A day later, when the army halted in Ryltsoff, the prince summoned Pan
Yan and said,--
"Our forces are weak and worn out, but Krívonos has sixty thousand, and
his army is increasing every day, for the mob is coming to him.
Besides, I cannot depend on the voevoda of Kieff, for he belongs at
heart to the peace party. He marches with me, it is true, but
unwillingly. We must have reinforcements from some source. I learned a
little while ago that not far from Konstantinoff there are two
colonels,--Osinski with the royal guard, and Koritski. Take one hundred
Cossacks of my guard, for safety, and go to these colonels with a
letter from me, asking them to come here without delay, for in a couple
of days I shall fall upon Krívonos. No one has acquitted himself of
important missions better than you, therefore I send you; and this is
an important mission."
Skshetuski bowed, and set out that evening for Konstantinoff, going at
night so as to pass unnoticed; for here and there the scouts of
Krívonos or squads of peasants were circling about. These formed robber
bands in the forests and on the roads; but the prince gave orders to
avoid battles, so that there should be no delay. Marching quietly
therefore, he reached Visovati at daylight, where he found both
colonels, and was greatly rejoiced at the sight of them. Osinski had a
picked regiment of dragoons of the guard, trained in foreign fashion,
and Germans. Koritski had a regiment of German infantry, composed
almost entirely of veterans of the Thirty Years' War. These were
soldiers so terrible and skilful that in the hands of the colonel they
acted like one swordsman. Both regiments were well armed and equipped.
When they heard of joining the prince, they raised shouts of joy at
once, as they were yearning for battles, and knew too that under no
other leader could they have so many. Unfortunately both colonels gave
a negative answer; for both belonged to the command of Prince Dominik
Zaslavski, and had strict orders not to join Vishnyevetski. In vain did
Skshetuski tell them of the glory they might win under such a leader,
and what great service they could render the country. They would not
listen, declaring that obedience was the first law and obligation for
military men. They said they could join the prince only in case the
safety of their regiments demanded it.
Pan Yan went away deeply grieved, for he knew how painful this fresh
disappointment would be to the prince, and how greatly his forces were
wearied and worn by campaigning, by continual struggling with the
enemy, scattering isolated detachments, and finally by continual
wakefulness, hunger, and bad weather. To measure himself in these
conditions with an enemy tenfold superior in number would be
impossible. Skshetuski saw clearly, therefore, that there must be delay
in acting against Krívonos; for it was necessary to give a longer rest
to the army and to wait for a new accession of nobles to the camp.
Occupied with these thoughts, Skshetuski went back to the prince at the
head of his Cossacks. He was obliged to go cautiously and at night, so
as to escape the scouts of Krívonos and the numerous independent bands,
made up of Cossacks and peasants,--sometimes very strong,--which raged
in that neighborhood, burning dwellings, cutting down nobles, and
hunting fugitives along the highroads. He passed Baklai and entered the
forests of Mshyna,--dense, full of treacherous ravines and valleys.
Happily he was favored on the road by good weather after the recent
rains. It was a glorious night in July, moonless, but crowded with
stars. The Cossacks went along in a narrow trail, guided by the
foresters of Mshyna,--very trusty men, knowing the forests perfectly.
Deep silence reigned among the trees, broken only by the cracking of
dry twigs under the horses' hoofs,--when suddenly there came to the
ears of Pan Yan and the Cossacks a kind of distant murmur, like singing
interrupted by cries.
"Listen!" said the lieutenant, in a low voice; and he stopped the line
of Cossacks. "What is that?"
The old forester bent forward to him. "Those are crazy people who go
through the woods now and scream. Their heads are turned from cruelty.
Yesterday we met a noblewoman who was going around looking at the pines
and crying, 'Children! children!' It is evident that the peasants had
killed her children. She stared at us and whined so that our legs
trembled under us. They say that in all the forests there are many
such."
Though Pan Yan was a fearless man, a shudder passed over him from head
to foot. "Maybe it is the howling of wolves. It is difficult to
distinguish."
"What wolves? There are no wolves in the woods now; they have all gone
to the villages, where there are plenty of dead men."
"Awful times!" answered the knight, "when wolves live in the villages,
and people go howling through the woods! Oh, God, God!"
After a while silence came again. There was nothing to be heard but the
sounds usual among the tops of the pine-trees. Soon, however, those
distant sounds rose and became more distinct.
"Oh!" said one of the foresters, suddenly, "it seems as though some
large body of men were over there. You stay here; move on slowly. I
will go with my companions to see who they are."
"Go!" said Skshetuski. "We will wait here."
The foresters disappeared. They did not return for about an hour.
Skshetuski was beginning to be impatient, and indeed to think of
treason, when suddenly some one sprang out of the darkness.
"They are there!" said he, approaching the lieutenant.
"Who?"
"A peasant band."
"Many of them?"
"About two hundred. It is not clear what is best to do, for they are in
a pass through which our road lies. They have a fire, though the light
is not to be seen, for it is below. They have no guards, and can be
approached within arrow-shot."
"All right!" said Skshetuski; and turning to the Cossacks, he began to
give orders to the two principal ones.
The party moved on briskly, but so quietly that only the cracking of
twigs could betray their march. Stirrup did not touch stirrup; there
was no clattering of sabres. The horses, accustomed to surprises and
attacks, went with a wolfs gait, without snorting or neighing. Arriving
at the place where the road made a sudden turn, the Cossacks saw at
once, from a distance, fires and the indefinite outlines of people.
Here Skshetuski divided his men into three parties,--one remained on
the spot; the second went by the edge along the ravine, so as to close
the opposite exit; the third dismounted, and crawling along on hands
and feet, placed themselves on the very edge of the precipice above the
heads of the peasants.
Skshetuski, who was in the second party, looking down, saw as if on the
palm of his hand a whole camp, two or three hundred yards distant.
There were ten fires, but burning not very brightly; over these hung
kettles with food. The odor of smoke and of boiling meat came
distinctly to the nostrils of Skshetuski and the Cossacks. Around the
kettles peasants were standing or lying, drinking and talking. Some had
bottles of vudka in their hands; others were leaning on pikes, on the
ends of which were empaled as trophies the heads of men, women, and
children. The gleam of the fire was reflected in their lifeless eyes
and grinning teeth; the same gleam lighted up the faces of the
peasants, wild and cruel. There, under the wall of the ravine, a number
of them slept, snoring audibly; some talked; some stirred the fire,
which then shot up clusters of golden sparks. At the largest fire sat,
with his back to the ravine and to Skshetuski, a broad-shouldered
old minstrel, who was thrumming on his lyre; in front of him was a
half-circle of peasants. To the ears of Skshetuski came the following
words:
"Ai! grandfather,--sing about the Cossack Holota!"
"No," cried the others; "sing of Marusia Boguslavka!"
"To the devil with Marusia! About the lord of Potok! About the lord of
Potok!" shouted the greatest number of voices.
The "grandfather" struck his lyre with more force, coughed, and began
to sing,--
"Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who art master of many!
Since thou wilt be equal to him who is owner of nothing on earth;
For he who moves all things is manager now, the mighty, the merciful
God!
And he puts on his scales all our woes, and he weighs them to know.
Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who dost soar,
With thy mind seeing wisdom down deep and afar!"
The minstrel was silent, and sighed; and after him the peasants sighed.
Every moment more of them collected around him. But Skshetuski, though
he knew that all his men must be ready now, did not give the signal for
attack. The calm night, the blazing fires, the wild figures, and the
song about Nikolai Pototski, still unfinished, roused in the knight
certain wonderful thoughts, certain feelings and yearnings of which he
could not himself give account. The uncured wounds of his heart opened;
deep sorrow for the near past, for lost happiness, for those hours of
quiet and peace, pressed his heart. He fell to thinking, and was sad.
Then the "grandfather" sang on,--
"Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who mak'st war
With arrows, bows, powder, and ball, with the sharp-cutting sword!
For knights, too, and horsemen, before thee were many,
Who fought with such weapons and fell by the sword.
Halt! look around! stand in amaze, forget thou thy pride!
Thou who from Potok to Slavuta farest, turn then this way.
Innocent men thou tak'st by the ears and stripp'st them of will;
Thou heedest no king, thou knowest no Diet, art thy own single law;
Hei! be amazed, grow not enraged! thou in thy power,
With thy baton alone, as thou lustest, thou turnest the whole
Polish land."
The "grandfather" stopped again, and at that time a pebble slipped from
under the arm of one of the Cossacks, which had been resting on it, and
began to roll down, rattling as it fell. A number of peasants shaded
their eyes with their hands, and looked up quickly into the tree; then
Skshetuski saw that the time had come, and fired his pistol into the
middle of the crowd.
"Kill! slash!" cried he. Thirty Cossacks fired as it were straight into
the faces of the crowd, and after the firing slipped like lightning
down the steep walls of the ravine, among the terrified and confused
peasants.
"Kill! slay!" was thundered at one end of the ravine.
"Kill! slay!" was repeated by furious voices at the other end.
"Yeremi! Yeremi!"
The attack was so unexpected, the terror so great, that the peasants,
though armed, offered no resistance. It had been related in the camp of
the rebellious mob that Yeremi, by the aid of the evil spirit, was able
to be present and to fight at the same time in a number of places.
This time, his name falling upon men who expected nothing and felt
safe--really like the name of an evil spirit--snatched the weapons from
their hands. Besides, the pikes and scythes could not be used in the
narrow place; so that, driven like a flock of sheep to the opposite
wall of the ravine, hewn down with sabres through the foreheads and
faces, beaten, cut up, trampled under foot, in the madness of fear they
stretched out their hands, and seizing the merciless steel, perished.
The still forest was filled with the ominous uproar of the fight. Some
tried to escape over the steep wall of the ravine, and wounding their
hands with climbing, fell back on the sabre's edge. Some died calmly,
others cried for mercy; some covered their faces with their hands, not
wishing to see the moment of death; others threw themselves on the
ground, face downward; but above the whistling of sabres, the groans of
the dying, rose the shout of the assailants, "Yeremi! Yeremi!"--a shout
which made the hair stand erect on the heads of the peasants, and death
seem more terrible.
The minstrel gave a blow on the forehead to one of the Cossacks, and
knocked him down; seized another by the hand, to stop the blow of the
sabre, and bellowed from fear like a buffalo. Others, seeing him, ran
up to cut him to pieces; but Skshetuski interfered.
"Take him alive!" shouted he.
"Stop!" roared the minstrel. "I am a noble. Loquor latine! I am no
minstrel. Stop, I tell you! Robbers, bullock-drivers, sons of--"
But the minstrel had not yet finished his litany when Pan Yan looked
into his face, and cried, till the walls of the ravine gave back the
echo, "Zagloba!" And suddenly rushing upon him like a wild beast, he
drove his fingers into the shoulders and thrust his face up to the face
of the man, and shaking him as he would a pear-tree, roared: "Where is
the princess? where is the princess?"
"Alive, well, safe!" roared back the minstrel; "unhand me! The devil
take you, you are shaking the soul out of me!"
Then that knight, whom neither captivity nor wounds nor grief nor the
terrible Burdabut could bring down, was brought down by happiness. His
hands dropped at his side, great drops of sweat came out on his
forehead; he fell on his knees, covered his face with his hands, and
leaning his head against the wall of the ravine, remained in silence,
evidently thanking God.
Meanwhile the unfortunate peasants had been slaughtered, and were lying
dead on the ground, except a few who were bound for the executioner in
the camp so as to torture a confession from them. The struggle was
over, the uproar at an end. The Cossacks gathered around their leader,
and seeing him kneeling under the rock, looked at him with concern, not
knowing but he was wounded. He rose, however, with a face as bright as
though the light of morning were shining in his soul.
"Where is she?" asked he of Zagloba.
"In Bar."
"Safe?"
"The castle is a strong one; no attack is feared. She is under the care
of Pani Slavoshevska and with the nuns."
"Praise be to God in the highest!" said the knight; and in his voice
there trembled deep emotion. "Give me your hand; I thank you from my
very soul."
Suddenly he turned to the Cossacks. "Are there many prisoners?"
"Seventeen."
"A great joy has met me, and mercy is in me," said Pan Yan. "Let them
be free!"
The Cossacks could not believe their ears. There was no such custom as
that in the armies of Vishnyevetski.
The lieutenant frowned slightly. "Let them go free!" he repeated.
The Cossacks went away; but after a while the first essaul returned and
said: "They do not believe as; they do not dare to go."
"Are their bonds loose?"
"Yes."
"Then leave them here, and to horse yourselves!"
Half an hour later the party was moving on again along the quiet,
narrow road. The moon had risen, and sent long white streaks to the
centre of the forest and lighted its dark depths. Zagloba and
Skshetuski, riding ahead, conversed together.
"But tell me everything about her that you know," said the knight.
"Then you rescued her from the hands of Bogun?"
"Of course; and besides, when going away, I bound up his face so that
he could not scream."
"Well, you acted splendidly, as God is dear to me! But how did you get
to Bar?"
"That is a long story, better at another time; for I am terribly tired,
and my throat is dried up from singing to those rapscallions. Haven't
you anything to drink?"
"I have a little flask of gorailka; here it is."
Zagloba seized the flask and raised it to his mouth. A protracted
gurgling was heard; and Pan Yan, impatient, without waiting the end,
inquired further: "Did you say well?"
"What a question!" answered Zagloba; "everything is well in a dry
throat."
"But I was inquiring about the princess."
"Oh, the princess! She is as well as a deer."
"Praise be to God on high! And she is comfortable in Bar?"
"As comfortable as in heaven,--couldn't be more so. Every one cleaves
to her for her beauty. Pani Slavoshevska loves her as her own daughter.
And how many men are in love with her! You couldn't count them on a
rosary. But she, in constant love for you, thinks as much of them as I
do now of this empty flask of yours."
"May God give health to her, the dearest!" said Skshetuski, joyfully.
"Then she remembers me with pleasure?"
"Remembers you? I tell you that I myself couldn't understand where she
got breath for so many sighs; these sighs made every one pity her, and
most of all the little nuns, for she brought them to her side through
her sweetness. Then she sent me too into these dangers, in which I have
almost lost my life, to find you without fail and see if you were alive
and well. She tried several times to send messengers, but no one would
go. At last I took pity on her, and set out for your camp. If it hadn't
been for the disguise, I should have laid down my head surely. But the
peasants took me for a minstrel everywhere, as I sing very
beautifully."
Skshetuski became silent from joy. A thousand thoughts and
reminiscences thronged into his head. Helena stood as if living before
him, as he had seen her the last time in Rozlogi, just before leaving
for the Saitch,--charming, beautiful, graceful, and with those eyes
black as velvet, full of unspeakable allurement. It seemed to him that
he saw her, felt the warmth beating from her cheeks, heard her sweet
voice. He recalled that walk in the cherry-garden and the cuckoo, and
those questions which he gave the bird, and the bashfulness of Helena.
Indeed the soul went out of him; his heart grew weak from love and joy,
in presence of which all his past sufferings were like a drop in the
sea. He did not know himself what was happening to him. He wanted to
shout, fall on his knees and thank God again, then inquire without end.
At last he began to repeat:--
"She is alive, well?"
"Alive, well," answered Zagloba, like an echo.
"And she sent you out?"
"Yes."
"And you have got a letter?"
"I have."
"Give it to me."
"It is sewed into my clothes; besides, it is night now. Restrain
yourself."
"I cannot. You see yourself."
"I see."
Zagloba's answers became more and more laconic; at last he nodded a
couple of times and fell asleep.
Skshetuski saw there was no help; therefore he gave himself up again to
meditation, which was interrupted after a while by the tramp of a
considerable body of cavalry approaching quickly. It was Ponyatovski
with Cossacks of the guard, whom the prince had sent out to meet
Skshetuski, fearing lest some harm might have met him.