Next morning early the Cossacks marched out of the Saitch, foot and
horse. Though blood had not yet stained the steppes, the war had begun.
Regiment followed regiment; just as if locusts, warmed by the spring
sun, had swarmed in the reeds of Chertomelik, and were flying to the
fields of the Ukraine. In the woods behind Bazaluk the warriors of the
horde were waiting, ready for the march. Six thousand chosen men, armed
incomparably better than ordinary partisan robbers, composed the
contingent which the Khan sent to the Zaporojians and to Hmelnitski. At
the sight of them the Cossacks hurled their caps into the air. The guns
and muskets rattled. The shouts of the Cossacks, mingling with the
"Allah" of the Tartars, struck the dome of heaven. Hmelnitski and Tugai
Bey, both under their banners, galloped toward each other on horseback,
and exchanged formal greetings.
The order of march was formed with the rapidity peculiar to Tartars and
Cossacks; then the troops moved on. The horde occupied both Cossack
wings; the centre was formed by Hmelnitski and his cavalry, behind
which marched the terrible Zaporojian infantry. Farther in the rear
were the gunners, with their cannon; still farther the tabor-wagons, in
them camp-servants and stores of provisions; finally, the herdsmen,
with reserve herds and cattle.
After they had passed the forest of Bazaluk the regiments flowed out on
the level country. The day was clear, the field of heaven unspotted by
a cloud. A light breeze blew from the north to the sea; the sun played
on the lances, and on the flowers of the plain. The primeval steppes
were spread before the Zaporojians like a boundless sea, and at this
sight joy embraced the Cossack hearts. The great red standard, with the
archangel, was inclined repeatedly in greeting to the native steppe;
and following its example, every bunchuk and regimental standard was
lowered. One shout sprang from all breasts.
The regiments deployed freely on the plain. The drummers and buglers
went to the van of the army; the drums thundered, trumpets and bugles
sounded, and in concert with them a song, sung by thousands of voices,
reverberated through the air and the earth,--
"O steppes, our native steppes,
Ye are painted with beautiful flowers,
Ye are broad as the sea!"
The teorbanists dropped the reins, and bending back in the saddles,
with eyes turned to the sky, struck the strings of their teorbans; the
cymbalists, stretching their arms above their heads, struck their
brazen disks; the drummers thundered with their kettledrums; and all
these sounds, together with the monotonous words of the song and the
shrill whistle of the tuneless Tartar pipes, mingled in a kind of
mighty note, wild and sad as the Wilderness itself. Delight seized all
the regiments; the heads bent in time with the song, and at last it
seemed as if the entire steppe, infected with music, trembled together
with the men and the horses and the standards.
Frightened flocks of birds rose from the steppe and flew before the
army like another army,--an army of the air. At times the song and
music stopped; then could be heard the rustling of banners, the
tramping and snorting of horses, the squeak of the tabor-wagons,--like
the cry of swans or storks.
At the head of the army, under a great red standard and the bunchuk,
rode Hmelnitski, in a red uniform, on a white horse, holding a gilded
baton in his hand.
The whole body moved on, slowly marching to the north, covering like a
terrible wave the rivers, groves, and grave-mounds, filling with its
noise and sound the space of the steppe.
But from Chigirin, from the northern rim of the Wilderness, there moved
against this wave a wave of the armies of the crown, under the
leadership of young Pototski. Here the Zaporojians and the Tartars went
as if to a wedding, with a joyful song on their lips; there the serious
hussars advanced in grim silence, going unwillingly to that struggle
without glory. Here, under the red banner, an old experienced leader
shook his threatening baton, as if certain of victory and vengeance;
there in front rode a youth with thoughtful countenance, as if knowing
his sad and approaching fate. A great expanse of steppe still divided
them.
Hmelnitski did not hurry, for he calculated that the farther young
Pototski went into the Wilderness, the farther he went from the two
hetmans, the more easily could he be conquered. Meanwhile new fugitives
from Chigirin, Povolochi, and all the shore towns of the Ukraine gave
daily increase to the Zaporojian power, bringing also news from the
opposite camp. From them Hmelnitski learned that the old hetman had
sent his son with only two thousand cavalry by land and six thousand
Cossacks, with one thousand German infantry in boats by the Dnieper.
Both these divisions were ordered to maintain communication with each
other, but the order was violated from the first day; for the boats,
borne on by the current of the Dnieper, went considerably in advance of
the hussars going along the shore, whose march was greatly delayed by
the crossings at all the rivers falling into the Dnieper.
Hmelnitski, wishing that the distance between them should be increased
still more, did not hurry. On the third day of his march he disposed
his camp around Komysha Water, and rested.
At that time the scouts of Tugai Bey brought informants,--two dragoons
who just beyond Chigirin had escaped from the camp of Pototski.
Hurrying on day and night, they had succeeded in getting considerably
in advance of their camp. They were brought immediately to Hmelnitski.
Their account confirmed what was already known to Hmelnitski concerning
the forces of young Stephen Pototski; but they brought him
intelligence, besides, that the leaders of the Cossacks sailing down in
the boats with the German infantry were old Barabash and Krechovski.
When he heard the last name, Hmelnitski sprang up. "Krechovski? the
commander of the registered Pereyasláv Cossacks?"
"The same, serene hetman!" answered the dragoons.
Hmelnitski turned to the colonels surrounding him. "Forward!" commanded
he, with thundering voice.
Less than an hour later the tabor was moving on, though the sun was
already setting and the night did not promise to be clear. Certain
terrible reddish clouds rolled along on the western side of the
heavens, like dragons or leviathans, and approached one another as if
wishing to begin battle.
The tabor turned to the left, toward the bank of the Dnieper. The host
marched quietly, without songs, without noise of drums or trumpets, and
as quickly as the grass permitted, which was so luxuriant in that
neighborhood that the regiments buried in it were lost from view at
times, and the many-colored flags seemed to sail along the steppe. The
cavalry beat a road for the wagons and the infantry, which, advancing
with difficulty, soon fell considerably in the rear.
Night covered the steppes. An enormous red moon rose slowly in the
heavens, but, hidden repeatedly by the clouds, flamed up and was
quenched like a lamp smothered by the blowing of the wind.
It was well after midnight when, to the eyes of the Cossacks and the
Tartars, black gigantic masses seemed outlined clearly on the dark
background of the sky. These were the walls of Kudák.
Scouts, hidden by darkness, approached the fortress as carefully and
quietly as wolves or night-birds. And now perhaps a surprise for the
sleeping fortress!
But suddenly a flash on the ramparts rent the darkness. A terrible
report shook the rocks of the Dnieper, and a fiery ball, leaving a
circle of sparks in the air, fell among the grass of the steppe. The
gloomy cyclops Grodzitski gave notice that he was watching.
"The one-eyed dog!" muttered Tugai Bey to Hmelnitski; "he sees in the
night."
The Cossacks avoided the fortress and marched on. They could not think
of taking it at a time when the armies of the crown were marching
against them. But Grodzitski fired after them from his cannon till the
walls of the fortress trembled; not so much to injure them--for they
passed at a good distance--as to warn the troops sailing down the
Dnieper, who at that time might be not far away.
But the thunder of the guns of Kudák found echo first of all in the
heart and hearing of Pan Yan. The young knight, brought by the command
of Hmelnitski with the Cossack tabor, became seriously ill on the
second day. In the fight at Hortitsa he had not received, it is true, a
mortal wound, but he had lost so much blood that little life was left
in him. His wounds, dressed in Cossack fashion by the old inspector of
weights and measures, opened; fever attacked him, and that night he lay
half senseless in a Cossack telega, unconscious of God's world.
The cannon of Kudák first roused him. He opened his eyes, raised
himself in the wagon, and began to look around. The Cossack tabor
glided along in the darkness, like a circle of dream figures, but the
fortress roared and was lighted with rosy smoke; fiery balls sprang
along the steppe, snapping and barking, like infuriated dogs. At this
sight such sadness and sorrow seized Skshetuski that he was ready to
die on the spot, if he could only go even in spirit to his friends.
War! war! and he in the camp of the enemy, disarmed, sick, unable to
rise from the wagon! The Commonwealth in danger, and he not flying to
save it! There in Lubni the troops are surely moving. The prince, with
lightning in his eyes, is flying before the ranks; and on whatever side
he turns his baton, three hundred lances strike like three hundred
thunderbolts. Here a number of well-known faces begin to appear before
the eyes of the lieutenant. Little Volodyovski, at the head of his
dragoons, with his thin sabre in hand,--the king of swordsmen; whoever
crosses weapons with him is as if in the tomb. There Pan Podbipienta
raises his executioner's snatch-cowl! Will he cut off the three heads,
or will he not? The priest Yaskolski waves the banners, and prays with
his hands lifted to heaven. But he is an old soldier; therefore, unable
to restrain himself, he thunders out at times, "Strike! kill!" Mailed
riders incline half-way to the horse's ear. The regiments rush on, open
their ranks, and close. Battle and tumult are there!
Suddenly the vision changes. Before the lieutenant stands Helena, pale,
with dishevelled hair; and she cries: "Save me, for Bogun pursues!"
Skshetuski tears himself from the wagon, till a voice--but a real
one--calls to him: "Lie down, child, or I will bind you."
That was the essaul of the tabor, Zakhar, whom Hmelnitski had commanded
to guard the lieutenant as the eye in his head. He puts him back in the
wagon, covers him with a horse-skin, and asks: "What's the matter with
you?"
Now Skshetuski has perfect presence of mind. The visions vanish. The
wagons move along the very bank of the Dnieper. A cool breeze is
blowing from the river, and the night is growing pale. Water-birds have
begun their morning noise.
"Listen, Zakhar! have we passed Kudák already?" asked Skshetuski.
"We have," answered the Zaporojian,
"And where are you going?"
"I don't know. There will be a battle, they say; but I don't know."
At these words Skshetuski's heart beat joyfully. He had supposed that
Hmelnitski would besiege Kudák, and with that the war would begin.
Meanwhile the haste with which the Cossacks pushed on permitted the
inference that the armies of the Crown were already near, and that
Hmelnitski was passing the fortress so as not to be forced to give
battle under its cannon.
"I may be free to-day," thought the lieutenant, and raised his eyes to
heaven in thanks.