On the following day, the vizir himself arrived before Kamenyets
at the head of a numerous army of spahis, janissaries, and the
general militia from Asia. It was supposed at once, from the
great number of his forces, that he would storm the place; but
he wished merely to examine the walls. Engineers came with him
to inspect the fortress and earthworks. Pan Myslishevski went
out this time against the vizir with infantry and a division of
mounted volunteers. They began to skirmish again; the action was
favorable for the besieged, though not so brilliant as on the first
day. Finally, the vizir commanded the janissaries to move to the
walls for a trial. The thunder of cannon shook at once the town
and the castle. When the janissaries were near the quarters of Pan
Podchaski, all fired at once with a great outburst; but as Pan
Podchaski answered from above with very well-directed shots, and
there was danger that cavalry might flank the janissaries, they
retreated on the Jvanyets road, and returned to the main camp.
In the evening, a certain Cheh (Bohemian) stole into the town;
he had been a groom with the aga of the janissaries, and being
bastinadoed, had deserted. From him the Poles learned that the
Turks had fortified themselves in Jvanyets, and occupied broad
fields on this side of Dlujek. They asked the fugitive carefully
what the general opinion among the Turks was,--did they think to
capture Kamenyets or not? He answered that there was good courage
in the army, and the omens were favorable. A couple of days before,
there had risen on a sudden from the earth in front of the Sultan’s
pavilion, as it were a pillar of smoke, slender below, and widening
above in the form of a mighty bush. The muftis explained that that
portent signified that the glory of the Padishah would reach the
heavens, and that he would be the ruler to crush Kamenyets,--an
obstacle hitherto invincible. That strengthened hearts greatly in
the army. “The Turks,” continued the fugitive, “fear Pan Sobieski,
and succor; from time past they bear in mind the peril of meeting
the troops of the Commonwealth in the open field, though they
are willing to meet Venetians, Hungarians, or any other people.
But since they have information that there are no troops in the
Commonwealth, they think generally that they will take Kamenyets,
though not without trouble. Kara Mustafa, the kaimakan, has
advised to storm the walls straightway; but the more prudent vizir
prefers to invest the town with regular works, and cover it with
cannon-balls. The Sultan, after the first skirmishes, has inclined
to the opinion of the vizir; therefore it is proper to look for a
regular siege.”
Thus spoke the deserter. Hearing this news. Pan Pototski and the
bishop, the chamberlain, Pan Volodyovski, and all the other chief
officers were greatly concerned. They had counted on storms, and
hoped with the defensiveness of the place to repulse them with
great loss to the enemy. They knew from experience that during
storms assailants suffer great losses; that every attack which is
repulsed shakes their courage, and adds boldness to the besieged.
As the knights at Zbaraj grew enamoured at last of resistance, of
battles and sorties, so the inhabitants of Kamenyets might acquire
love for battle, especially if every attack ended in defeat for the
Turks and victory for the town. But a regular siege, in which the
digging of approaches and mines, the planting of guns in position,
mean everything, might only weary the besieged, weaken their
courage, and make them inclined to negotiation. It was difficult
also to count on sorties, for it was not proper to strip the walls
of soldiers, and the servants or townspeople, led beyond the walls,
could hardly stand before janissaries.
Weighing this, all the superior officers were greatly concerned,
and to them a happy result of the defence seemed less likely. In
fact, it had small chance of success, not only in view of the
Turkish power, but in view of themselves. Pan Volodyovski was an
incomparable soldier and very famous, but he had not the majesty
of greatness. Whoso bears the sun in himself is able to warm all
everywhere; but whoso is a flame, even the most ardent, warms only
those who are nearest. So it was with the little knight. He did
not know how to pour his spirit into others, and could not, just
as he could not give his own skill with the sword. Pan Pototski,
the supreme chief, was not a warrior, besides, he lacked faith
in himself, in others, in the Commonwealth. The bishop counted
on negotiations mainly; his brother had a heavy hand, but also a
mind not much lighter. Relief was impossible, for the hetman, Pan
Sobieski, though great, was then without power. Without power was
the king, without power the whole Commonwealth.
On the 16th of August came the Khan with the horde, and Doroshenko
with his Cossacks, and occupied an enormous area on the fields,
beginning with Ronen. Sufan Kazi Aga invited Pan Myslishevski that
day to an interview, and advised him to surrender the place, for if
he did he would receive such favorable conditions as had never been
heard of in the history of sieges. The bishop was curious to know
what those favors were; but he was shouted down in the council, and
a refusal was sent back in answer. On August 18, the Turks began to
advance, and with them the Sultan.
They came on like a measureless sea,--infantry, janissaries,
spahis. Each pasha led the troops of his own pashalik, therefore
inhabitants of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Behind them came an
enormous camp with loaded wagons drawn by mules and buffaloes. That
hundred-colored swarm, in various dresses and arms, moved without
end. From dawn till night those leaders marched without stopping,
moved from one place to another, stationed troops, circled about in
the fields, pitched tents, which occupied such a space that from
the towers and highest points of Kamenyets it was possible in no
wise to see fields free from canvas. It seemed to people that snow
had fallen and filled the whole region about them. The camp was
laid out during salvos of musketry, for the janissaries shielding
that work did not cease to fire at the walls of the fortress; from
the walls an unbroken cannonade answered. Echoes were thundering
from the cliffs; smoke rose and covered the blue of the sky. Toward
evening Kamenyets was enclosed in such fashion that nothing save
pigeons could leave it. Firing ceased only when the first stars
began to twinkle.
For a number of succeeding days firing from the walls and at the
walls continued without interruption. The result was great damage
to the besiegers; the moment a considerable group of janissaries
collected within range, white smoke bloomed out on the walls,
balls fell among the janissaries, and they scattered as a flock
of sparrows when some one sends fine shot at them from a musket.
Meanwhile the Turks, not knowing evidently that in both castles and
in the town there were guns of long range, pitched their tents too
near. This was permitted, by the advice of Pan Michael; and only
when time of rest came, and troops, escaping from heat, had crowded
into those tents, did the walls roar with continuous thunder. Then
rose a panic; balls tore tents, broke poles, struck soldiers,
hurled around sharp fragments of rocks. The janissaries withdrew in
dismay and disorder, crying with loud voices; in their retreat they
overturned other tents, and carried alarm with them everywhere. On
the men disordered in this way Pan Michael fell with cavalry, and
cut them till strong bodies of horsemen came to their aid. Ketling
directed this fire mainly; besides him, the Polish mayor made the
greatest havoc among the Pagans. He bent over every gun, applied
the match himself, and covering his eyes with his hand, looked
at the result of the shot, and rejoiced in his heart that he was
working so effectively.
The Turks were digging approaches, however, making intrenchments
and fixing heavy guns in them. But before they began to fire
from these guns, an envoy of the Turks came under the walls, and
fastening to a dart a letter from the Sultan, showed it to the
besieged. Dragoons were sent out; these brought the envoy at once
to the castle. The Sultan, summoning the town to surrender, exalted
his own might and clemency to the skies.
“My army” (wrote he) “may be compared to the leaves of
the forest and the sands of the sea. Look at the heavens;
and when you see the countless stars, rouse fear in your
hearts, and say one to another, ‘Behold, such is the power
of the believers!’ But because I am a sovereign, gracious
above other sovereigns, and a grandson of the God of
Justice, I receive my right from above. Know that I hate
stubborn men; do not oppose, then, my will; surrender your
town. If you resist, you will all perish under the sword,
and no voice of man will rise against me.”
They considered long what response to give to that letter, and
rejected the impolitic counsel of Zagloba to cut off a dog’s tail
and send it in answer. They despatched a clever man skilled in
Turkish; Yuritsa was his name. He bore a letter which read as
follows:--
“We do not wish to anger the Sultan, but we do not hold it
our duty to obey him, for we have not taken oath to him,
but to our own lord. Kamenyets we will not surrender, for
an oath binds us to defend the fortresses and churches
while our lives last.”
After this answer the officers went to their places on the walls.
Bishop Lantskoronski and the starosta took advantage of this, and
sent a new letter to the Sultan, asking of him an armistice for
four weeks. When news of this went along the gates, an uproar
and clatter of sabres began. “But I believe,” repeated this man
and that, “that we are here burning at the guns, and behind our
shoulders they are sending letters without our knowledge, though
we are members of the council.” At the evening kindya the officers
went in a body to the starosta, with the little knight and Pan
Makovetski at their head, both greatly afflicted at what had
happened.
“How is this?” asked Makovetski. “Are you thinking already of
surrender, that you have sent a new envoy? Why has this happened
without our knowledge?”
“In truth,” added the little knight, “since we are called to a
council, it is not right to send letters without our knowledge.
Neither will we permit any one to mention surrender; if any one
wishes to mention it, let him withdraw from authority.”
While speaking he was terribly roused; being a soldier of rare
obedience, it caused him the utmost pain to speak thus against his
superiors. But since he had sworn to defend the castle till his
death he thought, “It behooves me to speak thus.”
The starosta was confused and answered, “I thought this was done
with general consent.”
“There is no consent. We will die here!” cried a number of voices.
“I am glad to hear that,” said the starosta; “for in me faith
is dearer than life, and cowardice has never come near me, and
will not. Remain, gracious gentlemen, to supper; we will come to
agreement more easily.”
But they would not remain.
“Our place is at the gates, not at the table,” said the little
knight.
At this time the bishop arrived, and learning what the question
was, turned at once to Pan Makovetski and Volodyovski.
“Worthy men!” said he, “each has the same thing at heart as you,
and no one has mentioned surrender. I sent to ask for an armistice
of four weeks; I wrote as follows; ‘During that time we will send
to our king for succor, and await his instructions, and further
that will be which God gives.’”
When the little knight heard this he was excited anew, but this
time because rage carried him away, and scorn at such a conception
of military matters. He, a soldier since childhood, could not
believe his ears, could not believe that any man would propose a
truce to an enemy, so as to have time himself to send for succor.
The little knight looked at Makovetski and then at other officers;
they looked at him. “Is this a jest?” asked a number of voices.
Then all were silent.
“I fought through the Tartar, Cossack, Moscow, and Swedish wars,”
said Pan Michael, at last, “and I have never heard of such reasons.
The Sultan has not come hither to please us, but himself. How will
he consent to an armistice, when we write to him that at the end of
that time we expect aid?”
“If he does not agree, there will be nothing different from what
there is now,” said the bishop.
“Whoso begs for an armistice exhibits fear and weakness, and whoso
looks for succor mistrusts his own power. The Pagan dog believes
this of us from that letter, and thereby irreparable harm has been
done.”
“I might be somewhere else,” said the bishop; “and because I did
not desert my flock in time of need, I endure reprimand.”
The little knight was sorry at once for the worthy prelate;
therefore he took him by the knees, kissed his hands, and said,--
“God keep me from giving any reprimand here; but since there is a
council, I utter what experience dictates to me.”
“What is to be done, then? Let the fault be mine; but what is to be
done? How repair the evil?” asked the bishop.
“How repair the evil?” repeated Volodyovski.
And thinking a moment, he raised his head joyously,--
“Well, it is possible. Gracious gentlemen, I pray you to follow me.”
He went out, and after him the officers. A quarter of an hour later
all Kamenyets was trembling from the thunder of cannon. Volodyovski
rushed out with volunteers; and falling upon sleeping janissaries
in the approaches, he slashed them till he scattered and drove the
whole force to the tabor.
Then he returned to the starosta, with whom he found the bishop.
“Here,” said he, joyously,--“here is help for you.”