At last came the day of departure. The party moved out of Yedlinka at
daylight, with beautiful weather, and with horses and men in good
number. Besides the iron and leather-covered carriage intended for the
ladies and the priest, in case his old gun-wound should annoy him on
horseback too greatly, there were three well-laden wagons drawn each by
four horses. At each wagon were three men, including the driver. Behind
Pan Serafin six mounted attendants, in turquoise-colored livery, led
reserve horses. The priest had two men, each Bukoyemski had two also,
besides a forester who guarded the trunk-laden wagons, altogether
thirty-four persons well armed with muskets and sabres. It is true that
in case of attack some could not aid in defending, since they would
have to guard wagons and horses, but even in that case the Bukoyemskis
felt sure that they could go through the world with those attendants,
and that it would not be healthy for a party three or four times their
number to attack them. Their hearts were swelling with a delight so
enormous that hardly could they stay in their saddles. They had fought
manfully in their time against Tartars and Cossacks, but those were
common, small wars, and later on, when they settled in the wilderness,
their youth had passed merely in inspecting inclosures, in a ceaseless
watch over foresters, in killing bears when it was their duty to
preserve them, and in drunken frolics at Kozenitse and Radom and
Prityk. But now, for the first time, when each put his stirrup near the
stirrup of his brother, when they were going to a war against the
immense might of Turkey, they felt that this was their true
destination, that their past life had been vain and wretched, and that
now had begun in reality the deeds and achievements for which God the
Father had created Polish nobles, God the Son redeemed them, and the
Holy Ghost made them sacred. They could not think this out clearly, or
express it in phrases, for in those things they had never been
powerful, but they wished to fire off their guns then in ecstasy. Their
advance seemed too slow to them. They wished to let out their horses
and rush like a whirlwind, fly toward that great destination, to that
great battle of the Poles with the pagans, to that triumph through
Polish hands of the cross above the crescent, to a splendid death, and
to glory for the ages. They felt loftier in some way, purer, more
honorable, and in their nobility still more ennobled.
They had scarcely a thought then for Martsian and his rioting company,
or for barriers and engagements on the roadway. All that seemed to them
now something trivial, vain, and unworthy of attention. And if whole
legions had stood in their way, they would have shot over them like a
tempest, they would have ridden across them just in passing, put them
under the bellies of their horses, and rushed along farther. Their
native leonine impulses were roused, and warlike, knightly blood had
begun to play in them with such vigor that if command had been given
those four men to charge the whole bodyguard of the Sultan, they would
not have hesitated one instant.
But similar feelings, and founded, moreover, on old recollections,
filled the hearts of Pan Serafin and Father Voynovski. The priest had
passed the flower of his life on the field with a lance in his hand, or
a sabre. He remembered whole series of reverses and victories, he
remembered the dreadful rebellion of Hmelnitski, Joltevody, Korsun,
Pilavtse, Zbaraj the renowned, and the giant battle of Berestechko. He
remembered the Swedish war, with its never-ending record of struggles
and the attack of Rakotsi. He had been in Denmark, for a triumphing
people, not satisfied with crushing and driving out Sweden, had sent in
pursuit of it Charnyetski's invincible regiments to the borders of a
distant ocean; he had helped to defeat Dolgoruki and Hovanski; he had
known the noblest knights and greatest men of the period; he had been a
pupil of Pan Michael the immortal; he had been enamoured of slaughter,
storms, battles, and bloodshed, but all that had lasted only till
personal misfortune had broken his spirit, and he took on himself holy
orders. From that day he changed altogether, and when, turning to
people in front of the altar, he said to them: "Peace be with you;" he
believed himself uttering Christ's own commandment, and that every war,
as opposed to that commandment, "is abhorrent" to Heaven, a sin against
mercy, a stain on Christian nations. But a war against Turks was the
one case which he excepted. "God," said he, "put the Polish people on
horseback, and turned their breasts eastward; by that same act He
showed them His will and their calling. He knew why He chose us for
that position, and put others behind our shoulders; hence, if we wish
to fulfil His command and our mission with worthiness, we must face
that vile sea, and break its waves with our bosoms."
Father Voynovski judged, therefore, that God had placed on the throne
purposely a sovereign who, when hetman, had shed pagan blood in such
quantity, that his hands might give the last blow to the enemy, and
avert ruin from Christians at once and forever. It seemed to him that
just then had appeared the great day of destination, the day to
accomplish God's purpose; hence he considered that war as a sacred way
of the cross, and was charmed at the thought, that age, toil, and
wounds had not pressed him to the earth so completely, that he might
not take part in it.
He would be able yet to wave a flag, he, the old soldier of Christ,
would spur on his horse, and spring with a cross in his hand to the
thickest of the battle, with the certainty in his heart that behind him
and that cross a thousand sabres would bite on the skulls of the pagans
and a thousand lances would enter their bodies.
Finally thoughts flew to his head which were personal, and more in
accord with his earlier disposition. He could hold the cross in his
left, but in the right hand a sabre. As a priest he could not do this
against Christians, but against Turks it was proper! Oh, proper! Now he
would show young men for the first time how pagan lights should be
extinguished, how pagan champions must be mowed down and cut to pieces;
he would show of what kind were the warriors of his day. Nay! on more
fields than one men had marvelled at his prowess. It may happen now
that even the king will be astounded! And this thought at that moment
so filled him with rapture that he failed in his rosary: "Hail
Mary--slay! kill!--full of grace--at them!--The Lord is with Thee--cut
them down!" Till at last he recovered. "Tfu! to the evil one with
this--glory is smoke. Has insanity seized me? _non nobis, non nobis sed
nomini tuo_" (not to us, not to us, but to Thy name) and he passed the
beads through his fingers more attentively.
Pan Serafin was repeating also his litany of the morning, but from time
to time he looked now at the priest, now at the young lady, now at the
Bukoyemskis, who were riding at the side of the carriage, now at the
trees and the dew-covered grassy openings between them. At last, when
he had finished the final "Hail, Mary!" he turned to the old man, and
said, sighing deeply,--
"Your grace seems to be in rather good spirits?"
"And also your grace," said Father Voynovski.
"Yes, that is true. Until a man starts, he is bustling and hurrying and
in trouble; only when the wind blows around him in the field is it
light at his heartstrings. I remember how when, ten years ago, we were
marching to Hotsim, there was a wonderful willingness in every warrior,
so that though the action took place in the harsh weather of November,
more than one threw his coat off because of the warmth which came out
of his heart then. Well, God, who gave such a victory that time, will
give it undoubtedly now, for the leader is the same, and the vigor and
valor of the men not inferior. I know nations splendidly, Swedes,
French, even Germans, but against Turks there is no one superior to our
men."
"I have heard how his grace the king said the same," replied Father
Voynovski. "'The Germans,' said he, 'stand under fire patiently, though
they blink when attacking, but,' said he, 'if I can bring mine up nose
to nose I am satisfied, for they will sweep everything before them as
can no other cavalry in existence.' And this is true. The Lord Jesus
has gifted us richly with this power, not only the nobles, but the
peasants. For instance, our field infantry, when they spit on their
palms and advance with their muskets, the best of the Janissaries
cannot in any way equal them. I have seen both more than once in the
struggle."
"If God has preserved in health Yatsek and Stashko, I am glad that
their earliest campaign will be made against Turkish warriors. But how
does your grace think, against whom will the Turks turn their main
forces?"
"Against the emperor, as it seems, for they are warring against him,
and helping rebellion in Hungary. But the Turks have two or three
armies, hence it is unknown where we shall meet them decisively. For
this cause, beyond doubt, no main camp has been organized, and
regiments move from one place to another, as reports come. The
regiments under Pan Yablonovski are now at Trembovla; others are
concentrating on Cracow; others as happens to each of them. I know not
where the voevoda of Volynia is quartered at present, nor where
Zbierhovski's command is. At moments I think that my son has not
written this long time because his regiment may be moving toward these
parts."
"If he is commanded to Cracow, he must march near us, surely. That,
however, depends upon where he was earlier and whence he is starting at
present. We may get news at Radom. Is not our first night halt at
Radom?"
"It is. I should wish too that the prelate Tvorkovski saw Panna Anulka
and gave her final counsels. He will furnish us letters to help her in
Cracow."
The conversation stopped for a time; then Pan Serafin raised his eyes
again to Father Voynovski.
"But," asked he, "what will happen, think you, should she meet Yatsek
in Cracow?"
"I know not. In every case that will take place which God wishes.
Yatsek might win a fortune by marriage, while she is as poor as a
Turkish saint--but wealth alone is mere nonsense, the splendor of a
family is the great point in this case."
"Panna Anulka is of high lineage, and she is like gold--besides we know
well that they are love-stricken, mortally."
"Of course, mortally, mortally."
The priest did not speak very willingly on this point, that was clear,
for he turned the conversation to other subjects.
"Well," said he, "but let us think of this, that a robber is watching
for that golden maiden. Do you remember Vilchopolski's words?"
Pan Serafin looked at the depth of the forest on all sides.
"Yes. But the Krepetskis will not dare," said he. "They will not dare!
Our party is fairly large, and your grace sees the calmness of
everything around us. I wish the girl to be in that carriage for
safety, but she begged to be on horseback--she has no fear of
anything."
"Well, she has good blood. But I note that she masters you thoroughly."
"And you, too, somewhat," answered Pan Serafin. "But as to me I confess
right away; when she begs for a thing she knows how to move her eyes in
such fashion that you must yield where you stand. Women have various
methods, but have you noticed that she has that sort of blinking before
which a man drops his arms. Near Belchantska I will tell her to enter
the carriage, but so far she wishes absolutely to be on horseback,
because, as she says, it is healthier."
"In such weather it is surely healthier."
"Look how rosy the girl is, just like a euphorbia laurel."
"What is her rosiness to me?" replied Father Voynovski. "But in truth
the dear day is lovely."
In fact the weather was really wonderful, and the morning fresh and
dewy. Single drops on the needlelike pine leaves glittered with the
rainbow-like colors of diamonds. The forest interior was brightened by
hazel trees filled with the sun rays of morning. Farther in, orioles
were twittering with joyousness. Roundabout was the odor of pine, the
whole earth seemed rejoicing, and the blue air was cloudless.
Thus pushing forward, they reached the same tar pit at which Martsian
had been seized by the brothers. But the fear that some ambush might be
there lurking proved groundless. Near the well were two tar-laden
wagons, nothing more. To these, which belonged to peasants, were
attached two wretched little horses, whose heads were sunk in bags of
oats to their foreheads; the drivers, each near the side of his horse,
were eating cheese and bread, but at sight of the showy party they put
away these provisions; when asked if they had seen armed men, they
answered that since morning a mounted man had been waiting, but that
shortly before, on seeing this party from a distance, he had rushed
away with all the speed of his beast in the opposite direction. The
news alarmed Pan Serafin. It seemed to him that this horseman had been
sent as a scout by Krepetski; and he redoubled his watchfulness. He
commanded two attendants to ride at both sides and examine the forest;
he sent two others ahead with this order: "If ye see an armed group
fire your muskets, and return with all haste to the wagons." An hour
passed, however, without a report from them. The party pushed forward
slowly, watching in front and at both sides with carefulness, but it
was quiet in the forest, except that the orioles twittered, while here
and there was heard the hammering of those little smiths of the forest,
the hard-working woodpeckers.
At last they reached a wide plain, but before going out on it Pan
Serafin and the priest directed Anulka to sit in the carriage, since
they had to pass now not far from Belchantska, the trees of which, and
even the mansion between them, were visible to the eye without glasses.
The young lady looked on that house with emotion, for in it she had
passed very many of the best, and the bitterest, days of her existence.
She had wished to look first of all at Vyrambki, but the Belchantska
lindens so covered it that the dwelling was not to be seen from the
carriage. It occurred to Anulka that she might never again in her life
see those places, so she sighed quietly and became sorrowful.
The Bukoyemskis looked challengingly and quickly at the mansion, the
village, and the neighborhood, but great quiet reigned in those places.
Along broad fallow lands, which were flooded in sunlight, were grazing
cows and sheep, guarded by dogs, and crowds of children. Here and there
flocks of geese seemed white spots, and had it not been for summer
heat, one might have thought from afar that they were bits of snow
lying on the hill slopes; for the rest the region seemed empty.
Pan Serafin, who lacked not the daring of a cavalier, wished to show
the Krepetskis how little he cared for them, and directed to make the
first halt at that place, and give rest to the horses. So the party
stopped; on one side were fields of wheat waving under the wind and
rustling gently; on the other was the silence of the plain broken only
by the snorting of horses.
"Health! health!" said the attendants in answer to the snorting.
But that calm was not to the taste of the youngest Bukoyemski, who
turned toward the mansion and cried to the absent Krepetskis, while he
beckoned with his hand an invitation.
"But come out here, ye sons of a such a one! O Stump, show thy dog
snout; we will soon put a cross on it with our sabres!"
Then he bent toward the carriage.
"Your ladyship," said he, "that Martsian and his company are not in a
hurry to attack us, neither he nor his bandits from the wilderness."
"But do bandits attack?" asked the lady.
"Oh-ho! they do, but not us. And there are many of them in the
wilderness of Kozenitse, and in the forest toward Cracow. If his Grace
the King would grant pardon, enough would be found of those bandits
right here in this neighborhood to make two good regiments."
"I should rather meet bandits than Pan Martsian's company, of which
people tell in Belchantska such terrible stories. I have not heard of
bandits attacking a mansion."
"They do not, for a bandit has the same kind of sense that a wolf has.
Consider, young lady, that a wolf never kills sheep or horned cattle in
the neighborhood where his lair is."
"He speaks truth," said the other brothers.
Yan, glad of this praise, explained further.
"The bandit attacks no village or mansion near his hiding place. For if
neighboring people should pursue, they, knowing the forests and secret
spots in them, would hunt him out the more easily. So bandits go to a
distance, and plunder houses or fall upon travellers in great or small
parties."
"Have they no fear?"
"They have no fear of God. Why should they fear men?"
But Panna Anulka had turned her mind elsewhere, so, when Pan Serafin
came to the carriage, she began to blink and implore him.
"Why should I stay in the carriage when no attack threatens? May I not
go on horseback?"
"Why?" asked Pan Serafin. "The sun is high. It would burn your face.
There is one who would not like that."
Thereupon she withdrew on a sudden to the depth of the carriage, and
Pan Serafin turned to the brothers,--
"Have I not told her the truth?"
But not being quick-witted, they missed the point of the answer.
"Who would not like?" inquired they. "Who?"
Pan Serafin shrugged his shoulders.
"The prince bishop of Cracow, the German emperor, and the king of
France," answered he.
He gave the sign then, and all started.
They passed Belchantska, and advanced again among tilled fields, fallow
land, meadows, and broad wind-swept spaces which were bordered on the
horizon by a blue rim of forest. At Yedlina they stopped for a second
rest, during which the brewers, the citizens, and the peasants took
farewell of Father Voynovski--and before evening they stopped for their
first night rest at Radom.
Martsian had not given the least sign of life. They learned that he had
passed the day previous in Radom, and had drunk with his company, but
had gone home for the night; hence the priest and Pan Serafin breathed
with more freedom, judging that no danger threatened them now on the
journey.
The prelate Tvorkovski furnished letters to Father Hatski, to Gninski,
the vice-chancellor who, as they knew, was enrolling a whole regiment
for the coming war at his own cost, and one also to Pan Matchynski. He
was rejoiced to see Panna Anulka and Father Voynovski, for whom he felt
a great friendship, and Pan Serafin, in whom he prized a skilled
Latinist, who understood every quotation and maxim. He, too, had heard
of Martsian's threats, but had lent no great weight to them, judging
that if an attack had been planned it would have been made in the wilds
of Kozenitse, more favorable for that kind of deed than the forests
between Radom and Kieltse.
"Martsian will not attack you," said he to Pan Serafin, "and his father
will not bring an action, for he would meet me; he knows that I have
other weapons against him besides the church censure."
The prelate entertained them all day, and let them start only toward
evening. Since danger seemed set aside most decidedly, Pan Serafin
agreed to night travel, all the more since great heat was beginning.
The first five miles, however, they passed during daylight. On the
river Oronka, which here and there formed morasses, began again, in
those days, extensive pine forests, which surrounded Oronsk, Sucha,
Krogulha, and extended as far as Shydlovets, and beyond, toward
Mrochkov and Bzin, down to Kieltse. They moved slowly, for in some
places the old road lay among sandy hillocks and holes, while in others
it sank very notably and became a muddy, stick-covered ridgeway. This
ridge lay in a quagmire through which a man could pass neither with
wagon nor horse, nor go on foot at any season, unless during very dry
summers. These places enjoyed no good repute, but for this Pan Serafin
and his party cared little; they were confident of their strength, and
glad to move in cool air when heat did not trouble men, or flies annoy
horses.
A clear and pleasant night came down quickly, with a full moon which
appeared above the pine woods, enormous and ruddy, decreasing and
growing pale as it rose, till in time it was white, and sailed like a
silver swan through the dark blue of the night sky. The wind ceased,
and the motionless pine wood was buried in a stillness broken only by
the voices of gnats flying in from broad pools, and by the playing of
landrails in the grass of the neighboring meadows.
Father Voynovski intoned: "Hail, O Wise Lady! and Mansions dear to
God," to which the four bass voices of the Bukoyemskis and Pan Serafin
answered immediately: "Adorned by the golden table and seven columns."
Panna Anulka joined the chorus, after her the attendants, and soon that
pious hymn was resounding through the forest. But when they had
finished all the "Hours," and repeated all the "Hail, Marys!" silence
set in again. The priest, the brothers, and Pan Serafin conversed for
some time yet in lowered voices; then they began to doze, and at last
fell asleep soundly.
They did not hear either the "Vio! Vio!" of the drivers, or the
snorting of horses, or the explosive sound made when hoofs were drawn
out of mud on that long ridge way which lay in the sticky and
reed-covered quagmire. The party came to the ridge somewhat before
midnight. The shouts of attendants, who were advancing in front, first
roused the sleepers.
"Stop! stop!"
All opened their eyes. The Bukoyemskis straightened in their saddles
and sprang ahead promptly.
"But what is the matter?"
"The road is barred. There is a ditch across it, and beyond the ditch a
breastwork."
The sabres of the brothers came biting from their scabbards and gleamed
in the moonlight.
"To arms! an ambuscade!"
Pan Serafin found himself at the obstruction in one moment, and
understood that there was no chance of being mistaken: a broad ditch
had been dug across the ridgeway. Beyond the ditch lay whole pine trees
which, with their branches sticking up, formed a great breastwork. The
men who stopped the road in that fashion had evidently intended to let
the party in on the ridge, from which there was no escape on either
side, and attack in the rear then.
"To your guns! to muskets!" thundered Father Voynovski. "They are
coming!"
In fact about a hundred yards in the rear certain dark, square forms,
strange, quite unlike men, appeared on the ridge, and ran toward the
wagons very quickly.
"Fire!" commanded the priest.
A report was heard, and brilliant flashes rent the night gloom. Only
one form rolled to the earth, but the other men ran the more swiftly
toward the wagons, and after them denser groups made their appearance.
Instructed by whole years of war, the priest divined straightway that
those men were carrying bundles before them, straw, reeds, or willows,
and that was why the first discharge had effected so little.
"Fire! In order! four at a time!--and at their knees!" cried he.
Two attendants held guns charged with slugs. These men took their
places with others, and spat at the knees of the attackers. A cry of
pain was heard promptly, and this time the whole front rank of bundles
tumbled down to the mud on the ridgeway, but the next rank of men
sprang over those who were prostrate, and came still nearer the wagons.
"Fire!" was commanded a third time.
Again came a salvo, with more effect this time, for the onrush was
stopped, and disorder appeared among the attackers.
The priest acquired courage, for he knew that the attackers had
outwitted themselves in the choice of position. It is true that not a
living soul would escape in case they should triumph, and the bandits
had this in view specially; but, not having men to hem in the party on
all sides, they were forced to attack only over the ridgeway, hence in
a thin body, which again lightened defence beyond common, so that five
or six valiant warriors might ward off attack until daylight.
The attackers, too, began to use muskets, but caused no great damage,
clearly because of poor weapons. Their first fire struck only a horse
and one attendant. The Bukoyemskis begged to charge the enemy,
guaranteeing to sweep right and left into the quagmire any men whom
they might not crush in the mud of the roadway. But the priest, who
kept their strength for the last, would not send them; he commanded the
brothers, however, as excellent marksmen, to roast the attackers from a
distance, and Pan Serafin commanded to watch the ditch sharply, and the
breastwork.
"If they attack us from that side," said he, "they may do something,
but they will not get us cheaply."
Then he hastened for a moment to the carriage where the ladies were
praying without great fear, though audibly.
"Oh, this is nothing!" said he. "Have no fear!"
"I have no fear," answered Panna Anulka. "But I should like to be on
horseback."
Shots drowned further words. The attackers, confused for a moment,
pressed along the ridge now, with wonderful and simply blind daring,
since it was clear that they would not effect much on that side.
"Hm!" thought the priest. "Were it not for the women, we might charge
them."
And he had begun to think of sending the four brothers with four other
good warriors, when he looked at both flanks and trembled.
On the two sides of that quagmire appeared crowds of men, who,
springing from hillock to hillock, or along sheaves of reeds, which had
been fixed in soft places on purpose, were running toward the wagons.
The priest turned to them, in the shortest time possible, two ranks of
attendants, but he understood in a flash the extent of his peril. His
party was surrounded on three sides. The attendants were, it is true,
chosen men, who had been more than once in sharp struggles, but they
were insufficient in number, especially as some had to guard extra
horses. Hence it was evident that after the first fire, inadequate
because of so many attackers, there would be a hand-to-hand struggle
before guns could be loaded a second time, and the side which proved
weaker would be forced to go down in that trial.
Only one plan remained, to retreat by the ridgeway, that is, leave the
wagons, command the Bukoyemskis to sweep all before them, and push on
behind the four brothers, keeping the women among the horses in the
centre. So when they had fired at both sides again, the priest ordered
the women to mount, and arranged all for the onrush. In the first rank
were the four brothers, behind them six attendants, then Panna Anulka
and Pani Dzvonkovski, at the side the priest and Pan Serafin, behind
them eight attendants, four in a rank. After the charge and retreat
from the ridgeway he intended to reach the first village, collect all
the peasants, return then and rescue the wagons.
Still he stopped for a moment, and only when the attackers were little
more than twenty yards distant, and when on a sudden wild sounds were
heard beyond the breastwork, did he shout the order,--
"Strike!"
"Strike!" roared the Bukoyemskis, and they moved like a hurricane which
destroys all things before it. When they had ridden to the enemy the
horses rose on their haunches and plunged into the dense crowd of
robbers, trampling some, pushing others to the quagmire, overthrowing
whole lines of people. The brothers cut with sabres unsparingly, and
without stopping. There was great shouting, and splashing of bodies as
men fell into the water near the ridgeway, but the four dreadful
horsemen pushed forward; their arms moving like those of a windmill to
which a gale gives dreadful impetus. Some attackers sprang willingly
into the water to save themselves; others put forks and bill-hooks
against the onrushing brothers. Clubs and spears were raised also; but
again the horses reared, and, breaking everything before them, swept on
like a whirlwind in a young forest.
Had not the road been so narrow, and those who were slashed had all
escape barred to them, and those behind not pushed on those in front,
the Bukoyemskis would have passed the whole ridgeway. But since more
than one of the bandits preferred battle to drowning, resistance
continued, and, besides, it became still more stubborn. The hearts of
the robbers were raging. They began to fight then not merely for
plunder, or seizing some person, but from venom. At moments when shouts
ceased, the gritting of teeth became audible and curses rose loudly.
The rush of the Bukoyemskis was arrested. It came to their minds at
that moment that they would have to die, perhaps. And when, on a
sudden, they heard still farther out there the tramping of horses, and
loud shouts were raised in all parts of the thicket surrounding the
quagmire, they felt sure that the moment of death was approaching.
Hence they smashed terribly; they would not sell their lives cheaply in
any case.
But now something marvellous happened. Many voices were heard all at
once shouting: "Strike!" Sabres gleamed in the moonlight. Certain
horsemen fell to cutting and hewing in the rear of the robbers, who,
because of this sudden attack, were seized in one instant with terror.
Escape in the rear was now closed to them; nothing remained but escape
at either side of the roadway. Only some, therefore, offered a
desperate resistance. The more numerous sprang like ducks to the turfy
quagmire on both sides. The quagmire broke under them; then grasping
grass, clumps, and reeds, they clung to hillocks, or lay on their
bellies not to sink the first moment.
Only a small company, armed with scythes fixed to poles, defended
themselves for some time yet with madness. Because of this many
horsemen were wounded. But at last even this handful, seeing that for
them there was no rescue whatever, threw down their weapons, fell on
their knees, and begged mercy. They were taken alive to be witnesses.
Meanwhile horsemen from both sides stood facing one another, and raised
their voices.
"Halt! halt! Who are ye?"
"But who are ye?"
"Tsyprianovitch of Yedlinka."
"For God's sake! these are our people!"
And two riders pushed from the ranks quickly. One inclined to Pan
Serafin, seized his hand straightway, and covered it with kisses; the
other rushed to the priest's shoulder.
"Stanislav!" cried Pan Serafin.
"Yatsek!" shouted the priest.
The greetings and embraces continued till speech came to Pan Serafin,--
"For God's sake, whence come ye?"
"Our regiment was marching to Cracow. Yatsek and I had permission to
visit you at Yedlinka. Meanwhile we learned at Radom, while halting for
food there, that thou, father, and the priest, and the Bukoyemskis had
set out an hour earlier by the highroad toward Kieltse."
"Did the prelate tell thee?"
"No! We did not see him. Radom Jews told us; we did not go then to
Yedlinka, but moved on at once lest we might miss you. At midnight we
heard firing, so we all rushed to give aid, thinking that bandits had
fallen upon travellers. It did not occur to us that ye were the
persons. God be thanked, God be thanked, that we came up in season!"
"Not bandits attacked us, but the Krepetskis. It is a question of Panna
Anulka, who is with us."
"As God lives!" exclaimed Stanislav. "Then I think that his soul will
leave Yatsek."
"I wrote to thee about her, but it is evident that my letter did not
reach thee."
"No, for we are marching these three weeks. I have not written of late
because I had to come hither."
Shouts from the Bukoyemskis, the attendants, and the warriors stopped
further converse. At that moment also attendants ran up with lighted
torches. A supply had been taken by Pan Serafin that he might have
wherewith to give light during darkness. It was as clear on the road as
in daylight, and in those bright gleams Yatsek saw the gray horse on
which Panna Anulka was sitting.
He grew dumb at sight of her.
"Yes, she is with us," said Father Voynovski, seeing his astonishment.
Then Yatsek urged his horse forward, and halted before her. He
uncovered his head, and remained there lost as he looked at her. His
face was as white as chalk, his breath had almost left him, and he was
speechless.
After a moment the cap fell to the earth from his fingers, his head
dropped to the mane of the horse, and his eyes closed.
"But he is wounded!" cried Lukash Bukoyemski.