Helena was wakened by the barking of dogs. Opening her eyes, she
saw in the distance before her a great shady oak, an enclosure, and a
well-sweep. She roused her companion at once: "Oh, wake up!"
Zagloba opened his eyes. "What is this? Where are we?"
"I don't know."
"Wait a moment! This is a Cossack wintering-place."
"So it appears to me."
"Herdsmen live here, no doubt. Not too pleasant company! And these dogs
howl as if wolves had bitten them. There are horses and men at the
enclosure. No help for it; we must ride up to them, lest they pursue us
if we pass. You must have been asleep."
"I was."
"One, two, three, four horses saddled,--four men there at the
enclosure. Well, that is no great force. True, they are herdsmen. They
are doing something in a hurry. Hallo there, men, come this way!"
The four Cossacks approached immediately. They were, in fact, herders
who watched horses in the steppe during the summer. Zagloba noticed at
once that only one of them had a sabre and a gun. The other three were
armed with horse-jaws fastened to staves, but he knew that such
herdsmen were often dangerous to travellers.
When all four approached they gazed from under their brows at the
new-comers; in their bronzed faces could not be found the least trace
of welcome. "What do you want?" asked they, without removing their
caps.
"Glory to God!" said Zagloba.
"For the ages of ages! What do you want?"
"Is it far to Syrovati?"
"We don't know of any Syrovati."
"And what is this place called?"
"Gusla."
"Give our horses water."
"We have no water; it is dried up. But where do you ride from?"
"From Krivaya Rudá."
"Where are you going?"
"To Chigirin."
The herdsmen looked at one another. One of them, black as a bug and
crooked-eyed, began to gaze intently at Zagloba. At last he asked: "Why
did you leave the highway?"
"It was hot there."
The crooked-eyed man put his hand on the reins of Zagloba's horse:
"Come down from the horse, come down! You have nothing to go to
Chigirin for."
"How so?" asked Zagloba, quietly.
"Do you see that young fellow there?" asked crooked-eye, pointing to
one of the herdsmen.
"I do."
"He has come from Chigirin. They are slaughtering Poles there."
"And do you know, fellow, who is following us to Chigirin?"
"Who?"
"Prince Yeremi."
The insolent face of the herdsman dropped in a moment. All, as if by
command, removed their caps.
"Do you know, you trash!" continued Zagloba, "what the Poles do to
those who slaughter? They hang them. And do you know how many men
Prince Yeremi has, and do you know that he is no farther than two or
three miles from here? And how have you received us, you dog souls!
What stuff you tell!--the well is dried up, you have no water for
horses! Ah, basilisks! I'll show you!"
"Oh, don't be angry, Pan! The well is dried up. We go to the Kagamlik
with our horses, and bring water for ourselves. But say the word and we
will run for water."
"Oh, I can get on without you! I will go with my attendant. Where is
the Kagamlik?" inquired he, sternly.
"About a mile and a quarter from here," said the crooked-eyed man,
pointing to a line of reeds.
"And must I return this way, or can I go along the bank?"
"Go by the bank. The river turns to the road about a mile from here."
"Dash ahead, young man!" said Zagloba, turning to Helena.
The pretended youth turned his horse and galloped on.
"Listen!" said Zagloba, turning to the herdsman. "If the vanguard comes
up, say that I went to the road along the river."
"I will."
A quarter of an hour later Zagloba was riding again by the side of
Helena.
"I invented the prince for them in season," said he, blinking with his
cataract-covered eye. "Now they will stay all day waiting for the
vanguard. They shuddered at the mere name of the prince."
"I see you have such ready wit that you will save us from every
trouble," said Helena, "and I thank God for sending me such a
guardian."
These words went to the heart of the noble. He smiled, stroked his
beard, and said,--
"Well, hasn't Zagloba a head on his shoulders? Cunning as Ulysses! and
I must tell you, had it not been for that cunning, the crows would have
eaten me long ago. Can't help it, I must save myself. They believed
easily that the prince was coming, for it is probable that he will
appear to-morrow or next day in this neighborhood with a fiery sword
like an archangel. And if he should only strike Bogun somewhere on the
road, I would make a vow to walk barefoot to Chenstokhova. Even if
those herdsmen did not believe, the very mention of the power of the
prince was enough to restrain them from attacks on our lives. Still I
tell you that their impudence is no good sign to us, for it means that
the peasants here have heard of the victories of Hmelnitski, and will
become more and more insolent every moment. We must keep therefore to
the waste places and visit few villages, for they are dangerous. We
have got into such a snare that, as I live, it would be hard to invent
a worse one."
Alarm again seized Helena. Wishing to get some word of hope from
Zagloba, she said: "But you will save me and yourself this time?"
"Of course," said the old fox; "the head is given to think about the
body. I have become so attached to you that I will struggle for you as
for my own daughter. But, to tell the truth, the worst is that we don't
know where to take refuge, for Zólotonosha is no safe asylum."
"I know surely that my cousins are there."
"They are, or they are not; they may have left there and returned to
Rozlogi by a different road from the one we are travelling. I count
more on the garrison, if there is only half a regiment in the castle.
But here is the Kagamlik and plenty of reeds. We will cross to the
other side, and instead of going with the current toward the road, we
will go up stream to elude pursuit. It is true that we shall go toward
Rozlogi, but not far."
"We shall approach Brovarki," said Helena, "from which there is a road
to Zólotonosha."
"That is better. Stop your horse!"
They watered the horses. Zagloba, leaving Helena carefully hidden in
the reeds, went to look for a ford. He found one easily, for it was
only a few yards from the place to which they had come,--just where the
herdsmen used to drive their horses through the river, which was
shallow enough, but the bank was inconvenient because overgrown with
reeds and soft. When they had crossed the river they hurried up stream
and rode without resting till night. The road was bad; for the Kagamlik
had many tributary streams, which spreading out toward the mouth formed
swamps and soft places. Every little while it was necessary to look for
fords, or to push through reeds difficult of passage for mounted
travellers. The horses were tired and barely able to drag their legs
along; at times they stumbled so badly that it seemed to Zagloba they
could hold out no longer. At last they came out on a lofty dry bank
covered with oaks. But it was night already, and very dark. Further
movement was impossible, for in the darkness it was easy to stumble
into deep swamps and perish. Zagloba therefore decided to wait till
morning.
He unsaddled the horses, fettered and let them out to graze; then he
gathered leaves for a bed, spread the saddle-cloths over them, and
covering both with a burka, said to Helena,--
"Lie down and sleep, for you have nothing better to do. The dew will
wash your eyes, and that is good. I will put my head on the saddle too,
for I don't feel a bone in my body. We will not make a fire, for the
light would attract herdsmen. The night is short, and we will move on
at daybreak. We doubled on our tracks like hares, not advancing much,
it is true; but we have so hidden the trail that the devil who finds us
will puff. Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
The slender young Cossack knelt down and prayed long with eyes raised
to the stars. Zagloba took the saddle on his shoulders and carried it
to some distance, where he sought out a place to sleep. The bank was
well chosen for a halting-place; it was high and dry, also free from
mosquitoes. The thick leaves of the oak-trees might furnish a passable
protection from rain.
Helena could not sleep for a long time. The events of the past night
rose at once in her memory as vividly as life. In the darkness appeared
the faces of her murdered aunt and cousins. It seemed to her that she
was shut up in the chamber with their bodies, and that Bogun would come
in a moment. She saw his pale face and his dark sable brows contracted,
with pain, and his eyes fixed upon her. Unspeakable terror seized her.
But will she really see on a sudden through the darkness around her two
gleaming eyes?
The moon, looking for a moment from behind the clouds, whitened with a
few rays the oaks, and lent fantastic forms to the stumps and branches.
Landrails called in the meadows, and quails in the steppes; at times
certain strange and distant cries of birds or beasts of the night came
to them. Nearer was heard the snorting of their horses, who eating the
grass and jumping in their fetters went farther and farther from the
sleepers. But all those sounds quieted Helena, for they dissipated the
fantastic visions and brought her to reality; told her that that
chamber which was continually present before her eyes, and those
corpses of her friends, and that pale Bogun, with vengeance in his
looks, were an illusion of the senses, a whim of fear, nothing more. A
few days before, the thought of such a night under the open sky in the
desert would have frightened her to death; now, to gain rest she was
obliged to remember that she was really on the bank of the Kagamlik,
and far from home.
The voices of the quails and landrails lulled her to sleep. The stars
twinkled whenever the breeze moved the branches, the beetles sounded in
the oak-leaves; she fell asleep at last. But nights in the desert have
their surprises too. Day was already breaking, when from a distance
terrible noises came to Helena's ears,--howling, snorting, later a
squeal so full of pain and terror that the blood stopped in her veins.
She sprang to her feet, covered with cold sweat, terror-stricken, and
not knowing what to do. Suddenly Zagloba shot past her. He rushed
without a cap, in the direction of the cry, pistol in hand. After a
while his voice was heard: "U-ha! u-ha!" a pistol-shot, then all was
silent. It seemed to Helena as if she had waited an age. At last she
heard Zagloba below the bank.
"May the dogs devour you, may your skins be torn off, may the Jews wear
you in their collars!"
Genuine despair was in the voice of Zagloba.
"What has happened?" inquired Helena.
"The wolves have eaten our horses."
"Jesus, Mary! both of them?"
"One is eaten, the other is maimed so that he cannot stand. They didn't
go more than three hundred yards, and are lost."
"What shall we do now?"
"What shall we do? Whittle out sticks for ourselves and sit on them. Do
I know what we shall do? Here is pure despair. I tell you, the devil
has surely got after us,--which is not to be wondered at, for he must
be a friend of Bogun, or his blood relation. What are we to do? May I
turn into a horse if I know,--you would then at least have something to
ride on. I am a scoundrel if ever I have been in such a fix."
"Let us go on foot."
"It is well for your ladyship to travel in peasant fashion, with your
twenty years, but not for me with my circumference. I speak
incorrectly, though, for here any clown can have a nag, only dogs
travel on foot. Pure despair, as God is kind to me! Of course we shall
not sit here, we shall walk on directly; but when we are to reach
Zólotonosha is unknown to me. If it is not pleasant to flee on
horseback, it is sorest of all on foot. Now the worst thing possible
has happened to us. We must leave the saddles and carry on our own
shoulders whatever we put between our lips."
"I will not allow you to carry the burden alone; I too will carry
whatever is necessary."
Zagloba was pleased to see such resolution in Helena.
"I should be either a Turk or a Pagan to permit you. Those white hands
and slender shoulders are not for burdens. With God's help I will
manage; only I must rest frequently, for, always too abstemious in
eating and drinking, I have short breath now. Let us take the
saddle-cloths to sleep on and some provisions; but there will not be
much of them, since we shall have to strengthen ourselves directly."
Straightway they began the strengthening, during which Pan Zagloba,
abandoning his boasted abstemiousness, busied himself about long
breath. Near midday they reached a ford through which men and wagons
passed from time to time, for on both banks there were marks of wheels
and horses' tracks.
"Maybe that is the road to Zólotonosha."
"There is no one to ask."
Zagloba had barely stopped speaking, when voices reached their ears
from a distance.
"Wait!" whispered Zagloba, "we must hide."
The voices continued to approach them.
"Do you see anything?" inquired Helena.
"I do."
"Who are coming?"
"A blind old man with a lyre. A youth is leading him, Now they are
taking off their boots. They will come to us through the river."
After a time the plashing of water indicated that they were really
crossing. Zagloba and Helena came out of the hiding-place.
"Glory be to God!" said the noble, aloud.
"For the ages of ages!" answered the old man. "But who are you?"
"Christians. Don't be afraid, grandfather!"
"May Saint Nicholas give you health and happiness!"
"And where are you coming from, grandfather?"
"From Brovarki."
"And where does this road lead to?"
"Oh, to farmhouses and villages."
"It doesn't go to Zólotonosha?"
"Maybe it does."
"Is it long since you left Brovarki?"
"Yesterday morning."
"And were you in Rozlogi?"
"Yes. But they say that the knights came there, that there was a
battle."
"Who said that?"
"Oh, they said so in Brovarki. One of the servants of the princess
came, and what he told was terrible!"
"And you didn't see him?"
"I? I see no man, I am blind."
"And this youth?"
"He sees, but he is dumb. I am the only one who understands him."
"Is it far from here to Rozlogi, for we are going there?"
"Oh, it is far!"
"You say, then, that you were in Rozlogi?"
"Yes, we were."
"So!" said Zagloba; and suddenly he seized the youth by the shoulder.
"Ha! scoundrels, criminals, thieves! you are going around as spies,
rousing the serfs to rebellion. Here, Fedor, Oleksa, Maksim, take them,
strip them naked, and hang or drown them; beat them,--they are rebels,
spies,--beat, kill them!"
He began to pull the youth about and to shake him roughly, shouting
louder and louder every moment. The old man threw himself on his knees,
begging for mercy; the youth uttered sounds of terror peculiar to the
dumb, and Helena looked with astonishment at the attack.
"What are you doing?" inquired she, not believing her own eyes.
But Zagloba shouted, cursed, moved hell, summoned all the miseries,
misfortunes, and diseases, threatened with every manner of torment and
death.
The princess thought that his mind had failed.
"Go away!" cried he to her; "it is not proper for you to see what is
going to take place here. Go away, I tell you!"
He turned to the old man. "Take off your clothes, you clown! If you
don't, I'll cut you to pieces."
When he had thrown the youth to the ground Zagloba began to strip him
with his own hands. The old man, frightened, dropped his lyre, his bag,
and his coat as quickly as he could.
"Throw off everything or you will be killed!" shouted Zagloba.
The old man began to take off his shirt.
Helena, seeing whither matters were tending, hurried away, and as she
fled she heard the curses of Zagloba.
After she had gone some distance she stopped, not knowing what to do.
Near by was the trunk of a tree thrown down by the wind; she sat on
this and waited. The noises of the dumb youth, the groans of the old
man, and the uproar of Zagloba came to her ears.
At last all was silent save the twittering of birds and the rustle of
leaves. After a time the heavy steps of a man panting were heard. It
was Zagloba. On his shoulders he carried the clothing stripped from the
old man and the youth, in his hands two pair of boots and a lyre. When
he came near he began to wink with his sound eye, to smile, and to
puff. He was evidently in perfect humor.
"No herald in a court would have shouted as I have," said he, "until I
am hoarse; but I have got what I wanted. I let them go naked as their
mother bore them. If the Sultan doesn't make me a pasha, or hospodar of
Wallachia, he is a thankless fellow, for I have made two Turkish
saints. Oh, the scoundrels! they begged me to leave them at least their
shirts. I told them they ought to be grateful that I left them their
lives. And see here, young lady! Everything is new,--the coats and the
boots and the shirts. There must be nice order in that Commonwealth, in
which trash dress so richly. But they were at a festival in Brovarki,
where they collected no small amount of money and bought everything new
at the fair. Not a single noble will plough out so much in this country
as a minstrel will beg. Therefore I abandon my career as a knight, and
will strip grandfathers on the highway, for I see that in this manner I
shall arrive at fortune more quickly."
"For what purpose did you do that?" asked Helena.
"Just wait a minute, and I will show you for what purpose."
Saying this, he took half the plundered clothing and went into the
reeds which covered the bank. After a time the sounds of a lyre were
heard in the rushes, and there appeared, not Pan Zagloba, but a real
"grandfather" of the Ukraine, with a cataract on one eye and a gray
beard. The "grandfather" approached Helena, singing with a hoarse
voice,--
"Oh, bright falcon, my own brother,
High dost thou soar,
And far dost thou fly!"
The princess clapped her hands, and for the first time since her flight
from Rozlogi a smile brightened her beautiful face.
"If I did not know that it was you, I should never have recognized
you."
"Well," said Zagloba, "I know you have not seen a better mask at a
festival. I looked into the Kagamlik myself; and if ever I have seen a
better-looking grandfather, then hang me. As for songs, I have no lack
of them. What do you prefer? Maybe you would like to hear of Marusia
Boguslava, of Bondarivna, or the death of Sierpahova; I can give you
that. I am a rogue if I can't get a crust of bread among the worst
knaves that exist."
"Now I understand your action, why you stripped the clothing from those
poor creatures,--because it is safer to go over the road in disguise."
"Of course," said Zagloba; "and what do you suppose? Here, east of the
Dnieper, the people are worse than anywhere else; and now when they
hear of the war with the Zaporojians, and the victories, of Hmelnitski,
no power will keep them from rebellion. You saw those herdsmen who
wanted to get our skins. If the hetmans do not put down Hmelnitski at
once, the whole country will be on fire in two or three days, and how
should I take you through bands of peasants in rebellion? And if you
had to fall into their hands, you would better have remained in
Bogun's."
"That cannot be! I prefer death," interrupted Helena.
"But I prefer life; for death is a thing from which you cannot rise by
any wit. I think, however, that God sent us this old man and the youth.
I frightened them with the prince and his whole army as I did the
herdsmen. They will sit in the reeds naked for three days from terror,
and by that time we shall reach Zólotonosha in disguise somehow. We
shall find your cousins and efficient aid; if not, we will go farther
to the hetmans,--and all this in safety, for grandfathers have no fear
of peasants and Cossacks. We might take our heads in safety through
Hmelnitski's camp. But we have to avoid the Tartars, for they would
take you as a youth into captivity."
"Then must I too disguise myself?"
"Yes; throw off your Cossack clothes, and disguise yourself as a
peasant youth,--though you are rather comely to be a clodhopper's
child, as I am to be a grandfather; but that is nothing. The wind will
tan your face, and my stomach will fall in from walking. I shall sweat
away all my thickness. When the Wallachians burned out my eye, I
thought that an absolutely awful thing had come upon me; but now I see
it is really an advantage, for a grandfather not blind would be
suspected. You will lead me by the hand, and call me Onufri, for that
is my minstrel name. Now dress up as quickly as you can, since it is
time for the road, which will be so long for us on foot."
Zagloba went aside, and Helena began at once to array herself as a
minstrel boy. Having washed in the river, she cast aside the Cossack
coat, and took the peasant's svitka, straw hat, and knapsack.
Fortunately the youth stripped by Zagloba was tall, so that everything
fitted Helena well.
Zagloba, returning, examined her carefully, and said,--
"God save me! more than one knight would willingly lay aside his armor
if he only had such an attendant as you; and I know one hussar who
would certainly. But we must do something with that hair. I saw
handsome boys in Stamboul, but never one so handsome as you are."
"God grant my beauty may work no ill for me!" said Helena. But she
smiled; for her woman's ear was tickled by Zagloba's praise.
"Beauty never turns out ill, and I will give you an example of this;
for when the Turks in Galáts burned out one of my eyes, and wanted to
burn out the other, the wife of the Pasha saved me on account of my
extraordinary beauty, the remnants of which you may see even yet."
"But you said that the Wallachians burned your eye out."
"They were Wallachians, but had become Turks, and were serving the
Pasha in Galáts."
"They didn't burn even one of your eyes out."
"But from the heated iron a cataract grew on it. It's all the same.
What do you wish to do with your tresses?"
"What! I must cut them off?"
"You must. But how?"
"With your sabre."
"It is well to cut a head off with this sword, but hair--I don't know
how."
"Well, I will sit by that log and put my hair across it, you can strike
and cut it off; but don't cut my head off!"
"Oh, never fear! More than once have I shot the wick from candles when
I was drunk, without cutting the candle. I will do no harm to you,
although this act is the first of its kind in my life."
Helena sat near the log, and throwing her heavy dark hair across it,
raised her eyes to Zagloba. "I am ready," said she; "cut!"
She smiled somewhat sadly; for she was sorry for those tresses, which
near the head could hardly be clasped by two hands. Zagloba had a sort
of awkward feeling. He went around the trunk to cut more conveniently,
and muttered:
"Pshaw, pshaw! I would rather be a barber and cut Cossack tufts. I seem
to be an executioner going to my work; for it is known to you that they
cut the hair off witches, so that the devils shouldn't hide in it and
weaken the power of torture. But you are not a witch; therefore this
act seems disgraceful to me,--for which if Pan Skshetuski does not cut
my ears, then I'll pay him. Upon my word, shivers are going along my
arm. At least, close your eyes!"
"All ready!" said Helena.
Zagloba straightened up, as if rising in his stirrups for a blow. The
metallic blade whistled in the air, and that moment the dark tresses
slipped down along the smooth bark to the ground.
"All over!" said Zagloba, in his turn.
Helena sprang up, and immediately the short-cut hair fell in a dark
circle around her face, on which blushes of shame were beating,--for at
that period the cutting of a maiden's hair was considered a great
disgrace; therefore it was on her part a grievous sacrifice, which she
could make only in case of extreme necessity. In fact, tears came to
her eyes; and Zagloba, angry at himself, made no attempt to comfort
her.
"It seems to me that I have ventured on something dishonorable, and I
repeat to you that Pan Skshetuski, if he is a worthy cavalier, is bound
to cut my ears off. But it could not be avoided, for your sex would
have been discovered at once. Now at least we can go on with
confidence. I inquired of the old man too about the road, holding a
dagger to his throat. According to what he said, we shall see three
oaks in the steppe; near them is the Wolf's Ravine, and along the
ravine lies the road through Demiánovka to Zólotonosha. He said that
wagoners go by the road, and it would be possible to sit with them in
the wagons. You and I are passing through a grievous time, which I
shall ever remember; for now we must part with the sabre, since it
befits neither the minstrel nor his boy to have marks of nobility about
their persons. I will push it under this tree. God may permit me to
find it here some other day. Many an expedition has this sabre seen,
and it has been the cause of great victories. Believe me, I should be
commander of an army now were it not for the envy and malice of men
who accused me of a love for strong drinks. So is it always in the
world,--no justice in anything! When I was not rushing into destruction
like a fool, and knew how to unite prudence with valor like a second
Cunctator, Pan Zatsvilikhovski was the first to say that I was a
coward. He is a good man, but he has an evil tongue. The other day he
gnawed at me because I played brother with the Cossacks; but had it not
been for that you would not have escaped the power of Bogun."
While talking, Zagloba thrust the sabre under the tree, covered it with
plants and grass, then threw the bag and lyre over his shoulder, took
the staff pointed with flintstones, waved his hands a couple of times,
and said,--
"Well, this is not bad. I can strike a light in the eyes of some dog or
wolf with this staff and count his teeth. The worst of all is that we
must walk; but there is no help. Come!"
They went on,--the dark-haired youth in front, the old man following.
The latter grunted and cursed; for it was hot for him to travel on
foot, though a breeze passed over the steppe. The breeze burned and
tanned the face of the handsome boy. Soon they came to the ravine, at
the bottom of which was a spring which distilled its pure waters into
the Kagamlik. Around that ravine not far from the river three strong
oaks were growing on a mound; to these our wayfarers turned at once.
They came also upon traces of the road, which looked yellow along the
steppe from flowers which were growing on droppings of cattle. The road
was deserted; there were neither teamsters, nor tar-spots on the
ground, nor gray oxen slowly moving. But here and there lay the bones
of cattle torn to pieces by wolves and whitening in the sun. The
wayfarers went on steadily, resting only under the shade of oak-groves.
The dark-haired boy lay down to slumber on the green turf, and the old
man watched. They passed through streams also; and when there was no
ford they searched for one, walking for a distance along the shore.
Sometimes, too, the old man carried the boy over in his arms, with a
power that was wonderful in a man who begged his bread. But he was a
sturdy minstrel! Thus they dragged on till evening, when the boy sat
down by the wayside at an oak-forest and said,--
"My breath is gone, I have spent my strength; I can walk no farther, I
will lie down here and die."
The old man was terribly distressed. "Oh, these cursed wastes,--not a
house nor a cottage by the roadside, nor a living soul! But we cannot
spend the night here. Evening is already falling, it will be dark in an
hour,--and just listen!"
The old man stopped speaking, and for a while there was deep silence.
But it was soon broken by a distant dismal sound which seemed to come
from the bowels of the earth; it did really come from the ravine, which
lay not far from the road.
"Those are wolves," said Zagloba. "Last night we had horses,--they ate
them; this time they will get at our own persons. I have, it is true, a
pistol under my svitka; but I don't know whether my powder would hold
out for two charges, and I should not like to be the supper at a wolf's
wedding. Listen! Another howl!"
The howling was heard again, and appeared to be nearer.
"Rise, my child!" said the old man; "and if you are unable to walk, I
will carry you. What's to be done? I see that I have a great affection
for you, which is surely because living in a wifeless condition I am
unable to leave legitimate descendants of my own; and if I have
illegitimate they are heathen, for I lived a long time in Turkey. With
me ends the family of Zagloba, with its escutcheon 'In the Forehead.'
You will take care of my old age, but now you must get up and sit on my
shoulders."
"My feet have grown so heavy that I cannot move."
"You were boasting of your strength. But stop! stop! As God is dear to
me, I hear the barking of dogs. That's it. Those are dogs, not wolves.
Then Demiánovka, of which the old minstrel told me, must be near.
Praise be to God in the highest! I had thought not to make a fire on
account of the wolves; for we should have surely gone to sleep, we are
so tired. Yes, they are dogs. Do you hear?"
"Let us go on," said Helena, whose strength returned suddenly.
They had barely come out of the wood when smoke from a number of
cottages appeared at no great distance. They saw also three domes of a
church, covered with fresh shingles, which shone yet in the dusk from
the last gleams of the evening twilight. The barking of dogs seemed
nearer, more distinct each moment.
"Yes, that is Demiánovka; it cannot be another place," said Zagloba.
"They receive minstrels hospitably everywhere; maybe we shall find
supper and lodging, and perhaps good people will take us farther. Wait
a moment! this is one of the prince's villages; there must be an agent
living in it. We will rest and get news. The prince must be already on
the way. Rescue may come sooner than you expect. Remember that you are
a mute. I began at the wrong end when I told you to call me Onufri, for
since you are a mute you cannot call me anything. I shall speak for you
and for myself, and, praise be to God! I can use peasants' speech as
well as Latin. Move on, move on! Now the first cottage is near. My God!
when will our wanderings come to an end? If we could get some warmed
beer, I should praise the Lord God for even that."
Zagloba ceased, and for a time they went on in silence together; then
he began to talk again.
"Remember that you are dumb. When they ask you about anything, point to
me and say, 'Hum, hum, hum! niyá, niyá!' I have seen that you have much
wit, and besides, it is a question of our lives. If we should chance on
a regiment belonging to the hetmans or the prince, then we would tell
who we are at once, especially if the officer is courteous and an
acquaintance of Pan Skshetuski. It is true that you are under the
guardianship of the prince, and you have nothing to fear from soldiers.
Oh! what fires are those bursting out in the glen? Ah, there are
blacksmiths--there is a forge! But I see there is no small number of
people at it. Let us go there."
In the cleft which formed the entrance to the ravine there was a forge,
from the chimney of which bundles and bunches of golden sparks were
thrown out; and through the open doors and numerous chinks in the walls
sparkling light burst forth, intercepted from moment to moment by dark
forms moving around inside. In front of the forge were to be seen in
the evening twilight a number of dark forms standing together in knots.
The hammers in the forge beat in time, till the echo was heard all
about; and the sound was mingled with songs in front of the forge, with
the buzz of conversation and the barking of dogs. Seeing all this,
Zagloba turned immediately into the ravine, touched his lyre, and began
to sing,--
"Hei! on the mountain
Reapers are seen,
Under the mountain,
The mountain green,
Cossacks are marching on."
Singing thus, he approached the crowd of people standing in front of
the forge. He looked around. They were peasants, for the most part
drunk. Nearly all of them had sticks in their hands; on some of these
sticks were scythes, double-edged and pointed. The blacksmiths in the
forge were occupied specially in the making of these points and the
bending of the scythes.
"Ah, grandfather! grandfather!" they began to call out in the crowd.
"Glory be to God!" said Zagloba.
"For the ages of ages!"
"Tell me, children, is this Demiánovka?"
"Yes, it is Demiánovka. But why do you ask?"
"I ask because men told me on the way," continued the grandfather,
"that good people dwell here, that they will take in the old man, give
him food and drink, let him spend the night, and give him some money. I
am old; I have travelled a long road, and this boy here cannot go a
step farther. He, poor fellow, is dumb; he leads me because I am
sightless. I am a blind unfortunate. God will bless you, kind people.
Saint Nicholas, the wonder-worker, will bless you. Saint Onufri will
bless you. In one eye there is a little of God's light left me; in the
other it is dark forever. So I travel with my lyre. I sing songs, and I
live like the birds on what falls from the hands of kind people."
"And where are you from, grandfather?"
"Oh, from afar, afar! But let me rest, for I see here by the forge a
bench. And sit down, poor creature!" said he, showing the bench to
Helena. "We are from Ladava, good people, and left home long, long ago;
but to-day we come from the festival in Brovarki."
"And have you heard anything good there?" asked an old peasant with a
scythe in his hand.
"We heard, we heard, but whether it is anything good we don't know.
Many people have collected there. They spoke of Hmelnitski,--that he
had conquered the hetman's son and his knights. We heard, too, that the
peasants are rising against the nobles on the Russian bank."
Immediately the crowd surrounded Zagloba, who, sitting by Helena,
struck the strings of the lyre from time to time.
"Then you heard, father, that the people are rising?"
"I did; for wretched is our peasant lot."
"But they say there will be an end to it?"
"In Kieff they found on the altar a letter from Christ, saying there
would be fearful and awful war and much blood-spilling in the whole
Ukraine."
The half-circle in front of the bench on which Zagloba sat contracted
still more.
"You say there was a letter?"
"There was, as I am alive. About war and the spilling of blood. But I
cannot speak further, for the throat is dried up within me, poor old
man!"
"Here is a measure of gorailka for you, father; and tell us what you
have heard in the world. We know that minstrels go everywhere and know
everything. There have been some among us already. They said that the
black hour would come from Hmelnitski on the lords. We had these
scythes and pikes made for us, so as not to be the last; but we don't
know whether to begin now or to wait for a letter from Hmelnitski."
Zagloba emptied the measure, smacked his lips, thought awhile, and then
said: "Who tells you it is time to begin?"
"We want to begin ourselves."
"Begin! begin!" said numerous voices. "If the Zaporojians have beaten
the lords, then begin!"
The scythes and pikes quivered in strong hands, and gave out an ominous
clatter. Then followed a moment of silence, but the hammers in the
forge continued to beat. The future killers waited for what the old man
would say. He thought and thought; at last he asked,--
"Whose people are you?"
"Prince Yeremi's."
"And whom will you kill?"
The peasants looked at one another.
"Him?" asked the old man.
"We couldn't manage him."
"Oh, you can't manage him, children, you can't manage him! I was in
Lubni, and I saw that prince with my own eyes. He is awful! When he
shouts the trees tremble in the woods, and when he stamps his foot a
ravine is made. The king is afraid of him, the hetmans obey him, and
all are terrified at him. He has more soldiers than the Khan or the
Sultan. Oh, you can't manage him, children, you can't manage him! He is
after you, not you after him. And I know what you don't know yet, that
all the Poles will come to help him; and where there is a Pole, there
is a sabre."
Gloomy silence seized the crowd; the old man struck his lyre again, and
raising his face toward the moon, continued:
"The prince is coming, he is coming, and with him as many beautiful
plumes and banners as there are stars in heaven or thistles on the
steppe. The wind flies before him and groans; and do you know, my
children, why the wind groans? It groans over your fate. Mother Death
flies before him with a scythe, and strikes; and do you know what she
strikes at? She strikes at your necks."
"O Lord, have mercy on us!" said low, terrified voices.
Again nothing was heard but the beating of hammers.
"Who is the prince's agent here?" asked the old man.
"Pan Gdeshinski."
"And where is he?"
"He ran away."
"Why did he run away?"
"He ran away, for he heard that they were making scythes and pikes for
us. He got frightened and ran away."
"So much the worse, for he will tell the prince about you."
"Why do you croak, grandfather, like a raven?" asked an old peasant.
"We believe that the black hour is coming on the lords; and there will
be neither on the Russian nor Tartar bank lords or princes,--only
Cossacks, free people; there will be neither land-rent, nor barrel-tax,
nor mill-tax, nor transport-tax, nor any more Jews, for thus does it
stand in the letter from Christ which you yourself spoke of. And
Hmelnitski is as strong as the prince. Let them go at it!"
"God grant!" said the old man. "Oh, bitter is our peasant lot! It was
different in old times."
"Who owns the land? The prince. Who owns the steppe? The prince. Who
owns the woods? The prince. Who has the cattle? The prince. And in old
times it was God's woods and God's steppe; whoever came first, took it,
and was bound to no man. Now everything belongs to the lords and
princes."
"All belongs to you, my children; but I tell you one thing you
yourselves know, that you can't manage the prince here. I tell you
this,--whoever wants to slay lords, let him not stay here till
Hmelnitski has tried his hand on the prince, but let him be off to
Hmelnitski, and right away, to-morrow, for the prince is on the road
already. If Pan Gdeshinski brings him to Demiánovka, the prince won't
leave one of you alive; he will kill the last man of you. Make your way
to Hmelnitski. The more of you there, the easier for Hmelnitski to
succeed. Oh, but he has heavy work before him! The hetmans in front of
him, the armies of the king without number, and then the prince more
powerful than the hetmans. Hurry on, children, to help Hmelnitski and
the Zaporojians; for they, poor men, won't hold out unless you help,
and they are fighting against the lords for your freedom and property.
Hurry! You will save yourselves from the prince and you will help
Hmelnitski."
"He speaks the truth!" cried voices in the crowd.
"He speaks well!"
"A wise grandfather!"
"Did you see the prince on the road?"
"See him I didn't, but I heard in Brovarki that he had left Lubni, that
he is burning and slaying; and where he finds even one pike before him,
he leaves only the sky and the earth behind."
"Lord, have mercy on us!"
"And where are we to look for Hmelnitski?"
"I came here, children, to tell you where to look for Hmelnitski. Go,
my children, to Zólotonosha, then to Trakhtimiroff, and there
Hmelnitski will be waiting for you. There people are collecting from
all the villages, houses, and cottages; the Tartars will come there
too. Go! Unless you do, the prince will not leave you to walk over the
earth."
"And you will go with us, father?"
"Walk I will not, for the ground pulls down my old legs. But get ready
a telega, and I will ride with you. Before we come to Zólotonosha I
will go on ahead to see if there are Polish soldiers. If there are, we
will pass by and go straight to Trakhtimiroff. That is a Cossack
country. But now give me something to eat and drink, for I am hungry,
and this lad here is hungry too. We will start off in the morning, and
along the road I will sing to you of Pan Pototski and Prince Yeremi.
Oh, they are terrible lions! There will be great bloodshed in the
Ukraine. The sky is awfully red, and the moon just as if swimming in
blood. Beg, children, for the mercy of God, for no one will walk long
in God's world. I have heard also that vampires rise out of their
graves and howl."
A vague terror seized the crowd of peasants; they began to look around
involuntarily, make the sign of the cross and whisper among themselves.
At last one cried out,--
"To Zólotonosha!"
"To Zólotonosha!" repeated all, as if there in particular were refuge
and safety.
"To Trakhtimiroff!"
"Death to the Poles and lords!"
All at once a young Cossack stepped forward, shook his pike, and cried:
"Fathers, if we go to Zólotonosha to-morrow, we will go to the
manager's house to-night."
"To the manager's house!" cried a number of voices at once.
"Burn it up! take the goods!"
But the minstrel, who held his head drooping on his breast, raised it
and said,--
"Oh, children, do not go to the manager's house, and do not burn it, or
you will suffer. The prince may be close by, he is going along with his
army; he will see the fire, he will come, and there will be trouble.
Better give me something to eat and show me a place to rest. And do you
keep your peace!"
"He tells the truth!" said a number of voices.
"He tells the truth, and, Maksim, you are a fool!"
"Come, father, to my house for bread and salt and a cup of mead, and
rest on the hay till daylight," said an old peasant, turning to the
minstrel.
Zagloba rose, and pulled the sleeve of Helena's svitka. She was asleep.
"The boy is tired to death; he fell asleep under the very sound of the
hammers," said Zagloba. But in his soul he thought: "Oh, sweet
innocence, thou art able to sleep amidst pikes and knives! It is clear
that angels of heaven are guarding thee, and me in thy company."
He roused her, and they went on toward the village, which lay at some
distance. The night was calm and quiet; the echo of the striking
hammers followed them. The old peasant went ahead to show the way in
the darkness; and Zagloba, pretending to say his prayers, muttered in a
monotone,--
"O God, have mercy on us, sinners--Do you see, Princess--O Holy Most
Pure--what would have happened to us without this peasant disguise?--As
it is on earth, so in heaven--We shall get something to eat, and
to-morrow ride to Zólotonosha instead of going on foot--Amen, amen,
amen!--Bogun may come upon our tracks, for our tracks will not
deceive him; but it will be late, for we shall cross the Dnieper at
Próhorovka--Amen!--May black death choke them, may the hangman light
their way! Do you hear, Princess, how they are howling at the
forge?--Amen!--Terrible times have come on us, but I am a fool if I
don't rescue you even if we have to flee to Warsaw itself."
"What are you muttering there, brother?" asked the peasant.
"Oh, nothing! I am praying for your health. Amen, amen!"
"Here is my cottage."
"Glory be to God!"
"For the ages of ages!"
"I beg you to eat my bread and salt."
"God will reward you."
A little later the minstrel had strengthened himself powerfully with
mutton and a good portion of mead. Next morning early, he moved on with
his attendant lad, in a comfortable telega, toward Zólotonosha,
escorted by a number of mounted peasants armed with pikes and scythes.
They went through Kovraiets, Chernobái, and Krapivna. The wayfarers saw
that everything was seething; the peasants were arming at all points,
the forges were working from morning till night, and only the terrible
name and power of Prince Yeremi still restrained the bloody outburst.
West of the Dnieper the tempest was let loose in all its fury. News of
the defeat at Korsún had spread over all Russia with the speed of
lightning, and every living soul was rushing forth.