The thunder of cannon shook the castles and the town immediately
after the kindya. The Turks had dug a fosse at the side of the
castle, five hundred yards long; in one place, at the very wall,
they were digging deeply. From that fosse there went against the
walls an unceasing fire from janissary muskets. The besieged made
screens of leather bags filled with wool; but as long balls and
bombs were hurled continually from the intrenchments, bodies fell
thickly around the cannon. At one gun a bomb killed six men of
Volodyovski’s infantry at once; at other guns men were falling
continually. Before evening the leaders saw that they could
hold out no longer, especially as the mines might be exploded
any moment. In the night, therefore, the captains led out their
companies, and before morning they had transferred, amid unbroken
firing, all the guns, powder, and supplies of provisions to the old
castle. That, being built on a rock, could hold out longer, and
there was special difficulty in digging under it. Pan Michael, when
consulted on this matter at the council, declared that if no one
would negotiate, he was ready to defend it a year. His words went
to the town, and poured great consolation into hearts, for people
knew that the little knight would keep his word even at the cost of
his life.
At the evacuation of the new castle, strong mines were put under
both bulwarks and the front. These exploded with great noise about
noon, but caused no serious loss to the Turks; for, remembering
the lesson of the day before, they had not dared yet to occupy the
abandoned place. But both bulwarks, the front and the main body
of the new castle, formed one gigantic pile of ruins. These ruins
rendered difficult, it is true, approach to the old castle; but
they gave perfect protection to sharpshooters, and, what is worse,
to the miners, who, unterrified at sight of the mighty cliff, began
to bore a new mine. Skilful Italian and Hungarian engineers, in the
service of the Sultan, were overseers of this work, which advanced
rapidly. The besieged could not strike the enemy either from cannon
or musket, for they could not see them. Pan Michael was thinking of
a sortie, but he could not undertake it immediately; the soldiers
were too tired. Blue lumps as large as biscuits had formed on
the right shoulders of the dragoons, from bringing gunstocks
against them continually. Some could hardly move their arms. It
became evident that if boring were continued some time without
interruption, the chief gate of the castle would be blown into the
air beyond doubt. Foreseeing this, Pan Michael gave command to make
a high wall behind the gate, and said, without losing courage,--
“But what do I care? If the gate is blown up, we will defend
ourselves behind the wall; if the wall is blown up, we’ll have a
second one made previously, and so on, as long as we feel an ell of
ground under our feet.”
“But when the ell is gone, what then?” asked the starosta.
“Then we shall be gone too,” said the little knight.
Meanwhile he gave command to hurl hand-grenades at the enemy; these
caused much damage. Most effective in this work was Lieutenant
Dembinski, who killed Turks without number, until a grenade ignited
too soon, burst in his hand, and tore it off. In this manner
perished Captain Schmit. Many fell from the Turkish artillery, many
from musket-shots fired by janissaries hidden in the ruins of the
new castle. During that time they fired rarely from the guns of
the castle; this troubled the council not a little. “They are not
firing; hence it is evident that Volodyovski himself has doubts
of the defence.” Such was the general opinion. Of the officers
no man dared to say first that it remained only to seek the best
conditions, but the bishop, free of military ambition, said this
openly; but previously Pan Vasilkovski was sent to the starosta for
news from the castle. He answered, “In my opinion the castle cannot
hold out till evening, but here they think otherwise.”
After reading this answer, even the officers began to say, “We
have done what we could. No one has spared himself, but what is
impossible cannot be done; it is necessary to think of conditions.”
These words reached the town, and brought together a great crowd
of people. This multitude stood before the town-hall, alarmed,
silent, rather hostile than inclined to negotiations. Some rich
Armenian merchants were glad in their hearts that the siege would
be ended and trading begin; but other Armenians, long settled in
the Commonwealth and greatly inclined to it, as well as Poles and
Russians, wished to defend themselves. “Had we wished to surrender,
we should have surrendered at first,” was whispered here and there;
“we could have received much, but now conditions will not be
favorable, and it is better to bury ourselves under ruins.”
The murmur of discontent became ever louder, till all at once it
turned into shouts of enthusiasm and vivats.
What had happened? On the square Pan Michael appeared in company
with Pan Humyetski, for the starosta had sent them of purpose to
make a report of what had happened in the castle. Enthusiasm seized
the crowd. Some shouted as if the Turks had already broken into the
town; tears came to the eyes of others at sight of the idolized
knight, on whom uncommon exertions were evident. His face was black
from powder-smoke, and emaciated, his eyes were red and sunken; but
he had a joyous look. When he and Humyetski had made their way at
last through the crowd, and entered the council, they were greeted
joyously. The bishop spoke at once.
“Beloved brothers,” said he, “_Nec Hercules contra plures!_ The
starosta has written us already that you must surrender.”
To this Humyetski, who was very quick to action and of great
family, not caring for people, said sharply: “The starosta has lost
his head; but he has this virtue, that he exposes it to danger. As
to the defence, let Pan Volodyovski describe it; he is better able
to do so.”
All eyes were turned to the little knight, who was greatly moved,
and said,--
“For God’s sake, who speaks of surrender? Have we not sworn to the
living God to fall one upon another?”
“We have sworn to do what is in our power, and we have done it,”
answered the bishop.
“Let each man answer for what he has promised! Ketling and I have
sworn not to surrender the castle till death, and we will not
surrender; for if I am bound to keep the word of a cavalier to
every man, what must I do to God, who surpasses all in majesty?”
“But how is it with the castle? We have heard that there is a mine
under the gate. Will you hold out long?” asked numerous voices.
“There is a mine under the gate, or there will be; but there is
a good wall behind the gate, and I have given command to put
falconets on it. Dear brothers, fear God’s wounds; remember that
in surrendering you will be forced to surrender churches into the
hands of Pagans, who will turn them into mosques, to celebrate
foulness in them. How can you speak of surrender with such a light
heart? With what conscience do you think of opening before the
enemy a gate to the heart of the country? I am in the castle and
fear no mines; and you here in the town, far away, are afraid! By
the dear God! we will not surrender while we are alive. Let the
memory of this defence remain among those who come after us, like
the memory of Zbaraj.”
“The Turks will turn the castle into a pile of ruins,” said some
voice.
“Let them turn it. We can defend ourselves from a pile of ruins.”
Here patience failed the little knight somewhat. “And I will defend
myself from a pile of ruins, so help me God! Finally, I tell you
that I will not surrender the castle. Do you hear?”
“But will you destroy the town?” asked the bishop.
“If to go against the Turks is to destroy it, I prefer to destroy
it. I have taken my oath; I will not waste more words; I will go
back among cannon, for they defend the Commonwealth instead of
betraying it.”
Then he went out, and after him Humyetski, who slammed the door.
Both hastened greatly, for they felt really better among ruins,
corpses, and balls than among men of little faith. Pan Makovetski
came up with them on the way.
“Michael,” said he, “tell the truth, did you speak of resistance
only to increase courage, or will you be able really to hold out in
the castle?”
The little knight shrugged his shoulders. “As God is dear to me!
Let the town not surrender, and I will defend the castle a year.”
“Why do you not fire? People are alarmed on that account, and talk
of surrender.”
“We do not fire, because we are busy with hand-grenades, which have
caused considerable harm in the mines.”
“Listen, Michael, have you in the castle such defence that you
could strike at the Russian gate in the rear?--for if, which God
prevent, the Turks break through, they will come to the gate. I
am watching with all my force; but with townspeople only, without
soldiers, I cannot succeed.”
To which the little knight answered: “Fear not, dear brother; I
have fifteen cannon turned to that side. Be at rest too concerning
the castle. Not only shall we defend ourselves, but when necessary
we will give you reinforcement at the gates.”
When he heard this, Makovetski was delighted greatly, and wished to
go away, when the little knight detained him, and asked further,--
“Tell me, you are oftener at these councils, do they only wish to
try us, or do they intend really to give Kamenyets into the hands
of the Sultan?”
Makovetski dropped his head. “Michael,” said he, “answer truly now,
must it not end in that? We shall resist awhile yet, a week, two
weeks, a month, two months, but the end will be the same.”
Volodyovski looked at him gloomily, then raising his hands cried,--
“And thou too, Brutus, against me? Well, in that case swallow your
shame alone; I am not used to such diet.”
And they parted with bitterness in their hearts.
The mine under the main gate of the old castle exploded soon after
Pan Michael’s return. Bricks and stones flew; dust and smoke rose.
Terror dominated the hearts of the gunners. For a while the Turks
rushed into the breach, as rush sheep through the open gate of a
sheepfold, when the shepherd and his assistants urge them in with
whips. But Ketling breathed on that crowd with cartridges from
six cannon, prepared previously on the wall; he breathed once, a
second, a third time, and swept them out of the court. Pan Michael,
Humyetski, and Myslishevski hurried up with infantry and dragoons,
who covered the walls as quickly as flies on a hot day cover the
carcass of a horse or an ox. A struggle began then between muskets
and janissary guns. Balls fell on the wall as thickly as falls
rain, or kernels of wheat which a strong peasant hurls from his
shovel. The Turks were swarming in the ruins of the new castle;
in every depression, behind every fragment, behind every stone,
in every opening of the ruin, they sat in twos, threes, fives,
and tens, and fired without a moment’s intermission. From the
direction of Hotin came new reinforcements continually. Regiment
followed regiment, and crouching down among the ruins began fire
immediately. The new castle was as if paved with turbans. At times
those masses of turbans sprang up suddenly with a terrible outcry,
and ran to the breach; but then Ketling raised his voice, the
bass of the cannon drowned the rattle of musketry, and a storm of
grapeshot with whistling and terrible rattling confused the crowd,
laid them on the ground, and closed up the breach with a quivering
mass of human flesh. Four times the janissaries rushed forward;
four times Ketling hurled them back and scattered them, as a storm
scatters a cloud of leaves. Alone amid fire, smoke, showers of
earth-clods, and bursting grenades, he was like an angel of war.
His eyes were fixed on the breach, and on his serene forehead not
the slightest anxiety was evident. At times he seized the match
from the gunner and touched the priming; at times he covered his
eyes with his hand and observed the effect of the shot; at times he
turned with a smile to the Polish officers and said,--
“They will not enter.”
Never was rage of attack repulsed with such fury of defence.
Officers and soldiers vied with one another. It seemed that the
attention of those men was turned to everything save death; and
death cut down thickly. Pan Humyetski fell, and Pan Mokoshytski,
commander of the men of Kieff. At last the white-haired Pan
Kalushovski seized his own breast with a groan; he was an old
friend of Pan Michael, as mild as a lamb, but a soldier as terrible
as a lion. Pan Michael caught the falling man, who said, “Give
your hand, give your hand quickly!” then he added, “Praise be to
God!” and his face grew as white as his beard. That was before the
fourth attack. A party of janissaries had come inside the breach,
or rather they could not go out by reason of the too thickly flying
missiles. Pan Michael sprang on them at the head of his infantry,
and they were beaten down in a moment with the butts of muskets.
Hour followed hour; the fire did not weaken. But meanwhile news of
the heroic defence was borne through the town, exciting enthusiasm
and warlike desire. The Polish inhabitants, especially the young
men, began to call on one another, to look at one another, and give
mutual encouragement. “Let us go to the castle with assistance!
Let us go; let us go! We will not let our brothers perish! Come,
boys!” Such voices were heard on the square and at the gates; soon
a few hundred men, armed in any fashion, but with daring in their
hearts, moved toward the bridge. The Turks turned on the young men
a terrible fire, which stretched many dead; but a part passed, and
they began to work on the wall against the Turks with great zeal.
This fourth attack was repulsed with fearful loss to the Turks, and
it seemed that a moment of rest must come. Vain hope! The rattle
of janissary musketry did not cease till evening. Only when the
evening kindya was played, did the cannon grow silent, and the
Turks leave the ruins of the new castle. The remaining officers
went then from the wall to the other side. The little knight,
without losing a moment, gave command to close up the breach with
whatever materials they could find,--hence with blocks of timber,
with fascines, with rubbish, with earth. Infantry, cavalry,
dragoons, common soldiers, and officers vied with one another,
regardless of rank. It was thought that Turkish guns might renew
fire at any moment; but that was a day of great victory for the
besieged over the besiegers. The faces of all the besieged were
bright; their souls were flaming with hope and desire of further
victories.
Ketling and Pan Michael, taking each other by the hands after their
labor, went around the square and the walls, bent out through the
battlements, to look at the courtyard of the new castle and rejoice
at the bountiful harvest.
“Body lies there near body,” said the little knight, pointing to
the ruins; “and at the breach there are such piles that you would
need a ladder to cross them. That is the work of your cannon,
Ketling.”
“The best thing,” answered Ketling, “is that we have repaired that
breach; the approach is closed to the Turks, and they must make a
new mine. Their power is boundless as the sea, but such a siege for
a month or two must become bitter to them.”
“By that time the hetman will help us. But come what may, you and I
are bound by oath,” said the little knight.
At that moment they looked into each other’s eyes, and Pan Michael
asked in a lower voice, “And have you done what I told you?”
“All is ready,” whispered Ketling, in answer; “but I think it will
not come to that, for we may hold out very long here, and have many
such days as the present.”
“God grant us such a morrow!”
“Amen!” answered Ketling, raising his eyes to heaven.
The thunder of cannon interrupted further conversation. Bombs began
to fly against the castle again. Many of them burst in the air,
however, and went out like summer lightning.
Ketling looked with the eye of a judge. “At that trench over there
from which they are firing,” said he, “the matches have too much
sulphur.”
“It is beginning to smoke on other trenches,” said Volodyovski.
And, in fact, it was. As, when one dog barks in the middle of a
still night, others begin to accompany, and at last the whole
village is filled with barking, so one cannon in the Turkish
trenches roused all the neighboring guns, and a crown of bombs
encircled the besieged place. This time, however, the enemy fired
at the town, not the castle; but from three sides was heard the
piercing of mines. Though the mighty rock had almost baffled the
efforts of miners, it was clear that the Turks had determined at
all cost to blow that rocky nest into the air.
At the command of Ketling and Pan Michael, the defenders began to
hurl hand-grenades again, guided by the noise of the hammers. But
at night it was impossible to know whether that means of defence
caused any damage. Besides, all turned their eyes and attention to
the town, against which were flying whole flocks of flaming birds.
Some missiles burst in the air; but others, describing a fiery
circle in the sky, fell on the roofs of houses. At once a reddish
conflagration broke the darkness in a number of places. The Church
of St. Catherine was burning, also the Church of St. George in the
Russian quarter, and soon the Armenian Cathedral was burning; this,
however, had been set on fire during the day; it was merely ignited
again by the bombs. The fire increased every moment and lighted
up all the neighborhood. The outcry from the town reached the old
castle. One might suppose that the whole town was burning.
“That is bad,” said Ketling, “for courage will fail in the
inhabitants.”
“Let everything burn,” said the little knight; “if only the rock is
not crushed from which we may defend ourselves.”
Now the outcry increased. From the cathedral the fire spread to the
Armenian storehouses of costly merchandise. These were built on
the square belonging to that nationality; great wealth was burning
there in gold, silver, divans, furs, and rich stuffs. After a
while, tongues of fire appeared here and there over the houses.
Pan Michael was disturbed greatly. “Ketling,” said he, “look to
the hurling of grenades, and injure work in the mines as much as
possible. I will hurry to the town, for my heart is suffering for
the Dominican nuns. Praise be to God that the Turks leave the
castle in quiet, and that I can be absent!”
In the castle there was not, in truth, at that moment much to do;
hence the little knight sat on his horse and rode away. He returned
only after two hours in company with Pan Mushalski, who after that
injury sustained at the hands of Hamdi Bey, recovered, and came now
to the fortress, thinking that during storms he might cause notable
loss to the Pagans, and gain glory immeasurable.
“Be welcome!” said Ketling. “I was alarmed. How is it with the
nuns?”
“All is well,” answered the little knight. “Not one bomb has burst
there. The place is very quiet and safe.”
“Thank God for that! But Krysia is not alarmed?”
“She is as quiet as if at home. She and Basia are in one cell,
and Pan Zagloba is with them. Pan Adam, to whom consciousness has
returned, is here too. He begged to come with me to the castle; but
he is not able to stand long on his feet yet. Ketling, go there
now, and I will take your place here.”
Ketling embraced Pan Michael, for his heart drew him greatly to
Krysia, and gave command to bring his horse at once. But before
they brought the horse, he inquired of the little knight what was
to be heard in the town.
“The inhabitants are quenching the fire very bravely,” answered
the little knight; “but when the wealthier Armenian merchants
saw their goods burning, they sent deputations to the bishop and
insisted on surrender. Hearing of this, I went to the council,
though I had promised myself not to go there again. I struck in the
face the man who insisted most on surrender: for this the bishop
rose in anger against me. The situation is bad, brother; cowardice
is seizing people more and more, and our readiness for defence
is for them cheaper and cheaper. They give blame and not praise,
for they say that we are exposing the place in vain. I heard too
that they attacked Makovetski because he opposed negotiations. The
bishop himself said to him, ‘We are not deserting faith or king;
but what can further resistance effect? See,’ said he, ‘what will
be after it,--desecrated shrines, honorable ladies insulted, and
innocent children dragged captive. With a treaty,’ said he, ‘we can
assure their fate and obtain free escape.’ So spoke the bishop.
The starosta nodded and said, ‘I would rather perish, but this is
true.’”
“The will of God be done!” said Ketling.
But Pan Michael wrung his hands. “And if that were even true,”
cried he, “but God is witness that we can defend ourselves yet.”
Now they brought Ketling’s horse. He mounted quickly.
“Carefully through the bridge,” said Pan Michael at parting, “for
the bombs fall there thickly.”
“I will return in an hour,” said Ketling; and he rode away.
Pan Michael started to go around the walls with Mushalski. In
three places hammering was heard; hence the besieged were throwing
hand-grenades from three places. On the left side of the castle
Lusnia was directing that work.
“Well, how is it going with you?” inquired Volodyovski.
“Badly, Pan Commandant,” said the sergeant: “the pig-bloods are
sitting in the cliff, and only sometimes at the entrance does a
piece of shell hurt a man. We haven’t done much.”
In other places the case was still worse, especially as the sky
had grown gloomy and rain was falling, from which the wicks in the
grenades were growing damp. Darkness too hindered the work.
Pan Michael drew Mushalski aside somewhat, and halting, said on a
sudden, “But listen! If we should try to smother those moles in
their burrows?”
“That seems to me certain death, for whole regiments of janissaries
are guarding them. But let us try!”
“Regiments are guarding them, it is true; but the night is very
dark, and confusion seizes them quickly. Just think, they are
talking of surrender in the town. Why? Because, they say to us,
‘There are mines under you; you are not defending yourselves.’ We
should close their lips if to-night we could send the news, ‘There
is no longer a mine!’ For such a cause is it worth while to lay
down one’s head or not?”
Pan Mushalski thought a moment, and cried, “It is worth while! As
God lives, it is!”
“In one place they began to hammer not long ago,” said Pan Michael;
“we will leave those undisturbed, but here and on that side they
have dug in very deeply. Take fifty dragoons; I will take the same
number; and we will try to smother them. Have you the wish?”
“I have, and it is increasing. I will take spikes in my belt to
spike cannon; perhaps on the road I may find some.”
“As to finding, I doubt that, though there are some falconets
standing near; but take the spikes. We will only wait for Ketling;
he knows better than others how to succor in a sudden emergency.”
Ketling came as he had promised; he was not behind time one moment.
Half an hour later two detachments of dragoons, of fifty men
each, went to the breach, slipped out quickly, and vanished in
the darkness. Ketling gave command to throw grenades for a short
time yet; then he ceased work and waited. His heart was beating
unquietly, for he understood well how desperate the undertaking
was. A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, an hour: it seemed
that they ought to be there already and to begin; meanwhile,
putting his ear to the ground, he heard the quiet hammering
perfectly.
Suddenly at the foot of the castle, on the left side, there was a
pistol-shot, which in the damp air, in view of the firing from the
trenches, did not make a loud report, and might have passed without
rousing the attention of the garrison had not a terrible uproar
succeeded it. “They are there,” thought Ketling; “but will they
return?” And then sounded the shouts of men, the roar of drums, the
whistle of pipes,--finally the rattle of musketry, hurried and very
irregular. The Turks fired from all sides and in throngs; evidently
whole divisions had run up to succor the miners. As Pan Michael had
foreseen, confusion seized the janissaries, who, fearing to strike
one another, shouted loudly, fired at random, and often in the
air. The uproar and firing increased every moment. When martens,
eager for blood, break into a sleeping hen-house at night, a mighty
uproar and cackling rise in the quiet building: confusion like that
set in all at once round the castle. The Turks began to hurl bombs
at the walls, so as to clear up the darkness. Ketling pointed guns
in the direction of the Turkish troops on guard, and answered with
grapeshot. The Turkish approaches blazed; the walls blazed. In the
town the alarm was beaten, for the people believed universally
that the Turks had burst into the fortress. In the trenches the
Turks thought that a powerful sortie was attacking all their works
simultaneously; and a general alarm spread among them. Night
favored the desperate enterprise of Pan Michael and Mushalski, for
it had grown very dark. Discharges of cannon and grenades rent only
for instants the darkness, which was afterward blacker. Finally,
the sluices of heaven opened suddenly, and down rushed torrents of
rain. Thunder outsounded the firing, rolled, grumbled, howled, and
roused terrible echoes in the cliffs. Ketling sprang from the wall,
ran at the head of fifteen or twenty men to the breach, and waited.
But he did not wait long. Soon dark figures swarmed in between the
timbers with which the opening was barred.
“Who goes there?” cried Ketling.
“Volodyovski,” was the answer. And the two knights fell into each
other’s embrace.
“What! How is it there?” asked the officers, rushing out to the
breach.
“Praise be to God! the miners are cut down to the last man; their
tools are broken and scattered. Their work is for nothing.”
“Praise be to God! Praise be to God!”
“But is Mushalski with his men?”
“He is not here yet.”
“We might go to help him. Gracious gentlemen, who is willing?”
But that moment the breach was filled again. Mushalski’s men were
returning in haste, and decreased in number considerably, for many
of them had fallen from bullets. But they returned joyously, for
with an equally favorable result. Some of the soldiers had brought
back hammers, drills, and pickaxes as a proof that they had been in
the mine itself.
“But where is Mushalski?” asked Pan Michael.
“True; where is Pan Mushalski?” repeated a number of voices.
The men under command of the celebrated bowman stared at one
another; then a dragoon, who was wounded severely, said, with a
weak voice,--
“Pan Mushalski has fallen. I saw him when he fell. I fell at his
side; but I rose, and he remained.”
The knights were grieved greatly on hearing of the bowman’s
death, for he was one of the first cavaliers in the armies of the
Commonwealth. They asked the dragoon again how it had happened;
but he was unable to answer, for blood was flowing from him in a
stream, and he fell to the ground like a grain-sheaf.
The knights began to lament for Pan Mushalski.
“His memory will remain in the army,” said Pan Kvasibrotski, “and
whoever survives the siege will celebrate his name.”
“There will not be born another such bowman,” said a voice.
“He was stronger in the arm than any man in Hreptyoff,” said the
little knight. “He could push a thaler with his fingers into a
new board. Pan Podbipienta, a Lithuanian, alone surpassed him in
strength; but Podbipienta was killed in Zbaraj, and of living men
none was so strong in the hands, unless perhaps Pan Adam.”
“A great, great loss,” said others. “Only in old times were such
cavaliers born.”
Thus honoring the memory of the bowman, they mounted the wall. Pan
Michael sent a courier at once with news to the starosta and the
bishop that the mines were destroyed, and the miners cut down by a
sortie. This news was received with great astonishment in the town,
but--who could expect it?--with secret dislike. The starosta and
the bishop were of opinion that those passing triumphs would not
save Kamenyets, but only rouse the savage lion still more. They
could be useful only in case surrender were agreed on in spite of
them; therefore the two leaders determined to continue further
negotiations.
But neither Pan Michael nor Ketling admitted even for a moment
that the happy news could have such an effect. Nay, they felt
certain now that courage would enter the weakest hearts, and that
all would be inflamed with desire for a passionate resistance. It
was impossible to take the town without taking the castle first;
therefore if the castle not merely resisted, but conquered, the
besieged had not the least need to negotiate. There was plenty of
provisions, also of powder; in view of this it was only needful to
watch the gates and quench fires in the town.
During the whole siege this was the night of most joy for Pan
Michael and Ketling. Never had they had such great hope that they
would come out alive from those Turkish toils, and also bring out
those dearest heads in safety.
“A couple of storms more,” said the little knight, “and as God is
in heaven the Turks will be sick of them, and will prefer to force
us with famine. And we have supplies enough here. September is at
hand; in two months rains and cold will begin. Those troops are
not over-enduring; let them get well chilled once, and they will
withdraw.”
“Many of them are from Ethiopian countries,” said Ketling, “or from
various places where pepper grows; and any frost will nip them. We
can hold out two months in the worst case, even with storms. It
is impossible too to suppose that no succor will come to us. The
Commonwealth will return to its senses at last; and even if the
hetman should not collect a great force, he will annoy the Turk
with attacks.”
“Ketling! as it seems to me, our hour has not struck yet.”
“It is in the power of God, but it seems to me also that it will
not come to that.”
“Even if some one has fallen, such as Pan Mushalski. Well, there is
no help for it! I am terribly sorry for Mushalski, though he died a
hero’s death.”
“May God grant us no worse one, if only not soon! for I confess to
you, Michael, I should be sorry for--Krysia.”
“Yes, and I too for Basia; we will work earnestly, and maybe there
is mercy above us. I am very glad in soul for some reason. We must
do a notable deed to-morrow as well.”
“The Turks have made protections of plank. I have thought of a
method used in burning ships; the rags are now steeping in tar, so
that to-morrow before noon we will burn all those works.”
“Ah!” said the little knight, “then I will lead a sortie. During
the fire there will be confusion in every case, and it will not
enter their heads that there can be a sortie in daylight. To-morrow
may be better than to-day, Ketling.”
Thus did they converse with swelling hearts, and then went to rest,
for they were greatly wearied. But the little knight had not slept
three hours when Lusnia roused him.
“Pan Commandant,” said the sergeant, “we have news.”
“What is it?” cried the watchful soldier, springing up in one
moment.
“Pan Mushalski is here.”
“For God’s sake! what do you tell me?”
“He is here. I was standing at the breach, and heard some one
calling from the other side in Polish, ‘Do not fire; it is I.’ I
looked; there was Pan Mushalski coming back dressed as a janissary.”
“Praise be to God!” said the little knight; and he sprang up to
greet the bowman.
It was dawning already. Pan Mushalski was standing outside the wall
in a white cap and armor, so much like a real janissary that one’s
eyes were slow in belief. Seeing the little knight, he hurried to
him, and began to greet him joyously.
“We have mourned over you already!” cried Volodyovski.
With that a number of other officers ran up, among them Ketling.
All were amazed beyond description, and interrupted one another
asking how he came to be in Turkish disguise.
“I stumbled,” said he, “over the body of a janissary when I was
returning, and struck my head against a cannon-ball; though I had
a cap bound with wire, I lost consciousness at once. My head was
tender after that blow which I got from Hamdi Bey. When I came to
myself I was lying on a dead janissary, as on a bed. I felt my
head; it was a trifle sore, but there was not even a lump on it.
I took off my cap; the rain cooled my head, and I thought: ‘This
is well for us. It would be a good plan to take that janissary’s
uniform, and stroll among the Turks. I speak their tongue as well
as Polish, and no one could discover me by my speech; my face is
not different from that of a janissary. I will go and listen to
their talk.’ Fear seized me at times, for I remembered my former
captivity; but I went. The night was dark; there was barely a
light here and there. I tell you, gentlemen, I went among them
as if they had been my own people. Many of them were lying in
trenches under cover; I went to them. This and that one asked,
‘Why are you strolling about?’ ‘Because I cannot sleep,’ answered
I. Others were talking in crowds about the siege. There is great
consternation. I heard with my own ears how they complained of our
Hreptyoff commandant here present,” at this Pan Mushalski bowed
to Volodyovski. “I repeat their _ipsissima verba_” (very words),
“because an enemy’s blame is the highest praise. ‘While that little
dog,’ said they, thus did the dog brothers call your grace,--‘while
that little dog defends the castle, we shall not capture it.’
Others said, ‘Bullets and iron do not harm him; but death blows
from him as from a pestilence.’ Then all in the crowd began to
complain: ‘We alone fight,’ said they, ‘and other troops are doing
nothing; the volunteers are lying with their bellies to the sky.
The Tartars are plundering; the spahis are strolling about the
bazaars. The Padishah says to us, “My dear lambs;” but it is clear
that we are not over-dear to him, since he sends us here to the
shambles. We will hold out,’ said they, ‘but not long; then we will
go back to Hotin, and if they do not let us go, some lofty heads
may fall.’”
“Do you hear, gracious gentlemen?” cried Volodyovski. “When the
janissaries mutiny, the Sultan will be frightened, and raise the
siege.”
“As God is dear to me, I tell the pure truth,” said Mushalski.
“Rebellion is easy among the janissaries, and they are very much
dissatisfied. I think that they will try one or two storms more,
and then will gnash their teeth at their aga, the kaimakan, or even
the Sultan himself.”
“So it will be,” cried the officers.
“Let them try twelve storms; we are ready,” said others.
They rattled their sabres and looked with bloodshot eyes at the
trenches, while drawing deep breaths; hearing this, the little
knight whispered with enthusiasm to Ketling, “A new Zbaraj! a new
Zbaraj!”
But Pan Mushalski began again: “I have told you what I heard. I
was sorry to leave them, for I might have heard more; but I was
afraid that daylight might catch me. I went then to those trenches
from which they were not firing; I did this so as to slip by in the
dark. I look; I see no regular sentries, only groups of janissaries
strolling, as everywhere. I go to a frowning gun; no one says
anything. You know that I took spikes for the cannon. I push a
spike into the priming quickly; it won’t go in,--it needs a blow
from a hammer. But since the Lord God gave some strength to my hand
(you have seen my experiments more than once), I pressed the spike;
it squeaked a little, but went in to the head. I was terribly glad.”
“As God lives! did you do that? Did you spike the great cannon?”
asked men on every side.
“I spiked that and another, for the work went so easily that I was
sorry to leave it; and I went to another gun. My hand is a little
sore, but the spike went in.”
“Gracious gentlemen,” cried Pan Michael, “no one here has done
greater things; no one has covered himself with such glory. Vivat
Pan Mushalski!”
“Vivat! vivat!” repeated the officers.
After the officers the soldiers began to shout. The Turks in their
trenches heard those shouts, and were alarmed; their courage fell
the more. But the bowman, full of joy, bowed to the officers, and
showed his mighty palm, which was like a shovel; on it were two
blue spots. “True, as God lives! you have the witness here,” said
he.
“We believe!” cried all. “Praise be to God that you came back in
safety!”
“I passed through the planking,” continued the bowman. “I wanted to
burn that work; but I had nothing to do it with.”
“Do you know, Michael,” cried Ketling, “my rags are ready. I am
beginning to think of that planking. Let them know that we attack
first.”
“Begin! begin!” cried Pan Michael.
He rushed himself to the arsenal, and sent fresh news to the town:
“Pan Mushalski was not killed in the sortie, for he has returned,
after spiking two heavy guns. He was among the janissaries, who
think of rebelling. In an hour we shall burn their woodworks; and
if it be possible to make at the same time a sortie, I will make
it.”
The messenger had not crossed the bridge when the walls were
trembling from the roar of cannon. This time the castle began the
thundering dialogue. In the pale light of the morning the flaming
rags flew like blazing banners, and fell on the woodwork. The
moisture with which the night rain had covered the wood helped
nothing. Soon the timbers caught fire, and were burning. After
the rags Ketling hurled bombs. The wearied crowds of janissaries
left the trenches in the first moments. They did not play the
kindya. The vizir himself appeared at the head of new legions; but
evidently doubt had crept even into his heart, for the pashas heard
how he muttered,--
“Battle is sweeter to those men than sleep. What kind of people
live in that castle?”
In the army were heard on all sides alarmed voices repeating, “The
little dog is beginning to bite! The little dog is beginning to
bite!”