Pan Michael was not idle in his stanitsa, and his men lived
in perpetual toil. One hundred, sometimes a smaller number,
remained as a garrison in Hreptyoff; the rest were on expeditions
continually. The more considerable detachments were sent to clear
out the ravines of Ushytsa; and they lived, as it were, in endless
warfare, for bands of robbers, frequently very numerous, offered
powerful resistance, and more than once it was needful to fight
with them regular battles. Such expeditions lasted days, and at
times tens of days. Pan Michael sent smaller parties as far as
Bratslav for news of the horde and Doroshenko. The task of these
parties was to bring in informants, and therefore to capture them
on the steppes. Some went down the Dniester to Mohiloff and Yampol,
to maintain connection with commandants in those places; some
watched on the Moldavian side; some built bridges and repaired the
old road.
The country in which such a considerable activity reigned became
pacified gradually; those of the inhabitants who were more
peaceful, and less enamoured of robbery, returned by degrees to
their deserted habitations, at first stealthily, then with more
confidence. A few Jewish handicraftsmen came up to Hreptyoff
itself; sometimes a more considerable Armenian merchant looked
in; shopkeepers visited the place more frequently: Volodyovski
had therefore a not barren hope that if God and the hetman would
permit him to remain a longer time in command, that country which
had grown wild would assume another aspect. That work was merely
the beginning; there was a world of things yet to be done: the
roads were still dangerous; the demoralized people entered into
friendship more readily with robbers than with troops, and for
any cause hid themselves again in the rocky gorges; the fords
of the Dnieper were often passed stealthily by bands made up of
Wallachians, Cossacks, Hungarians, Tartars, and God knows what
people. These sent raids through the country, attacking in Tartar
fashion villages and towns, gathering up everything which let
itself be gathered; for a time yet it was impossible to drop a
sabre from the hand in those regions, or to hang a musket on a
nail; still a beginning was made, and the future promised to be
favorable.
It was necessary to keep the most sensitive ear toward the eastern
side. From Doroshenko’s forces and his allied chambuls were
detached at short intervals parties larger or smaller; and while
attacking the Polish commands, they spread devastation and fire in
the region about. But since these parties were independent, or at
least seemed so, the little knight crushed them without fear of
bringing a greater storm on the country; and without ceasing in his
resistance, he sought them himself in the steppe so effectually
that in time he made attack disgusting to the boldest.
Meanwhile Basia managed affairs in Hreptyoff. She was delighted
immensely with that soldier-life which she had never seen before
so closely,--the movement, marches, returns of expeditions, the
prisoners. She told the little knight that she must take part in
one expedition at least; but for the time she was forced to be
satisfied with this, that she sat on her pony occasionally, and
visited with her husband and Zagloba the environs of Hreptyoff. On
such expeditions she hunted foxes and bustards; sometimes the fox
stole out of the grass and shot along through the valleys. Then
they chased him; but Basia kept in front to the best of her power,
right after the dogs, so as to fall on the wearied beast first and
thunder into his red eyes from her pistol. Pan Zagloba liked best
to hunt with falcons, of which the officers had a number of pairs
very well trained.
Basia accompanied him too; but after Basia Pan Michael sent
secretly a number of tens of men to give aid in emergency, for
though it was known always in Hreptyoff what men were doing in
the desert for twenty miles around, Pan Michael preferred to be
cautious. The soldiers loved Basia more every day, for she took
pains with their food and drink; she nursed the sick and wounded.
Even the sullen Mellehovich, whose head pained him continually, and
who had a harder and a wilder heart than others, grew bright at
the sight of her. Old soldiers were in raptures over her knightly
daring and close knowledge of military affairs.
“If the Little Falcon were gone,” said they, “she might take
command, and it would not be grievous to fall under such a leader.”
At times it happened too that when some disorder arose in the
service during Pan Michael’s absence, Basia reprimanded the
soldiers, and obedience to her was great; old warriors were more
grieved by reproval from her mouth than by punishment, which the
veteran Pan Michael inflicted unsparingly for dereliction of duty.
Great discipline reigned always in the command, for Volodyovski,
reared in the school of Prince Yeremi, knew how to hold soldiers
with an iron hand; and, moreover, the presence of Basia softened
wild manners somewhat. Every man tried to please her; every man
thought of her rest and comfort; hence they avoided whatever might
annoy her.
In the light squadron of Pan Nikolai Pototski there were many
officers, experienced and polite, who, though they had grown rough
in continual wars and adventures, still formed a pleasant company.
These, with the officers from other squadrons, often spent an
evening with the colonel, telling of events and wars in which they
had taken part personally. Among these Pan Zagloba held the first
place. He was the oldest, had seen most and done much; but when,
after one and the second goblet, he was dozing in a comfortable
stuffed chair, which was brought for him purposely, others began.
And they had something to tell, for there were some who had visited
Sweden and Moscow; there were some who had passed their years of
youth at the Saitch before the days of Hmelnitski; there were some
who as captives had herded sheep in the Crimea; who in slavery
had dug wells in Bagchesarai; who had visited Asia Minor; who had
rowed through the Archipelago in Turkish galleys; who had beaten
with their foreheads on the grave of Christ in Jerusalem; who
had experienced every adventure and every mishap, and still had
appeared again under the flag to defend to the end of their lives,
to the last breath, those border regions steeped in blood.
When in November the evenings became longer and there was peace
on the side of the broad steppe, for the grass had withered, they
used to assemble in the colonel’s house daily. Hither came Pan
Motovidlo, the leader of the Cossacks,--a Russian by blood, a man
lean as pincers and tall as a lance, no longer young; he had not
left the field for twenty years and more. Pan Deyma came too, the
brother of that one who had killed Pan Ubysh; and with them Pan
Mushalski, a man formerly wealthy, but who, taken captive in early
years, had rowed in a Turkish galley, and escaping from bondage,
had left his property to others, and with sabre in hand was
avenging his wrongs on the race of Mohammed. He was an incomparable
bowman, who, when he chose, pierced with an arrow a heron in its
lofty flight. There came also the two partisans, Pan Vilga and Pan
Nyenashinyets, great soldiers, and Pan Hromyka and Pan Bavdynovich,
and many others. When these began to tell tales and to throw
forth words quickly, the whole Oriental world was seen in their
narratives,--Bagchesarai and Stambul, the minarets and sanctuaries
of the false prophet, the blue waters of the Bosphorus, the
fountains, and the palace of the Sultan, the swarms of men in the
stone city, the troops, the janissaries, the dervishes, and that
whole terrible locust-swarm, brilliant as a rainbow, against which
the Commonwealth with bleeding breast was defending the Russian
cross, and after it all the crosses and churches in Europe.
The old soldiers sat in a circle in the broad room, like a flock of
storks which, wearied with flying, had settled on some grave-mound
of the steppe and were making themselves heard with great uproar.
In the fireplace logs of pitch-pine were burning, casting out
sharp gleams through the whole room. Moldavian wine was heated at
the fire by the order of Basia; and attendants dipped it with tin
dippers and gave it to the knights. From outside the walls came
the calls of the sentries; the crickets, of which Pan Michael had
complained, were chirping in the room and whistling sometimes in
the chinks stuffed with moss; the November wind, blowing from the
north, grew more and more chilly. During such cold it was most
agreeable to sit in a comfortable, well-lighted room, and listen to
the adventures of the knights.
On such an evening Pan Mushalski spoke as follows:--
“May the Most High have in His protection the whole sacred
Commonwealth, us all, and among us especially her grace, the lady
here present, the worthy wife of our commander, on whose beauty
our eyes are scarcely worthy to gaze. I have no wish to rival Pan
Zagloba, whose adventures would have roused the greatest wonder in
Dido herself and her charming attendants; but if you, gentlemen,
will give time to hear my adventures, I will not delay, lest I
offend the honorable company.
“In youth I inherited in the Ukraine a considerable estate near
Tarashcha. I had two villages from my mother in a peaceable region
near Yaslo; but I chose to live in my father’s place, since it was
nearer the horde and more open to adventure. Knightly daring drew
me toward the Saitch, but for us there was nothing there at that
time; I went to the Wilderness in company with restless spirits,
and experienced delight. It was pleasant for me on my lands; one
thing alone pained me keenly,--I had a bad neighbor. He was a
mere peasant, from Byalotserkov, who had been in his youth at the
Saitch, where he rose to the office of kuren ataman, and was an
envoy from the Cossacks to Warsaw, where he became a noble. His
name was Didyuk. And you, gentlemen, must know that the Mushalskis
derive their descent from a certain chief of the Samnites, called
Musca, which in our tongue means _mucha_ (fly). That Musca, after
fruitless attacks on the Romans, came to the court of Zyemovit, the
son of Piast, who renamed him, for greater convenience, Muscalski,
which later on his posterity changed to Mushalski. Feeling that I
was of such noble blood, I looked with great abomination on that
Didyuk. If the scoundrel had known how to respect the honor which
met him, and to recognize the supreme perfection of the rank of
noble above all others, perhaps I might have said nothing. But
he, while holding land like a noble, mocked at the dignity, and
said frequently: ‘Is my shadow taller now? I was a Cossack, and a
Cossack I’ll remain; but nobility and all you devils of Poles are
that for me--’ I cannot in this place relate to you, gentlemen,
what foul gesture he made, for the presence of her grace, the lady,
will not in any way permit me to do so. But a wild rage seized me,
and I began to persecute him. He was not afraid; he was a resolute
man, and paid me with interest. I would have attacked him with a
sabre; but I did not like to do so, in view of his insignificant
origin. I hated him as the plague, and he pursued me with venom.
Once, on the square in Tarashcha, he fired at me, and came within
one hair of killing me; in return, I opened his head with a
hatchet. Twice I invaded his house with my servants, and twice he
fell upon mine with his ruffians. He could not master me, neither
could I overcome him. I wished to use law against him; bah! what
kind of law is there in the Ukraine, when ruins of towns are still
smoking? Whoever can summon ruffians in the Ukraine may jeer at
the Commonwealth. So did he do, blaspheming besides this common
mother of ours, not remembering for a moment that she, by raising
him to the rank of noble, had pressed him to her bosom, given him
privileges in virtue of which he owned land and that boundless
liberty which he could not have had under any other rule. If we
could have met in neighbor fashion, arguments would not have failed
me; but we did not see each other except with a musket in one hand
and a firebrand in the other. Hatred increased in me daily, until I
had grown yellow. I was thinking always of one thing,--how to seize
him. I felt, however, that hatred was a sin; and I only wished, in
return for his insults to nobility, to tear his skin with sticks,
and then, forgiving him all his sins, as beseemed me, a true
Christian, to give command to shoot him down simply. But the Lord
God ordained otherwise.
“Beyond the village I had a nice bee farm, and went one day to look
at it. The time was near evening. I was there barely the length
of ten ‘Our Fathers,’ when some clamor struck my ears. I looked
around. Smoke like a cloud was over the village. In a moment men
were rushing toward me. The horde! the horde! And right there
behind the men a legion, I tell you. Arrows were flying as thickly
as drops in a rain shower; and wherever I looked, sheepskin coats
and the devilish snouts of the horde. I sprang to horse! But before
I could touch the stirrup with my foot, five or six lariats were
on me. I tore away, for I was strong then. _Nec Hercules!_ Three
months afterward I found myself with another captive in a Crimean
village beyond Bagchesarai. Salma Bey was the name of my master.
He was a rich Tartar, but a sullen man and cruel to captives. We
had to work under clubs, to dig wells, and toil in the fields.
I wished to ransom myself; I had the means to do so. Through a
certain Armenian I wrote letters to Yaslo. I know not whether the
letters were delivered, or the ransom intercepted; it is enough
that nothing came. They took me to Tsargrad[18] and sold me to be a
galley-slave.
“There is much to tell of that city, for I know not whether there
is a greater and a more beautiful one in the world. People are
there as numerous as grass on the steppe, or as stones in the
Dniester; strong battlemented walls; tower after tower. Dogs wander
through the city together with the people; the Turks do not harm
them, because they feel their relationship, being dog brothers
themselves. There are no other ranks with them but lords and
slaves, and there is nothing more grievous than Pagan captivity.
God knows whether it is true, but I heard in the galleys that the
waters in Tsargrad, such as the Bosphorus, and the Golden Horn too,
which enters the heart of the city, have come from tears shed by
captives. Not a few of mine were shed there.
“Terrible is the Turkish power, and to no potentate are so many
kings subject as to the Sultan. The Turks themselves say that were
it not for Lehistan,--thus they name our mother,--they would have
been lords of the earth long ago. ‘Behind the shoulders of the
Pole,’ say they, ‘the rest of the world live in injustice; for the
Pole,’ say they, ‘lies like a dog in front of the cross, and bites
our hands.’ And they are right, for it is that way, and it will be
that way. And we here in Hreptyoff and the commands farther on in
Mohiloff, in Yampol, in Rashkoff,--what else are we doing? There is
a world of wickedness in our Commonwealth; but still I think that
God will account to us for this service sometime, and perhaps men
too will account to us.
“But now I will return to what happened to me. The captives who
live on land, in towns and villages, groan in less suffering than
those who row in galleys. For the galley-slaves when once riveted
on the bench near the oars are never unriveted, day or night, or
festival; they must live there in chains till they die; and if the
vessel goes down in a battle, they must go with it. They are all
naked; the cold freezes them; the rain wets them; hunger pinches
them; and for that there is no help but tears and terrible toil,
for the oars are so heavy and large that two men are needed at one
of them.
“They brought me in the night and riveted my chains, having put me
in front of some comrade in misery whom in the darkness I could
not distinguish. When I heard that beating of the hammer and the
sound of the fetters, dear God! it seemed to me that they were
driving the nails of my coffin; I would have preferred even that. I
prayed, but hope in my heart was as if the wind had blown it away.
A kavadji stifled my groans with blows; I sat there in silence all
night, till day began to break. I looked then on him who was to
work the same oar with me. O dear Jesus Christ! can you guess who
was in front of me, gentlemen? Didyuk!
“I knew him at once, though he was naked, had grown thin, and the
beard had come down to his waist,--for he had been sold long before
to the galleys. I gazed on him, and he on me; he recognized me.
We said not a word to each other. See what had come to us! Still,
there was such rancor in both that not only did we not greet each
other, but hatred burst up like a flame in us, and delight seized
the heart of each that his enemy had to suffer the same things as
he. That very day the galley moved on its voyage. It was strange
to hold one oar with your bitterest enemy, to eat from one dish
with him food which at home with us dogs would not eat, to endure
the same tyranny, to breathe the same air, to suffer together, to
weep face to face. We sailed through the Hellespont, and then the
Archipelago. Island after island is there, and all in the power of
the Turk. Both shores also,--a whole world! Oh, how we suffered!
In the day, heat indescribable. The sun burned with such force
that the waters seemed to flame from it; and when those flames
began to quiver and dance on the waves, you would have said that
a fiery rain was falling. Sweat poured from us, and our tongues
cleaved to the roofs of our mouths. At night the cold bit us like
a dog. Solace from no place; nothing but suffering, sorrow for
lost happiness, torment and pain. Words cannot tell it. At one
station in the Grecian land we saw from the galley famous ruins
of a temple which the Greeks reared in old times. Column stands
there by column; as if gold, that marble is yellow from age. All
was seen clearly, for it was on a steep height, and the sky is
like turquoise in Greece. Then we sailed on around the Morea. Day
followed day, week followed week; Didyuk and I had not exchanged
a word, for pride and rancor dwelt still in our hearts. But we
began to break slowly under God’s hand. From toil and change of
air the sinful flesh was falling from our bones; wounds, given by
the lash, were festering in the sun. In the night we prayed for
death. When I dozed a little, I heard Didyuk say, ‘O Christ, have
mercy! Holy Most Pure, have mercy! Let me die.’ He also heard and
saw how I stretched forth my hands to the Mother of God and her
Child. And here it was as if the sea had blown hatred from the
heart. There was less of it, and then less. At last, when I had
wept over myself, I wept over him. We looked on each other then
differently. Nay! we began to help each other. When sweating and
deathly weariness came on me, he rowed alone; when he was in a
similar state, I did the same for him. When they brought a plate
of food, each one considered that the other ought to have it. But,
gentlemen, see what the nature of man is! Speaking plainly, we
loved each other already, but neither wished to say the word first.
The rogue was in him, the Ukraine spirit! We changed only when it
had become terribly hard for us and grievous, and we said to-day,
‘to-morrow we shall meet the Venetian fleet--’ Provisions too were
scarce, and they spared everything on us but the lash. Night came;
we were groaning in quiet, and he in his way, I in mine, were
praying still more earnestly. I looked by the light of the moon;
tears were flowing down his beard in a torrent. My heart rose, and
I said, ‘Didyuk, we are from the same parts; let us forgive each
other our offences.’ When he heard this, dear God! didn’t the man
sob, and pull till his chains rattled! We fell into each other’s
arms over the oar, kissing each other and weeping. I cannot tell
you how long we held each other, for we forgot ourselves, but we
were trembling from sobs.”
Here Pan Mushalski stopped, and began to remove something from
around his eyes with his fingers. A moment of silence followed; but
the cold north wind whistled from between the beams, and in the
room the fire hissed and the crickets chirped. Then Pan Mushalski
panted, drew a deep breath, and continued:--
“The Lord God, as will appear, blessed us and showed us His favor;
but at the time we paid bitterly for our brotherly feeling. While
we were embracing, we entangled the chains so that we could not
untangle them. The overseers came and extricated us, but the lash
whistled above us for more than an hour. They beat us without
looking where. Blood flowed from me, flowed also from Didyuk; the
two bloods mingled and went in one stream to the sea. But that is
nothing! it is an old story--to the glory of God!
“From that time it did not come to my head that I was descended
from the Samnites, and Didyuk a peasant from Byalotserkov, recently
ennobled. I could not have loved my own brother more than I loved
him. Even if he had not been ennobled, it would have been one to
me,--though I preferred that he should be a noble. And he, in old
fashion, as once he had returned hatred with interest, now returned
love. Such was his nature.
“There was a battle on the following day. The Venetians scattered
to the four winds the Turkish fleet. Our galley, shattered terribly
by a culverin, took refuge at some small desert island, simply
a rock sticking out of the sea. It was necessary to repair it;
and since the soldiers had perished, and hands were lacking, the
officers were forced to unchain us and give us axes. The moment we
landed I glanced at Didyuk; but the same thing was in his head that
was in mine. ‘Shall it be at once?’ inquired he of me. ‘At once!’
said I; and without thinking further, I struck the chubachy on the
head; and Didyuk struck the captain. After us others rose like
a flame! In an hour we had finished the Turks; then we repaired
the galley somehow, took our seats in it without chains, and the
Merciful God commanded the winds to blow us to Venice.
“We reached the Commonwealth on begged bread. I divided my estate
at Yaslo with Didyuk, and we both took the field again to pay for
our tears and our blood. At the time of Podhaytse Didyuk went
through the Saitch to join Sirka, and with him to the Crimea. What
they did there and what a diversion they made, you, gentlemen, know.
“On his way home Didyuk, sated with vengeance, was killed by an
arrow. I was left; and as often as I stretch a bow, I do it for
him, and there are not wanting in this honorable company witnesses
to testify that I have delighted his soul in that way more than
once.”
Here Pan Mushalski was silent, and again nothing was to be heard
but the whistling of the north wind and the crackling of the fire.
The old warrior fixed his glance on the flaming logs, and after a
long silence concluded as follows:--
“Nalevaiko and Loboda have been; Hmelnitski has been; and now
Doroshenko has come. The earth is not dried of blood; we are
wrangling and fighting, and still God has sown in our hearts some
seeds of love, and they lie in barren ground, as it were, till
under the oppression and under the chain of the Pagan, till from
Tartar captivity, they give fruit unexpectedly.”
“Trash is trash!” said Zagloba, waking up suddenly.