AN EYE FOR AN EYE.
Starting from the little wooden bridge which spans the Pruth near
Zulawce, and following the river, about an hour's ride will bring you
to the village of Kossowince. It is a well-favoured spot, the fertile
wheat-fields of the plain spreading round about; yet the village is
near enough to the rich green slopes of the rising uplands to obtain
considerable returns from cattle-rearing as well. This flourishing
place in our own days is known again as the "rich village," its
much-envied inhabitants going by the name of the "wheat lords," but
there have been times when the poorest cottager of the heath-country
would not have exchanged his miserable cabin for the finest homestead
at Kossowince. For rivers of tears and streams of blood have flowed
here for religion's sake. In the days when Poland held sway, nearly all
the inhabitants of the district had forsaken the Byzantine orthodox
creed, turning Catholics, if not of their own free will, yet under the
combined influence of Romish Jesuits and tyrannical waywodes; very few
of the peasantry had courage enough to withstand such persuasion, but
of these few were the people of Kossowince. Trusting in their numbers
and wealth, the "wheat lords" clung to their ancient faith, although
every decade brought them a bitter experience of persecution. The
Austrian supremacy eventually put an end to these troubles, and in the
days of the good Emperor Joseph the people of Kossowince might cross
themselves from the right to the left, or from the left to the right,
as they pleased. But when that monarch had been gathered to his
fathers, this important difference once more appeared to trouble the
ruling powers, most of all his Grace of Lemberg, and the villagers soon
had proof that their heresy was being dealt with. Doubtfully they
looked into the threatening future, and their horizon grew darker still
when they learned that all of a sudden they had fallen under spiritual
sway. The lady of the manor, a widowed countess, had seen fit to
bequeath the "rich village" for purposes of Romish endowment, and their
new mandatar proved to be a secular priest, a certain Victor von
Sanecki, sent thither to collect the revenues. He was received with
unbounded hatred; yet within the space of a few months he had known how
to gain the confidence, even the goodwill, of the people. For this
ghostly steward was thoroughly conversant with agriculture; he proved a
good counsellor, and appeared not to take the slightest notice of the
heretical tendency of the village. So tolerant was he, that when the
elders one day uttered complaints against their pope, Miron Aganowicz,
describing him as a worse drunkard than need be, he did his best to
find excuses for his reverend brother, the result, of course, being
that Miron, who so far had stood in some awe of spiritual censure,
drank worse than ever, providing the means by various methods of
extortion. But the parish was possessed of some spirit, and the sheep
turned against the shepherd; whereupon the pope complained to the civil
authorities and was victorious in the contest. The aggrieved peasantry
carried their trouble to the ghostly mandatar, but he pointed out to
them that the courtesy of his sacred calling did not permit him to
interfere, making a similar statement to his brother Miron, who, on the
strength of it, oppressed the people more than ever. Matters grew to
such a pass that the parish petitioned for another pope, and, being
refused, declared themselves willing to be rid of Miron at any price,
assuring the authorities that they had come to see how foolishly
prejudiced they had been in opposing the ruling faith, and that they
were quite ready now to profess themselves Roman Catholics, provided
that the reverend Sanecki, that excellent man, might be their priest
and mandatar in one. This offer was accepted speedily, and on Easter
Sunday, in the year of grace 1837, the Greek church of Kosso wince was
solemnly dedicated to the Romish rite, Sanecki entering on his
functions as the pastor of this converted people.
The event made a stir far and wide; it was evident that the benign
wisdom of an amiable priest, within the space of two short years, had
succeeded in overcoming the stubborn resistance which had braved the
tyranny of centuries. Not many had the clear-headed judgment, or,
indeed, sufficient acquaintance with Sanecki himself, to temper their
surprise, seeing he was as unprincipled as he was clever. Victor von
Sanecki was the scion of a decayed family of rank, a native of Posen.
As a mere youth, iron-willed and indefatigable, sharp-witted and full
of ambition, he had striven hard to reclaim his hopelessly mortgaged
inheritance. But no saving and no diligence of his could make up for
the failings of his spendthrift ancestry. He gave it up, and, entering
the Prussian civil service, turned Protestant for the sake of
advancement; nor was he without prospect of gaining his end, and he
might have risen to power had not his over-zealous chase after
prosperity overstepped the lines of rectitude marked out in that
country for a servant of the State. He was dismissed; upon which,
repairing to Cracow, he resolved to read for holy orders. He was barely
thirty when he thus entered the Church, and upon his consecration was
appointed to the somewhat anomalous charge at Kossowince. His wondrous
success there failed not to strike the Archbishop, who meditated work
for him at Lemberg itself, but Sanecki submitted his earnest request
"that he might be left to lead the converted flock in the way they
should go"; for he believed that he could gather wealth while so
engaged. His ambition sated, he was anxious now to satisfy that other
craving of his debased soul, the love of riches.
And success appeared to attend his efforts; but the means he had
recourse to were appalling. Not many weeks passed before the people of
Kossowince discovered that the shepherd they had chosen was not nearly
so gentle as they supposed, and before the year was out they had come
to the conviction that a very fiend was addressing them from the pulpit
and lording it over them at the manor. For it is a fact that the
fate of every Galician village in those days was in the hands of two
men--viz.: the mandatar and the parish priest. And here this power was
vested in one and the same--Victor von Sanecki literally could do what
he pleased. If a peasant refused an unjust tithe he as mandatar could
send to prison; if he refused an oppressive tribute to the mandatar it
was the priest that could inflict the lash of ecclesiastical
punishment. The people naturally struggled hard against the injustice,
appealing to the law; but it was no less in the nature of things that
they found no redress, since before the civil authorities Sanecki
claimed the privileges of the clergy, while to his spiritual superiors
he pleaded his position as mandatar and steward of the revenues.
Moreover, the stubborn character borne previously by the converted
parish was remembered, and Sanecki was not slow to point out that
having adopted the Catholic faith for outward reasons merely, they
naturally were unwilling to meet the demands of the Church. So
everything went against them, for the Romish creed was in the
ascendant, and fines were imposed to teach them submission. A military
detachment was quartered upon the refractory parish to enforce payment,
and when the uttermost farthing had been wrested from them their goods
were seized; not till a man had been brought to hopeless penury was he
left alone by the priest. It seemed as though Sanecki could commit the
vilest wrongs with impunity; but he cared to inflict punishment on
those only who could offer money or money's worth to evade it, and his
direst means of extortion, the refusal of Church burial, always fell on
the wealthy.
Such was the man against whom Taras in the first instance lifted the
avenger's arm. As it was close upon midnight when he with his followers
started from the Crystal Springs, the Pruth was not reached till after
two o'clock. And when the river had been forded, and the shivering
Kapronski left to himself, the band in headlong gallop dashed onward
through the plain. Kossowince was reached, and in spite of the
surrounding darkness Taras perceived a horseman stationed at the
entrance. He was appointed by the villagers to act as the avenger's
guide.
Taras and his men drew up. "How many soldiers are there in the place?"
he inquired; "and how are they quartered?"
"There is an officer with fifty men," reported the peasant; "Whitecoats
from Lombardy with green facings. Thirty of them are at the parsonage,
for the fiend himself lives at the manor, allowing the manse to be used
as a barracks, for which we must pay him a rental of five hundred
florins....."
"And where are the others?"
"Here and there about the cottages, one or two in each, all over the
village. The officer and his man only are lodged at the manor. There
are five or six retainers there besides, that is all. But have a care;
the parsonage is not a hundred yards distant."
"Any sentries?"
"Yes, one--outside the manse. But these fellows feel the cold here;
they are generally found cuddled up in their cloaks."
"And the villagers understand that they keep quiet?"
"Yes, much as they long to take part. But they see it is best so. It is
different with me, who have nothing to lose. I am Jacek Borodenko, and
the fiend has beggared me and mine entirely. What better can I do but
join you for good?"
"We shall see," said Taras, and turned to his men. "The soldiery about
the village need not troublous; it is the parsonage and the manse that
require our attention. We will divide our force I shall want the Royal
Eagle, Jemilian and Sefko, Wassilj and Sophron, Stas Barilko and Karol
Wygoda, to come with me; we shall carry out the avenger's part at the
manor. You others, all of you, shall follow Nashko. And to you," he
added, turning to the Jew, "I leave it to deal with the sentry and make
sure that no Whitecoat shall leave the manse. I rely on it that I shall
not be hindered in my business while there is breath left in any of
you!... But let every man here remember my injunction: he that shads
blood for the mere thirst of it shall meet with his deserts in due
time; but if any of you lay his hand on any property whatsoever, I
shall shoot him on the spot.... Now let us be gone, keeping silence."
And cautiously they moved toward the scene of their ghastly labour. The
night yet curtained the plain, but on the eastern horizon a faint
streak betokened the approach of day.
By the church they separated. Taras and his seven men, led by Jacek,
proceeded towards the manor, the others halting by the church, while
some of their number slid from their horses and moved away stealthily
to seize the sentry.
"Do you know the ins and outs of the house?" Taras inquired of the
guide.
"Yes; as well as of my own pocket," replied the man. "I was in service
there in the days of the late countess."
"Then I daresay you can show us some back door that will yield
readily."
"Hardly," said the guide, "for the fiend is on his guard; he has
iron-barred every door of the place. But Michalko, the groom, has a
sweetheart in the village, and if we are lucky we may find the postern
ajar."
Their very horses trod with noiseless footfall, carrying them to their
destination unobserved. Jacek tried the latch, the door moved on its
hinges, and the little band dismounted. Wassilj was left to guard the
entrance, while the rest of the men followed their stern captain
through a vaulted passage into the building. It was their first aim to
make sure of the half-dozen retainers who slept in a large room in the
basement. Jacek approached on tiptoe. "The key is in the lock," he
whispered, and turned it forthwith. Nothing was heard from within but
the snoring of the occupants.
"It is as well to be prudent," said Taras; "they are sure to wake up
with the commotion, and, forcing the door, might give us trouble. This
is your place, then, Sophron and Karol," and the two men took their
position accordingly. "Now for the officer. Where shall we find him?"
"On the first floor," reported the guide; "not far from the fiend's
lair." The man, in common with all the villagers, thus habitually
designated their shepherd, as though Victor von Sanecki had never been
known by any other name. They ascended the stairs. On reaching the
landing the report of a firelock was heard, a second, and a third in
quick succession; a din of voices rose in the distance; the garrison at
the manse evidently was showing fight.
At this moment a door opened, the officer bursting upon the scene, his
pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. But quick as lightning
Taras had closed with him, disarming him, and with powerful grasp
holding him helpless on the ground, his servant and a lackey or two
speedily sharing the same fate at the hands of the others.
"There is no time to be lost," said Taras. One of the bedrooms was
standing open, its window was iron-barred, and there was no other
outlet. "Push them in!" The door was locked upon the overpowered men,
Sefko being ordered to guard it while the others now made for the
priest's chamber.
They found it secured, but Taras, with the weight of his gigantic
frame, had no trouble in making the door yield, his men, with the
butt-ends of their muskets finishing the operation. They entered a
spacious apartment, modestly furnished; a lamp expired, not at the
breath of any man, but in consequence of a sharp draught from an open
window, as the invaders perceived by the light of their torches. The
room was empty, the bed to all appearance recently forsaken, and the
casement wide open.
Julko rushed to the window. "Look here!" he cried, pulling up a sheet
that was tied to the sash; "the wretch has escaped us!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed Jacek; "the moat is at its deepest below; he
would have broken every limb in the attempt."
"But the room has no other exit."
"It has, though! I know there is a secret closet joined to this room by
an invisible door. In the countess's time it used to be connected with
the back-stairs as well; but the fiend, thinking it a good hiding-place
for his ill-gotten gains, had that communication walled up. I have not
a doubt but that he is within, caught in his own trap and no escaping."
"Then have you an idea where to look for the invisible door?"
"Yes, in this wall," he pointed to the side where the bed stood. The
broad surface was covered with an antique hanging which, quaintly
enough, appeared fastened to the wall at regular intervals with large
metal buttons, forming a kind of pattern. "It is one of these buttons
that opens the door," said Jacek, "if you press down the right one. I
have seen it done once; but there are many, and I cannot tell which it
is."
"That is a pity," said Taras. He stood listening to the confused voices
of the fighting without. "Well, if it is the only way, we must just
find the button. Are you sure the other outlet is walled up?"
"Quite certain."
"Then let us try."
Several minutes passed while the men were thus endeavouring to discover
the secret spring by which to move the hidden door, the din outside
continuing unabated. Julko gave an exultant cry. He was kneeling on the
bed, passing his fingers over the buttons in the centre when one of
them yielding discovered a narrow chink in the wall. The door as yet
did not open, but its outline was plainly marked; it was evidently made
fast from within.
Taras snatched at Jemilian's axe, and, pushing aside the bed, he
belaboured the wall with all his might. The door had begun to split,
when a bolt was withdrawn inside, and before them stood the man they
were seeking.
So sudden was his appearance that those without fell back a step. The
"fiend" in person seemed utterly different from the name he bore--a
well-grown, still youthful man, in the black robe of a priest, with a
face both grave and handsome, and singularly dignified. The pallor of
his countenance only showed his inward disturbance, his features
wearing an expression of proudest self-confidence, and his eyes flashed
imperiously.
"What is this?" he demanded. "Who are you?"
"I am Taras, the avenger," replied the latter, facing him. "Your time
of reckoning has come! Your stronghold could not protect you; and
neither the bold front of courage nor any cowardly whimpering will
avail you now."
"Do I look like one given to whimpering?" said Sanecki, drawing himself
up. "I am not a coward, though I endeavoured to hide from you. What
else is there left for a peaceful priest when a horde of murderers
enter his dwelling at night and he hears the tumult of bloodshed
without? ... Your name and your purpose, Taras, are known to me, but I
should scarcely have thought that you could think it needful to visit
me. My conscience accuses me of nothing."
"Hold your lying tongue, you blackest of fiends," cried Jacek, beside
himself, and he would have fallen upon the priest had not Taras held
him back, continuing calmly: "Then you absolutely deny the charge of
having committed the most inhuman wrongs against the villagers, robbing
them of their property, and of the peace of their souls as well?"
"It is they who speak falsely in accusing me. I have taken from them
what belongs to the Church and to me by right--not a whit beyond. In my
case, Taras, you cannot be an avenger, but only a murderer, if your
conscience will let you. But I think better of you, and I demand that
you shall confront me with my accusers, with respectable, trustworthy
men, not with a good-for-nothing like this Jacek, and I shall know how
to answer them."
There appeared to be a lull in the fighting without--the firing had
ceased, and the general tumult was hushed. But within the manor at that
moment bloodshed was imminent. Jacek, quite unable to master his fury,
had snatched a pistol from his belt, and was pointing it at the priest.
"Stop, Jacek," commanded Taras, wresting the weapon from him. "And you,
priest, utter no slander!... Say on Jacek in what has this man offended
against you and yours. Say it with the fewest words, and speak the
truth."
The peasant strove to conquer his feelings. "My father," he began,
speaking with difficulty, "was obliged last year to remain on the
upland pasture late into the spring. It was an unavoidable necessity,
for the live stock was all we possessed. When he returned, this fiend
of a man fined him a hundred florins, because he had been absent from
confession and from the sacrament at Easter. It was our ruin, and
brought us to beggary."
A voice was heard through the open window. "Hetman! hetman!" was the
cry.
Taras stepped to the casement.
"It is I, Milko, the hunter. The Jew sends you word that we have done
our part. The Whitecoats have laid down their arms."
An exultant cry broke from the men, but Sanecki grew ashy. However, he
recovered himself quickly. "It is a lie," he cried, reverting to the
charge against him, "a false accusation. I call the Almighty to witness
who is my only refuge in this hour of need, unless you deal righteous
judgment!"
Again Jacek was making a plunge at him, and once more Taras interfered.
"I am ready to prove to you that I judge righteously," he said. "So far
everything is against you save your own statement; the character you
bear, the complaints which have reached me, and this man's solemn oath
are your accusers. But you shall not be judged without being fully
convicted. You shall choose for yourself two inhabitants of this
village to speak for you."
Sanecki considered a moment. "Well, then," he said, "let it be Hawrilo
Bumbak and Iwon Serecki."
"Captain," broke in Jacek, "do not be outwitted by this scoundrel. He
has named these men because they live at the furthest end of the
parish. He hopes to gain time."
"Never mind, we are in no such hurry. You also shall name two men to be
called as witnesses against him."
"Let it be those whom you know already," decided Jacek, without a
moment's hesitation. "Harassim, the judge, and Stephen, one of the
elders, since they carried our complaints to you."
"Very well," said Taras. "These four witnesses shall be called. Follow
him, Julko, Stas, and Jemilian; mount your horses below, and get some
of Nashko's men, if possible, in case of any hindrance from the
soldiers about the village; I want those four witnesses with the least
delay."
"And will you stay here by yourself?" inquired the Royal Eagle,
doubtfully.
"Yes; he shall not escape me." And drawing his pistol he took his
position in front of the priest.
The men went on their errand.
"Now listen," said Taras, when left alone with the culprit. "The
slightest movement on your part, and I shall lodge this bullet in your
brain. For the rest you may spend the time as you please. It might be
as well to say your prayers, since I may not be able to allow you much
time presently. I have little hope that you will see the rising sun
yonder in his full-day glory."
Sanecki gazed in the direction pointed at with unsteady eyes. The
window opened upon the vast plain, a ridge of cloud in the far east
burning with a crimson glow. But somehow he appeared to draw strength
from the sight, the growing light kindling his courage. "It is well I
should offer up prayer," he said; "less for myself than for you, who
are in danger of dipping your hands into innocent blood."
Taras made no answer, continuing motionless with uplifted pistol. The
priest folded his hands, saying prayers with a loud voice. For the
space of about ten minutes they were thus left alone, after which Stas
returned with Stephen, the elder, and almost immediately after Jemilian
with Harassim, the judge.
"Take your oath that you will speak the truth," said Taras; and the
aged witnesses lifted their right hands, swearing.
"Speak, judge; what is your accusation against this man?"
"I went to him at All Saints'," said the old man, trembling with the
memory of it, "to arrange with him for the rendering of the tithes we
owe him. He demanded more than his due, I refused and left him; no
unbecoming word had been spoken. But that same evening I was taken up
by his orders and cast into a miserable dungeon, where I spent a week
in complete darkness, and all the food he allowed me was mouldy bread
and rank water. My sons implored him to release me, but he said in his
capacity as mandatar he must punish me because I had offended the
priest. For a fine of two hundred florins, however, he would release
me. Now considering my age--I am more than seventy--and because I
should have perished in the damp prison, they raised the money; he took
it, charging me an extra twenty florins, to refund his expenses of
keeping me for a week."
"And you, Stephen?"
"My wife lay dying at the Epiphany," said the elder. "I called upon the
priest to prepare her for the great change, by administering the
blessed sacrament. He refused until I should have atoned for a grave
offence with the payment of a hundred florins. I could not find the
sum, and my poor wife had to die unaneled, and was buried like a dog
outside the churchyard ... my poor wife!" sobbed the old man, hiding
his face in his bands, "my good, pious wife!"
"What was the offence he charged you with?"
"I had crossed myself inadvertently after the old style, and he
happened to see it."
The hetman flushed purple with indignation. "Is this the truth, old
man?"
"The truth indeed, the Almighty is my witness."
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" he now inquired of the priest.
"Only this, that they speak falsely," returned Sanecki, with choking
voice.
"Falsely!" cried Stephen, horrified. "Man, think of the Judge above!"
"Yes," said Taras quietly, "it were well he did so. However, let us
hear his own witnesses."
There was a pause of silence in the chamber, the twilight of which was
slowly but steadily yielding to the ruddy glow from the east, a broad
stream of light flowing in through the window when Julko and Jacek
returned with the other two witnesses, whom the priest had called for
himself.
The men in question entered diffidently--they had not been told why
they were wanted--looking aghast on learning that the priest had seen
fit to appeal to them. "To us," they cried, "what could we say in his
favour?"
Taras put them on their oath. "Now," he said, "what have you to affirm
concerning this man?"
They were silent for a moment, but then Iwon burst out with--"Just
this, that he _is_ a fiend!"
"Yes, a very fiend," reiterated Hawrilo.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" Taras once more inquired of
Sanecki.
"No, nothing," he made answer calmly. The self-command of this
man was astounding. His face was corpse-like, but his lips, even
at this extremity, had a smile, though it was an appalling, a
ghastly smile. "I have miscalculated my chances," he said, half to
himself--"miscalculated, it is a pity!"
Taras now addressed the men present. "It is my opinion that this man
has forfeited his life. Is there any here to say I am wrong?"
Not a sound in the chamber--Death seemed counting the grains. But in
the fair world without the beauty of morning had conquered the shadows,
the larks meeting the sun with a jubilant song.
There was a clock in the room, the hands pointing to six minutes before
five. "These minutes I will give you," said Taras, addressing the
doomed priest, "that you may recommend your sinful soul to its Maker."
Even now the man quaked not, standing proud and erect. "Miscalculated!"
he repeated. With a quick movement his hand dived into his ample
garment, and withdrawing it as quickly, he carried a phial to his lips.
The men caught his arm, but it was too late, they were in time only to
support the dead man's frame.
"What a pity," cried Jacek; "I would have given anything to see him
swing."
"For shame!" returned Taras, sternly. "He was an evil-doer, but he had
the courage of a man! Lay him on his bed!... He has at least shown us
that a man can die, if need be."
There was a solemn pause, after which he addressed the judge. "One
thing yet before our work is complete. The village has suffered at the
hands of this man. You shall take what money there is found here, to be
divided justly among the people.... Stas and Jemilian, search the
place."
"May we not offer you a part for yourself?" returned the judge; "it
were but right and fair."
"No," said Taras, curtly.
"But you will let us give some of it to your men?"
"No, they are no paid assassins, but serving justice."
"But you must live!"
"I have enough for the present to provide for our needs, and when my
own means fail, others, no doubt, will be forthcoming."
Stas and Jemilian at this moment returned from the adjoining apartment.
"This appears to be money," said the former, placing a cash box upon
the table.
"Force the lid," said Taras to the judge, "I would rather not touch
it."
But the old man could not succeed with his trembling fingers, until
Jacek came to his assistance. The box burst open with a jerk,
revealing, however, only a moderate bundle of banknotes, beneath which
lay a number of securities of considerable value. "The notes only are
of use to us," said the judge, counting them. "Not much over a thousand
florins," he stated presently; "the loss we have suffered is about
twenty-fold."
Old Jemilian was standing aside, pale and trembling, and trying to come
to a conclusion. Now he stepped up to his master, saying, with
faltering voice, "I hoped to tell you some other time, but I see now
you must know at once. There was more where we found the casket--a
purse, I saw it plainly, which Stas put into his own pocket."
Taras grew deadly white, staggering as though he had received a blow.
"Is--is it--true?" he said, stammering with the shock of it.
But Stas fell to the ground at his feet. "Forgive it--this once," he
faltered. "The money tempted me. Ah, mercy!"
Taras passed his hand across his brow. "Where is the purse?" he said,
hollow-voiced.
The man, still kneeling, produced it.
"Take it, judge ... count it."
"Seventeen florins," reported the old man.
"Well, put it with the rest." He spoke hoarsely, a fearful agitation
convulsing his frame. "Stas," he said, presently, with the same choking
voice, "I grieve for you with all my heart. You have known much
trouble, it is hard to see you end so ignominiously. But I cannot save
you--say your prayers, Stas!"
"Ah, mercy!" groaned the unhappy man, the others joining: "Yes, hetman,
forgive him this once!"
"I cannot--dare not," said Taras, breathing hard and wiping the dews
from his forehead. "I would--ah, how gladly would I forgive him!--but
this sacred cause!... Say your prayers, man."
"Mercy!" moaned Stas once more, and fell in a swoon. Taras stepped
back, and, pointing his pistol, lodged a bullet in the motionless head.
The man was dead on the spot. A cry of horror went round the room, and
silence settled, the larks outside continuing their song of praise.
"He was unable to commend his soul to God, let us do so for him," said
Taras, with the same husky voice. He crossed himself, and with
quivering lips spoke a prayer for the dead, the others repeating it
after him, awe-struck.
"Let us be gone now!"
They left the chamber of death, calling together their men, and mounted
their horses. But the captain's face continued white and fearfully
rigid.
"How shall we thank you!" said the judge.
"Not at all," returned Taras, sternly. "For if I had done it for your
own sakes merely, I could but turn the pistol against myself now!" He
spurred his horse, making for the manse, where Nashko and his men stood
ready to mount.
"Three of us have fallen," reported the Jew, "and we killed fourteen of
the soldiers. I used every precaution, but----"
"Have we any wounded?" interrupted the captain.
"No--that is, one man is slightly hurt; but able to mount horse."
"Let us start, then; the people here will see to our dead."
And away they went in a sharp gallop in the direction of Colomea. They
followed the high-road at first, but, turning off at right angles,
presently plunged into the pathless heath which they traversed at a
furious pace, reaching the village Nazurna just as the thin-voiced
church bell was tinkling out the hour of noon.
It is but a poor place, amid all the characteristics of heath-country;
there are a few farms at great distances one from another, and not
greatly thriving, for the soil is unproductive, forming part of the
sterile table-land between the valleys of the Pruth and the Czerniawa.
A couple of miles beyond the village there is a large moor called the
Wallachian Bog, where, according to tradition, in the frontier wars
between Poland and Roumania a regiment on the march was sucked down and
suffocated in broad daylight. And nothing is more likely, for it is
treacherous ground indeed, and even the experienced eye is at a loss to
distinguish where the firm land ceases and marshy soil begins, since
not only the latter, but the safe earth as well, is covered with sedge
grass and willows far and wide. The waters nowhere rise to the surface,
and tall trees growing on little islets complete the deception; a
larger island covered with beech wood forms the centre of the moor, and
is to be reached only by a narrow strip of solid soil which connects it
with the firmer land.
Thither Taras led his band; he was acquainted with the bog and the
island, with its overgrown and all but secret entrance, from the days
when he had been in service at Hankowce, not far distant. It was an
admirable place for his purpose, and not the most experienced military
engineer could easily have secured a better position for a troop of
horsemen in constant danger of being attacked by numerically superior
forces, and in need of a safe resting-place to which they might retire
after their raids, than this spot formed, not by the art of man, but by
a freak of nature. The extreme loneliness of the neighbourhood lessened
every chance of discovery; while even a body of men under hot pursuit
could vanish thither as though disappearing by magic, and the narrow
entrance at the worst could be held against almost any odds. It was
natural then that the "avenger" should have taken his men to this place
of refuge on many an occasion, so that to this day it goes by the
popular name of "Taras's Retreat."
Cautiously, and not without trouble could the men in the first instance
take the horses across the shrub-grown neck of land to the island,
where they might rest and take food after that grim night and the hard
ride since. Yet sleep came to very few of them, an unusual agitation
counteracting even the inviting shade of the kindly beeches. A strange
humour, something between the madness of utter recklessness and the
dejection of inward disapproval, filled the minds of some. For there
were those among them that had never shed blood, nor stood in danger of
death themselves, and who seemed to understand all at once that the
outlaw's business was desperate work; they grew thoughtful and somewhat
penitent, endeavouring to conquer these sensations by breaking into
noisy song, or by assuring each other that no doubt the coming night
would be "jollier" still. But others, whose past experience had
fortified them against the proceedings at Kossowince, felt regretful on
a different score. It had not surprised them that Taras should have
forbidden plunder under pain of death, for that was the way of every
new hetman forming a band of hajdamaks; but that he should go to the
length of refusing an offering of gratitude for service rendered, and
that he should have found it necessary to shoot that poor devil of a
Stas for the sake of a handful of florins, was beyond their
comprehension. And thus they came to inquire what bound them to this
man, who by sheer strength of will had forced them to acknowledge a
wretched Jew as one fit to lead them; whose foolish notions had
offended the people of Zulawce, and who actually appeared to expect his
followers to risk their lives for his ideas, and for no earthly gain
beyond the barest daily bread. But the power which Taras exercised even
over these low natures was such that they hardly dared breathe these
thoughts to themselves, far less to each other. They lay, gloomy and
silent, in the tall sedge-grass, till one of them, suddenly jumping up,
started a request for Karol Wygoda's bagpipe, at the squeaks and
screams of which their darker thoughts receded. One apprehension,
however, that might or might not yield to their merriment, was common
to all--the near prospect of death. The band which had started so full
of spirits from the Crystal Springs had already lost every tenth man of
its numbers, and if the attack of a mere ill-defended country place
required such sacrifice, what might not be the result of the coming
night, when they would enter the well-garrisoned district town? It was
for this reason that more than one among them, now joining madly in the
dance, would turn aside suddenly with a strange tremor, to conquer
which they would halloo the more wildly on resuming the measured pace.
Taras alone appeared unmoved. With the greatest composure he made his
arrangements for the night, his bearing and his voice showing as little
of emotion as if he had stood in his own farmyard giving orders for the
cutting of the wheat. It quite distressed Nashko, for he felt certain
that the carnage of the past night had left a fearful burden on the
heart of his friend. He was anxious to lessen it, and when Taras
beckoned to him to receive his instructions he did his utmost to show
that neither the orders given nor their execution could be blamed for
the sad results.
"Seventeen lives," he said, regretfully; "it is terrible, indeed! But I
think I may say I did my very best to carry out your desire that
bloodshed if possible should be avoided. It was the watchfulness of the
sentry that frustrated our intention; the man gave the alarm at once,
rousing the others, and since I could not leave them time to arm
themselves fully, I was obliged to dash into action within the manse
itself, in order to overpower them before they had a chance of
benefiting by their numbers and superior equipment. It was the close
encounter in rooms and passages--in all but darkness, moreover--which
resulted in so many slain. There were no wounded, simply because in
this desperate fray neither they nor we could have offered or accepted
quarter. It was only when the torches were lit--and you may be sure
this was done as quickly as possible--only when the soldiers could see
that further resistance was madness, the sparing of life became
possible; and you may believe me that from that moment not a single
life----"
"All right," interrupted Taras, preparing to move away.
The Jew looked at him bewildered. "You are impatient of listening!" he
said. "I thought your heart was breaking because of----"
"All right," repeated Taras, quietly. "You have done your duty. And for
the rest--what does it matter? Ten lives more or less--what can it
matter, since things are what they are?"
But the smile playing about his lips alarmed Nashko even more than the
calm he understood not. "Taras," he cried, "this is not your own true
feeling!"
"Do you think so?" returned the hetman coldly, the same terrible smile
distorting the solemn and yet gentle beauty of his face. "I am not so
sure."
He turned away abruptly to appoint the order of sentries until
nightfall; when all was settled he expressed his desire to be left
undisturbed. "I am going to have a few hours' sleep now," he said, and
retiring to the other side of the island, he threw himself into the
waving grass, where he lay motionless.
A good many eyes followed him enviously. "Humph!" said one of the men,
"one would think he is as little used to butchering as ourselves, and
he has set this business going, with his own hand even killing a man
who could not defend himself; yet look at him, sleeping like an
innocent babe, while conscience with us is a wakeful trouble!"
Only Nashko and old Jemilian knew how it was ...
Not till towards eight o'clock, when night was falling, did Taras once
more mingle with his men. The command was given, and cautiously as
before the horses were led through the tangled growth of the slip of
land. On reaching the other side the procession formed. Their way would
shortly bring them into more densely-peopled districts, and there was
every likelihood that the news from Kossowince by this time had reached
the district town, so that caution was doubly needful. Taras divided
his men into three separate troops, himself heading the vanguard; to
the Royal Eagle he entrusted the leadership of the second and strongest
division, while Nashko should bring up the rear. They were to keep
within earshot of each other. The signal was given, and the vanguard
set off at a quick trot, followed in due order by Julko and the Jew.
They rode on well through the dark and silent night, due west at first
over the desolate heath, till they reached the track between Nazurna
and Kornicz, which they took. The heavens were veiled with low-hanging
clouds; the air was heavy and sultry; the darkness appeared to grow
deeper, and the path at length could hardly be distinguished. Taras
kept whistling distrustfully at short intervals; the counter-signals
from the two other leaders at first were given in return almost
immediately and in due order, but one of the whistlers behind appeared
to fall back, and presently his signal showed him in a wrong direction
altogether.
Much as delay was undesirable, Taras had to stop, and even to turn
back. He soon came upon the main body, but not without trouble could
the straying rear guard be brought up. Nashko had missed the path on
the heath, following a northerly track, and when the captain's signals
sounded more and more faintly, he believed the divisions in front to
have quickened their pace, and ordered his men to spur on their horses,
thus, of course, falling away all the further.
Upon this Taras resolved to keep his forces together, as the least
dangerous plan in the circumstances. Recovering their direction, they
passed several homesteads, and presently heard the roaring of the
Wilchowec, which carries the waters of the Dobrowa Forest in a
succession of cataracts to the Pruth. There a new mishap awaited them.
They had missed the only bridge spanning the turbulent stream, and were
at a loss to decide whether they ought to seek it above or below them.
"Let some of us ride up the river and some down, and those that find
the bridge can signal for the others," proposed Julko.
"No," said Taras, "that were losing time. The Wilchowec must be
fordable somewhere. I saw a light burning in the cottage we just
passed. I will go for a guide."
And, followed by two or three of his men, he galloped back and halted
in front of a lighted window. In a low-ceiled room a peasant was seen
sitting beside his wife, showing her delightedly a handful of silver
coin. It was an elderly man, white-haired, and with a rubicund
countenance. "Hail, old fellow!" cried Taras, tapping at the window.
The peasant started, extinguishing the torchlight inside the room,
while the woman screamed, and then all was still.
"There is no cause for alarm!" cried Taras, "we beg a kindness of you,
that is all."
"What, so late at night," said the peasant within. "Have the goodness
to let us sleep in peace."
"You have not been asleep yet," Taras called back, growing impatient.
"You were counting your earnings. There is no fear of our robbing you;
indeed, I will add to your gains if you show us the place where the
river can be forded."
"Why should you want to ford it, when there is a bridge not more than a
mile distant, down stream? You cannot miss it, since the hussars there
are keeping a good watch fire."
"The hussars!" cried Taras, startled.
"Yes, the hussars," repeated the peasant. "You don't seem to like it.
And I must say it would not be advisable for highwaymen to try to cross
the bridge to-night."
"Listen," said Taras, who had recovered himself. "I am not a
highwayman, and I take you to be an honest peasant. So I will ask you
to guide us. I want you--I am Taras, the avenger."
"Taras!" exclaimed the man, with a tone of the greatest surprise.
"Taras!" he repeated, leaning out from his window as far as he could.
"Is it you, indeed? Ah! it is too much almost to believe. What
happiness--what honour!... Light the torch, wife, quickly, that I may
see his face!... But no, you want me to come"--and he drew back his
head; "I am coming--coming at once."
"No, stay. Tell me first--are you sure there is a body of hussars by
the bridge?"
"Yes, certainly; some thirty of them. Are you in ignorance of their
resolves against you at Colomea? I know all about it, having been to
market to-day. And there is no need to hide it now, I made fifteen
florins--out of my sheep, that is. And I have not told you my name--I
am Stenko Worobka."
"Yes, yes, Stenko; tell me quickly."
"Ah, yes; I am an old fool! It is just this: with the early morning
to-day the car returned, and the two constables safe enough, but no
commissioner. The town was aghast; that is, the people said it was no
great loss if Taras had a fancy for keeping Mr. Kapronski; but it
seemed certain that if he meant to carry out his threats at all he
would come first to Colomea to strangle the mandatar. And so they
dispatched a courier to Zablotow to call the hussars that brought such
trouble to your own village, and I saw them arrive before night. But
the magistrates did not approve that you and the soldiers should fight
it out beneath their own eyes--dear me, that I should be able to tell
you all this; what happiness! what rare good luck! What was I going to
say?--yes, they resolved to catch you on the road, and so they ordered
the hussars and such Whitecoats as were quartered in the city to
station themselves in a half-circle between the town and the mountains,
making sure thus to cut off your approach. The soldiers are all at
their posts by this time; a body of hussars, as I told you, keeping the
bridge yonder."
"And where are the rest of them?"
"Well, some guard the road towards Horodenka, others keeping a look-out
in the direction of Cieniawa; others again are by St. Mary's Cross.
They think not a mouse could thus pass their vigilance, for they keep
patrolling diligently."
"Well, we have not met a soul so far."
"I daresay--ha! ha! what a joke!--don't you see, this is just the one
loophole in their net. They make sure that so long as they hold the
bridge no one could cross this boisterous river."
"_Is_ it fordable?"
"Yes, to be sure--not very comfortably, but we can manage it--close
by here.... So you are really bent on going to Colomea? There is no
reason why you should not do so; why, they did not--ha! ha! how
delightful!--they did not keep back a dozen soldiers."
Taras was revolving the situation in his mind. "We will do it," he
said, after some cogitation; "it is a venture for life and death, but
we will risk it. But there is not a moment to be lost."
The peasant was ready to guide them, and mounting behind one of the
men, they dashed back to the others. Taras reported to them what he had
just learned, "Let us venture," he said. "Yes, yes, let us try it,"
cried Julko and Nashko, in high spirits, all the others assenting.
Under the peasant's guidance they forthwith set about fording the
river; the current was wild and strong, the deep darkness of the night
adding to the danger; but they crossed in safety. "We have managed it,
thanks to you," said Taras to the peasant; "and here is your florin."
But Stenko refused, quite hurt at the offer. "Do you think I should
take pay," he cried; "are you not our own avenger? Nay, I am more than
rewarded, and you must let me come with you, for this night is darker
than the inside of a cow--you would scarcely reach the town; besides,
you will want to ford the river again as you return."
"But you have a wife and your property to think of. I must warn you,"
said Taras, "it would go ill with you if they caught you thus aiding
us."
"They won't then," decided the peasant, confidently. "And don't you
know that a man cannot escape his destiny? If it is my fate to come by
an evil end I shall have to face it whether I guide you or not."
After which philosophical remark two of Taras's men had to be satisfied
with being mounted one behind the other, leaving a horse free for the
peasant who rode beside Taras at the head of the band. At a sharp pace
they traversed the fields and meadows of Korolowka, and presently found
themselves on the high road leading to the district town. The country
appeared desolate; but close by the town they met some peasants who so
late in the night had set out to return from their week's marketing.
Not that important business had detained them to this hour, but the
public-house had, as might be judged by their unsteady gait. Yet the
vapours of drink were at once dispelled when they found themselves
suddenly surrounded and questioned by an armed band on horseback; and
though trembling with fright they were able to confirm the news that
all the garrison of the place as well as the hussars had been sent to
waylay the Avenger, and only a handful of soldiers now were within, at
the main guard-house, for the sake of sentry duty in the prisons.
They left the high road, Wassilj Soklewicz now acting as guide, for he
alone knew the villa where they hoped to find Hajek. It lay on the road
towards St. Mary's Cross, a German colony; it was a spacious building,
but low, situated in its own grounds, which were guarded in front by a
strong iron railing. Orchards stretched away at the back of it, and
meadows on both sides. The nearest habitation was a quarter of a mile
distant, the town fully a mile. Just as they came in sight of the
place, a clear sound cut the air, the clock in the little belfry was
announcing the first hour after midnight. And close upon it--already
they could see the lighted windows of the house--a sharp whistle was
given, followed by another....
The men started. "An ambush!" they cried. "Fall back!"
"No; forward," ordered Taras, spurring his horse. "The wretch has set
spies to be warned of our approach.... He is here! There, look!..."
He was pointing towards the house, the lighted windows of which one
after another were darkening rapidly. The gate, just as they reached
it, closed with a bang, and retreating footsteps were heard.
"Try your axes!" cried Taras; and some of the men, jumping from their
horses, belaboured the gate with powerful blows. The strong bars were
bending, and some already giving way.
But suddenly the door of the villa opened, and between two torchbearers
an aged man came forth, bareheaded, and carrying a key--it was Herr von
Antoniewicz.
"My good people," he began, "why are you ruining my gate like this? Was
there no better way of asking for admittance? There is no reason why
you should not come in, if you tell me who you are and what brings you
hither at this late hour."
"You know that well enough!" cried Taras; "the wretch is in hiding
here."
"Yes," said the old man, continuing slowly and distinctly, "I am afraid
we know that he cannot escape you, and I am ready to let you in, on
your word of honour that you will harm no one else, and that you will
not kill him here, but take him away with you. You see I am anxious to
spare my daughter's feelings, who was going to be his wife."
"He seems to have found a worthy father-in-law, anyhow," said Taras,
scornfully. "However, you have my word; now open on the spot."
The Armenian did so unhesitatingly. Julko and Nashko with the main body
taking up their position by the gate, while Taras and some dozen of the
men entered the grounds. About half of them were ordered to watch the
exits of the house, the others following their captain inside.
"Where is the mandatar?" inquired Taras of Antoniewicz.
"Somewhere about the sitting-rooms," replied that worthy man, as
quietly as though he were directing a casual visitor to his guest. "At
least I left him there. He fell in a dead faint when I explained to him
that I had no intention, nor indeed the power, to save him from your
hands. I daresay he has recovered by this time, and is hiding in some
corner."
Taras traversed the ante-hall, where Frau von Antoniewicz and the
Countess Wanda awaited him kneeling. They were in floods of tears,
trembling with emotion as they caught hold of his feet to stop his
progress. "Mercy!" they moaned. "For pity's sake forgive him!" Taras
endeavoured to free himself from their grasp, but they clung to him,
and he was too much of a man to use force with women.
"Let me go," he said; "it is quite useless to waste a word about him."
But they clung all the faster, "What, shall I have to see it with my
own eyes?" cried the amiable Wanda with dishevelled locks and rolling
her eyes--a very picture of despair.
"You need not--you are free to leave the house. I have nothing to do
with women."
"Alas!" whined the mother, "how should we, helpless women, venture to
face all your men?"
"They won't harm you. Moreover, your husband is welcome to go with you.
Of course you will keep in the grounds for the present."
He sent an order to this effect to the men keeping the front door, and
thereupon, with Jemilian, Sefko, Wassilj, and one or two others of his
most trustworthy followers, he set himself to search the rooms. Their
torches flared brightly, but the spacious apartments appeared
untenanted. They looked into every chimney, beneath every couch, and
behind the hangings with rising impatience, making such careful
examination that not a kitten could have escaped, far less a man. But
not a creature did they find. They had reached the last room on this
floor--the dining room.
It was locked. "Ah!" said Taras, with a sigh of relief. The door soon
yielded. The table showed the remains of dessert, empty champagne
bottles and glasses half filled. There appeared to have been five
covers.
"Who may have been the fifth at this feast?" said Jemilian, wondering.
"Caught him!" cried Wassilj at this moment from the further corner of
the room. "Here he is!" And sure enough something like a man it seemed,
but in the strangest hiding place. The large fuel basket had been
turned upside down, and emptied of its contents of firewood, and some
one had squeezed himself in as best he might. But success was not equal
to the effort, a pair of coattails showing treacherously; on Wassilj
giving the basket a kick it capsized, but the man inside stuck fast,
yelling, however, vociferously.
"That is not Hajek's voice!" cried Taras, Wassilj and Sefko dragging
its owner from the basket. And, indeed, it was not the mandatar, but
only the fifth at the late banquet, the ere-while champion of Poland's
honour--Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski. But how little he that was
half-brother of Nicolas I. at this moment showed worthy of his august
descent! His head and shoulders covered with wood chips, his garments
torn, his knees trembling, and his face so white with terror that the
nose itself had only the faintest flush left of its usual redness. Thus
he stood before them, clutching the immortal confederatka to his bosom,
and so overpowered with fear that he could only shiver and quake in
speechless agony.
"Who on earth are you?" inquired Taras, peremptorily.
"I ... oh!... a visitor ... mercy! I could not help it!"
"Where is the mandatar?"
"He got away--made his escape while old Bogdan kept you talking ..."
Taras stamped furiously. "Ah, mercy, I will tell you everything!"
faltered the whilom conqueror of Ostrolenka, sinking to his knees.
"They did not think there was much fear of your coming, on account of
the soldiers, but Mr. Hajek insisted on setting spies, that he might be
warned of any possible danger. We were still at table--and a fine
banquet it was--when suddenly the signal was given; there was barely
time left to lock the outer gate and drag the mandatar from the house.
He could not stand on his own legs for fear of meeting you; but since
there was a chance of his getting away safely through the orchards, and
gaining the town, old Bogdan and his womenfolk undertook to lead you
off the scent. They expected me to take a part also, but I stoutly
refused. 'How should I deceive this Taras, this noble avenger,' I said;
'I shall do no such thing; for Taras is a brave man, an honourable man,
a generous----'"
Which eulogy was not even heard by Taras. "Follow me!" he called out to
his men, bursting from the house. "I want to have a word with that pack
of deceivers; where are they?"
"Made their escape, hetman," reported the men at the door.
"Their escape? I will hold every one of you answerable!"
The two men in charge of the grounds now came up. "Hetman," they said;
"we can hardly be blamed. These three deceitful serpents would have got
round an archangel, not to say the devil himself. We had asked them to
keep near the house, and there they stood awhile, when the old woman
suddenly gave a cry with all the antics of swooning; upon which the
young one implored us to assist in carrying her mother into the arbour
yonder. And then she fell a-shrieking, 'Water! water! for pity's sake,
get some water!' Well, as they were women after all, and the old man,
who kept wringing his hands, assured us she would die unless we
complied, what else could we do? We went for water, and returning
quickly enough, we found they had gone--disappeared in the darkness. We
searched the orchard, but they have escaped us, much to our disgust."
Taras looked gloomy.
"I may come back to that presently," he said, sternly; "the next thing
to be done is this--the house which has given shelter to the mandatar,
and whose owners have deceived me so shamefully, shall disappear from
the earth.... Set fire to it, in the basement, beneath the roof,
everywhere--let it flare up quickly ... but "--and he drew his
pistol--"if any of you value his life, let him beware of plundering!"
The men gave a wild halloo, brandishing their torches, and burst into
the house.
"And what is to be done with this man?" said Wassilj, dragging the
Polish champion behind him.
"Who are you, then?" now asked Taras. "What is your name?"
"Thaddeus Bazanski, and--and----"
"I can tell you all about him," interrupted Wassilj; "one of the
mandatar's men has just told me. He is a miserable wretch, living on
his betters, and making money in all sorts of mean ways. It is he that
brought about the engagement between the mandatar and that fair, fat
creature of a countess!"
"I don't deny it," cried the would-be nobleman, eagerly. "But I am
sure, if you knew all about her, and what bliss awaits your enemy in
wedlock, you would say 'Thank you' to me!"
Taras could not repress a smile, the man spoke with such utter
assurance; but his brow clouded again as Wassilj continued: "He is a
Polish nobleman by his own showing. True, he is nothing but a beggar
now; but he keeps telling his listeners how _he_ got money out of his
peasants before he lost his vast possessions."
"Indeed?" said Taras, frowningly.
"Ah, no," whined Thaddy; "I never owned any possessions. How, indeed,
should I have come by any land?"
"Well, captain, these are his tales whenever he can get a man to drink
with."
"That much is true," said the imperial offspring, with woe-begone
countenance. "A man must live--I mean, one gets thirsty and is bound to
drink. And no one will stand me a glass unless I give him a fine story
in return. They don't mind the lying, so I go on inventing. But I am
not noble at all--never was, or fought any battles either. My father
was a poor cobbler, and I--I----"
"Well, out with it!"
"I am nothing particular, at present. How I manage to live, most
honoured avenger, I have just confessed to you--this young man in that
has spoken the truth. In my younger days I was a--a--well, something of
an artist."
"Indeed! what sort of an artist?"
Thaddy smiled bashfully, and since the word was not forthcoming, he
took refuge in signs, passing his hands over his jaws and under his
chin, at which he blushed and smiled afresh.
"What, a cut-throat?"
"Oh, dear, no; only a barber!" cried Thaddy. "As sure as I hope for
better days, you may believe me--just nothing but a barber! And I think
I could give you proof of my craft still. Might I perhaps have the
honour----"
"No, thank you," said Taras, and turning to Wassilj, he added, "Let him
off!"
The hero of Ostrolenka bowed to the ground in gratitude, and still
clasping the famous confederatka, he vanished into the night as quickly
as his legs would carry him.
The men returned. "We have done it, hetman," they reported. "We have
set fire to all the rooms not facing the town, so that it may not be
perceived there too soon."
The signal to mount was given; and the band was ready to start. "We
will yet gain our end," cried Taras. "We will seek the wretch in his
own dwelling within the town."
But he had scarcely done speaking, when the tocsin broke upon the night
with its own lugubrious notes of warning. Taras looked at the villa,
smoke was rising, but no flame as yet. "This is not the alarm of fire,"
he exclaimed, "but rather in warning of our coming! They must have
received information. Well, never mind! The townsfolk will not harm us,
and the few soldiers we shall get the better of. I suppose we must make
straight for the main guard-house, and I should not wonder if we found
our man there--he will not feel safe in his own dwelling. Are you
ready?"
"Urrahah!" responded the men, and away they went.
The rest of it happened more quickly than it can be told.
The band made for the town at full gallop, every moment swelling the
tumult ahead of them. All the bells of the place by this time had
joined with the tocsin, filling the air with dismal, deafening sound.
The citizens had all awaked. "Fire!" cried some; "The avenger--save
yourselves!" shouted others.
Meanwhile the night was lit up suddenly behind the riders, volumes of
lurid flames rising to the heavens. The villa in a moment stood lapt in
fire.
The band of horsemen was nearing the marketplace, the streets were
heaving. Everywhere the people burst from their dwellings, some barely
clad; and from hundreds of horror-struck voices the news rang through
the air, "The avenger is upon us!" Some returned to their houses,
endeavouring to barricade the doors, others in senseless terror rushed
to the market-place.
"Urrahah!" was the war-cry resounding ever and anon through all the
wild commotion. Like a mountain stream the cavalcade dashed onward,
over the heads and limbs of any in their way. They reached the
market-place. The main guardhouse was full of light, torches
everywhere. In front of it the handful of soldiers drawn up with their
corporal, muskets levelled.
Taras and his men burst upon the scene. The people, shrieking, ran
hither and thither. The corporal gave the word, "Fire!" Milko fell from
his horse, shot to the heart, and Nashko reeled in his saddle. Another
moment and the soldiers were disarmed and cut down to a man.
Some of the band were left to guard the door, the others, following
Taras, rushed into the building to seek the mandatar. The first-floor
was utterly deserted, but at the top of the stairs two venerable
figures awaited them, the burgomaster and the senior priest, falling on
their knees. "Have mercy!" they pleaded, "the mandatar is not in the
place."
"Where is he, then?"
"We cannot tell. If we knew, we would give him up to you, that other
lives might be spared. He fainted in the fields, and maybe is lying
there still. The groom who was to accompany him ran on alone to warn us
of your coming."
"Can you swear it is so?"
They affirmed it on their oath.
"Then all the night's work has been for nothing!" cried Taras. "To seek
him in the open fields would be useless, and the hussars may be back at
any moment."
The signal was given, the outlaws mounted and dashed away with the same
amazing rapidity with which they had come.