Skshetuski, hearing the battle, waited with trembling for the
conclusion of it. He thought at first that Hmelnitski was meeting all
the forces of the hetmans. But toward evening old Zakhar led him out of
his error. The news of the treason of the Cossacks under Krechovski and
the destruction of the Germans agitated Pan Yan to the bottom of his
soul; for it was prophetic of future desertions, and the lieutenant
knew perfectly that no small part of the armies of the hetmans was made
up of Cossacks.
The anguish of the lieutenant increased, and triumph in the Zaporojian
camp added bitterness to his sorrow. Everything foreshadowed the worst.
There were no tidings of Prince Yeremi, and evidently the hetmans had
made a terrible mistake; for instead of moving with all their forces to
Kudák or waiting for the enemy in fortified camps in the Ukraine, they
had divided their forces, weakened themselves of their own accord, and
opened a wide field to breach of faith and treason. It is true that
mention had been made previously in the Zaporojian camp of Krechovski,
and of the special despatch of troops under the leadership of Stephen
Pototski; but the lieutenant had given no faith to those reports. He
supposed that these troops were strong advance guards which would be
withdrawn in time. But it turned out otherwise. Hmelnitski was
strengthened several thousand men by the treason of Krechovski, and
terrible danger hung over young Pototski. Deprived of assistance and
lost in the Wilderness, Hmelnitski might easily surround and crush him
completely.
In pain from his wounds, in disquiet, during sleepless nights,
Skshetuski had consoled himself with the single thought of the prince.
The star of Hmelnitski must pale when that of the prince rises in
Lubni. And who knows whether he has not joined the hetmans already?
Though the forces of Hmelnitski were considerable, though the beginning
of the campaign was favorable, though Tugai Bey marched with him, and
in case of failure the "Tsar of the Crimea" had promised to move with
reinforcements in person, the thought never rose in the mind of
Skshetuski that the disturbance could endure long, that one Cossack
could shake the whole Commonwealth and break its terrible power. "That
wave will be broken at the threshold of the Ukraine," thought the
lieutenant. "How have all the Cossack rebellions ended? They have burst
out like a flame and have been stifled at the first meeting with the
hetmans." Such had been the outcome up to that time. For on one side
there rose a crowd of bandits from the lower country, and on the other
the power whose shores were washed by two seas. The end was easily
foreseen: the storm could not be lasting; it would pass, and calm would
follow. This thought strengthened Skshetuski, and perhaps kept him on
his feet while he was weighted with such a burden as he had never
carried in his life before. The storm, though it would pass might
desolate fields, wreck houses, and inflict unspeakable harm. In this
storm he had almost lost his life, had lost his strength, and had
fallen into bitter captivity just at the time when freedom was worth
really as much to him as life itself. What, then, must be the
suffering, in this uproar, of beings without power to defend
themselves? What was happening to Helena in Rozlogi?
But Helena must be in Lubni already. The lieutenant in his sleep saw
her surrounded by friendly faces, petted by Princess Griselda and the
prince himself, admired by the knights,--and still grieving for her
hussar, who had disappeared somewhere in the Saitch. But the time would
come at last when he would return, Hmelnitski himself had promised
freedom; and besides, the Cossack wave would flow on and on, to the
threshold of the Commonwealth, where it would be broken; then would
come the end of anxiety, affliction, and dread.
The wave flowed on, indeed. Hmelnitski moved forward without delay, and
marched to meet the son of the hetman. His power was really formidable;
for with the Cossacks of Krechovski and the party of Tugai Bey, he led
nearly twenty-five thousand trained men eager for battle. There was no
reliable information concerning Pototski's numbers. Deserters declared
that he had two thousand heavy cavalry and a number of field-pieces. A
battle with that proportion of forces might be doubtful; for one attack
of the terrible hussars was often sufficient to destroy ten times the
number of troops. Thus Pan Hodkyevich, the Lithuanian hetman, in his
time, with three thousand hussars at Kirchholm, ground into the dust
eighteen thousand chosen men of the Swedish infantry and cavalry; and
at Klushin one armored regiment with wild fury dispersed several
thousand English and Scotch mercenaries. Hmelnitski remembered this,
and marched, as the Russian chronicler has it, slowly and carefully;
"looking, with the many eyes of his mind, on every side, like a cunning
hunter, and having sentries posted five miles and farther from his
camp."
In this fashion he approached Jóltiya Vodi. Two new informants were
brought in. These gave assurance of the small number of Pototski's
forces, and stated that the castellan had already crossed Jóltiya Vodi.
Hearing this, Hmelnitski stopped as if pinned to the earth, and
intrenched himself. His heart beat joyfully. If Pototski would venture
on a storm, he must be beaten. The Cossacks were unequal to armored men
in the field, but behind a rampart they fought to perfection; and with
such great preponderance of power they would surely repulse an assault.
Hmelnitski reckoned on the youth and inexperience of Pototski. But at
the side of the young castellan was an accomplished soldier,--the
starosta of Jiwets, Stephen Charnetski, colonel of hussars. He saw the
danger, and persuaded Pototski to withdraw beyond Jóltiya Vodi.
Nothing was left to Hmelnitski but to follow him. Next day he crossed
the swamps of Jóltiya Vodi. The armies stood face to face, but neither
of the leaders wished to strike the first blow. The hostile camps began
to surround themselves hurriedly with trenches. It was Saturday, the
5th of May. Rain fell all day; clouds so covered the sky that from noon
darkness reigned as on a winter day. Toward evening the rain increased
still more. Hmelnitski rubbed his hands with joy.
"Only let the steppe get soft," said he to Krechovski, "and I shall not
hesitate to meet even the hussars on the offensive; for they will be
drowned in the mud with their heavy armor."
The rain fell and fell, as if Heaven itself wished to come to the aid
of the Zaporojians. The armies intrenched themselves lazily and
gloomily amidst streams of water. It was impossible to kindle fires.
Several thousand Tartars issued from the camp to watch lest the Polish
tabor, taking advantage of the fog, the rain, and the night, might try
to escape. Then profound stillness fell upon the camp. Nothing was
heard but the patter of rain and the sound of wind. It was certain that
no one slept on either side that night.
In the morning the trumpets sounded in the Polish camp, prolonged and
plaintive, as if giving an alarm; then drums began to rattle here and
there. The day rose gloomy, dark, damp; the storm had ceased, but still
there was rain, fine as if strained through a sieve.
Hmelnitski ordered the firing of a cannon. After it, was heard a
second, a third,--a tenth; and when the usual "correspondence" of camp
with camp had begun, Pan Yan said to Zakhar, his Cossack guardian:
"Take me out on the rampart, that I may see what is passing."
Zakhar was curious himself, and therefore made no opposition. They
mounted a lofty bastion, whence could be seen, as if on the palm of the
hand, the somewhat sunken valley in the steppe, the swamp of Jóltiya
Vodi, and both armies. But Pan Yan had barely given a glance when,
seizing his head, he cried,--
"As God is living! it is the advance guard,--nothing more!"
In fact, the ramparts of the Cossack camp extended almost a mile and a
quarter, while the Polish intrenchment looked like a little ditch in
comparison with it. The disparity of forces was so great that the
victory for the Zaporojians was beyond a doubt.
Pain straitened the lieutenant's heart. The hour of fall had not come
yet for pride and rebellion, and that which was coming was to be a new
triumph for them. At least, so it appeared.
Skirmishing under cannon-fire had already begun. From the bastion
single horsemen, or groups of them, could be seen in hand-to-hand
conflict. Now the Tartars fought with Pototski's Cossacks, dressed in
dark blue and yellow. The cavalry rushed on one another and retreated
quickly; approached from the flanks, hit one another from pistols and
bows or with lances, tried to catch one another with lariats. These
actions seemed from a distance more like amusement than fighting; and
only the horses, running along the field without riders, showed that it
was a question of life and death.
The Tartars came out thicker and thicker. Soon the plain was black from
the dense mass of them. Then, too, new regiments began to issue from
the Polish camp, and arrange themselves in battle-array before the
intrenchment. This was so near that Pan Yan, with his quick eye, was
able to distinguish clearly the flags and ensigns, and also the cavalry
captains and lieutenants, who were on horseback a little on one side of
the regiments.
His heart began to leap within him. A ruddy color appeared on his pale
face; and just as if he could find a favorable audience in Zakhar and
the Cossacks standing to their guns on the bastion, he cried with
enthusiasm as the regiments marched out of the intrenchments,--
"Those are the dragoons of Balaban; I saw them in Cherkasi! That is the
Wallachian regiment; they have a cross on their banner! Oh! now the
infantry comes down from the ramparts!" Then with still greater
delight, opening his hands: "The hussars! Charnetski's hussars!"
In fact the hussars came out, above their heads a cloud of wings; a
forest of lances embellished with golden tassels and with long green
and black bannerets, stood above them in the air. They went out six
abreast, and formed under the wall. At the sight of their calmness,
dignity, and good order tears of joy came into Skshetuski's eyes,
dimming his vision for a moment.
Though the forces were so disproportionate; though against these few
regiments there was blackening a whole avalanche of Zaporojians and
Tartars, which, as is usual, occupied the wings; though their ranks
extended so far into the steppe that it was difficult to see the end of
them,--Pan Yan believed now in the victory of the Poles. His face was
smiling, his strength came back; his eyes, intent on the field, shot
fire, but he was unable to stand.
"Hei, my child!" muttered old Zakhar, "the soul would like to enter
paradise."
A number of detached Tartar bands rushed forward, with cries and shouts
of "Allah!" They were answered from the camp with shots. But these were
merely threats. The Tartars, before reaching the Polish regiments,
retreated on two sides to their own people and disappeared in the host.
Now the great drum of the Saitch was sounded, and at its voice a
gigantic crescent of Cossacks and Tartars rushed forward swiftly.
Hmelnitski was trying, apparently, to see whether he could not with one
sweep dislodge those regiments and occupy the camp. In case of
disorder, that was possible. But nothing of the kind took place with
the Polish regiments. They remained quietly, deployed in rather a long
line, the rear of which was covered by the intrenchment, and the flanks
by the cannon of the camp; so it was possible to strike them only in
front. For a while it seemed as if they would receive battle on the
spot; but when the crescent had passed half the field, the trumpets in
the intrenchment were sounded for attack, and suddenly the fence of
spears, till then pointing straight to the sky, was lowered to a line
with the heads of the horses.
"The hussars are charging!" cried Pan Yan.
They had, in fact, bent forward in the saddles, and were moving on, and
immediately after them the dragoon regiments and the whole line of
battle.
The momentum of the hussars was terrible. At the first onset they
struck three kurens,--two of Stebloff, and one of Mirgorod,--and
crushed them in the twinkle of an eye. The roar reached the ears of
Skshetuski. Horses and men, thrown from their feet with the gigantic
weight of the iron riders, fell like grain at the breath of a storm.
The resistance was so brief that it seemed to Pan Yan as though some
enormous dragons had swallowed the three kurens at a gulp. And they
were the best troops of the Saitch. Terrified by the noise of the
wings, the horses began to spread disorder in the Zaporojian ranks. The
Irkleyeff, Kalnibolok, Minsk, Shkurinsk, and Titareff regiments fell
into complete disorder, and pressed by the mass of the fleeing, began
to retreat in confusion. Meanwhile the dragoons came up with the
hussars, and began to help them in the bloody harvest. The Vasyurinsk
kuren, after a desperate resistance, turned in flight to the Cossack
intrenchments. The centre of Hmelnitski's forces, shaken more and more,
beaten, pushed into a disorderly mass, slashed with swords, forced back
in the iron onset, was unable to get time to stop and re-form.
"Devils! not Poles!" cried old Zakhar.
Skshetuski was as if bewildered. Being ill, he could not master
himself. He laughed and cried at once, and at times screamed out words
of command, as if he were leading the regiments himself. Zakhar held
him by the skirts, and had to call others to his aid.
The battle came so near the Cossack camp that faces could be almost
distinguished. There were artillery discharges from the intrenchments;
but the Cossack balls, striking their own men as well as the enemy,
increased the disorder. The hussars struck upon the Pashkoff kuren,
which formed the guard of the hetman, in the centre of which was
Hmelnitski himself. Suddenly a fearful cry was heard through all the
Cossack ranks. The great red standard had tottered and fallen.
But at that moment Krechovski, at the head of his five thousand
Cossacks, rushed to the fight. Sitting on an enormous cream-colored
horse, he flew on in the first rank, without a cap, a sabre above his
head, gathering before him the disordered Zaporojians, who, seeing the
approaching succor, though without order, returned to the attack. The
battle raged again in the centre of the line.
On both flanks fortune in like manner failed Hmelnitski. The Tartars,
repulsed twice by the Wallachian regiments and Pototski's Cossacks,
lost all eagerness for the fight. Two horses were killed under Tugai
Bey. Victory inclined continually to the side of young Pototski.
But the battle did not last long. The rain, which for some time had
been increasing every moment, soon became so violent that through the
rush of water nothing could be seen. Not streams, but torrents of rain
fell on the ground from the open flood-gates of heaven. The steppe was
turned into a lake. It grew so dark that one man could not distinguish
another at a few paces' distance. The noise of the storm drowned the
words of command. The wet muskets and guns grew silent. Heaven itself
put an end to the slaughter.
Hmelnitski, drenched to the skin, furious, rushed into his camp. He
spoke not a word to any man. A tent of camelskin was pitched, under
which, hiding himself, he sat alone with his sad thoughts.
Despair seized him. He understood at last what work he had begun. See!
he is beaten, repulsed, almost broken, in a battle with such a small
force that it could be properly considered as a scouting party. He knew
how great was the power of resistance in the armies of the
Commonwealth, and he took that into account when he ventured on a war.
And still he had failed in his reckoning,--so at least it seemed to him
at that moment. Therefore he seized himself by his shaven head, and
wished to break it against the first cannon he saw. What would the
resistance be at his meeting with the hetmans and the whole
Commonwealth?
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Tugai Bey. The eyes of
the Tartar were blazing with rage; his face was pale, and his teeth
glittered from behind his lips, unhidden by mustaches.
"Where is the booty, where the prisoners, where the heads of the
leaders,--where is victory?" asked he, in a hoarse voice.
Hmelnitski sprang from his place. "There!" answered he loudly, pointing
to the Polish camp.
"Go there, then!" roared Tugai Bey; "and if you don't go, I will drag
you by a rope to the Crimea."
"I will go," said Hmelnitski,--"I will go to-day! I will take booty and
prisoners; but you shall give answer to the Khan, for you want booty
and you avoid battle."
"Dog!" howled Tugai Bey, "you are destroying the army of the Khan!"
For a moment they stood snorting in front of each other. Hmelnitski
regained his composure first.
"Tugai Bey," said he, "be not disturbed! Rain interrupted the battle,
just as Krechovski was breaking the dragoons. I know them! They will
fight with less fury to-morrow. The steppe will be mud to the bottom.
The hussars will be beaten. To-morrow everything will be ours."
"That's your word!" blurted out Tugai Bey.
"And I will keep it. Tugai Bey, my friend, the Khan sent you for my
assistance, not for my misfortune."
"You prophesied victory, not defeat."
"A few prisoners of the dragoons are taken; I will give them to you."
"Let me have them. I will order them to be empaled."
"Don't do that. Give them their liberty. They are men from the Ukraine,
from Balaban's regiment. I will send them to bring the dragoons over to
our side. It will be with them as with Krechovski."
Tugai Bey was satisfied; he glanced quickly at Hmelnitski, and
muttered: "Serpent!"
"Craft is the equal of courage. If we persuade the dragoons to our
side, not a man of the Poles will escape,--you understand!"
"I will have Pototski."
"I will give him to you, and Charnetski also."
"Let me have some vudka now, for it is cold."
"Agreed."
At that moment entered Krechovski. The colonel was as gloomy as night.
His future starostaships, dignities, castles, and wealth were covered
as if with a fog. To-morrow they may disappear altogether, and perhaps
out of that fog will rise in their place a rope or a gibbet. Were it
not that the colonel had burned the bridges in his rear by destroying
the Germans, he would surely have begun to think how to betray
Hmelnitski in his turn, and go over with his Cossacks to Pototski's
camp. But that was impossible now.
The three sat down, therefore, to a decanter of vudka, and began to
drink in silence. The noise of the rain ceased gradually. It was
growing dark.
Skshetuski, exhausted from joy, weak and pale, lay motionless in the
telega. Zakhar, who had become attached to him, ordered the Cossacks to
put a little felt roof over him. The lieutenant listened to the dreary
sound of the rain, but in his soul it was clear, bright, and joyful.
Behold, his hussars had shown what they could do; his Commonwealth had
shown a resistance worthy of its majesty; the first impetus of the
Cossack storm had broken on the sharp spears of the royal army. And
besides there are the hetmans, there is also Prince Yeremi, and so many
lords, so many nobles, so much power, and above all these the king,
_primus inter pares_. Pride expanded the breast of Skshetuski, as if at
that moment it contained all that power.
In feeling this, he felt, for the first time since he had lost his
freedom in the Saitch, a certain pity for the Cossacks; they were
guilty, but blinded, since they tried to go to the sun on a spade. They
were guilty, but unfortunate, since they allowed themselves to be
carried away by one man, who is leading them to evident destruction.
Then his thoughts wandered farther. Peace would come, when every one
would have the right to think of his own private happiness. Then in
memory and spirit he hovers above Rozlogi. There, near the lion's den,
it must be as quiet as the falling of poppy-seeds. There the rebellion
will never raise its head; and though it should, Helena is already in
Lubni beyond a doubt.
Suddenly the roar of cannon disturbed the golden thread of his
thoughts. Hmelnitski, after drinking, led his regiments again to the
attack. But it ended with the play of cannon-firing. Krechovski
restrained the hetman.
The next morning was Sunday. The whole day passed quietly and without a
shot. The camps lay opposite each other, like the camps of two allied
armies.
Skshetuski attributed that silence to the discouragement of the
Cossacks. Alas! he did not know that then Hmelnitski, "looking forward
with the many eyes of his mind," was occupied in bringing Balaban's
dragoons to his side.
On Monday the battle began at daybreak. Pan Yan looked on it, as on the
first one, with a smiling, happy face. And again the regiments of the
crown came out before the intrenchment; but this time, not rushing to
the attack, they opposed the enemy where they stood. The steppe had
grown soft, not on the surface only, as during the first day of the
battle, but to its depths. The heavy cavalry could scarcely move; this
gave a great preponderance at once to the flying regiments of the
Cossacks and the Tartars. The smile vanished gradually from the
lieutenant's lips. At the Polish intrenchment the avalanche of attack
covered completely the narrow line of the Polish regiments. It appeared
as if that chain might break at any moment, and the attack begin
directly on the intrenchments. Skshetuski did not observe half of the
spirit or warlike readiness with which the regiments fought on the
first day. They defended themselves with stubbornness, but did not
strike first, did not crush the kurens to the earth, did not sweep the
field like a hurricane. The soft soil had rendered fury impossible, and
in fact fastened the heavy cavalry to its place in front of the
intrenchment. Impetus was the power of the cavalry, and decided
victories; but this time the cavalry was forced to remain on one spot.
Hmelnitski, on the contrary, led new regiments every moment to the
battle. He was present everywhere. He led each kuren personally to the
attack, and withdrew only before the sabres of the enemy. His ardor was
communicated gradually to the Zaporojians, who, though they fell in
large numbers, rushed to the attack with shouts and cries. They struck
the wall of iron breasts and sharp spears, and beaten, decimated,
returned again to the attack. Under this weight the regiments began to
waver, to disappear, and in places to retreat, just as an athlete
caught in the iron arms of an opponent grows weak, then struggles, and
strains every nerve.
Before midday nearly all the forces of the Zaporojians had been under
fire and in battle. The fight raged with such stubbornness that between
the two lines of combatants a new wall, as it were, was formed of the
bodies of horses and men. Every little while, from the battle to the
Cossack intrenchments came crowds of wounded men,--bloody, covered with
mud, panting, falling from weakness,--but they came with songs on their
lips. Fainting, they still cried, "To the death!" The garrison left in
the camp was impatient for the fight.
Pan Yan hung his head. The Polish regiments began to retreat from the
field to the intrenchment. They were unable to hold out, and a feverish
haste was observable in their retreat. At the sight of this twenty
thousand mouths and more gave forth a shout of joy, and redoubled the
attack. The Zaporojians sprang upon the Cossacks of Pototski, who
covered the retreat. But the cannon and a shower of musket-balls drove
them back. The battle ceased for a moment. In the Polish camp a trumpet
for parley was sounded.
Hmelnitski, however, did not wish to parley. Twelve kurens slipped from
their horses to storm the breastworks on foot, with the infantry and
Tartars. Krechovski, with three thousand infantry, was coming to their
aid in the decisive moment. All the drums, trumpets, and kettledrums
sounded at once, drowning the shouts and salvos of musketry.
Skshetuski looked with trembling upon the deep ranks of the peerless
Zaporojian infantry rushing to the breastworks and surrounding them
with an ever-narrowing circle. Long streaks of white smoke were blown
out at it from the breastworks, as if some gigantic bosom were striving
to blow away the locusts closing in upon it inexorably from every side.
Cannon-balls dug furrows in it; the firing of musketry did not weaken
for a moment. Swarms melted before the eye; the circle quivered in
places like a wounded snake, but went on. Already they are coming! They
are under the breastworks! The cannon can hurt them no longer!
Skshetuski closed his eyes.
And now questions flew through his head as swift as lightning: When he
opens his eyes will he see the Polish banners on the breastwork? Will
he see--or will he not see? There is some unusual tumult increasing
every moment. Something must have happened? The shouts come from the
centre of the camp. What is it? What has happened?
"All-powerful God!"
That cry was forced from the mouth of Pan Yan when opening his eyes he
saw on the battlements the crimson standard with the archangel, instead
of the golden banner of the crown. The camp was captured.
In the evening he learned from Zakhar of the whole course of the storm.
Not in vain had Tugai Bey called Hmelnitski a serpent; for in the
moment of most desperate defence the dragoons of Balaban, talked over
by the hetman, joined the Cossacks, and hurling themselves on the rear
of their own regiments, aided in cutting them to pieces.
In the evening the lieutenant saw the prisoners, and was present at the
death of young Pototski, who, having his throat pierced by an arrow,
lived only a few hours after the battle, and died in the arms of
Stephen Charnetski: "Tell my father," whispered the young castellan in
his last moments,--"tell my father--that--like a knight--" He could add
no more. His soul left the body and flew to heaven.
Pan Yan long after remembered that pale face and those blue eyes gazing
upward in the moment of death. Charnetski made a vow over the cold body
to expiate the death of his friend and the disgrace of defeat in
torrents of blood, should God give him freedom. And not a tear flowed
over his stern face, for he was a knight of iron, greatly famed already
for deeds of daring, and known as a man whom no misfortune could bend.
He kept the vow. Instead of yielding to despair, he strengthened Pan
Yan, who was suffering greatly from the disgrace and defeat of the
Commonwealth.
"The Commonwealth has passed through more than one defeat," said
Charnetski, "but she contains within her inexhaustible force. No power
has broken her as yet, and she will not be broken by a sedition of
serfs, whom God himself will punish, since by rising up against
authority, they are putting themselves against his will. As to defeat,
true, it is sad; but who have endured defeat?--the hetmans, the forces
of the crown? No! After the defection and treason of Krechovski, the
division which Pototski led could be considered only an advance guard.
The uprising will spread undoubtedly through the whole Ukraine, for the
serfs there are insolent and trained to fighting; but an uprising in
that part is no novelty. The hetmans will quell it, with Prince Yeremi,
whose power stands unshaken as yet; the more violent the outburst, when
once put down, the longer will be the peace, which may last perhaps
forever. He would be a man of little faith and a small heart, who could
admit that some Cossack leader, in company with one Tartar murza, could
really threaten a mighty people. Evil would it be with the
Commonwealth, if a simple outbreak of serfs could be made a question of
its fate or its existence. In truth we did set out contemptuously on
this expedition," said Charnetski; "and though our division is rubbed
out, I believe that the hetmans are able to put down this rebellion,
not with the sword, not with armor, but with clubs."
And while he was speaking in this manner, it seemed that not a captive,
not a soldier after a lost battle was speaking, but a proud hetman,
certain of victory on the morrow. This greatness of soul and faith in
the Commonwealth flowed like balsam over the wounds of the lieutenant.
He had had a near view of the power of Hmelnitski, therefore it blinded
him somewhat, especially since success had followed it to that moment.
But Charnetski must be right. The forces of the hetmans were still
intact, and behind them stood the power of the Commonwealth, the rights
of authority, and the will of God. The lieutenant therefore went away
strengthened in soul and more cheerful. When going he asked Charnetski
if he did not wish to begin negotiations for his freedom with
Hmelnitski at once.
"I am the captive of Tugai Bey," said Charnetski; "to him I will pay my
ransom. But with that fellow Hmelnitski I will have nothing to do; I
give him to the hangman."
Zakhar, who had made it easy for Skshetuski to see the prisoners,
comforted him while returning to the telega.
"Not with young Pototski, but with the hetmans is the difficulty. The
struggle is only begun, but what will be the end, God knows! The
Cossacks and Tartars have taken Polish treasure, it is true, but it is
one thing to take and another to keep. And you, my child, do not
grieve, do not despair, for you will get your freedom in time. You will
go to your own people, and I, old man, shall be sorry for you. It is
sad for an old man alone in the world. With the hetmans it will be
hard, oh, how hard!"
In truth the victory, though brilliant, did not in the least decide the
struggle for Hmelnitski. It might even be unfavorable for him, because
it was easy to foresee that now the Grand Hetman, to avenge his son,
would press upon the Cossacks with special stubbornness, and would
leave nothing undone to break them at once. The Grand Hetman, however,
cherished a certain dislike for Prince Yeremi, which, though veiled
with politeness, was still evident enough in various circumstances.
Hmelnetski, knowing this perfectly, admitted that now this dislike
would cease, and Pototski would first reach out his hand in
reconciliation, which would secure for him the assistance of a famous
warrior and his powerful troops. With such forces united under a leader
like the prince, Hmelnitski did not dare yet to measure strength, for
he had not yet sufficient confidence in himself. He determined
therefore to hasten, and together with the news of the defeat of
Jóltiya Vodi, appear in the Ukraine, and strike the hetmans before the
succor of the prince could arrive.
He gave no rest to his troops, therefore, but at daybreak after the
battle hurried on. The march was as rapid as if the hetman were
fleeing. It was as if an inundation were covering the steppe and
rushing forward, collecting all the waters on the way. Forests,
oak-groves, grave-mounds were avoided; rivers were crossed without
halting. The Cossack forces increased on the road, for new crowds of
peasants fleeing from the Ukraine were added to them continually.
They brought news of the hetmans, but contradictory. Some said that
Prince Yeremi was yet beyond the Dnieper; others that he had joined the
forces of the crown. But all declared that the Ukraine was already on
fire. The peasants were not only fleeing to meet Hmelnitski in the
Wilderness, but burning villages and towns, throwing themselves on
their masters, and arming everywhere. The forces of the crown had been
fightings for the past two weeks. Stebloff was destroyed; at
Derenhovtsi a bloody battle had been fought. The town Cossacks in
various places went over to the side of the people, and at all points
were merely waiting for the word. Hmelnitski had reckoned on all this,
and hastened the more.
At last he stood on the threshold. Chigirin opened wide her gates. The
Cossack garrison went over at once to his regiments. The house of
Chaplinski was wrecked; a handful of nobles, seeking refuge in the
town, were cut to pieces. Joyful shouts, ringing of bells, and
processions ceased not for a moment. The whole region flamed up at
once. All living men, seizing scythes and pikes, joined the
Zaporojians; endless crowds hastened to the camp from every side. There
came also joyful, because certain, tidings that Yeremi had indeed
offered his assistance to the hetmans, but had not yet joined them.
Hmelnitski felt relieved. He moved on without delay, and advanced
through insurrection, slaughter, and fire. Ruin and corpses bore
witness to this. He advanced like an avalanche, destroying everything
in his path. The country rose before him, and was a desert behind. He
went like an avenger, like a legendary dragon; his footsteps pressed
out blood, his breath kindled conflagrations.
In Cherkasi he halted with his main forces, sending in advance the
Tartars under Tugai Bey and the wild Krívonos, who came up with the
Polish hetmans at Korsún and attacked them without delay. The Tartars
were forced to pay dearly for their boldness. Repulsed, decimated,
scattered, they retreated in confusion.
Hmelnitski hurried to their aid. On the way news reached him that
Senyavski with some regiments had joined the hetmans, who had left
Korsún, and were marching on Boguslav. This was true. Hmelnitski
occupied Korsún without resistance, and leaving there his trains and
provisions, in a word, his whole camp, hurried after them. He had no
need to follow long, for they had not gone far. At Krutaya Balka his
advance guard came upon the Polish camp.
It was not given to Skshetuski to see the battle, for he remained in
Korsún with the camp. Zakhar lodged him on the square, in the house of
Zabokshytski, whom the crowd had already hanged, and placed a guard
from the remnants of the Mirgorod kuren; for the crowd robbed
continually, and killed every man who seemed to them a Pole. Through
the broken windows Skshetuski saw the multitude of drunken peasants,
bloody, with rolled-up shirt-sleeves, going from house to house, from
cellar to cellar, and searching all corners, garrets, lofts; from time
to time a terrible noise announced that a nobleman, a Jew, a man, a
woman, or a child had been found. The victim was dragged to the square
and gloated over in the most fearful manner. The crowd fought with
one another for the remnants of the bodies; with delight they rubbed
the blood on their faces and breasts, and wound the still steaming
entrails around their necks. They seized little Jews by the legs and
tore them apart amid the wild laughter of the mob. They rushed upon
houses surrounded by guards in which distinguished captives were
confined,--left living because large ransoms were expected from them.
Then the Zaporojians or the Tartars standing guard repulsed the crowd,
thumping the assailants on the heads with their pikestaffs, bows, or
ox-hide whips. Such was the case before the house where Skshetuski was.
Zakhar gave orders to handle the crowd without mercy, and the Mirgorod
men executed the order with pleasure; for the men of the lower country
received the assistance of the mob willingly in time of insurrection,
but had more contempt for them than they had for the nobility. It was
not in vain therefore that they called themselves "nobly born
Cossacks." Later Hmelnitski himself presented more than once
considerable numbers of the mob to the Tartar, who drove them to the
Crimea, where they were sold into Turkey and Asia Minor.
The crowd rioted on the square, and reached such wild disorder that at
last they began to kill one another. The day was drawing to an end. One
side of the square and the priest's house were on fire. Fortunately the
wind blew the fire toward the field, and prevented the extension of the
conflagration. But the gigantic flame lighted up the square as brightly
as the sun's rays. The excitement became too great for restraint. From
a distance came the terrible roar of cannon; it was evident that the
battle at Krutaya Balka was growing fiercer and fiercer.
"It must be pretty hot for ours there," muttered old Zakhar. "The
hetmans are not trifling. Ah! Pan Pototski is a real soldier." Then he
pointed through the window at the crowd. "Oh!" said he, "they are
revelling now; but if Hmelnitski is beaten, then there will be
revelling over them."
At that moment the tramp of cavalry was heard, and a number of riders
rushed to the square on foaming horses. Their faces black from powder,
their clothes torn, and the heads of some of them bound in rags showed
that they had hurried straightway from battle.
"People who believe in God, save yourselves! The Poles are beating
ours!" they cried in loud voices.
Tumult and disorder followed. The multitude moved like a wave tossed by
the wind. Suddenly wild dismay possessed all. They rushed to escape;
but the streets were blocked with wagons, one part of the square was on
fire, there was no place for flight. The crowd began to press and cry,
to beat, choke one another, and howl for mercy, though the enemy was
far away.
The lieutenant, when he heard what was taking place, grew almost wild
from joy. He began to run through the room like a madman, to beat his
breast with his hands with all his power, and to cry,--
"I knew that it would be so! As I am alive, I knew it! This is the
meeting with the hetmans, with the whole Commonwealth! The hour of
punishment has come! What is this?"
Again resounded the tramp; and this time several hundred Tartar
horsemen appeared on the square. They rushed on at random. The crowd
stopped the way before them. They rushed at the crowd, struck, beat,
and dispersed it; they lashed their horses, urging them on to the road
leading to Cherkasi.
"They run like a whirlwind," said Zakhar.
Scarcely had Skshetuski moved when a second division flew by, and after
that a third. The flight seemed to be general. The guards before the
houses began to grow uneasy, and also to show a wish to escape. Zakhar
hurried through the porch.
"Halt!" cried he to the Mirgorod men.
Smoke, heat, disorder, the tramping of horses, sounds of alarm, the
howling of the crowd in the light of the conflagration, were blended in
one fearful picture on which the lieutenant gazed through the window.
"What a defeat there must be! what a defeat!" cried he to Zakhar, not
considering that the latter could not share his delight.
Now a new division of fugitives rushed by like lightning. The thunder
of cannon shook the houses of Korsún to their foundations. Suddenly a
shrieking voice began to cry right there at the house,--
"Save yourselves! Hmelnitski is killed! Hmelnitski is killed! Tugai Bey
is killed!"
On the square there was a real end of the world. People in terror
rushed into the flames. The lieutenant fell upon his knees, raised his
hands to heaven,--
"Oh, almighty, great, and just God, praise to thee in the highest!"
Zakhar interrupted his prayer, running into the room from the
antechamber.
"Come now," said he, panting, "come and promise pardon to the Mirgorod
men, for they wish to go away; and if they go, the crowd will fall upon
us."
Skshetuski went out to the porch. The Mirgorod men were moving
around unquietly before the house, exhibiting a firm determination to
leave the place and flee by the road leading to Cherkasi. Fear had
taken possession of every one in the town. Each moment new crowds
came, fleeing, as if on wings, from the direction of Krutáya
Balka,--peasants, Tartars, town Cossacks, Zaporojians, in the greatest
disorder. And still Hmelnitski's principal forces must be fighting yet.
The battle could not be entirely decided, for the cannon were
thundering with redoubled force. Skshetuski turned to the Mirgorod men.
"Because you have guarded my person well," said he, loftily, "you need
no flight to save yourselves, for I promise you intercession and favor
with the hetman."
The Mirgorod men uncovered their heads. Pan Yan put his hands on his
hips, and looked proudly on the square, which grew emptier each moment.
What a change of fate! Here is the lieutenant, a short time since a
captive, dragged after the Cossack camp; now he has become among
insolent Cossacks as a lord among subjects, as a noble among peasants,
as an armored hussar among camp-followers. He, a captive, has now
promised favor, and heads are uncovered in his presence, while
submissive voices cry with that prolonged tone indicating fear and
obedience,--
"Show favor to us, lord!"
"It will be as I have said," returned the lieutenant.
He was indeed sure of the efficacy of his intercession with the hetman,
with whom he was acquainted, for he had often borne letters to him from
Prince Yeremi, and knew how to secure his favor. He stood, therefore,
with his hands on his hips; and joy was on his face, lighted up with
the blaze of the conflagration.
"Behold! the war is at an end, the wave is broken at the threshold!"
thought he. "Pan Charnetski was right: the forces of the Commonwealth
are unexhausted, its power unbroken."
When he thought of this, pride swelled his breast,--not ignoble pride,
coming from a hoped-for satisfaction of vengeance, from the conquest of
an enemy; not the gaining of freedom, which now he expected every
moment; nor because caps were removed before him; but he felt proud
because he was a son of that victorious and mighty Commonwealth,
against whose gates every malice, every attack, every blow, is broken
and crushed like the powers of hell against the gates of heaven. He
felt proud, as a patriotic nobleman, that he had received strength in
his despondency, and was not deceived in his faith. He desired no
revenge.
"She has conquered like a queen, she will forgive like a mother,"
thought he.
Meanwhile the roar of cannon was changed to prolonged thunder. Horses'
hoofs clattered again over the empty streets. A Cossack, bareheaded and
in his shirt-sleeves, dashed into the square on a barebacked horse,
with the speed of a thunderbolt; his face, cut open with a sword, was
streaming with blood. He reined in the horse, stretched forth his
hands, and when he had taken breath, with open mouth began to cry,--
"Hmelnitski is beating the Poles! The serene great mighty lords, the
hetmans and colonels, are conquered,--the knights and the cavalry!"
When he had said this, he reeled and fell to the ground. The men of
Mirgorod sprang to assist him.
Flame and pallor passed over the face of Skshetuski.
"What does he say?" asked he feverishly of Zakhar. "What has happened?
It cannot be. By the living God, it cannot be!"
Silence! Only the hissing of flames on the opposite side of the square,
shaking out clusters of sparks, and from time to time a burnt house
falls with a crash.
Now more couriers rush in. "Beaten are the Poles,--beaten!"
After them follow a detachment of Tartars. They march slowly, for they
surround men on foot, evidently prisoners.
Skshetuski believes not his own eyes. He recognizes perfectly on the
prisoners the uniform of the hetmans' hussars; then he drops his hands,
and with a wild, strange voice repeats persistently, "It cannot be! it
cannot be!"
The roar of cannon was still to be heard. The battle was not finished,
but through all the unburnt streets Zaporojians and Tartars were
crowding in, their faces black, their breasts heaving, but they were
coming as if intoxicated, singing songs. Thus return soldiers from
victory.
The lieutenant grew pale as a corpse. "It cannot be!" repeated he in a
hoarser voice,--"it cannot be! The Commonwealth--"
A new object arrested his attention. Krechovski's Cossacks enter the
town, bringing bundles of flags. They come to the centre of the square,
and throw them down. Polish flags!
The roar of the artillery weakens, and in the distance is heard the
rumble of approaching wagons. One of them is in advance,--a lofty
Cossack telega, and after it a line of others, all surrounded by
Cossacks of the Pashkoff kuren, in yellow caps; they pass near the
house where the Mirgorod men are standing.
Skshetuski put his hand over his eyes, for the glare of the burning
blinded him, and looked at the prisoners sitting in the first wagon.
Suddenly he sprang back, began to beat the air with his hands, like a
man struck with an arrow in the breast, and from his lips came a
terrible unearthly cry: "Jesus, Mary! the hetmans!"
He dropped into the arms of Zakhar; his eyes became leaden, his face
grew stiff and rigid as that of a corpse.
A few minutes later three horsemen rode into the square of Korsún, at
the head of countless regiments. The middle rider, in red uniform, sat
on a white horse, holding a gilded baton at his side. He looked as
proud as a king. This was Hmelnitski. On one side of him rode Tugai
Bey, on the other Krechovski.
The Commonwealth lay prostrate in dust and blood at the feet of a
Cossack.