Zagloba lay bound hand and foot to his own sabre, which was passed
across behind his knees, in that same room in which the wedding was
celebrated. The terrible chief sat at some distance on a bench, and
feasted his eyes on the terror of the prisoner.
"Good-evening!" said he, seeing the open lids of his victim.
Zagloba made no answer, but in one twinkle of an eye came to his senses
as if he had never put a drop of wine to his mouth; the ants which had
gone down to his heels returned to his head, and the marrow in his
bones grew cold as ice. They say that a drowning man in the last moment
sees clearly all his past,--that he remembers everything, and gives
himself an account of that which is happening to him. Such clearness of
vision and memory Zagloba possessed in that hour; and the last
expression of that clearness was a silent cry, unspoken by the lips,--
"He will give me a flaying now."
And the leader repeated, with a quiet voice: "Good-evening!"
"Brr!" thought Zagloba, "I would rather go to the furies."
"Don't you know me, lord noble?"
"With the forehead, with the forehead! How is your health?"
"Not bad; but as to yours, I'll occupy myself with that."
"I have not asked God for such a doctor, and I doubt if I could digest
your medicine; but the will of God be done."
"Well, you cured me; now I'll return thanks. We are old friends. You
remember how you bound my head in Rozlogi, do you not?"
Bogun's eyes began to glitter like two carbuncles, and the line of his
mustaches extended in a terrible smile.
"I remember," said Zagloba, "that I might have stabbed you, and I did
not."
"But have I stabbed you, or do I think to stab you? No! For me you are
a darling, a dear; and I will guard you as the eye in my head."
"I have always said that you are an honorable cavalier," said Zagloba,
pretending to take Bogun's words in earnest. At the same time through
his mind flew the thought: "It is evident that he is meditating some
special delicacy for me. I shall not die in simple style."
"You speak well," continued Bogun. "You too are an honorable cavalier;
so we have sought and found each other."
"What is true is that I have not sought you; but I thank you for the
good word."
"You will thank me still more before long; and I will thank you for
this, that you took the young woman from Rozlogi to Bar. There I found
her; and I would ask you to the wedding, but it will not be to-day nor
to-morrow,--there is war at present,--and you are an old man, perhaps
you will not live to see it."
Zagloba, notwithstanding the terrible position in which he found
himself, pricked up his ears. "To the wedding!" he muttered.
"But what did you think?" asked Bogun. "That I was a peasant, to
constrain her without a priest, or not to insist on being married in
Kieff. You brought her to Bar not for a peasant, but for an ataman and
a hetman."
"Very good!" thought Zagloba. Then he turned his head to Bogun. "Give
the order to unbind me," said he.
"Oh, lie awhile, lie awhile! You will go on a journey. You are an old
man, and you need rest before the road."
"Where do you wish to take me?"
"You are my friend, so I will take you to my other friend, Krívonos.
Then we shall both think how to make it pleasant for you."
"It will be hot for me," muttered Zagloba; and again the ants were
walking over his back. At last he began to speak:--
"I know that you are enraged at me; but unjustly, God knows. We lived
together, and in Chigirin we drank more than one bottle. I had for you
the love of a father for your knightly daring; a better love you did
not find in the whole Ukraine. Isn't that true? In what way have I
crossed your path? If I had not gone with you to Rozlogi, we should
have lived to this day in kind friendship; and why did I go if not out
of friendship for you? And if you had not become enraged, if you had
not killed those unhappy people,--God is looking at me,--I should not
have crossed your path. Why should I mix in other men's affairs? I
would have preferred to see the girl yours; but through your Tartar
courtship my conscience was moved, and besides it was a noble's house.
You yourself would not have acted otherwise. I might, moreover, have
swept you out of the world with the greatest gain to myself. And why
did I not do it? Because I am a noble. Be ashamed of yourself too, for
I know you wish to take vengeance on me. As it is, you have the girl in
your hands. What do you want of me? Have not I guarded as the eye in my
head this your property? Since you have respected her it is to be seen
that you have knightly honor and conscience; but how will you extend to
her the hand which you steep in my innocent blood? How will you say to
her, 'The man who led you through the mob and the Tartars I delivered
to torment'? Have shame, and let me go from these bonds and from this
captivity into which you have seized me by treachery. You are young,
and know not what may meet you, and for my death God will punish you in
that which is dearest to you."
Bogun rose from the bench, pale with rage, and approaching Zagloba,
began to speak in a voice stifled with fury,--
"Unclean swine! I will have straps torn from you, I'll burn you on a
slow fire, I'll drive spikes into you, I'll tear you into rags."
In an access of fury he grasped at the knife hanging from his belt, and
for a moment pressed it convulsively in his hand. The edge was already
gleaming in Zagloba's eyes, when the chief restrained himself, thrust
the knife back into the scabbard, and cried: "Boys!"
Six Zaporojians came into the room.
"Take that Polish carrion, throw it into the stable, and guard it as
the eye in your head!"
The Cossacks took Zagloba,--two by his hands and feet, one behind by
the hair,--and carrying him out of the house bore him through the yard,
and threw him on a dung-heap in the stable standing at one side. Then
they closed the door. Complete darkness surrounded the prisoner, but in
the cracks between the wall-planks and through holes in the thatch the
dim light of night penetrated here and there. After a while Zagloba's
eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He looked around, and saw there
were no pigs in the stable, nor Cossacks. The conversation of the
latter, however, reached him clearly through all the four walls.
Evidently the whole building was surrounded closely; but in spite of
these guards Zagloba drew a long breath.
First of all, he was alive. When Bogun flashed his knife above him he
was convinced that his last moment had come, and he recommended his
soul to God,--it is true with the greatest fear. But evidently Bogun
decided to save him for a death incomparably more complicated. He
desired not only to take revenge, but to glut himself with vengeance on
the man who had stolen from him the beauty, belittled his Cossack
glory, and covered him with ridicule, swaddling him like a baby. It was
therefore a gloomy prospect for Pan Zagloba; but he was comforted by
the thought that he was still living, that likely they would take him
to Krívonos and begin to torture him there, and consequently he had a
few, perhaps a number of days before him. In the mean while he lay in
the stable alone, and could in the midst of the quiet night think of
stratagems.
That was the one good side of the affair; but when he thought of the
bad ones the ants began to travel over his spine in thousands.
"Stratagems! If a pig lay here in this stable, he would have more
stratagems than I, for they would not tie him crosswise to a sabre. If
Solomon had been bound in this way, he would have been no wiser than
his trousers or my boot-heel. Oh, my God, my God, for what dost thou
punish me? Of all people in the world I wanted most to avoid this
scoundrel, and such is my luck that he is just the man I have not
avoided. I shall have my skin dressed like sviboda cloth. If another
had taken me, I might promise to join the rebellion and then run away.
But another would not have believed me, and this one least of all. I
feel my heart dying within me. The devils have brought me to this
place. Oh, my God! my God!"
But after a while Zagloba thought that if he had his hands and feet
free, he might more easily use some stratagem. Well, let him try! If he
could only push the sword from under his knees, the rest would go on
more easily. But how was he to push it out? He turned on his side, he
could do nothing; then he fell into deep thought.
Next he began to rock himself on his back with increasing rapidity,
each moment pushing himself half the length of his body ahead. He got
heated; his forehead was in greater perspiration than during the dance.
At times he stopped and rested; at times he interrupted the work, for
it appeared some one of the Cossacks was coming to the door; then he
began with renewed ardor. At last he pushed himself forward to the
wall.
After that he began to sway in another direction, not from head to
foot, but from side to side, so that every time he struck lightly
against the wall with the sabre, which was pushed in this way from
under his knees, moving more and more toward the middle of the stable
from the side of the hilt. Zagloba's heart began to beat like a hammer,
for he saw that this method might be effectual.
He worked on, trying to strike with the least noise, and only when the
conversation of the Cossacks was louder than the light blow. At last
the moment came when the end of the sheath was on a line with his wrist
and his knee, and further striking against the wall could not push it
out. But hanging from the other side was a considerable and much
heavier part of the sabre, taking into consideration the hilt with the
cross usually on sabres. Zagloba counted on that cross.
He began to rock himself for the third time, but now the great object
of his efforts was to turn himself with his feet toward the wall.
Attaining this, he began to push himself up with his feet. The sabre
still clung under his knees and his hands, but the hilt became more and
more involved in the uneven surface of the ground. At length the cross
caught rather firmly. Zagloba pushed the last time. For a moment joy
nailed him to the spot; the sabre had dropped out.
He removed his hands then from his knees, and though they were still
bound he caught the sabre with them. He held the scabbard with his feet
and drew out the blade. To cut the bonds on his feet was the work of a
moment. It was more difficult in the case of his hands. He was obliged
to put his sabre on the ground with the edge up, and draw the cords
along the edge until he had cut them. When he had done this he was not
only free from bonds, but armed. He drew a long breath, then made a
sign of the cross and began to thank God.
But it was very far yet from the cutting of the bonds to the rescuing
of himself from the hands of Bogun.
"What further?" asked Zagloba of himself.
He found no answer. The stable was surrounded by Cossacks; there were
about a hundred. A mouse could not have passed through unobserved, and
what could a man as bulky as Zagloba do?
"I see that I am beginning to come to the end of my resources," said he
to himself. "My wit is only good to grease boots with, and you could
buy better grease than it from the Hungarians at the fair. If God does
not send me some idea, then I shall become roast meat for the crows;
but if he does send me an idea, then I promise to remain in continence
like Pan Longin."
The louder conversation of the Cossacks behind the wall interrupted his
thoughts. He sprang up and put his ear to a crack between the timbers.
The dry pine gave back the voices like the sounding-board of a lute.
"And where shall we go from here, Father Ovsivuyu?" asked one voice.
"To Kamenyets, of course," said another.
"Nonsense! The horses can barely drag their legs; they will not get
there."
"That's why we stop here; they will have rest by morning."
A moment of silence followed; then the first voice was heard lower than
before. "And it seems to me, father, that the ataman is going from
Kamenyets to Yampol."
Zagloba held his breath.
"Be silent if your young head is dear to you!" was the answer.
Another moment of silence, but from behind the other walls came
whispering.
"They are all around, on the watch everywhere," muttered Zagloba; and
he went to the opposite wall. Meanwhile were heard the noise of chewing
oats and the snorting of horses evidently standing right there; among
these horses the Cossacks were lying on the ground and talking, for
their voices came from below.
"Ah!" said one, "we have come here without sleeping, eating, or feeding
our horses, so as to go on the stake in the camp of Yeremi."
"The people who have fled from Yarmolintsi saw him as I see you. What
they tell is a terror. He is as big as a pine-tree; in his forehead are
two firebrands, and he has a dragon under him for a horse."
"Lord, have mercy on us!"
"We ought to take that Pole with the soldiers and be off."
"How be off, when as it is the horses are just dying?"
"A bad fix, brother! If I were the ataman, I would cut off the heads of
those Poles, and go back to Kamenyets, even on foot."
"We will take him with us to Kamenyets, and there our ataman will play
with him."
"The devils will play with you first!" muttered Zagloba.
And, indeed, in spite of all his fear of Bogun, and maybe especially
because of that, he had sworn that he would not yield himself alive. He
was free from bonds, and he had a sabre in his hands,--he would defend
himself. If they cut him to pieces, all right; but they wouldn't take
him alive.
The snorting and groaning of horses excessively road-weary drowned the
sound of further conversation, and immediately gave a certain idea to
Zagloba.
"If I could get through the wall," thought he, "and jump on horseback
suddenly--it is night, and before they could see what happened I should
be out of sight. It is hard enough to chase through the ravines and
valleys by sunlight, but what must it be in the dark? God grant me an
opportunity!"
But an opportunity was not to be obtained easily. It was necessary
either to throw down the wall--and to do that he would have to be Pan
Podbipienta--or to burrow under it like a fox; and then they would
surely hear, discover, and seize the fugitive by the neck before he
could touch the stirrup with his foot. A thousand stratagems crowded
into Zagloba's head; but for the very reason that they were a thousand
no one of them presented itself clearly.
"It cannot be otherwise; only with my life can I pay," thought he.
Then he went toward the third wall. All at once he struck his head
against something hard. He felt; it was a ladder. The stable was not
for pigs, but for buffaloes, and half the length it had a loft for
straw and hay. Zagloba without a moment's hesitation climbed up. Then
he sat down, drew breath, and began slowly to pull up the ladder after
him.
"Well, now I am in a fortress!" he muttered. "Even if they should find
another ladder, they couldn't bring it here very quickly; and if I
don't split the forehead of the man who comes here, then I'll give
myself to be smoked into bacon. Oh, devil take it!" he burst out after
a while, "in truth they cannot only smoke me, but fry and melt me into
tallow. But let them burn the stable if they wish,--all right! They
won't get me alive; and it is all the same whether the crows eat me raw
or roasted. If I only escape those robber hands, I don't care for the
rest; and I have hope that something will happen yet."
Zagloba passed easily, it is evident, from the lowest despair to
hope,--in fact, such hope entered him as if he were already in the camp
of Prince Yeremi. But still his position had not improved much. He was
sitting on the loft, and he had a sabre in his hand; he might ward off
an attack for some time, but that was all. From the loft to freedom was
a road like jumping from the stove on your forehead,--with this
difference, that below the sabres and pikes of the Cossacks watching
around the walls were waiting for him.
"Something will happen!" muttered Zagloba; and approaching the roof he
began to separate quietly and remove the thatch, so as to gain for
himself an outlook into the world. This was easily done, for the
Cossacks talked continually under the walls, wishing to kill the tedium
of watching; and besides there sprang up a rather strong breeze, which
deadened with its movement among the neighboring trees the noise which
was made in removing the bundles. After a time the aperture was ready.
Zagloba stuck his head through it and began to look around.
The night had already begun to wane, and on the eastern horizon
appeared the first glimmer of day. By the pale light Zagloba saw the
whole yard filled with horses; in front of the cottage rows of sleeping
Cossacks, stretched out like long indefinite lines; farther on the
well-sweep and the trough, in which water was glistening; and near it
again a rank of sleeping men and a number of Cossacks with drawn sabres
in their hands walking along that line.
"There are my men, bound with ropes," muttered Zagloba. "Bah!" he added
after a while, "if they were mine! But they are the prince's. I was a
good leader to them; there is nothing to be said on that point. I led
them into the mouth of the dog. It will be a shame to show my eyes
if God returns me freedom. And through what was all this? Through
love-making and drinking. What was it to me that trash were marrying? I
had as much business at this wedding as at a dog's wedding. I will
renounce this traitorous mead, which crawls into the legs, not the
head. All the evil in the world is from drinking; for if they had
fallen upon us while sober, I should have gained the victory in a trice
and shut Bogun up in this stable."
Zagloba's gaze fell again on the cottage in which the chief was
sleeping, and rested at its door.
"Sleep on, you scoundrel!" he muttered, "sleep! And may you dream that
the devils are skinning you,--a thing which will not miss you in any
case! You wanted to make a sieve out of my skin; try to crawl up to me
here, and we shall see if I do not cut yours so that it wouldn't do to
make boots for a dog. If I could only get myself out of this place,--if
I could only get out! But how?"
Indeed the problem was not to be solved. The whole yard was so packed
with men and horses that even if Zagloba had got out of the stable,
even if he had pushed through the thatch and sprung on one of the
horses that stood right there, he could in no wise have pushed to the
gate; and then how was he to get beyond the gate? Still, it seemed to
him that he had solved more than half the problem. He was free, armed,
and he sat in the loft as in a fortress.
"What the devil good is there," thought he, "in getting out of the rope
if you are to be hanged with it afterward?" And again stratagems began
to bustle in his head; but there were so many of them that he could not
choose.
Meanwhile the light increased, the places around the cottage began to
emerge from the shadow; the thatch of the cottage was covered as if by
silver. Zagloba could distinguish accurately particular groups; he
could see the red uniforms of his men, who were lying around the well,
and the sheepskin coats under which the Cossacks were sleeping near the
cottage.
Then suddenly some figure rose from the rank of the sleepers and began
to pass with slow step through the yard, halting here and there near
men and horses, speaking for a moment with the Cossacks who were
guarding the prisoners, and at last approached the stable. Zagloba
supposed at first that it was Bogun, for he saw that the guards spoke
to that figure as subordinates to a superior.
"Eh!" he muttered, "if I had a musket now, I would show you how to
cover yourself with your feet."
At this moment the figure raised its head, and on its face fell the
gray light of the morning. It was not Bogun, but the sotnik Golody,
whom Zagloba recognized at once, for he knew Golody well from the time
of his own intimacy with Bogun in Chigirin.
"Well, boys, you are not asleep?" said Golody.
"No, father, though we should like to sleep. It is about time to change
guard."
"It will be changed immediately. And that devil's imp has not got
away?"
"No, no!--unless the soul has gone out of him, father, for he hasn't
moved."
"Ah! he is an old fox. But look, see what he is doing, for he would go
through the ground."
"This minute!" answered a number of Cossacks, going to the door of the
stable.
"Throw out hay from the mow! Rub the horses! We will start at sunrise."
"All right, father!"
Zagloba, leaving at once his lookout in the opening of the thatch,
crawled to the hole in the floor. At the same moment he heard the creak
of the wooden hinges and the rustling of the straw under the feet of
the Cossacks. His heart beat like a hammer in his breast, and he
pressed the hilt of the sabre in his hand, renewing in his soul the
oath that he would resign himself to be burned with the stable or be
cut to pieces rather than be taken alive. He expected every moment that
the Cossacks would raise a fearful uproar, but he was deceived. For a
time he heard them walking more and more quickly through the whole
stable. At last one said,--
"What the devil is the matter? I can't find him. We threw him in here."
"He isn't a werewolf, is he? Strike a light, Vassily; it is as dark
here as in a forest."
A moment of silence followed. Evidently Vassily was looking for flint
and tinder, while the other Cossacks began to call in a low voice:
"Where are you?"
"Kiss the dog's ear!" muttered Zagloba.
Steel struck flint, a cluster of sparks flashed forth and lighted the
dark interior of the stable and the heads of the Cossacks in their
caps, then deeper darkness came down again.
"He is not here! he is not here!" cried excited voices.
That moment one sprang to the door. "Father Golody! Father Golody!"
"What's the matter?" cried the sotnik, approaching the door.
"There is no Pole."
"How, no Pole?"
"He has gone into the ground; he isn't anywhere. O God, have mercy on
us! We struck fire; he is not here."
"Impossible! Oh, you will catch it from the ataman! Has he escaped, or
how is it? You have been asleep."
"No, father, we have not slept. He didn't get out of the stable on our
side."
"Be quiet! don't wake the ataman. If he hasn't gone out, then he must
be here. Have you looked everywhere?"
"Everywhere."
"On the loft too?"
"How could he crawl on the loft when he was bound?"
"You fool! If he hadn't unbound himself, he would be here. Look on the
loft! Strike a light!"
Sparks flashed again. The news flew in a moment among all the guards.
They began to crowd to the stable with the haste usual on sudden
occasions; hurried steps were heard, hurried questions and still more
hurried answers. Advices crossed one another like swords in battle.
"To the loft! to the loft!"
"But watch outside!"
"Don't wake the ataman; if you do, there will be terror."
"The ladder is gone!"
"Bring another!"
"There is none anywhere."
"Run to the cottage; see if there is one there."
"Oh, curse the Pole!"
"Go up the corners to the thatch; get in through the thatch."
"Impossible; for the roof projects and is fastened with planks."
"Bring the lances; we will go up on the lances. Ah, the dog! he has
hauled up the ladder."
"Bring the lances!" roared Golody.
Some ran for the lances, while others stretched their heads up toward
the loft. Already scattered light penetrated through the open door into
the stable; and with its uncertain gleam was to be seen the square
opening in the loft, black and silent. From below were heard single
voices.
"Now, sir noble, let down the ladder and come. You won't get away,
anyhow; why put people to trouble? Come down, oh, come down!"
Silence.
"You are a wise man. If it would do you any good, you might stay up
there; but since it won't help you, come down of your own accord, be a
good fellow."
Silence.
"Come down! If you don't, we will skin your head and throw you
head-first into the dung-heap."
Zagloba was as deaf to threats as to coaxing, sitting in the dark like
a badger in his hole, preparing for a stubborn defence. He only grasped
his sabre tighter, panted a little, and whispered his prayers.
Lances were now brought, three of them tied together, and placed with
their points to the opening. The thought flashed through Zagloba's mind
to grasp and draw them up; but he thought that the roof might be too
low, and he couldn't draw them up entirely. Besides, others would be
brought at once. Meanwhile the stable became crowded with Cossacks.
Some held torches, others brought from wagons all kinds of ladders and
poles, every one of which turned out to be too short; these they lashed
together hurriedly with straps, for it was really difficult to climb on
the lances. Still they found volunteers.
"I'll go," called a number of voices.
"Wait for the ladder!" said Golody.
"And what harm is it, father, to try on the lances?"
"Vassily will climb; he goes like a cat."
"Let him try."
But others began to joke immediately. "Be careful! he has a sabre; he
will cut your head off. Look out! he will grab you by the head, drag
you in, and treat you as a bear would."
But Vassily didn't allow himself to be frightened. "He knows," said
Vassily, "that if he should lay a finger on me the ataman would give
him the devil to eat; and you, brothers."
This was a warning to Zagloba, who sat quietly, and did not even
mutter.
But the Cossacks, as is usual among soldiers, got into good humor, for
the whole affair began to amuse them; so they kept on teasing Vassily.
"There will be one blockhead less in the white world."
"He won't think how we shall pay him for your head. He is a bold hero."
"Ho, ho! He is a werewolf. The devil knows into what form he has turned
already. He is a wizard! Can't tell, Vassily, whom you will find there
behind the opening."
Vassily, who had already spat on his palms and was just grasping the
lances by the stem, stopped suddenly. "I'll go against a Pole," said
he, "but not against the devil."
But now the ladders were lashed together and placed at the opening. It
was difficult to climb them, too, for they bent immediately where they
were tied, and the slender round cracked under the feet, which were
placed on the lowest one to try. But Golody himself began to ascend;
while going, he said,--
"My dear noble, you see that there is no joking here. If you have made
up your mind to stay up there, stay; but don't fight, for we will get
you anyhow, even if we have to pull the stable to pieces. Have sense!"
At last his head reached the opening and went through it slowly. All at
once the whiz of a sabre was heard. The Cossack screamed fearfully,
tottered, and fell, with his head cut in two.
"Cut! slash!" roared the Cossacks.
A fearful tumult began in the stable. Shouts and cries were raised,
which were overborne by the thundering voice of Zagloba,--
"Oh, you scoundrels, you man-eaters, you basilisks! I'll cut you to
pieces, you mangy ruffians! You'll know a knightly hand. Attacking
honest people by night, shutting a noble in a stable! Scoundrels! Come
to me by ones or by twos, only come! Come along; but you'll leave your
heads on the dung-heap, for I'll hew them off, as I live."
"Cut! cut!" shouted the Cossacks.
"We will burn the stable."
"I'll burn it myself, you ox-tails, and you with it."
"Several,--several at a time!" shouted an old Cossack. "Support the
ladder, prop it with lances, take bundles of hay on your heads and go
on! We must get him."
Then he mounted, and with him two comrades. The rounds began to break,
the ladders bent still more; but more than twelve strong hands seized
them by the sides propped by the lances, others thrust the points of
lances through the opening to ward off the blows of the sabre.
A few moments later three bodies fell on the heads of those standing
below. Zagloba, heated by his triumph, bellowed like a buffalo, and
poured out such curses as the world had never heard, and from which the
souls of the Cossacks would have died within them, if fury had not
begun to possess them. Some thrust their lances into the loft; others
hurried on the ladders, though sure death waited them in the opening.
Suddenly a shout was heard at the door, and into the stable rushed
Bogun himself. He was without a cap, in trousers and shirt; in his hand
was a drawn sabre, and in his eyes fire.
"Through the thatch!" he shouted. "Tear the thatch apart and take him
alive!"
But Zagloba, seeing him, roared: "Ruffian, just come up here! I'll cut
off your nose and ears. I won't touch your neck, for that belongs to
the hangman. Well, are you afraid, my urchin?" Then Zagloba said to the
Cossacks: "Tie that scoundrel for me, and you will all be pardoned.
Well, gallows-bird! well, Jews' picture! I am alone here; only show
your head on this loft! Come, come! I shall be glad to see you, I'll
give you such a reception that you'll remember it with your father the
devil, and your mother a harlot."
The poles of the roof now began to crack. It was evident the Cossacks
were up there and tearing through the thatch.
Zagloba heard, but fear didn't deprive him of power; he was as if drunk
with the battle and with blood. "I'll spring to the corner and perish
there," thought he.
But that instant gun-shots were heard in the yard. A number of Cossacks
rushed to the stable. "Father! father!" they shouted. "This way!"
Zagloba at the first moment did not understand what had happened, and
was astonished. He looked down through the opening; there was no one
there. The rafters were not cracking.
"What is it? what has happened?" he cried aloud. "Ah! I understand.
They want to burn the stable, and fire from pistols at the roof."
Then was heard the uproar of people, more terrible every moment, and
the tramp of horses. Shouts mixed with howls and the clatter of steel.
"My God, that must be a battle!" thought Zagloba, springing to the
opening in the thatch. He looked, and his legs bent under him with
delight.
In the yard a battle was raging, and soon Zagloba beheld the terrible
defeat of Bogun's Cossacks. Attacked on a sudden, struck with fire from
pistols placed at their heads and breasts, pushed to the fences, to the
cottage and out-houses, cut with swords, thrown down by the rush of
horses, trampled with their hoofs, the Cossacks perished almost without
resistance. The ranks of red-uniformed soldiers, cutting furiously and
pressing on the fugitives, did not allow them to form, to use their
sabres, to draw breath, or to reach their horses. Only detached groups
defended themselves. Some, favored by the disturbance, uproar, and
smoke, succeeded in reaching their loosened saddle-girths, and perished
before they touched the stirrups with a foot; others, throwing away
lances and sabres, disappeared under the fences, got stuck between the
posts, or jumped over the top, shouting and crying with unearthly
voices. It seemed to the unfortunates that Prince Yeremi himself had
fallen upon them unexpectedly, and was shivering them with his whole
power. They had no time to come to their minds to look around. The
shouts of the victors, the whistle of sabres, and the rattle of shots
chased them like a storm. The hot breath of horses was on their necks.
"Save yourselves, men!" was heard on every side. "Slay! kill!" was the
response of the assailants.
At last Zagloba saw little Volodyovski as, standing near the gate at
the head of a number of soldiers, he gave directions with his baton and
voice, and sometimes rushed on his gray horse into the whirl, and then
the moment he turned or struck, a man fell without uttering a sound.
Oh, but he was a master beyond masters, little Volodyovski, and a
soldier, blood and bone! He did not lose sight of the battle, but
making a correction here and there, returned again, looked and
corrected, like the director of an orchestra, who at times plays
himself, at times stops, watching carefully over all, so that each man
may fill his part.
When he saw this, Zagloba stamped on the floor of the loft till the
dust rose. He clapped his hands and shouted,--
"Slay the dog-brothers! Kill them! Flay them! Cut, slash, hew, kill! On
to them, on! Sabre them to a man!"
Thus he shouted and jumped till his eyes were inflamed from exertion,
and he lost vision for a moment; but when he regained his eyesight he
saw a still more beautiful spectacle. There, at the head of a number of
Cossacks, was Bogun, rushing away on horseback like lightning, without
a cap, in his shirt and trousers, and after him, at the head of his
soldiers, little Volodyovski. "Slay!" shouted Zagloba; "that's Bogun."
But his voice did not reach them. That moment Bogun with his heroes was
over the fence, Volodyovski over the fence. Some remained behind;
horses fell under others in the leap. Zagloba looked. Bogun is on the
plain, Volodyovski is on the plain. Then the Cossacks scatter in their
flight, and soldiers in their pursuit; individual pursuit begins.
Zagloba's breath died within his breast, his eyes were almost bursting
through his lids; for what does he see? Volodyovski is almost on the
neck of Bogun, like a hound on a wild boar. The chief turns his head,
raises his sabre; they fight. Zagloba shouts. Still another moment, and
Bogun falls with his horse; and Volodyovski, leaving him, hurries after
the others.
But Bogun is alive; he rises from the ground and runs to a pile of
rocks surrounded with bushes.
"Hold him! hold him!" roared Zagloba. "That's Bogun!"
Then a new band of Cossacks hurry on, who till that moment had been
hiding on the other side of the rocks, but now discovered, seek a new
way of escape, pushed by soldiers who are about half a furlong behind.
This party comes up to Bogun, bears him away, disappears from sight in
the turns of the ravine, and after it disappear the soldiers.
In the yard it was silent and empty; for the soldiers of Zagloba,
rescued by Volodyovski, chased after the Cossacks and pursued with the
others the scattered enemy.
Zagloba let down the ladder, slipped from the loft, and coming out of
the stable into the yard, said, "I am free!" Then he began to look
around. In the yard lay a number of Zaporojian bodies and some Poles.
He walked slowly among them, and examined each carefully. At length he
knelt over one of them. Soon he rose with a canteen in his hand. "It is
full!" he muttered; and placing it to his mouth he raised his head.
"Not bad!" Again he looked round, and again he repeated, but with a
much clearer voice, "I am free!"
He went to the cottage. On the threshold he came upon the body of the
old cooper, whom the Cossacks had killed there. He disappeared inside.
When he came out, around his hips, over a coat soiled with manure,
glittered Bogun's belt, thickly embroidered with gold; at the belt a
knife with a great ruby in the hilt.
"God has rewarded bravery," he muttered, "for the belt is pretty full.
Ah, you wretched robber, I have hope that you will not escape! That
little hop-of-my-thumb--may the bullets strike him!--is a lively piece,
just like a wasp. I knew he was a good soldier; but to drive Bogun
as he would a white-faced mare, I did not expect that of him. That
there should be such strength and courage in such a little body! Bogun
might carry him on a string at his belt. May the bullets strike
Volodyovski!--but better, may God give him luck. He couldn't have known
Bogun, or he would have finished him. Phu! how it smells of powder
here, enough to pierce the nose! But if I didn't get out of a scrape
this time such as I have never been in before! Praise to God! Well,
well, but so to drive Bogun! I must examine this Volodyovski again, for
it must be there is a devil sitting inside of him."
Zagloba sat on the threshold of the stable in meditation, and waited.
Presently there appeared at a distance on the plain soldiers returning
from the victory, and at their head rode Volodyovski. When he saw
Zagloba, Volodyovski galloped up, and springing from his horse, came to
him.
"Do I see you once more?" called he, at a distance.
"Me, in my own person," said Zagloba. "God reward you for coming with
reinforcements in time!"
"Thanks be to God that I came in time!" said the little knight,
pressing the palm of Zagloba with joy.
"But where did you hear of the straits in which I was?"
"The peasants of this place gave information."
"Oh, and I thought they betrayed me."
"Why should they? They are honest. The newly married barely got off
with their lives, and what happened to the others they know not."
"If they are not traitors, then they are killed by the Cossacks. The
master of the house lies near the door. But what of that? Tell me, is
Bogun alive, did he escape,--he without a cap, in the shirt and
trousers, whom you threw with his horse?"
"I hit him on the head; but it is too bad that I didn't know him. But
tell me, my good Zagloba, what is the best you have done."
"What have I done?" repeated Zagloba. "Come, Pan Michael, and see." He
took him by the hand and led him into the stable. "Look at that!"
Volodyovski saw nothing for a while, for he had come in from the light;
but when his eyes had become used to the darkness he saw bodies lying
motionless on the dung-heap. "And who cut down these men?" asked he, in
astonishment.
"I!" said Zagloba. "You have asked what I did. Here it is before you!"
"But," said the young officer, "how did you do it?"
"I defended myself up there. They stormed me from below and through the
roof. I don't know how long it was, for in battle a man doesn't reckon
time. It was Bogun, with a strong force and chosen men. He will
remember you; he will remember me too. At another time I will tell you
how I fell into captivity, what I passed through, and how I settled
Bogun; for I had an encounter of tongues with him. But now I am so
wearied that I can scarcely stand."
"Well," repeated Volodyovski, "it is not to be denied you defended
yourself manfully; but I will say this, you are a better swordsman than
general."
"Pan Michael," said the noble, "it is no time for discussion. Better
thank God, who has sent down to us to-day so mighty a victory, the
memory of which will not soon vanish from among men."
Volodyovski looked with astonishment at Zagloba, since it had appeared
to him hitherto that he alone had gained that victory which Zagloba
evidently wished to share with him. But he only looked, shook his head,
and said, "Let it be so."
An hour later the two friends, at the head of their united parties,
moved on to Yarmolintsi.
Almost no one was missing from Zagloba's men; for sprung upon in their
sleep, they offered no resistance. Bogun, being sent specially for
informants, had given orders not to kill, but to take prisoners.