to
remain longer in villages, lest the stubborn enemy might reach them any
moment.
At last their misery surpassed all bounds; they lived only on leaves,
bark, and those of their own horses which fell from fatigue. After a
week they began to implore their colonel to turn, face Babinich, and
give him battle, for they chose to die by the sword rather than by
hunger. Hamilton yielded, and drew up for battle in Andronishki. The
Swedish forces were inferior to that degree that the Englishman could
not even think of victory, especially against such an opponent. But he
was himself greatly wearied, and wanted to die. The battle, begun at
Andronishki, ended near Troüpi, where fell the last of the Swedes.
Hamilton died the death of a hero, defending himself at a cross by the
roadside against a number of Tartars, who wished at first to take him
alive, but infuriated by his resistance bore him apart on their sabres
at last.
But Babinich’s squadrons were so wearied too that they had neither the
strength nor the wish to advance even to the neighboring Troüpi; but
wherever one of them stood during battle there it prepared at once for
the night’s rest, kindling fires in the midst of the enemy’s corpses.
After they had eaten, all fell asleep with the sleep of stones. Even
the Tartars themselves deferred till next morning the plunder of
corpses.
Kmita, who was concerned mainly about the horses, did not oppose that
rest. But next morning he rose rather early, so as to count his own
loss after the stubborn conflict and divide the spoils justly.
Immediately after eating he stood on the eminence, at that same cross
under which Hamilton had died; the Polish and Tartar officers came to
him in their turn, with the loss of their men notched on staffs, and
made reports. He listened as a country proprietor listens in summer to
his overseers, and rejoices in his heart at the plentiful harvest.
Then Akbah Ulan came up, more like a fright than a human being, for his
nose had been broken at Volmontovichi by the hilt of a sabre; he bowed,
gave Kmita a bloody paper, and said,—
“Effendi, some papers were found on the Swedish leader, which I give
according to order.”
Kmita had indeed given a rigorous order that all papers discovered on
corpses should be brought to him straightway after battle, for often he
was able to learn from them the plans of the enemy, and act
accordingly.
But at this time he was not so urgent; therefore he nodded and put the
paper in his bosom. But Akbah Ulan he sent to the chambul with the
order to move at once to Troüpi, where they were to have a longer rest.
The squadrons then passed before him, one after the other. In advance
marched the chambul, which now did not number five hundred completely;
the rest had been lost in continual battles; but each Tartar had so
many Swedish riks thalers, Prussian thalers and ducats sewed up in his
saddle, in his coat, and in his cap, that he was worth his own weight.
They were in no wise like common Tartars, for whoso of them was weaker
had perished from hardship; there remained only men beyond praise,
broad-shouldered, of iron endurance, and venomous as hornets. Continual
practice had so trained them that in hand-to-hand conflict they could
meet even the regular cavalry of Poland; on the heavy cavalry or
dragoons of Prussia, when equal in number, they rushed like wolves upon
sheep. In battle they defended with terrible fierceness the bodies of
their comrades, so as to divide afterward their booty. They passed now
before Kmita with great animation, sounding their trumpets, blowing
their pipes, and shaking their horse-tail standard; they went in such
order that regular troops could not have marched better.
Next came the dragoons, formed with great pains by Pan Andrei from
volunteers of every description, armed with rapiers and muskets. They
were led by the old sergeant, Soroka, now raised to the dignity of
officer, and even to that of captain. The regiment, dressed in one
fashion in captured uniforms taken from Prussian dragoons, was composed
chiefly of men of low station; but Kmita loved specially that kind of
people, for they obeyed blindly and endured every toil without uttering
a murmur.
In the two following squadrons of volunteers only smaller and higher
nobles served. They were stormy spirits and restive, who under another
leader would have been turned into a herd of robbers, but in Kmita’s
iron hands they had become like regular squadrons, and gladly called
themselves “light horsemen.” These were less steady under fire than the
dragoons, but were more terrible in their first fury, and were more
skilful in hand-to-hand conflict, for they knew every point of fencing.
After these marched, finally, about a thousand fresh volunteers,—good
men, but over whom it was needful to work yet to make them like regular
troops.
Each of these squadrons in passing raised a shout, saluting meanwhile
Pan Andrei with their sabres. And he was more and more rejoiced. That
was a considerable and not a poor force. He had accomplished much with
it, had shed much of the enemy’s blood, and God knows how much he might
do yet. His former offences were great, but his recent services were
not slight. He had risen from his fall, from his sin; and had gone to
repent, not in the church, but in the field.—not in ashes, but in
blood. He had defended the Most Holy Lady, the country, and the king;
and now he felt that it was easier in his soul and more joyous. Nay,
the heart of the young man swelled with pride, for not every one would
have been able to make head as he had.
For how many fiery nobles are there, how many cavaliers in that
Commonwealth! and why does no one of them stand at the head of such
forces,—not even Volodyovski, nor Pan Yan? Besides, who defended
Chenstohova, who defended the king in the pass, who slashed down
Boguslav, who first brought fire and sword into Electoral Prussia? And
behold even now in Jmud there is hardly an enemy.
Here Pan Andrei felt what the falcon feels, when, stretching his wings,
he rises higher and higher. The passing squadrons greeted him with a
thundering shout, and he raised his head and asked himself, “Whither
shall I fly?” And his face flushed, for in that moment it seemed to him
that within himself he bore a hetman. But that baton, if it comes to
him, will come from the field, from wounds, from service, from praise.
No traitor will flash it before his eyes as in his time Prince Yanush
had done, but a thankful country will place it in his hand, with the
will of the king. But it is not for him to think when it will come, but
to fight, and to fight to-morrow as he fought yesterday!
Here the excited imagination of the cavalier returned to reality.
Whither should he march from Troüpi, in what new place strike the
Swedes?
Then he remembered the letter given him by Akbah Ulan and found on the
body of Hamilton. He put his hand in his bosom, took it out and looked,
and astonishment at once was reflected on his face; for on the letter
was written plainly, in a woman’s hand: “To his Grace Pan Babinich,
Colonel of Tartar forces and volunteers.”
“For me!” said Pan Andrei.
The seal was broken; therefore he opened the letter quickly, struck the
paper with the back of his hand, and began to read. But he had not
finished when his hands began to quiver, his face changed, and he
cried,—
“Praised be the name of the Lord! O merciful God, the reward comes to
me from Thy hand!”
Here he seized the foot of the cross with both hands, and began to beat
his yellow hair against the wood. In another manner he was not able to
thank God at that moment; he found no other words for prayer, because
delight like a whirlwind had seized him and borne him far, far away to
the sky.
That letter was from Anusia. The Swedes had found it on the body of
Yurek Billevich, and now it had come to Kmita’s hands through a second
corpse. Through Pan Andrei’s head thousands of thoughts were flying
with the speed of Tartar arrows.
Therefore Olenka was not in the wilderness, but in Billevich’s party;
and he had just saved her, and with her that Volmontovichi which on a
time he had sent up in smoke in avenging his comrades. Evidently the
hand of God had directed his steps, so that with one blow he had made
good all wrongs done Olenka and Lauda. Behold, his offences are washed
away! Can she refuse now to forgive him, or can that grave brotherhood
of Lauda? Can they refuse to bless him? And what will she say, that
beloved maiden who holds him a traitor, when she learns that that
Babinich who brought down Radzivill, who waded to his girdle in German
and Swedish blood, who crushed the enemy out of Jmud, destroyed them,
drove them to Prussia and Livonia, was he,—was Kmita; no longer,
however, the disorderly, the outlaw, the traitor, but the defender of
the faith, of the king, of the country?
Immediately after he had crossed the boundary of Jmud, Pan Andrei
wished to proclaim to the four sides of the world who that far-famed
Babinich was; and if he did not do so, it was only because he feared
that at the very sound of his real name all would turn from him, all
would suspect him, would refuse him aid and confidence. Two years had
barely passed, since bewildered by Radzivill he had cut down those
squadrons which were not willing to rise with Radzivill against king
and country. Barely two years before, he had been the right hand of the
traitor.
Now all was changed. Now, after so many victories, in such glory, he
had a right to come to the maiden and say, “I am Kmita, but your
savior.” He had a right to shout to all Jmud, “I am Kmita, but thy
savior!”
Besides, Volmontovichi was not distant. Kmita had followed Hamilton a
week; but Kmita would be at the feet of Olenka in less time than a
week. Here Pan Andrei stood up, pale with emotion, with flaming eyes,
with gleaming face, and cried to his attendant,—
“My horse quickly! Be alive, be alive!” The attendant brought the black
steed, and sprang down to hold the stirrup; but when he had reached the
ground he said,—
“Your grace, some strange men are approaching from Troüpi with Pan
Soroka, and they are coming at a trot.”
“I do not care for them!” answered Pan Andrei.
Now both horsemen approached to within some yards; then one of them
with Soroka pushed forward on a gallop, arrived, and removing his
panther-skin cap, uncovered a head red as fire.
“I see that I am standing before Pan Babinich!” said he; “I am glad
that I have found you.”
“With whom have I the honor to speak?” asked Kmita, impatiently.
“I am Vyershul, once captain of the Tartar squadron with Prince Yeremi
Vishnyevetski. I come to my native place to make levies for a new war;
and besides I bring you a letter from the grand hetman, Sapyeha.”
“For a new war?” asked Kmita, frowning. “What do you say?”
“This letter will explain better than I,” replied Vyershul, giving the
letter of the hetman. Kmita opened the letter feverishly. It read as
follows:—
My Very Dear Pan Babinich,—A new deluge is on the country. A league of
Sweden with Rakotsy has been concluded, and a division of the
Commonwealth agreed upon. Eighty thousand Hungarians, Transylvanians,
Wallachians, and Cossacks may cross the southern boundary at any
moment. And since in these last straits it is necessary for us to exert
all our forces so as to leave even a glorious name after our people for
coming ages, I send to your grace this order, according to which you
are to turn straight to the south without losing a moment of time, and
come to us by forced marches. You will find us in Brest, whence we will
send you farther without delay. This time _periculum in mora_ (there is
danger in delay). Prince Boguslav is freed from captivity; but Pan
Gosyevski is to have an eye on Prussia and Jmud. Enjoining haste on you
once more, I trust that love for the perishing country will be your
best spur.
When Kmita had finished reading, he dropped the letter to the earth,
and began to pass his hands over his moistened face; at last he looked
wanderingly on Vyershul, and inquired in a low, stifled voice,—
“Why is Pan Gosyevski to remain in Jmud, and why must I go to the
south?”
Vyershul shrugged his shoulders: “Ask the hetman in Brest for his
reason; I answer nothing.”
All at once terrible anger seized Pan Andrei by the throat. His eyes
flashed, his face was blue, and he cried with a shrieking voice: “I
will not go from here! Do you understand?”
“Is that true?” asked Vyershul. “My office was to deliver the order;
the rest is your affair. With the forehead, with the forehead! I wished
to beg your company for a couple of hours, but after what I have heard
I prefer to look for another.”
Then he wheeled his horse and rode off. Pan Andrei sat again under the
cross, and began to look around on the sky, as if wishing to take note
of the weather. The attendant drew back some distance with the horses,
and stillness set in all around.
The morning was clear, pale, half autumnal, half wintry. The wind was
not blowing, but from the birch bushes growing at the foot of the
crucifix the last leaves were dropping noiselessly, yellow and
shrivelled from frost. Countless flocks of crows and jackdaws were
flying over the forest; some were letting themselves down with mighty
cawing right there near the crucifix, for the field and the road were
covered with corpses of Swedes still unburied. Pan Andrei looked at
those dark birds, blinking his eyes; you would say that he wanted to
count them. Then he closed his lids and sat long without motion; at
last he shuddered, frowned; presence of mind came back to his face, and
he began to speak thus to himself,—
“It cannot be otherwise! I will go in two weeks, but not now. Let
happen what may. It was not I who brought Rakotsy. I cannot! What is
too much is too much! Have I hammered and pounded but little, passed
sleepless nights in the saddle, shed my own blood and that of other
men? What reward for this? If I had not received the first letter, I
should have gone; but both have come in one hour, as if for the greater
pain, the greater sorrow. Let the world perish, I will not go! The
country will not be lost in two weeks; and besides the anger of God is
evidently on it, and it is not in the might of man to oppose that. O
God! the Hyperboreans [Northern Russians], the Swedes, the Prussians,
the Hungarians, the Transylvanians, the Wallachians, the Cossacks, and
all of them at once! Who can resist? O Lord, in what has this
unfortunate land offended, in what this pious king, that Thou hast
turned from them Thy face, and givest neither mercy nor rescue, and
sendest new lashes? Is the bloodshed yet too little, the tears too few?
People here have forgotten to rejoice,—so the wind does not blow here,
it groans; so the rains do not fall, they weep,—and Thou art lashing
and lashing! Mercy, O Lord! Salvation, O Father! We have sinned, but
still repentance has come. We have yielded our fortunes, we have
mounted our horses, we are fighting and fighting. We have abandoned
violence, we have abjured private ends. Why not pardon us? Why not
comfort us?”
Here conscience seized him by the hair suddenly, and shook him till he
screamed; for at the same time it seemed to him that he heard some
strange voice from the whole dome of heaven, saying,—
“Have you abandoned private ends? But, unfortunate, what are you doing
at this moment? You are exalting your services; and when the first
moment of trial comes, you rise like a wild horse, and shout, ‘I will
not go!’ The mother is perishing; new swords are piercing her breast,
and you turn away from her. You do not wish to support her with your
arm; you are running after your own fortune, and crying, ‘I will not
go!’ She is stretching forth bleeding hands; she is just falling, just
fainting, just dying, and with her last voice cries, ‘Rescue me,
children!’ But you answer, ‘I will not go!’ Woe to you! Woe to such
people, woe to the Commonwealth!”
Here terror raised the hair on Pan Andrei’s head, and his whole body
began to tremble as if fever had seized it; and that moment he fell
with his face to the earth, and began not to cry, but to scream in
terror,—
“O Jesus, do not punish! Jesus, have mercy! Thy will be done! I will
go, I will go!”
Then he lay some time without speaking, and sobbed; and when he rose at
last, he had a face full of resignation and perfectly calm; and thus he
prayed further,—
“Wonder not, O Lord, that I grieve, for I was on the eve of my
happiness; but let it be as Thou hast ordained. I understand now that
Thou didst wish to try me, and therefore didst place me as it were on
the parting of the roads. Let Thy will be done. Once more I will not
look behind. To Thee, O Lord, I offer this my terrible sorrow, this my
yearning, this my grievous suffering. Let it all be accounted to me in
punishment because I spared Prince Boguslav, at which the country wept.
Thou seest now, O Lord, that that was my last work for self-interest.
There will be no other. O merciful Father! But now I will kiss once
more this beloved earth; yes, I will press Thy bleeding feet again, and
I go, O Christ! I go—”
And he went.
In the heavenly register in which are written the evil and good deeds
of men, his sins were at that moment all blotted out, for he was
completely corrected.