If Zagloba was bored at Zbaraj, no less bored was Volodyovski, who was
longing especially for war and its adventures. They went out, it is
true, from time to time with the squadron in pursuit of plundering
parties who were burning and slaying on the Zbruch; but that was a
small war, principally work for scouts, difficult because of the cold
winter and frosts, yielding much toil and little glory. For these
reasons Pan Michael urged Zagloba every day to go to the assistance of
Skshetuski, from whom they had had no tidings for a long time.
"He must have fallen into some fatal trap and may have lost his life,"
said Volodyovski. "We must surely go, even if we have to perish with
him."
Zagloba did not offer much opposition, for he thought they had stayed
too long in Zbaraj, and wondered why mushrooms were not growing on them
already. But he delayed, hoping that news might come from Skshetuski
any moment.
"He is brave and prudent," answered he to the importunities of
Volodyovski. "We will wait a couple of days yet; perhaps a letter will
come and render our whole expedition useless."
Volodyovski recognized the justice of the argument and armed himself
with patience, though time dragged on more and more slowly. At the end
of December frost had stopped even robbery, and there was peace in the
neighborhood. The only entertainment was in public news, which came
thick and fast to the gray walls of Zbaraj.
They spoke about the coronation and the Diet, and about the question
whether Prince Yeremi would receive the baton which belonged to him
before all other warriors. They were terribly excited against those who
affirmed that in view of the turn in favor of a treaty with Hmelnitski,
Kisel alone could gain advancement. Volodyovski had several duels on
this point, and Zagloba several drinking-bouts; and there was danger of
the latter's becoming a confirmed drunkard, for not only did he keep
company with officers and nobles, but he was not ashamed to go even
among townspeople to christenings and weddings, praising especially
their mead, for which Zbaraj was famous.
Volodyovski reproved him for this, saying that familiarity with people
of low degree was not befitting a noble, since regard for a whole order
would be diminished thereby; but Zagloba answered that the laws were to
blame for that, because they permit townspeople to grow up in luxury
and to come to wealth, which should be the portion of nobles alone; he
prophesied that no good could come of such great privileges for
insignificant people. It was difficult indeed to blame him in a period
of gloomy winter days amidst uncertainty, weariness, and waiting.
Gradually Vishnyevetski's regiments began to assemble in greater and
greater numbers at Zbaraj, from which fact war in the spring was
prophesied. Meanwhile people became more lively. Among others came the
hussar squadron of Pan Yan, with Podbipienta. He brought tidings of the
disfavor in which the prince was at court, and of the death of Pan
Yanush Tishkyevich, the voevoda of Kieff, whom, according to general
report, Kisel was to succeed, and finally of the serious illness with
which Pan Lashch was stricken down in Cracow. As to war, Podbipienta
heard from the prince himself that only by force of events and
necessity would it come, for the commissioners had gone with
instructions to make every concession possible to the Cossacks. This
account of Podbipienta's was received by the prince's knights with
rage; and Zagloba proposed to make a protest and form a confederation,
for he said he did not wish his labor at Konstantinoff to go for
nothing.
All February passed with these tidings and uncertainties, and the
middle of March was approaching; but from Skshetuski there was no word.
Volodyovski began to insist all the more on their expedition.
"We have to seek now not for the princess," said he, "but for Pan Yan."
It was soon shown that Zagloba was right in delaying the expedition
from day to day, for at the end of March the Cossack Zakhar came with a
letter from Kieff addressed to Volodyovski. Pan Michael summoned
Zagloba at once, and when they had closeted themselves with the
messenger in a room apart, he broke the seal and read the following:--
I discovered no trace on the Dniester as far as Yagorlik. Supposing
that she must be hidden in Kieff, I joined the commissioners, with whom
I went to Pereyasláv. Obtaining there the hoped for consent from
Hmelnitski, I arrived at Kieff, and am making a search for her
everywhere, in which the metropolitan assists me. Many of our people
are hidden in private houses and in monasteries, but fearing the mob,
they do not declare themselves; therefore search is difficult. God not
only guided and protected me, but inspired Hmelnitski with an affection
for me; wherefore I hope that He will assist me and have mercy on me
for the future. I beg the priest Mukhovetski for a solemn Mass, at
which you will pray for my intention.
Skshetuski.
"Praise be to God the Eternal!" cried Volodyovski.
"There is a postscript yet," said Zagloba.
"True!" answered the little knight; and he read further:--
"The bearer of this letter, the essaul of the Mirgorod kuren, had me in
his honest care when I was at the Saitch and in captivity, and now he
has aided me in Kieff and has undertaken to deliver this letter with
risk to his life. Have him in your care, Michael, so that nothing may
be wanting to him."
"You are an honest Cossack; there is at least one such!" said Zagloba,
giving his hand to Zakhar.
The old man pressed it with dignity.
"You may be sure of reward," interjected the little knight.
"He is a falcon," said the Cossack; "I like him. I did not come here
for money."
"I see you are not lacking in a spirit which no noble would be ashamed
of," said Zagloba. "They are not all beasts among you,--not all beasts.
But no more of this! Then Pan Skshetuski is in Kieff?"
"He is."
"And in safety, for I hear that the mob is revelling?"
"He stops with Colonel Donyéts. They will do nothing to him, for our
father Hmelnitski ordered Donyéts to guard him at the peril of his life
as the eye in his head."
"Real wonders take place! How did Hmelnitski get such a liking for Pan
Yan?"
"Oh, he has liked him a long time!"
"Did Pan Skshetuski tell you what he was looking for in Kieff?"
"Why shouldn't he tell me when he knows that I am his friend? I
searched with him and searched by myself; so he had to tell me what he
was looking for."
"But so far you haven't found her?"
"We have not. Whatever Poles are there yet are hiding, one does not
know of the other, so that it is not easy to find any one. You heard
that the mob kill people, but I have seen it; they kill not only Poles,
but those who hide them, even monks and nuns. In the monastery of
Nikolai the Good there were twelve Polish women with the nuns; they
suffocated them in the cells together with the nuns. Every couple of
days a shout is raised on the street, and people are hunted and dragged
to the Dnieper. Oh, how many have been drowned already!"
"Perhaps they have killed the princess too?"
"Perhaps they have."
"No," interrupted Volodyovski; "if Bogun took her there, he must have
made it safe for her."
"Where is it safer than in a monastery? But for all that they kill
people there."
"Uf!" said Zagloba. "So you think, Zakhar, that she might have
perished?"
"I don't know."
"It is evident that Skshetuski is in good heart," said Zagloba. "God
has visited him, but he comforts him. And is it long since you left
Kieff, Zakhar?"
"Oh, long! I left Kieff when the commissioners were passing there on
their return. Many Poles wished to escape with them, and did escape,
the unfortunates! As each one was able, over the snow, over pathless
tracts, through forests, they hurried to Belogrodki; but the Cossacks
pursued and beat them. Many fled, many were killed, and some Pan Kisel
ransomed with what money he had."
"Oh, the dog-souls! And so you came out with the commissioners?"
"With the commissioners to Gushchi, and from there to Ostrog; farther I
came alone."
"Then you are an old acquaintance of Pan Skshetuski?"
"I made his acquaintance in the Saitch, nursed him when he was wounded,
and then I learned to like him as if he were my own child. I am old,
and have nobody to love."
Zagloba called to the servant, gave orders to bring in mead and meat,
and they sat down to supper. Zakhar ate heartily, for he was road-weary
and hungry; then he sank his gray mustaches eagerly in the dark liquid,
drank, smacked his lips, and said: "Splendid mead!"
"Better than the blood which you folks drink," said Zagloba. "But I
think that you are an honest man, and loving Pan Skshetuski, will not
go any more to the rebellion, but remain with us. It will be good for
you here."
Zakhar raised his head. "I delivered the letter, now I'll go back. I am
a Cossack. It is for me to be a brother with the Cossacks, not with the
Poles."
"And will you beat us?"
"I will. I am a Cossack of the Saitch. We elected Hmelnitski hetman,
and now the king has sent him the baton and the banner."
"There it is for you, Pan Michael! Have not I advised a protest? And
from what kuren are you?"
"From the Mirgorod; but it is no longer in existence."
"What has happened to it?"
"The hussars of Pan Charnetski at Jóltiya Vodi cut it to pieces. I am
under Donyéts now, with those who survived. Pan Charnetski is a real
soldier; he is with us in captivity, and the commissioners have
interceded for him."
"We have your prisoners too."
"That must be so. In Kieff they say that our best hero is a captive
with the Poles, though some say he is dead."
"Who is that?"
"Oh, the famous ataman, Bogun."
"Bogun was killed in a duel."
"But who killed him?"
"That knight there," said Zagloba, pointing proudly to Volodyovski.
The eyes of Zakhar, who at that moment had raised the second quart of
mead, stared, his face grew purple, and at last he snorted the liquid
through his nostrils as he laughed. "That knight killed Bogun?" he
asked, coughing violently from laughter.
"What's the matter with the old devil?" asked Volodyovski, frowning.
"This messenger takes too much liberty on himself."
"Be not angry, Pan Michael!" interrupted Zagloba. "He is clearly an
honest man, and if a stranger to politeness it is because he is a
Cossack. On the other hand, it is the greater praise for you that
though you are so paltry in appearance you have wrought such mighty
deeds in your time. Your body is insignificant, but your soul is great.
I myself, as you remember, when looking at you after the duel, though I
saw the struggle with my own eyes, could not believe that such a
whipper-snapper--"
"Oh, let us have peace!" blurted out Volodyovski.
"I am not your father, so don't be angry with me. But I tell you this;
I should like to have a son like you, and if you wish, I will adopt you
and convey all my property to you; for it is no shame to be great in a
small body. The prince is not much larger than you, and Alexander the
Great would not deserve to be his armor-bearer."
"What makes me angry," said Volodyovski, somewhat mollified, "is
specially this, that nothing favorable to Skshetuski is evident from
this letter. He did not lay down his head on the Dniester, God be
thanked for that; but he has not found the princess yet, and what
surety is there that he will find her?"
"True. But if God through us has freed him from Bogun, and has
conducted him through so many dangers, through so many snares, if he
has inspired even the stony heart of Hmelnitski with a wonderful
affection for him, you have no reason to dry up from torment and sorrow
into smoked bacon. If you do not see in all this the hand of
Providence, it is clear that your wit is duller than your sabre,--a
reasonable arrangement enough, since no man can have all gifts at
once."
"I see one thing," answered Volodyovski, moving his mustaches,--"that
we have nothing to do here, and still we must stay here till we wither
up altogether."
"I shall wither up sooner than you, for I am older, and you know that
turnips wither and salt meat grows bitter from age. Let us rather thank
God for promising a happy end to all our troubles. Not a little have I
grieved for the princess,--more indeed than you have, and little less
than Skshetuski,--for she is my dear daughter, and it is true that I
might not love my own so much. They say indeed that she is as much like
me as one cup is like another; but I love her besides that, and you
would not see me either happy or at peace if I did not hope that
her trouble would soon come to an end. To-morrow I shall write a
wedding-hymn; for I write very beautiful verses, though in recent times
I have neglected Apollo somewhat for Mars."
"What is the use in thinking of Mars now! May the hangman take that
Kisel and all the commissioners and their treaties! They will make
peace in the spring as true as two and two are four. Pan Podbipienta,
who saw the prince, says so too."
"Podbipienta knows as much of public affairs as a goat does of pepper.
While at the court his mind was more on that tufted lark than anything
else, and he pushed up to her as a dog to a partridge. God grant that
some one else may get her from him! But enough of this! I do not deny
that Kisel is a traitor,--all the Commonwealth knows that; but as to
treaties,--well, grandmother talks both ways."
Here Zagloba turned to the Cossack. "And what, Zakhar, do they say
among your folks? Will there be peace or war?"
"There will be peace till next grass, and after that there will be
destruction either to us or to the Poles."
"Comfort yourself, Pan Michael. I have heard too that the mob are
arming everywhere."
"There will be such a war as has not been," said Zakhar. "Our people
say that the Sultan of Turkey will come and the Khan of all the hordes.
Our friend Tugai Bey is near, hasn't returned home at all."
"Console yourself, Pan Michael," repeated Zagloba. "There is a prophecy
too about the new king, that his whole reign will be passed under arms.
It is most likely that the sabre will not be sheathed for a long time
to come. Man will tremble from continual war, like a broom from
shaking; but that is our soldier lot. When you have to fight, Pan
Michael, keep close to me and you will see beautiful things,--you will
learn how we used to fight in past and better times. Oh, my God! not
such people as at present were those in years gone by. You are not like
them either, Pan Michael, though you are a fierce soldier and killed
Bogun."
"You speak truly, Pan," said Zakhar; "not such are people now as they
used to be." Then he began to gaze at Volodyovski and shake his head.
"But that this knight killed Bogun,--never, never!"