Next morning, a wonderful and unusual movement reigned in the cloister.
The gate was open, and entrance was not refused to the pious. Services
were celebrated in the usual course; but after services all strangers
were directed to leave the circuit of the cloister. Kordetski himself,
in company with Zamoyski and Pan Pyotr, examined carefully the
embrasures, and the escarpments supporting the walls from the inside
and outside. Directions were given for repairing places here and there;
blacksmiths in the town received orders to make hooks and spears,
scythes fixed on long handles, clubs and heavy sticks of wood filled
with strong spikes. And since it was known that they had already a
considerable supply of such implements in the cloister, people in the
town began at once to say that the cloister expected a sudden attack.
New orders in quick succession seemed to confirm these reports. Toward
night two hundred men were working at the side of the walls. Twelve
heavy guns sent at the time of the siege of Cracow by Pan Varshytski,
castellan of Cracow, were placed on new carriages and properly planted.
From the cloister storehouses monks and attendants brought out balls,
which were placed in piles near the guns; carts with powder were rolled
out; bundles of muskets were untied, and distributed to the garrison.
On the towers and bastions watchmen were posted to look carefully,
night and day, on the region about; men were sent also to make
investigation through the neighborhood,--to Pjystaini, Klobuchek,
Kjepitsi, Krushyn, and Mstov.
To the cloister storehouses, which were already well filled, came
supplies from the town, from Chenstohovka and other villages belonging
to the cloister.
The report went like thunder through the whole neighborhood.
Townspeople and peasants began to assemble and take counsel. Many were
unwilling to believe that any enemy would dare to attack Yasna Gora.
It was said that only Chenstohova itself was to be occupied; but even
that excited the minds of men, especially when some of them remembered
that the Swedes were heretics, whom nothing restrained, and who were
ready to offer a purposed affront to the Most Holy Lady.
Therefore men hesitated, doubted, and believed in turn. Some
wrung their hands, waiting for terrible signs on earth and in
heaven,--visible signs of God's anger; others were sunk in helpless and
dumb despair; an anger more than human seized a third party, whose
heads were filled as it were with flame. And when once the fancy of men
had spread its wings for flight, straightway there was a whirl of news,
ever changing, ever more feverish, ever more monstrous.
And as when a man thrusts a stick or throws fire into an ant-hill,
unquiet swarms rush forth at once, assemble, separate, reassemble; so
was the town, so were the neighboring hamlets, in an uproar.
In the afternoon crowds of townspeople and peasants, with women and
children, surrounded the walls of the cloister, and held them as it
were in siege, weeping and groaning. At sunset Kordetski went out to
them, and pushing himself into the throng, asked,--
"People, what do you want?"
"We want to go as a garrison to the cloister to defend the Mother of
God," cried men, shaking their flails, forks, and other rustic weapons.
"We wish to look for the last time on the Most Holy Lady," groaned
women.
The prior went on a high rock and said,--
"The gates of hell will not prevail against the might of heaven. Calm
yourselves, and receive consolation into your hearts. The foot of a
heretic will not enter these holy walls. Neither Lutherans nor
Calvinists will celebrate their superstitious incantations in this
retreat of worship and faith. I know not in truth whether the insolent
enemy will come hither; but I know this, that if he does come, he will
be forced to retreat in shame and disgrace, for a superior power will
crush him, his malice will be broken, his power rubbed out, and his
fortune will fail. Take consolation to your hearts. You are not looking
for the last time on our Patroness: you will see her in still greater
glory, and you will see new miracles. Take consolation, dry your tears,
and strengthen yourselves in faith; for I tell you--and it is not I who
speak, but the Spirit of God speaks through me--that the Swede will not
enter these walls; grace will flow hence, and darkness will not put out
the light, just as the night which is now coming will not hinder God's
sun from rising to-morrow."
It was just sunset. Dark shade had covered already the region about;
but the church was gleaming red in the last rays of the sun. Seeing
this, the people knelt around the walls, and consolation flowed into
their hearts at once. Meanwhile the Angelus was sounded on the towers,
and Kordetski began to sing, "The Angel of the Lord;" and after him
whole crowds sang. The nobles and the soldiers standing on the walls
joined their voices, the bells greater and smaller pealed in
accompaniment, and it seemed that the whole mountain was singing and
sounding like a gigantic organ to the four points of the earth.
They sang till late; the prior blessed the departing on their way, and
said,--
"Those men who have served in war, who know how to wield weapons and
who feel courage in their hearts, may come in the morning to the
cloister."
"I have served, I was in the infantry, I will come!" cried numerous
voices.
And the throngs separated slowly. The night fell calmly. All woke next
morning with a joyous cry: "The Swede is not here!" Still, all day
workmen were bringing supplies which had been called for. An order went
out also to those who had shops at the eastern walls of the cloister to
bring their goods to the cloister; and in the cloister itself work did
not cease on the walls. Secured especially were the so-called
"passages;" that is, small openings in the walls, which were not gates,
but which might serve in making sallies. Pan Zamoyski gave orders to
bring beams, bricks, and dung, so at a given moment they could be
easily closed from within.
All day, too, wagons were coming in with supplies and provisions; there
came also some noble families who were alarmed by the news of the
impending attack of the enemy. About midday the men who had been sent
out the preceding day to gather tidings came back; but no one had seen
the Swedes nor even heard of them, except those who were stationed near
Kjepitsi.
Still, preparations were not abandoned in the cloister. By order of the
prior, those of the townspeople and peasantry came who had formerly
served in the infantry and who were accustomed to service. They were
assigned to the command of Pan Mosinski, who was defending the
northeastern bastion. Pan Zamoyski was occupied during the day either
in disposing the men in their places, instructing each one what to do,
or holding counsel with the fathers in the refectory.
Kmita with joy in his heart looked at the military preparations, at the
soldiers as they were mustered, at the cannon, at the stacks of
muskets, spears, and hooks. That was his special element. In the midst
of those terrible implements, in the midst of the urgent preparations
and military feverishness, it was light, pleasant, and joyous for him.
It was the easier and more joyous because he had made a general
confession of his whole life, and beyond his own expectations had
received absolution, for the prior took into account his intention, his
sincere desire to reform, and this too, that he had already entered on
the road.
So Pan Andrei had freed himself from the burdens under which he was
almost falling. Heavy penances had been imposed on him, and every day
his back was bleeding under Soroka's braided lash; he was enjoined to
practice obedience, and that was a penance still more difficult, for he
had not obedience in his heart; on the contrary, he had pride and
boastfulness. Finally, he was commanded to strengthen his reformation
by virtuous deeds; but that was the easiest, he desired and asked for
nothing more; his whole soul was tearing forth toward exploits, for by
exploits he understood war and killing the Swedes from morning till
evening without rest and without mercy. And just then, what a noble
road was opening to him! To kill Swedes, not only in defence of the
country, not only in defence of the king to whom he had sworn loyalty,
but in defence of the Queen of the Angels,--that was a happiness beyond
his merit.
Whither had those times gone when he was standing as it were on the
parting of the roads, asking himself whither he should go? where are
those times in which he knew not what to begin, in which he was always
meeting doubt, and in which he had begun to lose hope? And those men,
those white monks, and that handful of peasants and nobles were
preparing for serious defence, for a life-and-death struggle. That was
the one spot of such character in the Commonwealth, and Pan Andrei had
come just to that spot, as if led by some fortunate star. And he
believed sacredly in victory, though the whole power of Sweden were to
encircle those walls; hence in his heart he had prayer, joy, and
gratitude.
In this frame of mind he walked along the walls, and with a bright face
examined, inspected, and saw that good was taking place. With the eye
of experience, he saw at once from the preparations that they were made
by men of experience, who would be able to show themselves when it came
to the test. He wondered at the calmness of the prior, for whom he had
conceived a deep reverence; he was astonished at the prudence of
Zamoyski, and even of Pan Charnyetski; though he was displeased at him,
he did not show a wry face. But that knight looked on Pan Andrei
harshly, and meeting him on the wall the day after the return of the
messengers, he said,--
"No Swedes are to be seen; and if they do not come, the dogs will eat
your reputation."
"If any harm should result from their coming to this holy place, then
let the dogs eat my reputation."
"You would rather not smell their powder. We know knights who have
boots lined with hare's skin."
Kmita dropped his eyes like a young girl. "You might rather let
disputes rest," said he. "In what have I offended you? I have forgotten
your offences against me, do you forget mine against you."
"You called me a whipper-snapper," said Charnyetski, sharply. "I should
like to know who you are. In what are the Babiniches better than the
Charnyetskis? Are they a senatorial family too?"
"My worthy sir," said Kmita, with a pleasant face, "if it were not for
the obedience which was imposed on me in confession, if it were not for
those blows which are given me every day on my back for my follies of
past time, I would speak to you differently; but I am afraid of
relapsing into previous offences. As to whether the Babiniches or the
Charnyetskis are better, that will appear when the Swedes come."
"And what kind of office do you think of getting? Do you suppose that
they will make you one of the commanders?"
Kmita grew serious. "You accused me of seeking profit; now you speak of
office. Know that I have not come here for honor. I might have received
higher honor elsewhere. I will remain a simple soldier, even under your
command."
"Why, for what reason?"
"Because you do me injustice, and are ready to torment me."
"H'm! There is no reason for that. It is very beautiful of you to be
willing to remain a simple soldier when it is clear that you have
wonderful daring, and obedience does not come easy. Would you like to
fight?"
"That will appear with the Swedes, as I have said."
"But if the Swedes do not come?"
"Then do you know what? we will go to look for them," said Kmita.
"That pleases me!" cried Charnyetski. "We could assemble a nice party.
Silesia is not far from this place, and at once soldiers could be
collected. Officers, like my uncle, have promised, but nothing has been
said about soldiers; a great number of them might be had at the first
call."
"And this would give a saving example to others!" cried Kmita, with
warmth. "I have a handful of men too,--you ought to see them at work."
"Good, good!" said Charnyetski, "as God is dear to me! let me have your
face!"
"And give yours," said Kmita.
And without long thinking they rushed into each other's arms. Just then
the prior was passing, and seeing what had happened he began to bless
both. They told at once of what they had been talking. The prior merely
smiled quietly, and went on saying to himself,--
"Health is returning to the sick."
Toward evening preparations were finished, and the fortress was
entirely ready for defence. Nothing was wanting,--neither supplies, nor
powder, nor guns; only walls sufficiently strong and a more numerous
garrison.
Chenstohova, or rather Yasna Gora, though strengthened by nature and
art, was counted among the smallest and weakest fortresses of the
Commonwealth. But as to the garrison, as many people might have been
had for the summoning as any one wished; but the prior purposely did
not overburden the walls with men, so that supplies might hold out for
a long time. Still there were those, especially among the German
gunners, who were convinced that Chenstohova could not defend itself.
Fools! they thought that it had no defence but its walls and its
weapons; they knew not what hearts filled with faith are. The prior
then fearing lest they might spread doubt among the people, dismissed
them, save one who was esteemed a master in his art.
That same day old Kyemlich and his sons came to Kmita with a request to
be freed from service. Anger carried away Pan Andrei. "Dogs!" cried he,
"you are ready to resign such a service and will not defend the Most
Holy Lady.--Well, let it be so! You have had pay for your horses, you
will receive the rest for your services soon."
Here he took a purse from a casket, and threw it on the floor to them.
"Here are your wages! You choose to seek plunder on that side of the
walls,--to be robbers instead of defenders of Mary! Out of my sight!
you are not worthy to be here! you are not worthy of Christian society!
you are not worthy to die such a death as awaits you in this place!
Out, out!"
"We are not worthy," answered the old man, spreading his hands and
bending his head, "we are not worthy to have our dull eyes look on the
splendors of Yasna Gora, Fortress of heaven! Morning Star! Refuge of
sinners! We are not worthy, not worthy." Here he bent so low that he
bent double, and at the same time with his thin greedy hands, grown
lean, seized the purse lying on the floor. "But outside the walls,"
said he, "we shall not cease to serve your grace. In sudden need, we
will let you know everything; we will go where 'tis needful; we will do
what is needful. Your grace will have ready servants outside the
walls."
"Be off!" repeated Pan Andrei.
They went out bowing; for fear was choking them, and they were happy
that the affair had ended thus. Toward evening they were no longer in
the fortress.
A dark and rainy night followed. It was November 8; an early winter was
approaching, and together with waves of rain the first flakes of wet
snow were flying to the ground. Silence was broken only by the
prolonged voices of guards calling from bastion to bastion, "Hold
watch!" and in the darkness slipped past here and there the white habit
of the prior, Kordetski. Kmita slept not; he was on the walls with
Charnyetski, with whom he spoke of his past campaigns. Kmita narrated
the course of the war with Hovanski, evidently not mentioning the part
which he had taken in it himself; and Charnyetski talked of the
skirmishes with the Swedes at Pjedbor, at Jarnovtsi, and in the
environs of Cracow, of which he boasted somewhat and said,--
"What was possible was done. You see, for every Swede whom I stretched
out I made a knot on my sword-sash. I have six knots, and God grant me
more! For this reason I wear the sword higher toward my shoulder. Soon
the sash will be useless; but I'll not take out the knots, in every
knot I will have a turquoise set; after the war I will hang up the sash
as a votive offering. And have you one Swede on your conscience?"
"No!" answered Kmita, with shame. "Not far from Sohachev I scattered a
band, but they were robbers."
"But you might make a great score of Northerners?"
"I might do that."
"With the Swedes it is harder, for rarely is there one of them who is
not a wizard. They learned from the Finns how to use the black ones,
and each Swede has two or three devils in his service, and there are
some who have seven. These guard them terribly in time of battle; but
if they come hither, the devils will help them in no way, for the power
of devils can do nothing in a circle where the tower on Yasna Gora is
visible. Have you heard of this?"
Kmita made no answer; he turned his head to listen attentively.
"They are coming!" said he, suddenly.
"Who, in God's name? What do you say?"
"I hear cavalry."
"That is only wind and the beating of rain."
"By the wounds of Christ! that is not the wind, but horses! I have a
wonderfully sharp ear. A multitude of cavalry are marching, and are
near already; but the wind drowns the noise. The time has come! The
time has come!"
The voice of Kmita roused the stiffened guards, dozing near at hand;
but it had not yet ceased when below in the darkness was heard the
piercing blare of trumpets, and they began to sound, prolonged,
complaining, terrible. All sprang up from slumber in amazement, in
fright, and asked one another,--
"Are not those the trumpets sounding to judgment in this gloomy night?"
Then the monks, the soldiers, the nobles, began to come out on the
square.
The bell-ringers rushed to the bells; and soon they were all heard, the
great, the smaller, and the small bells, as if for a fire, mingling
their groans with the sounds of the trumpets, which had not ceased to
play.
Lighted matches were thrown into pitch-barrels, prepared of purpose and
tied with chains; then they were drawn upward with cranks. Red light
streamed over the base of the cliff, and then the people on Yasna Gora
saw before them a party of mounted trumpeters,--those standing nearest
with trumpets at their mouths, behind them long and deep ranks of
mounted men with unfurled flags.
The trumpeters played some time yet, as if they wished with those
brazen sounds to express the whole power of the Swedes, and to terrify
the monks altogether. At last they were silent; one of them separated
from the rank, and waving a white kerchief, approached the gate.
"In the name of his Royal Grace," cried the trumpeter, "the Most Serene
King of the Swedes, Goths, and Vandals, Grand Prince of Finland,
Esthonia, Karelia, Stettin, Pomerania, and the Kashubes, Prince of
Rugen, Lord of Ingria, Wismark, and Bavaria, Count of the Rhenish
Palatinate, open the gates."
"Admit him," said Kordetski.
They opened, but only a door in the gate.
The horseman hesitated for a time; at last he came down from his horse,
entered within the circle of the walls, and seeing a crowd of white
habits, he asked,--
"Who among you is the superior?"
"I am," answered Kordetski.
The horseman gave him a letter with seals, and said: "Count Veyhard
will wait for an answer at Saint Barbara's."
The prior summoned at once the monks and nobles to the council-chamber
to deliberate.
On the way, Pan Charnyetski said to Kmita: "Come you also."
"I will go, but only through curiosity," answered Pan Andrei; "for I
have no work there. Henceforward I will not serve the Most Holy Lady
with my mouth."
When they had entered the council-chamber, the prior broke the seal and
read as follows:--
"It is not a secret to you, worthy fathers, with what favorable mind
and with what heart I have always looked on this holy place and your
Congregation; also, how constantly I have surrounded you with my care
and heaped benefits on you. Therefore I desire that you remain in the
conviction that neither my inclination nor good wishes toward you have
ceased in the present juncture. Not as an enemy, but as a friend, do I
come this day. Put your cloister under my protection without fear, as
the time and present circumstances demand. In this way you will find
the calm which you desire, as well as safety. I promise you solemnly
that the sacredness of the place will be inviolate; your property will
not be destroyed. I will bear all expenses myself, and in fact add to
your means. Consider also carefully how much you will profit if,
satisfying me, you confide to me your cloister. Remember my advice,
lest a greater misfortune reach you from the terrible General Miller,
whose orders will be the more severe because he is a heretic and an
enemy of the true faith. When he comes, you must yield to necessity and
carry out his commands; and you will raise useless complaints with pain
in your souls and your bodies, because you disregarded my mild
counsel."
The memory of recent benefactions of Count Veybard touched the monks
greatly. There were some who had confidence in his good-will, and
wished to see in his counsel the avoidance of future defeats and
misfortunes. But no one raised a voice, waiting for what Kordetski
would say. He was silent for a while, but his lips were moving in
prayer; then he said,--
"Would a true friend draw near in the night-time and terrify with such
a dreadful voice of trumpets and crooked horns the sleeping servants of
God? Would he come at the head of those armed thousands who are now
standing under these walls? Why did he not come with four or nine
others, if he hoped for the reception given a welcome benefactor? What
do those stern legions mean, if not a threat in case we refuse to yield
up this cloister? Listen; remember, too, dearest brothers, that this
enemy has never kept word nor oath nor safeguard. We too have that of
the King of Sweden sent us spontaneously, in which is an express
promise that the cloister shall remain free of occupation. And why are
they standing now under its walls, trumpeting their own lie with
fearful brazen sound? My dear brothers, let each man raise his heart to
heaven, so that the Holy Ghost may enlighten it, and then let us
consider what conscience dictates to each one touching the good of this
holy retreat."
Silence followed. Then Kmita's voice rose: "I heard in Krushyn Lisola
ask him, 'Will you shake up their treasury for the monks?' to which the
count, who now stands under these walls, answered, 'The Mother of God
will not ask for the thalers in the priors' chests.' To-day this same
Count Veyhard writes to you, reverend fathers, that he will bear all
expenses himself, and besides add to your means. Consider his
sincerity!"
To this Father Myelko, one of the oldest in the assembly, and besides a
former soldier, answered: "We live in poverty, and burn these torches
before the altar of the Most Holy Lady in Her praise. But though we
were to take them from the altar so as to purchase immunity for this
holy place, where is our guarantee that the Swedes will respect the
immunity, that they with sacrilegious hands will not remove offerings,
sacred vestments, church furniture? Is it possible to trust liars?"
"Without the Provincial to whom we owe obedience, we can do nothing,"
said Father Dobrosh.
"War is not our affair," added Father Tomitski; "let us listen to what
these knights will say who have taken refuge under the wings of the
Mother of God in this cloister."
All eyes were now turned to Pan Zamoyski, the oldest in years, the
highest in dignity and office. He rose and spoke in the following
words:--
"It is a question here of your fate, reverend fathers. Compare then the
strength of the enemy with the resistance which you can place against
him according to your force and will. What counsel can we, guests here,
impart to you? But, reverend fathers, since you ask us what is to be
done, I will answer: Until the inevitable forces us, let the thought of
surrender be far away; for it is a shameful and an unworthy act to
purchase with vile submission an uncertain peace from a faithless
enemy. We have taken refuge here of our own will, with our wives and
children; surrendering ourselves to the guardianship of the Most Holy
Lady, we have determined with unswerving faith to live with you, and,
if God shall so desire, to die with you. It is indeed better for us
thus than to accept a shameful captivity or behold an affront to a holy
place; of a certainty, that Mother of the Most High God who has
inspired our breasts with a desire of defending Her against godless and
sacrilegious heretics will second the pious endeavors of Her servants
and support the cause of Her own defence."
At this point Pan Zamoyski ceased speaking; all paid attention to his
words, strengthening themselves with the meaning of them; and Kmita,
without forethought, as was his wont, sprang forward and pressed the
hand of the old man to his lips. The spectators were edified by this
sight, and each one saw a good presage in that youthful ardor, and a
desire to defend the cloister increased and seized all hearts.
Meanwhile a new presage was given: outside the window of the refectory
was heard unexpectedly the trembling and aged voice of Constantsia, the
old beggar woman of the church, singing a pious hymn:--
"In vain dost thou threaten me, O savage Hussite,
In vain dost thou summon devils' horns to thy aid,
In vain dost thou burn, sparing no blood,
For thou'lt not subdue me;
Though thousands of pagans were now rushing hither,
Though armies were flying against me on dragons,
Neither sword, flame, nor men will avail thee,
For I shall be victor!"
"Here," said Kordetski, "is the presage which God sends through the
lips of that old beggar woman. Let us defend ourselves, brothers; for
in truth besieged people have never yet had such aids as will come to
us."
"We will give our lives willingly," said Charnyetski.
"We will not trust faith-breakers! We will not trust heretics, nor
those among Catholics who have accepted the service of the evil
spirit!" shouted others, who did not wish to let those speak who
opposed.
It was decided to send two priests to Count Veyhard with information
that the gates would remain closed and the besieged would defend
themselves, to which action the safeguard of the king gave them a
right.
But in their own way the envoys were to beg the Count humbly to desist
from his design, or at least to defer it for a time until the monks
could ask permission of Father Teofil Bronyevski, Provincial of the
order, who was then in Silesia.
The envoys, Fathers Benedykt Yarachevski and Martseli Tomitski, passed
out through the gate; the others awaited, in the refectory, their
return with throbbing hearts, for terror had seized those monks, unused
to war, when the hour had struck and the moment had come in which they
were forced to choose between duty and the anger and vengeance of the
enemy.
But half an hour had barely elapsed when the two fathers appeared
before the council. Their heads were hanging over their breasts, on
their faces were pallor and grief. In silence they gave Kordetski a
letter from Count Veyhard, which he took from their hands and read
aloud. There were eight points of capitulation under which the count
summoned the monks to surrender the cloister.
When he had finished reading, the prior looked long in the faces of
those assembled; at last he said with a solemn voice,--
"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! in the name of the
Most Pure and Most Holy Mother of God! to the walls, beloved brethren!"
"To the walls, to the walls!" was the answer of all.
A little later a bright flame lighted the base of the cloister. Count
Veyhard had given orders to burn the buildings connected with the
church of Saint Barbara. The fire seizing the old houses grew with each
moment. Soon pillars of red smoke reared themselves toward the sky; in
the midst of these, fiery sparkling tongues were gleaming. Finally one
conflagration was spreading in clouds.
By the gleam of the fire, divisions of mounted soldiers could be seen
passing quickly from place to place. The usual license of soldiers had
begun. The horsemen drove out from the stables cattle, which running
with fright, filled the air with plaintive bellowing; sheep, gathered
in groups, pushed at random toward the fire. Many of the defenders saw
for the first time the bloody face of war, and their hearts grew
benumbed with terror at sight of people driven by soldiers and slashed
with sabres, at sight of women dragged by the hair through the
market-place. And by the bloody gleams of the fire all this was as
visible as on the palm of the hand. Shouts, and even words, reached the
ears of the besieged perfectly.
Since the cannon of the cloister had not answered yet, horsemen sprang
from their horses and approached the foot of the mountain itself,
shaking their swords and muskets. Every moment some sturdy fellow,
dressed in a yellow cavalry jacket, putting his hands around his mouth,
jeered and threatened the besieged, who listened patiently, standing at
their guns with lighted matches.
Kmita was at the side of Charnyetski, just in front of the church, and
saw everything clearly. On his cheeks a deep flush came out, his eyes
were like two torches, and in his hand he held an excellent bow, which
he had received as an inheritance from his father, who had captured it
from a celebrated Agá at Hotsin. He heard the threats and invectives,
and finally when a gigantic horseman had come under the cliff and was
making an uproar he turned to Charnyetski,--
"As God is true, he is blaspheming against the Most Holy Lady. I
understand German; he blasphemes dreadfully! I cannot endure it!" And
he lowered the bow; but Charnyetski touched him with his hand,--
"God will punish him for his blasphemy," said he; "but Kordetski has
not permitted us to shoot first, let them begin."
He had barely spoken when the horseman raised his musket to his face; a
shot thundered, and the ball, without reaching the walls, was lost
somewhere among the crannies of the place.
"We are free now!" cried Kmita.
"Yes," answered Charnyetski.
Kmita, as a true man of war, became calm in a moment. The horseman,
shading his eyes with his hands, looked after the ball; Kmita drew the
bow, ran his finger along the string till it twittered like a swallow,
then he bent carefully and cried,--
"A corpse, a corpse!"
At the same moment was hoard the whirring whistle of the terrible
arrow; the horseman dropped his musket, raised both hands on high,
threw up his head, and fell on his back. He struggled for a while like
a fish snatched from water, and dug the earth with his feet; but soon
he stretched himself and remained without motion.
"That is one!" said Kmita.
"Tie it in your sword-sash," answered Charnyetski.
"A bell-rope would not be long enough, if God will permit!" cried Pan
Andrei.
A second horseman rushed to the dead man, wishing to see what had
happened to him, or perhaps to take his purse, but the arrow whistled
again, and the second fell on the breast of the first. Meanwhile the
field-pieces which Count Veyhard had brought with him opened fire. He
could not storm the fortress with them, neither could he think of
capturing it, having only cavalry, but he gave command to open fire to
terrify the priests. Still a beginning was made.
Kordetski appeared at the side of Charnyetski, and with him came Father
Dobrosh, who managed the cloister artillery in time of peace, and on
holidays fired salutes; therefore he passed as an excellent gunner
among the monks.
The prior blessed the cannon and pointed them out to the priest, who
rolled up his sleeves and began to aim at a point in a half circle
between two buildings where a number of horsemen were raging, and among
them an officer with a rapier in his hand. The priest aimed long, for
his reputation was at stake. At last he took the match and touched the
priming.
Thunder shook the air and smoke covered the view; but after a while the
wind bore it aside. In the space between the buildings there was not a
single horseman left. A number were lying with their horses on the
ground; the others had fled.
The monks on the walls began to sing. The crash of buildings falling
around Saint Barbara's church accompanied the songs. It grew darker,
but vast swarms of sparks sent upward by the fall of timbers pierced
the air.
Trumpets were sounded again in the ranks of Count Veyhard's horsemen;
but the sound from them receded. The fire was burning to the end.
Darkness enveloped the foot of Yasna Gora. Here and there was heard the
neighing of horses; but ever farther, ever weaker, the Count was
withdrawing to Kjepitsi.
Kordetski knelt on the walls.
"Mary! Mother of the one God," said he, with a powerful voice, "bring
it to pass that he whose attack comes after this man will retreat in
like manner,--with shame and vain anger in his soul."
While he prayed thus the clouds broke suddenly above his head, and the
bright light of the moon whitened the towers, the walls, the kneeling
prior and the burned ruins of buildings at Saint Barbara.