Krívonos marched then from Bélaya Tserkoff through Skvira and
Pogrébische to Makhnovka. Wherever he passed, traces of human
habitation vanished. Whoever did not join him perished under the knife.
Grain was burned standing, with forests and gardens. At the same time
the prince carried annihilation in his hand. After the razing of
Pogrébische, and the baptism of blood which Pan Baranovski gave to
Nyemiroff, the prince's army destroyed a number of other considerable
bands, and halted in camp at Raigorod, where during a month they
scarcely got off their horses. They were weakened by toil, and death
had decreased them notably. Rest was necessary, for the hands of these
reapers in the harvest of blood had relaxed. The prince wavered,
therefore, and thought whether it would not be better to go for a time
to a more peaceable region to rest and recruit his forces, especially
his horses, which were more like skeletons of beasts than living
creatures, since they had not eaten grain for a month, subsisting only
on trampled grass.
But after they had halted a week tidings were brought that
reinforcements were coming. The prince went out to meet them, and
really met Pan Yanush Tishkyevich, the voevoda of Kieff, who came with
fifteen hundred good men, and with him Pan Krishtof Tishkyevich,
under-judge of Bratslav; young Pan Aksak, quite a youth yet, but with a
well-armed company of his own; and many nobles, such as the Senyuts,
the Palubinskis, the Jitinskis, the Yelovitskis, the Kyerdéis, the
Boguslavskis,--some with escorts, others without. The entire force
formed nearly two thousand horse, besides attendants.
The prince was greatly pleased, and invited thankfully to his quarters
the voevoda, who could not cease wondering at the poverty and
simplicity of the place. For the prince, by so much as he lived like a
king in Lubni, by that much did he permit himself no comfort in the
field, wishing to give an example to the soldiers. He lived therefore
in one room, which the voevoda of Kieff, squeezing through the narrow
door, was hardly able to enter, by reason of his enormous thickness,
till he ordered his attendant to push him from behind. In the cottage,
besides the table, wooden benches, and a bed covered with horse-skin,
there was nothing except a little room near the door, in which an
attendant slept, always ready for service. This simplicity greatly
astonished the voevoda, who lived in comfort and carried carpets with
him. He entered finally, and gazed with curiosity on the prince,
wondering how so great a spirit could find its place in such simplicity
and poverty. He had seen Yeremi from time to time at the Diets in
Warsaw, was in fact a distant relative of his, but did not know him
intimately. Now, when he began to speak with him, he recognized at once
that he had to do with an extraordinary man; and he, an old senator and
soldier, who used to clap his senatorial colleagues on the shoulders,
and say to Prince Dominik Zaslavski, "My dear," and was familiar with
the king himself, could not attain familiarity like this with
Vishnyevetski, though the prince received him kindly, for he was
thankful for the reinforcements.
"Worthy voevoda," said he, "praise be to God that you have come with
your people, for I have worked here to my last breath."
"I have noticed, by your soldiers, that they have worked, poor fellows,
which disturbs me not a little, for I have come with the request that
you hasten to save me."
"And is there hurry?"
"Periculum in mora, periculum in mora! Ruffians to the number of
several thousand have appeared, with Krívonos at their head, who, as I
have heard, was sent against you; but having received information that
you had moved on Konstantinoff, he went there, and on the road has
invested Makhnovka, and has wrought such desolation that no tongue can
describe it."
"I have heard of Krívonos, and waited for him here; but since I find
that he has missed me, I must seek him. Really the affair will not bide
delay. Is there a strong garrison in Makhnovka?"
"There are two hundred Germans in the castle, very good men, who will
hold out yet for some time. But the worst is, that many nobles have
assembled in the town with their families, and the place is fortified
only by earthworks and palisades, and cannot resist long."
"In truth, the affair suffers no delay," repeated the prince. Then
turning to his attendant, he said: "Jelenksi, run for the colonels!"
The voevoda of Kieff was sitting meanwhile on a bench, and panting. He
had some expectation of supper; for he was hungry, and liked good
eating.
Presently the tramp of armed men was heard, and the prince's officers
entered,--black, thin, bearded, with sunken eyes, with traces of
indescribable labor on their faces. They bowed in silence to the prince
and his guests, and waited for his words.
"Gentlemen, are the horses at their places?"
"Yes, ready as always."
"It is well. In an hour we will move on Krívonos."
"Hi!" said the voevoda of Kieff; and he looked in wonderment at Pan
Kryshtof, the sub-judge of Bratslav.
The prince continued: "Ponyatovski and Vershul will march first; after
them Baranovski will go with his dragoons, and in an hour we will move
with the cannon of Vurtsel."
The colonels bowed and left the room, and soon the trumpets were heard
sounding to horse. The voevoda of Kieff did not expect such haste, and
did not indeed wish it, since he was hungry and tired. He counted on
resting about a day with the prince, and then moving. Now he would have
to mount his horse at once, without sleeping or eating.
"But, your Highness," said he, "are your soldiers able to reach
Makhnovka? I see they are terribly tired, and the road is a long one."
"Don't let your head ache over that. They go to a battle as to a
concert."
"I see that; I see they are sulphurous fellows. But my men are
road-weary."
"You have just said, 'Periculum in mora.'"
"Yes; but we might rest for the night. We have come from near Hmelnik."
"Worthy voevoda, we have come from Lubni and the Trans-Dnieper."
"We were a whole day on the road."
"We a whole month."
The prince went out to arrange in person the order of march. The
voevoda stared at the under-judge, struck his palms on his knees, and
said,--
"Ah! I have got what I wanted, you see. As God lives, he will kill me
with hunger. Here is swimming in hot water for you! I come for aid, and
think that after great solicitation they will move in two or three
days; but now they won't give us time to draw breath. May the devil
take them! The stirrup-strap has galled my leg; my traitor of an
attendant buckled it badly. My stomach is empty. The devil take them!
Makhnovka is Makhnovka; but my stomach is my stomach. I am an old
soldier, have fought in more wars probably than he has, but never in
such helter-skelter fashion. Those are devils, not men; they don't eat,
don't sleep,--just fight. As God is dear to me, they never eat
anything. They look like ghosts, don't they?"
"Yes; but they have fiery courage," answered Pan Kryshtof, who was in
love with soldier life. "God bless us, what disorder and tumult in
other camps when it comes to marching--how much running, arranging
wagons, sending for horses! But now, do you hear? the light cavalry is
on the march."
"Is it possible? Why, this is terrible," said the voevoda.
But young Pan Aksak clasped his boyish hands. "Ah, that is a mighty
leader!" said he in ecstasy.
"Oh, there is milk under your nose!" snapped the voevoda. "Cunctator
too was a great leader! Do you understand?"
At this moment the prince came in. "Gentlemen, to horse! We march."
The voevoda did not restrain himself. "Order something for us to eat.
Prince, for I am hungry," cried he, in an outburst of ill-humor.
"Oh, my worthy voevoda," said the prince, laughing and taking hold of
him by the shoulder, "forgive me, forgive me! With all my heart. But in
war one forgets these things."
"Well, Pan Kryshtof, haven't I told you that they don't eat?" asked the
voevoda, turning to the under-judge of Bratslav.
The supper did not last long, and a couple of hours later even the
infantry had left Raigorod. The army marched through Vinnitsa and Litin
to Hmelnik; on the way Vershul met a Tartar party in Saverovka, which
he and Volodyovski destroyed, and freed a few hundred captives,--almost
all young women. There began the ruined country; all around were traces
of the hand of Krívonos. Strijavka was burned, and its population put
to death in a terrible manner. Apparently the unfortunates had resisted
Krívonos; therefore the savage chief had delivered them to sword and
flame. On an oak-tree at the entrance to the village hung Pan
Strijovski himself, whom Tishkyevich's men recognized at once. He was
entirely naked, and had around his neck an enormous necklace of heads
strung on a rope; they were the heads of his wife and six children.
Everything in the village itself was burned to the ground. They saw on
both sides of the road a long row of "Cossack candles,"--that is,
people with hands raised above their heads, and tied to stakes driven
into the ground, wound around with straw steeped in pitch and set on
fire at the hands. The greater part of them had only their hands
burned, for the rain had evidently stopped the further burning. But
those bodies were terrible, with their distorted faces and black stumps
of hands stretched to heaven. The odor of putrefaction spread round
about. Above the stakes whirled circles of ravens and crows, which at
the approach of the troops flew away with an uproar from the nearer
stakes to sit on the farther ones. A number of wolves galloped off
before the regiments to the thicket. The men marched on in silence
through the alley, and counted the "candles." There were between three
and four hundred of them.
They passed at length that unfortunate village, and breathed the fresh
air of the field. But traces of destruction extended farther. It was
the first half of July. The grain was almost ripe, for an early harvest
was looked for. But entire fields were partly burned, partly trampled,
tangled, trodden into the earth. It might have been thought that a
hurricane had passed over the land. In fact, the most terrible of all
hurricanes had passed,--civil war. The soldiers of the prince had seen
more than once rich neighborhoods ruined by Tartar raids; but such a
storm, such mad destruction, they had never seen. Forests were burned
as well as grain. Where fire had not devoured the trees the bark and
leaves were swept from them by a tongue of fire; they were scorched by
its breath, smoked, blackened, and the tree-trunk stuck up like a
skeleton. The voevoda of Kieff looked, and could not believe his eyes.
Maidyanóe, Zbar,--villages, houses,--nothing but burned ruins! On one
side and another the men had run off to Krívonos; the women and
children had been taken captive by that part of the horde which Vershul
and Volodyovski had crushed out. On the earth a wilderness; in the air
flocks of ravens, crows, jackdaws, and vultures, which had flown
hither, God knows whence, to the Cossack harvest. Fresher traces of the
passage of troops were seen each moment. From time to time they came
upon broken wagons, bodies of cattle and men not yet decayed, broken
cups, brass kettles, bags of wet flour, ruins still smoking, stacks of
grain recently begun and left unfinished.
The prince urged his regiments on to Hmelnik without drawing breath.
The old voevoda seized himself by the head, repeating sadly,--
"My Makhnovka, my Makhnovka! I see we shall not come in time."
Meanwhile news was brought to Hmelnik that Makhnovka was besieged, not
by old Krívonos himself, but by his son with several thousand men, and
that it was he who had committed such inhuman devastations along the
road. The place was already taken, according to accounts. The Cossacks
on capturing it had cut to pieces the nobles and the Jews, and taken
the women of the nobles to camp, where a fate worse than death awaited
them. But the castle, under the leadership of Pan Lyeff, held out yet.
The Cossacks stormed it from the Bernardine monastery, in which they
had put the monks to death. Pan Lyeff, using all his strength and
powder, gave no hope of holding out longer than one night.
The prince therefore left the infantry, the guns, and the main strength
of the army, which he ordered to go to Bystrika, and galloped on to the
relief with the voevoda, Pan Kryshtof, Pan Aksak, and two thousand
soldiers. The old voevoda was for delay, for he had lost his head.
"Makhnovka is lost! We shall arrive too late! We would better leave it,
defend other places, and provide them with garrisons."
But the prince would not listen to him. The under-judge of Bratslav
urged the advance, and the troops rushed to the fight.
"Since we have come thus far, we will not leave without blood," said
the colonels; and they went on.
About two miles and a half from Makhnovka a few riders, moving as fast
as their horses could carry them, halted in front of the troops. It was
Pan Lyeff and his companions. Seeing him, the voevoda of Kieff guessed
at once what had happened.
"The castle is taken!" he cried.
"It is!" answered Pan Lyeff; and that moment he fainted, for he was cut
with swords, was shot through, and had lost much blood. But the others
began to tell what had taken place. The Germans on the wall were cut
down to the last man, for they preferred to die rather than yield. Pan
Lyeff had forced his way through the thick of the mob and the broken
gates. In the rooms of the tower a few tens of nobles were defending
themselves; to those speedy succor should be given.
The cavalry swept on with all speed. Soon the town and castle were
visible on a hill, and above them a dense cloud of smoke from the fire
which had already begun. The day was coming to an end. The sky was
flushed with gigantic golden and purple lights, which the troops
mistook at once for a conflagration. By these flashes the Zaporojian
regiments could be seen, and dense masses of a mob rushing through the
gates to meet the Polish troops,--the more confidently since no one in
the town knew of the approach of Yeremi. It was supposed that the
voevoda of Kieff alone was marching with succor. It was evident that
vudka had blinded them entirely, or the recent capture of the castle
had inspired them with immeasurable insolence; for they descended the
hill boldly, and only when they had reached the plain did they form for
battle, which they did with great readiness, thundering with their
drums and trumpets. In view of this a shout of joy went up from every
Polish breast, and the voevoda of Kieff had an opportunity to admire a
second time the discipline of Vishnyevetski's troops. Halting in view
of the Cossacks, they formed at once in battle-array, the heavy cavalry
in the centre, the light horse at the wings, so that there was no
necessity of man[oe]uvres, they could begin on the spot.
"Oh, Pan Kryshtof, what men!" said the voevoda. "They fell into order
at once; they could give battle without a leader."
But the prince, like a provident chief, flew, with baton in hand,
between the companies, examined, and gave final orders. The evening
twilight was reflected on his silver armor, and he was like a bright
flame flying between the ranks, he alone glistening amid the dark
armor.
Three regiments formed the centre of the foremost line. The first of
these was led by the voevoda of Kieff himself, the second by young Pan
Aksak, the third by Pan Kryshtof Tishkyevich; after these, in the
second line, were the dragoons under Baranovski, and finally the
gigantic hussars of the prince, led by Pan Yan. Vershul, Kushel, and
Ponyatovski occupied the wings. There were no cannon, for Vurtsel had
remained in Bystrika. The prince galloped to the voevoda, motioned with
his baton, and said,--
"Do you begin, because of the injustice done you!"
The voevoda in turn waved his hand; the soldiers bent in their saddles
and moved on. It was evident at once by his style of leadership that
the voevoda, though heavy and dilatory,--for he was bent with age,--was
an experienced and valiant soldier. To spare his troops he did not
start them at the highest speed, but led them slowly, quickening the
march as he approached the enemy. He went himself in the front rank,
with baton in hand; his attendant merely carried his long and heavy
sword, but not heavy for the hand of the old voevoda. The mob on foot
hurried with scythes and flails against the cavalry, in order to
restrain the first impetus and lighten the attack for the Zaporojians.
When they were separated by only a few tens of yards, the people of
Makhnovka recognized the voevoda by his gigantic stature and
corpulence, and began to cry out,--
"Hi! serene great mighty voevoda, the harvest is near; why don't you
order out your subjects? Our respects, serene lord! We will perforate
that stomach of yours."
They sent a shower of bullets on the cavalry, but without harm, for the
horses were going like a whirlwind and struck mightily. The clatter of
flails and the sound of scythes were heard on the armor; then cries and
groans. The lances opened a way in the dense mass of the mob, through
which the infuriated horses rushed like a tempest, trampling,
overturning, mashing. And as on the meadow when a rank of mowers
advance, the rich grass disappears before them and they go on swinging
the handles of their scythes, just so did the broad avalanche of the
mob contract, melt, disappear, pushed by the breasts of horses. Unable
to keep their places, they began to waver. Then thundered the shout,
"Save yourselves!" and the whole mass, throwing down scythes, flails,
forks, guns, rushed back in wild dismay on the Zaporojian regiments
behind. But the Zaporojians, fearing lest the fleeing throng should
disorder their ranks, placed their lances against them; the mob, seeing
this resistance, rushed with a howl of despair to both sides, but were
immediately hurled back by Kushel and Ponyatovski, who had just moved
from the wings of the prince's division.
The voevoda, now riding over the bodies of the mob, was in the front of
the Zaporojians and rushed toward them. They too rushed at him, wishing
to answer momentum with momentum. They struck each other like two waves
going in opposite directions, which when they meet form a foaming
ridge. So horses rose before horses, the riders like a wave, the swords
above the wave like foam. The voevoda discovered that he was not
working with a mob now, but with stern and trained Zaporojian warriors.
The two lines pressed each other mutually, bent, neither being able to
break the other. Bodies fell thickly, for there man met man, and steel
struck steel. The voevoda himself, putting his baton under his belt,
and taking the sword from his attendant, worked in the sweat of his
brow, puffing like a blacksmith's bellows. And with him the two
Senyuts, the Kyerdéis, the Boguslavskis, the Yelovitskis, and the
Polubinskis wriggled as if in boiling water.
But on the Cossack side the fiercest of all was Ivan Burdabut, the
lieutenant-colonel of the Kalnik regiment, a Cossack of gigantic
strength and stature. He was the more terrible because he had a horse
which fought as well as its master. More than one man reined in his
steed and drew back so as not to meet that centaur spreading death and
desolation. The brothers Senyut sprang at him; but the horse caught in
its teeth the face of Andrei the younger and mashed it in the twinkle
of an eye. Seeing this, the elder brother, Rafal, struck the beast
above the eyes; he wounded, but did not kill it, for the sabre hit the
great bronze button on the forehead of the horse. At that moment
Burdabut plunged a weapon under the beard of Senyut, and deprived him
of life. So fell the two brothers, and lay in their gilded armor in the
dust, under the hoofs of horses; but Burdabut rushed on like a flame to
more distant ranks, and struck in a flash the attendant of Prince
Polubinski, a sixteen-year-old stripling, whose right shoulder he cut
off together with the arm. Seeing this, Pan Urbanski, wishing to avenge
the death of a relative, fired at Burdabut in the very face, but
missed,--only shot away his ear and dashed him with blood. Terrible
then was Burdabut with his horse, both black as night, both covered
with blood, both with wild eyes and distended nostrils, raging like a
tempest. And Pan Urbanski did not escape death; for like an
executioner, Burdabut cut off his head with a blow, and the head of old
Jitinski in his eightieth year, and the heads of the two Nikchemnis,
each with one stroke. Others began to draw back with terror, especially
as behind the Cossack gleamed a hundred Zaporojian sabres, and a
hundred lances, already moistened in blood.
The furious chief saw at last the voevoda, and giving an awful shout of
joy, hurried toward him, hurling down horses and riders in his path.
But the voevoda did not retreat. Trusting in his uncommon strength,
puffing like a wounded wild boar, he raised the sword above his head
and urging on his horse rushed to Burdabut. His end would have come
without doubt,--and Fate had already caught in her shears the thread of
his life, which she afterward cut in Okra--had not Silnitski, his
sword-bearer, hurled himself like lightning on the Cossack and seized
him by the waist before his sword was satisfied. While Burdabut was
putting him aside, the Kyerdéis shouted, summoning assistance for the
voevoda; several tens of people sprang forth at once, and separated him
from Burdabut. Then a stubborn fight set in. But the wearied regiments
of the voevoda began to yield to greater Zaporojian strength, draw
back, and break ranks, when Pan Kryshtof, under-judge of Bratslav, and
Pan Aksak hurried up with fresh regiments. True, new Cossack regiments
rushed in at that moment to the fight; but still below stood the
prince, with the dragoons of Baranovski and the hussars of Skshetuski,
who had taken no part as yet in the action.
Then the bloody conflict raged anew. Darkness had already fallen, but
flames had caught the outer houses of the town. The fire lighted the
field of struggle, and both lines, Polish and Cossack, were seen
distinctly pounding each other at the foot of the hill; the colors of
the standards could be seen, and even the faces of the men. Vershul,
Ponyatovski, and Kushel had already been in fire and action; for having
finished with the mob, they struck the Cossack wings, which under their
pressure began to move toward the hill. The long line of combatants
bent its ends toward the town, and began to extend out more and more;
for when the Polish wings advanced, the centre, pressed by superior
Cossack power, retreated toward the prince. Three new Cossack regiments
went to break it; but at that moment the prince pushed on Baranovski's
dragoons, and these raised the strength of the combatants.
The hussars alone remained with the prince. From a distance they seemed
like a dark grove growing straight from the ground,--a terrible
avalanche of iron men, horses, and lances. The breeze of evening
stirred the banners above their heads, and they stood quietly, not
fretting for battle before the issue of command; patient, for trained
and experienced in many a fight they knew that their portion of blood
would not miss them. The prince, in his silver armor, with gilded baton
in hand, strained his eyes toward the battle; and on the left wing
Skshetuski, standing a little sideways at the end,--being lieutenant,
his sleeve was rolled up on his shoulder,--with arm bare to the elbow,
and holding in his powerful hand a broadsword instead of a baton,
waited calmly for the order.
The prince shaded with his left hand his eyes from the glare of the
burning. The centre of the Polish half-circle retreated gradually
toward him, overborne by superior power which was not long kept back by
Pan Baranovski,--the same who had razed Nyemiroff. The prince saw, as
if on his hand, the heavy work of the soldiers. The long lightning of
sabres raised itself above the black line of heads, then vanished in
the blows. Riderless horses dropped out of that avalanche of
combatants, and neighing ran along the plain with floating mane; the
flames of the burning for a background, they were like beasts of hell.
The red banner floating for a time over the throng fell suddenly to
rise no more; but the eye of the prince ran along the line of combat as
far as the hill toward the town, where at the head of two picked
regiments stood young Krívonos, waiting the moment to hurl himself on
the centre and break the weakened ranks of the Poles.
At length he started, running with a terrible shout straight on the
dragoons of Baranovski; but the prince was waiting for that moment too.
"Lead on!" cried he to Skshetuski.
Skshetuski raised his broadsword, and the iron host shot past.
They did not run long, for the line of battle had approached them
considerably. Baranovski's dragoons opened to the right and left with
lightning speed to clear a way for the hussars against the Cossacks.
The hussars swept through this pass with their whole momentum against
the victorious companies of Krívonos.
"Yeremi! Yeremi!" shouted the hussars.
"Yeremi!" repeated the whole army.
The terrible name contracted the hearts of the Zaporojians with a
shudder of fear. In that moment they learned for the first time that it
was not the voevoda of Kieff who was leading, but the prince himself.
Besides, they were unable to resist the hussars, who crushed them with
their weight as falling walls crush people standing beneath. The only
safety for them was to open toward both sides, let the hussars through,
and then strike them on the flanks; but those flanks were already
guarded by the dragoons and light horse of Vershul, Kushel, and
Ponyatovski, who, having dislodged the Cossack wings, pushed them to
the centre. Now the form of battle changed, for the light regiments
became as it were the two sides of a street, along the centre of which
flew the hussars with wild impetus, driving, breaking, pushing,
overturning men and horses; and before them fled bellowing and howling
the Cossacks to the hill and the town. If the wing of Vershul had been
able to join the wing of Ponyatovski, the Cossacks would have been
surrounded and cut to pieces; but neither Vershul nor Ponyatovski could
make the junction by reason of the exceeding rush of fugitives, whom
they struck, however, at the flanks till their arms grew weak from
cutting.
Young Krívonos, though valiant and furious, when he understood that his
own inexperience had to meet such a leader as the prince, lost presence
of mind and fled at the head of others to the town. Pan Kushel, who was
nearsighted, standing at the flank, saw the fugitive, urged on his
horse, and gave the young leader a sabre-stroke in the face. He did not
kill him, for his helmet turned the sword-edge; but he sprinkled him
with blood and deprived him still more of courage. He came near paying
for the deed with his life, for that moment Burdabut turned on him with
the remnant of the Kalnik regiment.
Twice had Burdabut tried to make head against the hussars, but, twice
pushed back and beaten by a power as if supernatural, he was obliged to
give way with the rest. At last, having collected his men, he
determined to strike Kushel on the flank and burst through his dragoons
to the open field; but before he could break them the road to the town
and the hill was so packed with people that a quick retreat became
impossible. The hussars, in view of this press of men, restrained their
onset, and having broken their lances, began to hew with swords. Then
there was a struggle, confused, disorderly, furious, merciless,
seething in the press, uproar, and heat, amid the steam from men and
horses. Body fell upon body, horses' hoofs sank in the quivering
flesh. At points the masses were so dense that there was no room for
sabre-strokes; so they fought with the hilts, with knives, with fists.
Horses began to whine. Here and there voices were heard: "Mercy,
Poles!" These voices grew louder, increased, outsounded the clash of
swords, the bite of iron on the bones of men, the groans and the
terrible death-rattle of the perishing. "Mercy, mercy!" was heard with
increasing plaintiveness; but mercy shone not above that avalanche of
stragglers as the sun above a storm; only the flames of the town shone
above them.
But Burdabut at the head of the men of Kalnik asked for no mercy. He
lacked room for battle. He opened a way with his dagger. He met the big
Pan Dzik, and punching him in the stomach rolled him from his horse.
Dzik, crying, "O Jesus!" raised himself no more from under the hoofs
which tore out his entrails. There was room enough at once. Burdabut
laid open with his sabre the head and helmet of Sokolski; then he
brought down, together with their horses, Pans Priyam and Chertovich,
and there was still more room. Young Zenobius Skalski slashed at his
head, but the sabre turned in his hand and struck with its side.
Burdabut gave Skalski a back-hand blow with his left fist in the face,
and killed him on the spot. The men of Kalnik followed him, cutting and
stabbing with their daggers. "A wizard! a wizard!" the hussars began to
cry out. "Iron cannot harm him! he is frantic!" He had foam on his
mustaches, and rage in his eyes. At last Burdabut saw Skshetuski, and
recognizing an officer by the upturned sleeve, rushed upon him.
All held their breaths, and the battle stopped, looking at the struggle
of the two terrible knights. Pan Yan was not frightened at the cry of
"Wizard;" but anger boiled in his breast at the sight of so much
destruction. He ground his teeth and pushed on the enemy with fury. The
horses of both were thrown on their haunches. The whistle of steel was
heard, and suddenly the sabre of the Cossack flew into pieces under the
blow of the Polish sword. It seemed as if no power could save Burdabut,
when he sprang and grappled with Skshetuski, so that both appeared to
form one body, and a knife gleamed above the throat of the hussar.
Death stood before the eyes of Pan Yan at that moment, for he could not
use his sword. But quick as lightning he dropped the sword, which hung
by a strap, and seized the hand of the enemy in his own. For a while
the two hands trembled convulsively in the air; but iron must have been
the grip of Pan Yan, for the Cossack howled like a wolf, and before the
eyes of all the knife fell from his stiffened fingers as grain is
squeezed out of its husk. Skshetuski let drop the crushed hand, and
grasping the Cossack by the shoulder bent his terrible forehead to the
pummel of the saddle, then drawing with his left hand the baton from
his own belt, he struck once, twice. Burdabut coughed, and fell from
his horse.
At the sight of this the men of Kalnik groaned and hastened to take
vengeance. Now the hussars sprang forward and cut them to pieces.
At the other end of the hussar avalanche the battle did not cease for a
moment, for the throng was less dense. Pan Longin, girt with Anusia's
scarf, raged with his broadsword. The morning after the battle the
knights looked with wonder on those places, pointing out shoulders cut
off with armor, heads split from the forehead to the beard, bodies cut
into halves, an entire road of men and horses. They whispered to one
another, "See, Podbipienta fought here!" The prince himself examined
the bodies; and though that morning he was very much afflicted by
various reports, he wondered, for he had never seen such blows in his
life.
But meanwhile the battle seemed to approach its end. The heavy cavalry
pushed on again, driving before it the Zaporojian regiments which were
seeking refuge in the direction of the hill and the town. The regiments
of Kushel and Ponyatovski barred return to the fugitives. Surrounded on
all sides, they defended themselves to the very last; but with their
death they saved others, for two hours later when Volodyovski entered
the place in advance with his Tartars of the guard, he did not find a
single Cossack. The enemy, taking advantage of the darkness,--for rain
had put out the fire,--had seized the empty wagons of the town in a
hurry, and forming a train with that quickness peculiar to Cossacks
alone, left the town, passed the river, and destroyed the bridges
behind them.
The few tens of nobles who had defended themselves in the castle were
liberated. Then the prince commanded Vershul to punish the townspeople
who had joined the Cossacks, and set out in pursuit of the enemy
himself. But he could not capture the tabor without cannon and
infantry. The enemy having gained time by burning the bridges, for it
was necessary to go far along the river around a dam to cross,
disappeared so quickly that the wearied horses of the prince's cavalry
were barely able to come up with them. Still the Cossacks, though
famous for fighting in tabors, did not defend themselves so bravely as
usual. The terrible certainty that the prince himself was pursuing
them, so deprived them of courage that they despaired of escape
altogether. Their end would surely have come,--for after a whole
night's firing Baranovski had seized forty wagons and two cannon,--had
it not been for the voevoda of Kieff, who opposed further pursuit and
withdrew his men. Between him and the prince sharp words arose, which
were heard by many of the colonels.
"Why do you," asked the prince, "wish to let the enemy escape, when you
showed such bravery against them in battle? The glory which you won
yesterday, you have lost to-day by negligence."
"I do not know," said the voevoda, "what spirit lives in you, but I am
a man of flesh and blood. After labor I need rest; so do my men. I
shall always attack the enemy as I have to-day, when they present a
front, but I will not pursue them when defeated and fleeing."
"Cut them to pieces!" shouted the prince.
"What will come of that work?" asked the voevoda. "If we destroy these
people, the elder Krívonos will come, burn, destroy, kill, as his son
has in Strijavka, and innocent people will suffer for our rage."
"Oh, I see," said the prince, with anger, "you belong with the
chancellor and with those commanders of theirs, to the peace faction,
which would put down rebellion through negotiations; but, by the living
God, nothing will come of that as long as I have a sabre in my fist!"
To this Tishkyevich answered: "I belong not to a faction, but to
God,--for I am an old man, and shall soon have to stand before him; and
be not surprised if I do not wish to have too great a burden of blood,
shed in civil war, weighing me down. If you are angry because the
command passed you by, then I say that for bravery the command belonged
to you rightly. Still perhaps it is better that they did not give it to
you, for you would have drowned not the rebellion alone in blood, but
with it this unhappy country."
The Jupiter brows of Yeremi contracted, his neck swelled, and his eyes
began to throw out such lightning that all present were alarmed for the
voevoda; but at that moment Pan Yan approached quickly, and said,--
"Your Highness, there is news of the elder Krívonos."
Immediately the thoughts of the prince were turned in another
direction, and his anger against the voevoda decreased. In the mean
while four men were brought in who had come with tidings. Two of them
were orthodox priests, who on seeing the prince threw themselves on
their knees before him.
"Save us! save us!" cried they, stretching their hands to him.
"Whence do you come?"
"We are from Polónnoe. The elder Krívonos has invested the castle and
the town; if your sabre is not raised above his neck, we shall all
perish."
The prince answered: "I know that a mass of people have taken refuge
there in Polónnoe, but mostly Russians, as I am informed. Your merit
before God is that instead of joining the rebellion you oppose it and
remain with your mother the Commonwealth; still I fear some treason on
your part, such as I found in Nyemiroff."
Thereupon the envoys began to swear by all the saints in heaven that
they were waiting for him as a savior, as prince, and that there was
not a thought of treason in them. They spoke the truth; for Krívonos,
having surrounded them with fifty thousand men, vowed their destruction
for this special reason,--that, being Russians, they would not join the
rebellion.
The prince promised them aid; but since his main forces were in
Bystrika, he was obliged to wait. The envoys went away with consolation
in their hearts. The prince turned to the voevoda, and said,--
"Pardon me! I see now that we must let the young Krívonos go, so as to
catch the old one. I judge therefore that you will not leave me in this
undertaking."
"Of course not!" answered the voevoda.
Then the trumpets sounded the retreat to the regiments who had followed
the Cossacks. It was necessary to rest and eat, and let the horses draw
breath. In the evening a whole division arrived from Bystrika, and with
it Pan Stakhovich, an envoy from the voevoda of Bratslav. Pan Kisel
wrote the prince a letter full of homage, saying that like a second
Marius he was saving the country from the last abyss; he wrote also of
the joy which the arrival of the prince from the Trans-Dnieper roused
in all hearts, and wished him success; but at the end of the letter
appeared the reason for which it was written. Kisel stated that
negotiations had been begun, that he with other commissioners was going
to Bélaya Tserkoff, and had hopes of restraining and satisfying
Hmelnitski. Finally he begged the prince not to press so hard on the
Cossacks before negotiations, and to desist from military action as far
as possible.
If the prince had been told that all his Trans-Dnieper possessions were
destroyed, and all the towns levelled to the earth, he would not have
been pained so acutely as he was over that letter. Skshetuski,
Baranovski, Zatsvilikhovski, the two Tishkyevichi, and the Kyerdéis
were present. The prince covered his eyes with his hands, and pushed
back his head as if an arrow had struck him in the heart.
"Disgrace! disgrace! God grant me to die rather than behold such
things!"
Deep silence reigned among those present, and the prince continued,--
"I do not wish to live in this Commonwealth, for to-day I must be
ashamed of it. The Cossack and the peasant mob have poured blood on the
country, and joined pagandom against their own mother. The hetmans are
beaten, the armies swept away. The fame of the nation is trampled upon,
its majesty insulted, churches are burned, priests and nobles cut down,
women dishonored, and what answer does the Commonwealth give to all
these defeats and this shame, at the very remembrance of which our
ancestors would have died? Here it is! She begins negotiations with the
traitor, the disgracer, the ally of the Pagan, and offers him
satisfaction. Oh, God grant me death! I repeat it, since there is no
life in the world for us who feel the dishonor of our country and bring
our heads as a sacrifice for it."
The voevoda of Kieff was silent, and the under-judge of Bratslav
answered after a while,--
"Pan Kisel does not compose the Commonwealth."
"Do not speak to me of Pan Kisel," said the prince; "for I know well
that he has a whole party behind him. He has struck the mind of the
primate, the chancellor, and Prince Dominik, and many lords who to-day
in the interregnum bear rule in the Commonwealth and represent its
majesty, but rather disgrace it by weakness unworthy of a great people;
for this conflagration is to be quenched by blood, and not by
negotiations, since it is better for a knightly nation to perish than
to become low-lived and rouse the contempt of the whole world for
themselves."
The prince again covered his eyes with his hands. The sight of that
pain and sorrow was so sad that the colonels knew not what to do by
reason of the tears that came into their eyes.
"Your Highness," Zatsvilikhovski made bold to say, "let them use their
tongues; we will continue to use our swords."
"True," answered the prince; "and my heart is rent with the thought of
what we shall do farther on. When we heard of the defeat of our country
we came through burning forests and impassable swamps, neither sleeping
nor eating, using the last power we had to save our mother from
destruction and disgrace. Our hands drop down from toil, hunger is
gnawing our entrails, wounds are torturing us, but we regard no toil if
we can only stop the enemy. They say that I am angry because command
has not come to me. Let the whole world judge if those are more fitted
for it who got it; but I, gentlemen, take God and you to witness that I
as well as you do not bring my blood in sacrifice for rewards and
dignities, but out of pure love for the country. But when we are giving
the last breath in our bodies, what do they tell us? Well, that the
gentlemen in Warsaw, and Pan Kisel in Gushchi are thinking of
satisfaction for our enemy. Infamy, infamy!"
"Kisel is a traitor!" cried Baranovski.
Thereupon Pan Stakhovich, a man of dignity and courage, rose, and
turning to Baranovski, said,--
"Being a friend of the voevoda of Bratslav, and an envoy from him, I
permit no man to call him a traitor. His beard too has grown gray from
trouble, and he serves his country according to his understanding,--it
may be mistakenly, but honorably!"
The prince did not hear this answer, for he was plunged in meditation
and in pain. Baranovski did not dare to pick a quarrel in his presence;
he only fastened his eyes steadily on Pan Stakhovich, as if wishing to
say, "I shall find you," and put his hand on his sword-hilt.
Meanwhile Yeremi recovered from his revery, and said gloomily: "There
is no other choice but to fail in upholding obedience (for during the
interregnum they are the government) or the honor of our country for
which we are laboring to devote--"
"From disobedience flows all the evil in the Commonwealth," said the
voevoda of Kieff, with seriousness.
"Are we therefore to permit the disgrace of our country? And if
to-morrow we are commanded to go with ropes around our necks to Tugai
Bey and Hmelnitski, are we to do that for obedience' sake?"
"Veto!" called Pan Kryshtof.
"Veto!" repeated Kyerdéi.
The prince turned to the colonels. "Speak, veterans!" said he.
Pan Zatsvilikhovski began: "Your Highness, I am seventy years old. I am
an orthodox Russian, I was a Cossack commissioner, and Hmelnitski
himself called me father, and ought rather to speak for negotiations;
but if I have to speak for _disgrace_ or _war_, then till I go to the
grave I shall say war!"
"War!" said Skshetuski.
"War, war!" repeated several voices, in fact those of all present.
"War, war!"
"Let it be according to your words," said the prince, seriously; and he
struck the open letter of Kisel with his baton.