Pan Adam’s passage of the Dniester, and his march with three
hundred sabres against the power of the Sultan, which numbered
hundreds of thousands of warriors, were deeds which a man
unacquainted with war might consider pure madness; but they were
only bold, daring deeds of war, having chances of success.
To begin with, raiders of those days went frequently against
chambuls a hundred times superior in numbers; they stood before
the eyes of the enemy, and then vanished, cutting down pursuers
savagely. Just as a wolf entices dogs after him at times, to turn
at the right moment and kill the dog pushing forward most daringly,
so did they. In the twinkle of an eye the beast became the hunter,
started, hid, waited, but though pursued, hunted too, attacked
unexpectedly, and bit to death. That was the so-called “method with
Tartars,” in which each side vied with the other in stratagems,
tricks, and ambushes. The most famous man in this method was
Pan Michael, next to him Pan Rushchyts, then Pan Pivo, then Pan
Motovidlo; but Novoveski, practising from boyhood in the steppes,
belonged to those who were mentioned among the most famous, hence
it was very likely that when he stood before the horde he would not
let himself be taken.
The expedition had chances of success too, for the reason that
beyond the Dniester there were wild regions in which it was easy to
hide. Only here and there, along the rivers, did settlements show
themselves, and in general the country was little inhabited; nearer
the Dniester it was rocky and hilly; farther on there were steppes,
or the land was covered with forests, in which numerous herds
of beasts wandered, from buffaloes, run wild, to deer and wild
boars. Since the Sultan wished before the expedition “to feel his
power and calculate his forces,” the hordes dwelling on the lower
Dniester, those of Belgrod, and still farther those of Dobrudja,
marched at command of the Padishah to the south of the Balkans, and
after them followed the Karalash of Moldavia, so that the country
had become still more deserted, and it was possible to travel whole
weeks without being seen by any person.
Pan Adam knew Tartar customs too well not to know that when the
chambuls had once passed the boundary of the Commonwealth they
would move more warily, keeping diligent watch on all sides; but
there in their own country they would go in broad columns without
any precaution. And they did so, in fact; there seemed to the
Tartars a greater chance to meet death than to meet in the heart
of Bessarabia, on the very Tartar boundary, the troops of that
Commonwealth which had not men enough to defend its own borders.
Pan Adam was confident that his expedition would astonish the enemy
first of all, and hence do more good than the hetman had hoped;
secondly, that it might be destructive to Azya and his men. It
was easy for the young lieutenant to divine that they, since they
knew the Commonwealth thoroughly, would march in the vanguard, and
he placed his main hope in that certainty. To fall unexpectedly
on Azya and seize him, to rescue perhaps his sister and Zosia, to
snatch them from captivity, accomplish his vengeance, and then
perish in war, was all that the distracted soul of Novoveski wished
for.
Under the influence of these thoughts and hopes. Pan Adam freed
himself from torpor, and revived. His march along unknown ways,
arduous labor, the sweeping wind of the steppes, and the dangers
of the bold undertaking increased his health, and brought back
his former strength. The warrior began to overcome in him the man
of misfortune. Before that, there had been no place in him for
anything except memories and suffering; now he had to think whole
days of how he was to deceive and attack.
After they had passed the Dniester the Poles went on a diagonal,
and down toward the Pruth. In the day they hid frequently in
forests and reeds; in the night they made secret and hurried
marches. So far the country was not much inhabited, and, occupied
mainly by nomads, was empty for the greater part. Very rarely did
they come upon fields of maize, and near them houses.
Marching secretly, they strove to avoid larger settlements, but
often they stopped at smaller ones composed of one, two, three,
or even a number of cottages; these they entered boldly, knowing
that none of the inhabitants would think of fleeing before them to
Budjyak, and forewarning the Tartars. Lusnia, however, took care
that this should not happen; but soon he omitted the precaution,
for he convinced himself that those few settlements, though
subject, as it were, to the Sultan, were looking for his troops
with dread; and secondly, that they had no idea what kind of people
had come to them, and took the whole detachment for Karalash
parties, who were marching after others at command of the Sultan.
The inhabitants furnished without opposition corn, bread, and dried
buffalo-meat. Every cottager had his flock of sheep, his buffaloes
and horses, secreted near the rivers, From time to time appeared
also very large herds of buffaloes, half wild, and followed by a
number of herdsmen. These herdsmen lived in tents on the steppe,
and remained in one place only while they found grass in abundance.
Frequently they were old Tartars. Pan Adam surrounded them with as
much care as if they were a chambul; he did not spare them, lest
they might send down toward Budjyak a report of his march. Tartars,
especially after he had inquired of them concerning the roads, or
rather the roadless country, he slew without mercy, so that not
a foot escaped. He took then from the herds as many cattle as he
needed, and moved on.
The detachment went southward; they met now more frequently herds
guarded by Tartars almost exclusively, and in rather large parties.
During a march of two weeks Pan Adam surrounded and cut down three
bands of shepherds, numbering some tens of men. The dragoons always
took the sheepskin coats of these men, and cleaning them over
fires, put them on, so as to resemble wild herdsmen and shepherds.
In another week they were all dressed like Tartars, and looked
exactly like a chambul. There remained to them only the uniform
weapons of regular cavalry; but they kept their jackets in the
saddle-straps, so as to put them on when returning. They might be
recognized near at hand by their yellow Mazovian mustaches and blue
eyes; but from a distance a man of the greatest experience might
be deceived at sight of them, all the more since they drove before
them the cattle which they needed as food.
Approaching the Pruth, they marched along its left bank. Since
the trail of Kuchman was in a region too much stripped, it was
easy to foresee that the legions of the Sultan and the horde in
the vanguard would march through Falezi, Hush, Kotimore, and only
then by the Wallachian trail, and either turn toward the Dniester,
or go straight as the east of a sickle through all Bessarabia, to
come out on the boundary of the Commonwealth near Ushytsa. Pan Adam
was so certain of this that, caring nothing for time, he went more
and more slowly, and with increasing care, so as not to come too
suddenly on chambuls. Arriving at last at the river forks formed
by the Sarata and the Tekich, he stopped there for a long time,
first, to give rest to his horses and men, and second, to wait in a
well-sheltered place for the vanguard of the horde.
The place was well sheltered and carefully chosen, for all the
inner and outer banks of the two rivers were covered partly with
the common cornel-bush, and partly with dogwood. This thicket
extended as far as the eye could reach, covering the ground in
places with dense brushwood, in places forming groups of bushes,
between which were empty spaces, commodious for camping. At that
season the trees and bushes had cast their blossoms, but in the
early spring there must have been a sea of white and yellow
flowers. The place was uninhabited, but swarming with beasts, such
as deer and rabbits, and with birds. Here and there, at the edge
of a spring, they found also bear tracks. One man at the arrival
of the detachment killed a couple of sheep. In view of this,
Lusnia promised himself a sheep hunt; but Pan Adam, wishing to lie
concealed, did not permit the use of muskets,--the soldiers went
out to plunder with spears and axes.
Later on they found near the water traces of fires, but old ones,
probably of the past year. It was evident that nomads looked in
there from time to time with their herds, or perhaps Tartars came
to cut cornel-wood for slung staffs. But the most careful search
did not discover a living soul. Pan Adam decided not to go farther,
but to remain there till the coming of the Turkish troops.
They laid out a square, built huts, and waited. At the edges of
the wood sentries were posted; some of these looked day and night
toward Budjyak, others toward the Pruth in the direction of Falezi.
Pan Adam knew that he would divine the approach of the Sultan’s
armies by certain signs; besides, he sent out small detachments,
led by himself most frequently. The weather favored excellently
the halt in that dry region. The days were warm, but it was easy
to avoid heat in the shade of the thicket; the nights were clear,
calm, moonlight, and then the groves were quivering from the
singing of nightingales. During such nights Pan Adam suffered most,
for he could not sleep; he was thinking of his former happiness,
and pondering on the present days of disaster. He lived only in the
thought that when his heart was sated with vengeance he would be
happier and calmer. Meanwhile the time was approaching in which he
was to accomplish that vengeance or perish.
Week followed week spent in finding food in wild places, and in
watching. During that time they studied all the trails, ravines,
meadows, rivers, and streams, gathered in again a number of herds,
cut down some small bands of nomads, and watched continually in
that thicket, like a wild beast waiting for prey. At last the
expected moment came.
A certain morning they saw flocks of birds covering the earth and
the sky. Bustards, ptarmigans, blue-legged quails, hurried through
the grass to the thicket; through the sky flew ravens, crows, and
even water-birds, evidently frightened on the banks of the Danube
or the swamps of the Dobrudja. At sight of this the dragoons looked
at one another; and the phrase, “They are coming! they are coming!”
flew from mouth to mouth. Faces grew animated at once, mustaches
began to quiver, eyes to gleam, but in that animation there was not
the slightest alarm. Those were all men for whom life had passed
in “methods;” they only felt what a hunting dog feels when he
sniffs game. Fires were quenched in a moment, so that smoke might
not betray the presence of people in the thicket; the horses were
saddled; and the whole detachment stood ready for action.
It was necessary so to measure time as to fall on the enemy during
a halt. Pan Adam understood well that the Sultan’s troops would
not march in dense masses, especially in their own country, where
danger was altogether unlikely. He knew, too, that it was the
custom of vanguards to march five or ten miles before the main
army. He hoped, with good reason, that the Lithuanian Tartars would
be first in the vanguard.
For a certain time he hesitated whether to advance to meet them by
secret roads, well known to him, or to wait in the woods for their
coming. He chose the latter, because it was easier to attack from
the woods unexpectedly. Another day passed, then a night, during
which not only birds came in swarms, but beasts came in droves to
the woods. Next morning the enemy was in sight.
South of the wood stretched a broad though hilly meadow, which was
lost in the distant horizon. On that meadow appeared the enemy, and
approached the wood rather quickly. The dragoons looked from the
trees at that dark mass, which vanished at times, when hidden by
hills, and then appeared again in all its extent.
Lusnia, who had uncommonly sharp eyesight, looked some time with
effort at those crowds approaching; then he went to Novoveski, and
said,--
“Pan Commandant, there are not many men; they are only driving
herds out to pasture.”
Pan Adam convinced himself soon that Lusnia was right, and his face
shone with gladness.
“That means that their halting-place is five or six miles from this
grove,” said he.
“It does,” answered Lusnia. “They march in the night, evidently to
gain shelter from heat, and rest in the day; they are sending the
horses now to pasture till evening.”
“Is there a large guard with the horses?”
Lusnia pushed out again to the edge of the wood, and did not return
for a longer time. At last he came back and said,--
“There are about fifteen hundred horses and twenty-five men with
them. They are in their own country; they fear nothing, and do not
put out strong watches.”
“Could you recognize the men?”
“They are far away yet, but they are Lithuanian Tartars. They are
in our hands already.”
“They are,” said Pan Adam.
In fact, he was convinced that not a living foot of those men would
escape. For such a leader as he, and such soldiers as he led, that
was a very light task.
Meanwhile the herdsmen had driven the beasts nearer and nearer to
the forest. Lusnia thrust himself out once again to the border,
and returned a second time. His face was shining with cruelty and
gladness.
“Lithuanian Tartars,” whispered he.
Hearing this, Pan Adam made a noise like a falcon, and straightway
a division of dragoons pushed into the depth of the wood. There
they separated into two parties, one of which disappeared in a
defile, so as to come out behind the herd and the Tartars; the
other formed a half-circle, and waited.
All this was done so quietly that the most trained ear could not
have caught a sound; neither sabre nor spur rattled; no horse
neighed; the thick grass on the ground dulled the tramp of hoofs;
besides, even the horses seemed to understand that the success
of the attack depended on silence, for they were performing such
service not for the first time. Nothing was heard from the defile
and the brushwood but the call of the falcon, lower every little
while and less frequent.
The herd of Tartar horses stopped before the wood, and scattered in
greater or smaller groups on the meadow. Pan Adam himself was then
near the edge, and followed all the movements of the herdsmen. The
day was clear, and the time before noon, but the sun was already
high, and cast heat on the earth. The horses rolled; later on, they
approached the wood. The herdsmen rode to the edge of the grove,
slipped down from their horses, and let them out on lariats; then
seeking the shade and cool places, they entered the thicket, and
lay down under the largest bushes to rest.
Soon a fire burst up in a flame; when the dry sticks had turned
into coals and were coated with ashes, the herdsmen put half a colt
on the coals, and sat at a distance themselves to avoid the heat.
Some stretched on the grass; others talked, sitting in groups,
Turkish fashion; one began to play on a horn. In the wood perfect
silence reigned; the falcon called only at times.
The odor of singed flesh announced at last that the roast was
ready. Two men drew it out of the ashes, and dragged it to a shady
tree; there they sat in a circle cutting the meat with their
knives, and eating with beastly greed. From the half-raw strips
came blood, which settled on their fingers, and flowed down their
beards.
When they had finished eating, and had drunk sour mare’s milk out
of skins, they felt satisfied. They talked awhile yet; then their
heads and limbs became heavy.
Afternoon came. The heat flew down from heaven more and more. The
forest was varied with quivering streaks of light made by the rays
of the sun penetrating dense places. Everything was silent; even
the falcons ceased to call.
A number of Tartars stood up and went to look at the horses; others
stretched themselves like corpses on a battlefield, and soon sleep
overpowered them. But their sleep after meat and drink was rather
heavy and uneasy, for at times one groaned deeply, another opened
his lids for a moment, and repeated, “Allah, Bismillah!”
All at once on the edge of the wood was heard some low but terrible
sound, like the short rattle of a stifled man who had no time to
cry. Whether the ears of the herdsmen were so keen, or some animal
instinct had warned them of danger, or finally, whether Death had
blown with cold breath on them, it is enough that they sprang up
from sleep in one moment.
“What is that? Where are the men at the horses?” they began to
inquire of one another. Then from a thicket some voice said in
Polish,--
“They will not return.”
That moment a hundred and fifty men rushed in a circle at the
herdsmen, who were frightened so terribly that the cry died in
their breasts. An odd one barely succeeded in grasping his dagger.
The circle of attackers covered and hid them completely. The bush
quivered from the pressure of human bodies, which struggled in a
disorderly group. The whistle of blades, panting, and at times
groaning or wheezing were heard, but that lasted one twinkle of an
eye; and all was silent.
“How many are alive?” asked a voice among the attackers.
“Five, Pan Commandant.”
“Examine the bodies; lest any escape, give each man a knife in the
throat, and bring the prisoners to the fire.”
The command was obeyed in one moment. The corpses were pinned to
the turf with their own knives; the prisoners, after their feet had
been bound to sticks, were brought around the fire, which Lusnia
had raked so that coals, hidden under ashes, would be on the top.
The prisoners looked at this preparation and at Lusnia with wild
eyes. Among them were three Tartars of Hreptyoff who knew the
sergeant perfectly. He knew them too, and said,--
“Well, comrades, you must sing now; if not, you will go to the
other world on roasted soles. For old acquaintance’ sake I will not
spare fire on you.”
When he had said this he threw dry limbs on the fire, which burst
out at once in a tall blaze.
Pan Adam came now, and began the examination. From confessions
of the prisoners it appeared that what the young lieutenant had
divined earlier was true. The Lithuanian Tartars and Cheremis were
marching in the vanguard before the horde, and before all the
troops of the Sultan. They were led by Azya, son of Tugai Bey, to
whom was given command over all the parties. They, as well as the
whole army, marched at night because of the heat; in the day they
sent their herds out to pasture. They threw out no pickets, for no
one supposed that troops could attack them even near the Dniester,
much less at the Pruth, right at the dwellings of the horde; they
marched comfortably, therefore, with their herds and with camels,
which carried the tents of the officers. The tent of Murza Azya was
easily known, for it had a bunchuk fixed on its summit, and the
banners of the companies were fastened near it in time of halt. The
camp was four or five miles distant; there were about two thousand
men in it, but some of them had remained with the Belgrod horde,
which was marching about five miles behind.
Pan Adam inquired further touching the road which would lead to
the camp best, then how the tents were arranged, and last, of that
which concerned him most deeply.
“Are there women in the tent?”
The Tartars trembled for their lives. Those of them who had served
in Hreptyoff knew perfectly that Pan Adam was the brother of one
of those women, and was betrothed to the other; they understood,
therefore, what rage would seize him when he knew the whole truth.
That rage might fall first on them; they hesitated, therefore, but
Lusnia said at once,--
“Pan Commandant, we’ll warm their soles for the dog brothers; then
they will speak.”
“Thrust their feet in the fire!” said Pan Adam.
“Have mercy!” cried Eliashevich, an old Tartar from Hreptyoff. “I
will tell all that my eyes have seen.”
Lusnia looked at the commandant to learn if he was to carry out the
threat notwithstanding this answer; but Pan Adam shook his head,
and said to Eliashevich,--
“Tell what thou hast seen.”
“We are innocent, lord,” answered Eliashevich; “we went at command.
The murza gave your gracious sister to Pan Adurovich, who had her
in his tent. I saw her in Kuchunkaury when she was going for water
with pails; and I helped her to carry them, for she was heavy--”
“Woe!” muttered Pan Adam.
“But the other lady our murza himself had in his tent. We did not
see her so often; but we heard more than once how she screamed, for
the murza, though he kept her for his pleasure, beat her with rods,
and kicked her.”
Pan Adam’s lips began to quiver.
Eliashevich barely heard the question.
“Where are they now?”
“Sold in Stambul.”
“To whom?”
“The murza himself does not know certainly. A command came from
the Padishah to keep no women in camp. All sold their women in the
bazaar; the murza sold his.”
The explanation was finished, and at the fire silence set in; but
for some time a sultry afternoon wind shook the limbs of the trees,
which sounded more and more deeply. The air became stifling; on the
edge of the horizon, black clouds appeared, dark in the centre, and
shining with a copper-color on the edges.
Pan Adam walked away from the fire, and moved like one demented,
without giving an account to himself of where he was going. At last
he dropped with his face to the ground, and began to tear the earth
with his nails, then to gnaw his own hands, and then to gasp as if
dying. A convulsion twisted his gigantic body, and he lay thus for
hours. The dragoons looked at him from a distance; but even Lusnia
dared not approach him.
Concluding that the commandant would not be angry at him for not
sparing the Tartars, the terrible sergeant, impelled by pure
inborn cruelty, stuffed their mouths with grass, so as to avoid
noise, and slaughtered them like bullocks. He spared Eliashevich
alone, supposing that he would be needed to guide them. When he
had finished this work, he dragged away from the fire the bodies,
still quivering, and put them in a row; he went then to look at the
commandant.
“Even if he has gone mad,” muttered Lusnia, “we must get that one.”
Midday had passed, the afternoon hours as well, and the day was
inclining toward evening. But those clouds, small at first,
occupied now almost the whole heavens, and were growing ever
thicker and darker without losing that copper-colored gleam along
the edges. Their gigantic rolls turned heavily, like millstones on
their own axes; then they fell on one another, crowded one another,
and pushing one another from the height, rolled in a dense mass
lower and lower toward the earth. The wind struck at times, like a
bird of prey with its wings, bent the cornel-trees and the dogwood
to the earth, tore away a cloud of leaves, and bore it apart with
rage; at times it stopped as if it had fallen into the ground.
During such intervals of silence there was heard in the gathering
clouds a certain ominous rattling, wheezing, rumbling; you would
have said that legions of thunders were gathering within them and
ranging for battle, grumbling in deep voices while rousing rage and
fury in themselves, before they would burst out and strike madly on
the terrified earth.
“A storm, a storm is coming!” whispered the dragoons to one another.
The storm was coming. The air grew darker each instant.
Then on the east, from the side of the Dniester, thunder rose and
rolled with an awful outbreak along the heavens, till it went far
away, beyond the Pruth; there it was silent for a moment, but
springing up afresh, rushed toward the steppes of Budjyak, and
rolled along the whole horizon.
First, great drops of rain fell on the parched grass. At that
moment Pan Adam stood before the dragoons.
“To horse!” cried he, with a mighty voice.
And at the expiration of as much time as is needed to say a hurried
“Our Father,” he was moving at the head of a hundred and fifty
horsemen. When he had ridden out of the woods, he joined, near the
herd of horses, the other half of his men, who had been standing
guard at the field-side, to prevent any herdsmen from escaping by
stealth to the camp. The dragoons rushed around the herd in the
twinkle of an eye, and giving out wild shouts, peculiar to Tartars,
moved on, urging before them the panic-stricken horses.
The sergeant held Eliashevich on a lariat, and shouted in his ear,
trying to outsound the roar of the thunder,--
“Lead us on dog blood, and straight, or a knife in thy throat!”
Now the clouds rolled so low that they almost touched the earth.
On a sudden they burst, like an explosion in a furnace, and a
raging hurricane was let loose; soon a blinding light rent the
darkness, a thunder-clap came, and after it a second, a third; the
smell of sulphur spread in the air, and again there was darkness.
Terror seized the herd of horses. The beasts, driven from behind
by the wild shouts of the dragoons, ran with distended nostrils
and flowing mane, scarcely touching the earth in their onrush; the
thunder did not cease for a moment; the wind roared, and the horses
raced on madly in that wind, in that darkness, amid explosions in
which the earth seemed to be breaking. Driven by the tempest and by
vengeance, they were like a terrible company of vampires or evil
spirits in that wild steppe.
Space fled before them. No guide was needed, for the herd ran
straight to the camp of the Tartars, which was nearer and nearer.
But before they had reached it, the storm was unchained, as if
the sky and the earth had gone mad. The whole horizon blazed with
living fire, by the gleam of which were seen the tents standing on
the steppe; the world was quivering from the roar of thunders; it
seemed that the clouds might burst any moment and tumble to the
earth. In fact, their sluices were opened, and floods of rain began
to deluge the steppe. The downfall was so dense that a few paces
distant nothing could be seen, and from the earth, inflamed by the
heat of the sun, a thick mist was soon rising.
Yet a little while, and herd and dragoons will be in the camp.
But right before the tents the herd split, and ran to both sides in
wild panic; three hundred breasts gave out a fearful shriek; three
hundred sabres glittered in the flame of the lightning, and the
dragoons fell on the tents.
Before the outburst of the torrent, the Tartars saw in the
lightning-flashes the on-coming herd; but none of them knew what
terrible herdsmen were driving. Astonishment and alarm seized them;
they wondered why the herd should rush straight at the tents; then
they began to shout to frighten them away. Azya himself pushed
aside the canvas door, and in spite of the rain, went out with
anger on his threatening face. But that instant the herd split in
two, and, amid torrents of rain and in the fog, certain fierce
forms looked black and many times greater in number than the
horse herds; then the terrible cry, “Slay, kill!” was heard.
There was no time for anything, not even to guess what had
happened, not even to be frightened. The hurricane of men, more
dreadful and furious by far than the tempest, whirled on to the
camp. Before Tugai Bey’s son could retreat one step toward his
tent, some power more than human, as you would have said, raised
him from the earth.
Suddenly he felt that a dreadful embrace was squeezing him, that
from its pressure his bones were bending and his ribs breaking;
soon he saw, as if in mist, a face rather than which he would have
seen Satan’s, and fainted.
By that time the battle had begun, or rather the ghastly slaughter.
The storm, the darkness, the unknown number of the assailants, the
suddenness of the attack, and the scattering of the horses were the
cause that the Tartars scarcely defended themselves. The madness
of terror simply took possession of them. No one knew whither to
escape, where to hide himself. Many had no weapons at hand; the
attack found many asleep. Therefore, stunned, bewildered, and
terrified, they gathered into dense groups, crowding, overturning,
and trampling one another. The breasts of horses pushed them down,
threw them to the ground; sabres cut them, hoofs crushed them. A
storm does not so break, destroy, and lay waste a young forest,
wolves do not eat into a flock of bewildered sheep, as the dragoons
trampled and cut down those Tartars. On the one hand, bewilderment,
on the other, rage and vengeance, completed the measure of their
misfortune. Torrents of blood were mingled with the rain. It seemed
to the Tartars that the sky was falling on them, that the earth
was opening under their feet. The flash of lightning, the roar of
thunder, the noise of rain, the darkness, the terror of the storm,
answered to the dreadful outcries of the slaughtered. The horses
of the dragoons, seized also with fear, rushed, as if maddened,
into the throng, breaking it and stretching the men on the ground.
At length the smaller groups began to flee, but they had lost
knowledge of the place to such a degree that they fled around on
the scene of struggle, instead of fleeing straight forward; and
frequently they knocked against one another, like two opposing
waves, struck one another, overturned one another, and went under
the sword. At last the dragoons scattered the remnant of them
completely, and slew them in the flight, taking no prisoners, and
pursuing without mercy till the trumpets called them back from
pursuit.
Never had an attack been more unexpected, and never a defeat more
terrible. Three hundred men had scattered to the four winds of
the world nearly two thousand cavalry, surpassing incomparably in
training the ordinary chambuls. The greater part of them were lying
flat in red pools of blood and rain. The rest dispersed, hid their
heads, thanks to the darkness, and escaped on foot, at random, not
certain that they would not run under the knife a second time. The
storm and the darkness assisted the victors, as if the anger of God
were fighting on their side against traitors.
Night had fallen completely when Pan Adam moved out at the head
of his dragoons, to return to the boundaries of the Commonwealth.
Between the young lieutenant and Lusnia, the sergeant, went a horse
from the herd. On the back of this horse lay, bound with cords,
the leader of all the Lithuanian Tartars,--Azya, the son of Tugai
Bey, with broken ribs. He was alive, but in a swoon. Both looked at
him from time to time as carefully and anxiously as if they were
carrying a treasure, and were fearful of losing it.
The storm began to pass. On the heavens, legions of clouds were
still moving, but in intervals between them, stars were beginning
to shine, and to be reflected in lakes of water, formed on the
steppe by the dense rain. In the distance, in the direction of the
Commonwealth, thunder was still roaring from time to time.