Many a simple knight covered himself with undying glory on that
memorable rampart of Zbaraj; but the lyre will celebrate Pan Longin
Podbipienta among the first, since the greatness of his gifts could be
equalled only by his modesty. The night was gloomy, dark, and wet; the
soldiers, wearied with watching at the ramparts, dozed, leaning on
their weapons. After the recent ten days of firing and assaults, this
was the first moment of quiet and rest. From the neighboring trenches
of the Cossacks--for they were scarcely thirty yards distant--there
were neither cries, curses, nor the usual uproar. It appeared as though
the enemy, wishing to weary the Poles, had grown weary themselves. Here
and there only glittered the faint light of a fire, covered under a
mound; from one place came the sweet, low sound of a lute, on which
some Cossack was playing; far away in the Tartar camp the horses
neighed; and on the embankments, from time to time, was heard the voice
of the guards.
The armored cavalry of the prince was on infantry duty that night.
Skshetuski, Podbipienta, Volodyovski, and Zagloba on the bulwark were
whispering quietly among themselves; in the intervals of the
conversation they listened to the sound of the rain falling into the
ditch.
"This quiet is strange to me," said Skshetuski. "My ears are so
accustomed to thundering and uproar that silence rings in them; but I
hope treachery is not hidden in this silence."
"Since I am on half-rations it is all one to me," muttered Zagloba,
gloomily. "My courage demands three things,--to eat well, to drink
well, and to sleep well. The best strap, if not oiled, will grow dry
and break; what if, in addition, you soak it in water, like hemp? The
rain soaks us, the Cossacks hackle us, and why should not strips fall
from us? Beautiful conditions!--a biscuit costs a florin, and a measure
of vudka five. A dog would not take this foul water in his mouth, for
in the wells is the essence of the dead; and I am as thirsty as my
boots, which have their mouths open like fish."
"But your boots drink water without extravagant talk."
"You might keep your mouth shut, Pan Michael! You are no bigger than a
titmouse; you can live on a grain of millet and drink out of a thimble.
But I thank God that I am not so delicate, and that a hen did not
scratch me out of the sand with her hind legs, but a woman gave me
birth; therefore I must live by eating and drinking, like a man, not
like a May-bug; and as I have had nothing in my mouth but spittle since
yesterday noon, your jokes are not at all to my taste."
Here Zagloba began to puff with anger, and Pan Michael put his hand on
his side and said,--
"I have in my pocket a flask, which I got of a Cossack to-day; but if a
hen scratched me out of the sand, I think gorailka from such an
insignificant person would not be to your taste. Here's to you, Yan!"
said he, turning to Skshetuski. "Give it here," said Skshetuski, "for
the air is cold."
"Drink to Pan Longin."
"You are a rogue, Pan Michael," said Zagloba, "but you are one in a
hundred; you take from yourself and give to others. A blessing on hens
that scratch such soldiers from the sand! But there are none such, and
I was not thinking of you."
"Then take it after Podbipienta. I have no wish to offend you."
"What are you doing? Leave some to me!" cried Zagloba in alarm, when he
saw the Lithuanian drinking. "Why do you throw your head back so far?
God grant it to remain in its usual place. You are too long; it is no
small task to moisten you. May you burst!"
"I've barely touched it," said Podbipienta, handing him the flask.
Zagloba turned over the flask completely, and drank to the bottom; then
he snorted, and said,--
"The only consolation is that if our miseries come to an end, and God
lets us take our heads out of these dangers in safety, we'll reward
ourselves for all. They will be sure to prepare some loaves for us. The
priest Jabkovski has fine skill in eating, but I'll make a ram's-horn
of him."
"And what word of truth have you and Jabkovski heard to-day from
Mukhovetski?"
"Silence!" said Skshetuski; "there is some one coming in the square."
They were silent; and soon a dark figure stood near them, and asked in
a hushed voice: "Are you watching?"
"We are," answered Skshetuski, straightening himself.
"Give careful attention; this calm is of evil augury."
The prince passed on to see if sleep had overcome the wearied soldiers
anywhere. Pan Longin clasped his hands: "What a leader! what a
warrior!"
"He takes less rest than we do," said Skshetuski. "He examines the
whole rampart in this way every night as far as the second pond."
"God grant him health!"
"Amen!"
Silence followed. All looked with strained eyes into the darkness, but
nothing could be seen. The Cossack trenches were quiet, the last light
in them quenched.
"They might be caught napping now, like susliks," muttered Volodyovski.
"Who knows?" answered Skshetuski.
"Sleep torments me," said Zagloba, "so that my eyes are coming out, and
sleep is not permitted. I am curious to know when it will be permitted.
Whether there is firing or not, one must stand under arms and nod from
weariness, like a Jew on the Sabbath. It's a dog's service! I don't
know myself what has got hold of me,--whether it's the gorailka, or the
irritation from that blow which I with the priest Jabkovski was forced
to endure without reason."
"How was that?" asked Podbipienta; "you began to tell us, and didn't
finish."
"I'll tell you now. Maybe we'll shake off sleep somehow. I went this
morning with Jabkovski to the castle, hoping to come upon something to
gnaw. We search and search, look everywhere, find nothing; we return in
bad humor. In the yard we meet a Calvinist minister who had been giving
the last consolation to Captain Shenberk, of Firlei's battalion, who
was shot yesterday. I opened on him: 'Haven't you,' said I, 'strolled
around about long enough, and displeased the Lord sufficiently? You
will draw a curse on us.' But he, relying evidently on the protection
of the castellan of Belsk, answered: 'Our faith is as good as yours, if
not better!' And he spoke in such a way that we were petrified from
horror. But we kept silent. I thought to myself: 'Jabkovski is here;
let him do the arguing.' But my Jabkovski snorted, and whacked him
under the ribs with arguments. He made no answer to this strongest of
reasons, for he went spinning around till he was brought up standing
against the wall. That moment the prince came in with Mukhovetski and
fell upon us; said that we were making an uproar and disturbance; that
it was neither the time nor the place, nor were ours the arguments.
They washed our heads for us, as if we had been a couple of boys. I
wish they were right; for unless I am a false prophet, these ministers
of Firlei will bring misfortune to us yet."
"And did not that Captain Shenberk renounce his errors?" asked
Volodyovski.
"What, renounce! He died, as he had lived, in abomination!"
"Oh that men should yield up their salvation rather than their
stubbornness!" sighed Pan Longin.
"God is defending us against Cossack predominance and witchcraft,"
continued Zagloba; "but these heretics are offending him. It is known
to you, gentlemen, that yesterday, from this very intrenchment before
us, they shot balls of thread into the square; and the soldiers say
that immediately on the place where the balls fell the ground was
covered with a leprosy."
"It's a known fact that devils wait on Hmelnitski," said the
Lithuanian, making the sign of the cross.
"I saw the witches myself," added Skshetuski, "and I'll tell you--"
Further conversation was stopped by Volodyovski, who pressed
Skshetuski's arm suddenly, and whispered: "Silence!" Then he sprang to
the very edge of the rampart, and listened attentively.
"I hear nothing," said Zagloba.
"Ts! the rain drowns it," answered Skshetuski.
Pan Michael began to beckon with his hand not to interrupt him, and he
listened carefully for some time. At last he approached his comrades.
"They are marching!" whispered he.
"Let the prince know; he has gone to Ostrorog's quarters," whispered
Pan Yan. "We will run to warn the soldiers."
Straightway they hurried along the ramparts, stopping from moment to
moment and whispering everywhere to the soldiers on guard: "They are
coming! they are coming!"
The words flew like silent lightning from mouth to mouth. In a quarter
of an hour the prince, already on horseback, was present, and issuing
orders to the officers. Since the enemy wished, evidently, to spring
into the camp while the Poles were asleep and off guard, the prince
enjoined on all to maintain this error. The soldiers were to remain in
immovable stillness and let the assaulters come to the very rampart,
and when cannon-shot was given as a signal, to strike unexpectedly.
The soldiers were ready. They dropped the muzzles of their guns, bent
forward noiselessly, and deep silence followed. Skshetuski, Pan Longin,
and Volodyovski drew long breaths, side by side. Zagloba stayed near
them, for he knew by experience that most balls fell on the square, and
that it was safest on the ramparts near three such sabres. They merely
drew back a little, that the first onrush might not strike them.
Podbipienta knelt somewhat to one side with his double-handed sword;
Volodyovski crouched near Skshetuski, and whispered in his very ear,--
"They are coming, surely."
"With measured tread."
"That's not the mob, nor the Tartars."
"Zaporojian infantry."
"Or janissaries; they march well. We could strike them better with
cavalry."
"It is too dark for cavalry to-night."
"Do you hear them now?"
"Ts! Ts!"
The camp seemed sunk in deepest sleep. In no place movement, in no
place life; everywhere the most profound silence, broken only by the
rustle of rain fine as if scattered from a sieve. Gradually, however,
there rose in this another rustle, low, but more easily caught by the
ear, for it was measured, drawing nearer, growing clearer; at last, a
few steps from the ditch, appeared a sort of prolonged dense mass,
visible in so far that it was blacker than the darkness, and halted.
The soldiers held their breaths; but the little knight punched
Skshetuski in the side, as if wishing in this way to show his delight.
The assailants reached the ditch, let down their ladders into it,
descended on them, and moved toward the rampart. The rampart was as
silent as if on it and behind it everything had expired; a silence of
the grave succeeded. Here and there, in spite of all the care of the
assailants, the ladder-rounds squeaked and trembled.
"You'll get beans!" thought Zagloba.
Volodyovski stopped punching Skshetuski, Pan Longin pressed the hilt of
his double-handed sword, and distended his eyes, for he was nearest the
edge of the rampart and expected to give the first blow.
Three pairs of hands appeared on the outer rim, and grasped it firmly;
after them began to rise slowly and carefully three helmet points,
higher and higher.
"Those are Turks!" thought Pan Longin.
At that moment was heard the awful roar of several thousand muskets; it
was clear as day. Before the light had gone out Pan Longin had drawn
his weapon and cut terribly, so that the air whined under his
sword-edge. Three bodies fell into the ditch, three heads in helmets
rolled to the knees of the kneeling knight. Then, though hell was
raging on earth, heaven opened before Pan Longin; wings grew from his
shoulders; choirs of angels were singing in his breast, and he was as
if caught up to heaven; he fought as in a dream, and the blows of his
sword were like thanksgiving prayers. All the Podbipientas, long since
dead, beginning with Stoveiko, the founder of the line, were rejoicing
in heaven that the last surviving, Zervikaptur Podbipienta, was such a
man.
This assault, in which auxiliary forces of Rumelian and Silistrian
Turks, with guards from the janissaries of the Khan, took a
preponderant part, received a more terrible repulse than others, and
drew a fearful storm on Hmelnitski's head. He had guaranteed in advance
that the Poles would fight with less rage against the Turks, and if
those companies were given him he would capture the camp. He was
obliged therefore to mollify the Khan and the enraged murzas, and at
the same time win them with presents. He gave the Khan ten thousand
thalers; Tugai Bey, Korz Aga, Subahazi, Nureddin, and Galga, two
thousand each.
Meanwhile the camp-servants drew the bodies out of the ditch. In this
they were not hindered by firing from the intrenchment. The soldiers
rested till morning, for it was certain that the assault would not be
repeated. All slept uninterruptedly, except the troops on guard and
Podbipienta, who lay, in the form of a cross, all night on his sword,
thanking God, who had permitted him to accomplish his vow and cover
himself with such renown that his name had gone from mouth to mouth in
the camp and the town. Next morning the prince summoned him, and
praised him greatly, and the soldiers came in crowds all day to
congratulate him and look at the three heads which the attendants had
brought before his tent, and which were already blackening in the air.
There was wonder and envy not a little, and some would not believe
their eyes, for the heads and the capes of the helmets were cut off as
evenly as if some one had cut them with shears.
"You are an awful tailor!" said the nobles. "We knew that you were a
good knight; but the ancients might envy such a blow, for the best
executioner could not give a better."
"The wind does not take off caps as those heads were taken!" said
another.
All pressed the palms of Pan Longin; but he stood with downcast eyes,
sunshiny, sweet, timid as a maiden before marriage, and said as if in
explanation: "They were in good position."
Then they tested the sword; but since it was the double-handed sword of
a crusader, no man could move it freely, not excepting even the priest
Jabkovski, though he could break a horse-shoe like a reed.
Around the tent it grew noisier; and Zagloba, Skshetuski, and
Volodyovski did the honors to the visitors, treating them with stories,
for they had nothing else to give them since the last biscuits in the
camp had been eaten; they had long had no other meat than dried
horse-flesh. But valor gave them meat and drink. Toward the end, when
the others began to disperse, Marek Sobieski appeared with his
lieutenant, Stempovski. Pan Longin ran out to meet him; the starosta
greeted him with thanks, and said,--
"It is a holiday with you?"
"In truth it is a holiday," answered Zagloba, "for our friend has
fulfilled a vow."
"Praise be to the Lord God!" answered the starosta. "Then it is not
long, brother, till we may congratulate you on your marriage. And have
you any one in mind?"
Pan Longin was extremely confused, grew red to his ears; and the
starosta continued,--
"I see by your confusion that you have. It is your sacred duty to
remember that such a stock should not perish."
Then he pressed the hands of Pan Longin, Skshetuski, Zagloba, and the
little knight; and they were rejoiced in their hearts to hear praise
from such lips, for the starosta of Krasnostav was the mirror of
bravery, honor, and every knightly virtue,--he was an incarnate Mars.
All the gifts of God were richly united in him, for in remarkable
beauty he surpassed even his younger brother Yan, who was afterward
king. He was equal in fortune and name to the very first, and the great
Yeremi himself exalted his military gifts to the skies. He would have
been a wonderful star in the heaven of the Commonwealth, but that by
the disposition of God, the younger, Yan, took his glory to himself,
and Marek vanished before his time in a day of disaster.
Hitherto our knights had rejoiced greatly at the praises of this hero;
but he did not stop at that, and continued,--
"I have heard much of you from the prince himself, who loves you beyond
others. I do not wonder that you serve him without reference to
promotion, which comes more readily in the regiments of the king."
"We are all," answered Skshetuski, "really enrolled in the hussar
regiment of the king, except Pan Zagloba, who is a volunteer from
native valor. We serve under the prince, first, out of love for his
person, and, secondly, because we wish to have as much as we can of the
war."
"If such be your wish, you have chosen well. Surely Pan Podbipienta
could not have found his heads under any other command so easily. But
as to war in these times, we all have enough of it."
"More than of anything else," said Zagloba. "Men have been coming here
from early morning with praises; but if any one would ask us to a bite
of food and a drink of gorailka, he would honor us best."
Having said this, Zagloba looked diligently into Sobieki's eyes, and
muttered unquietly; but the starosta sighed, and said,--
"Since yesterday noon I have taken nothing into my mouth. A gulp of
gorailka, however, I think can be found somewhere. I am at your
service, gentlemen, for that."
Skshetuski, Pan Longin, and Volodyovski began to draw back and scold
Zagloba, who extricated himself as he could and explained matters as he
was able.
"I did not press myself," said he, "for it is my ambition rather to
give away my own than touch what belongs to another; but when such a
distinguished person invites, it would be churlish to refuse."
"Well, come on!" said the starosta. "I like to sit in good company, and
while there is no firing we have time. I do ask you to eat, for it is
difficult to get horse-flesh,--for each horse killed on the square a
hundred hands are stretched forth; but there are two flasks of gorailka
which certainly I shall not keep for myself."
The others were unwilling, and refused; but when he insisted urgently,
they went. Pan Stempovski hurried on in advance, and exerted himself so
that a few biscuits and some bits of horse-flesh were found as a bite
after the gorailka. Zagloba was in better spirits immediately, and
said,--
"God grant the king, to liberate us from this siege, then we will go at
once to the wagons of the general militia. They always carry a world of
good things with them, and care more for their stomachs than they do
for the Commonwealth. I'd rather eat with them than fight in their
company; but being under the eye of the king, perhaps they will fight
fairly well."
The starosta grew serious. "Since we have sworn," said he, "to fall one
after another without surrender, we shall do so. We must be ready for
still harder times. We have scarcely any provisions, and what is worse,
our powder is coming to an end. I should not say this to others, but to
you I can speak. Soon we shall have nothing but desperate determination
in our hearts and sabres in our hands, readiness for death, and nothing
more. God grant the king to come at the earliest moment, for this is
our last hope! He is a military man, and is sure not to spare life,
health, or comfort in rescuing us; but his forces are too few, and he
must wait,--you know how slowly the general militia muster. Besides,
how is the king to know the conditions in which we are defending
ourselves, and that we are eating the last fragments?"
"We have sacrificed ourselves," said Skshetuski.
"But couldn't we let him know?" asked Zagloba.
"If there could be found a man of such virtue as to undertake to steal
through," said the starosta, "he would win immortal glory in his
lifetime,--he would be the savior of the whole army, and would avert
defeat from the fatherland. Even if the general militia has not all
appeared yet, perhaps the nearness of the king might disperse the
rebellion. But who will go, who will undertake it, since Hmelnitski has
so possessed every road and exit that a mouse could not squeeze through
from the camp? Such an undertaking is clear and evident death!"
"But what are stratagems for?--and one is now entering my head."
"What is it, what is it?" asked the starosta.
"This. Every day we take prisoners: bribe one of these; let them feign
escape from us, and run to the king."
"I must mention this to the prince," said the starosta.
Pan Longin fell into deep thought; his brows were covered with furrows,
and he sat a whole hour in silence. Suddenly he raised his head, and
spoke with his usual sweetness: "I will undertake to steal through the
Cossacks."
The knights, hearing these words, sprang from their seats in amazement.
Zagloba opened his mouth, Volodyovski's mustaches quivered, Skshetuski
grew pale; and the starosta, striking himself on the breast, cried:
"Would you undertake to do this?"
"Have you considered what you say?" asked Pan Yan.
"I considered it long ago," answered the Lithuanian; "for this is not
the first day that the knights say that notice must be given the king
of our position. And I, hearing this, thought to myself: 'If the Most
High God permits me to fulfil my vow, I will go at once. I am an
obscure man; what do I signify? What harm to me, even am killed on the
road?'"
"But they will cut you to pieces, without doubt!" cried Zagloba, "Have
you heard what the starosta says,--that it is evident death?"
"What of that, brother? If God wishes, he will carry me through; if not,
he will reward me in heaven."
"But first they will seize you, torture you, give you a fearful death.
Have you lost your reason, man?" asked Zagloba.
"I will go, anyhow," answered the Lithuanian, mildly.
"A bird could not fly through, for they would shoot it from their bows.
They have surrounded us like a badger in his hole."
"Still I will go!" repeated the Lithuanian. "I owe thanks to the Lord
for permitting me to fulfil my vow."
"Well, look at him, examine him!" said Zagloba, in desperation. "You
would better have your head cut off at once and shoot it from a cannon
over the tabor, for in this way alone could you push through them."
"But permit me, my friends," said Pan Longin, clasping his hands.
"Oh, no; you will not go alone, for I will go with you," said
Skshetuski.
"And I with you both!" added Volodyovski, striking his sword.
"And may the bullets strike you!" cried Zagloba, seizing himself by the
head. "May the bullets strike you with your 'And I,' 'And I,' with your
daring! They have not had enough of blood yet, not enough of
destruction, not enough of bullets! What is doing here is not
sufficient for them; they want more certainty of having their necks
twisted. Go to the dogs, and give me peace! I hope you will be cut to
pieces." When he had said this he began to circle about in the tent as
if mad. "God is punishing me," cried he, "for associating with
whirlwinds instead of honorable, solid men. It serves me right." He
walked through the tent awhile longer with feverish tread; at last he
stopped before Skshetuski; then, putting his hands behind his back and
looking into his eyes, began to puff terribly: "What have I done that
you persecute me?"
"God save us!" exclaimed the knight. "What do you mean?"
"I do not wonder that Podbipienta invents such things; he always had
his wit in his fist. But since he has killed the three greatest fools
among the Turks he has become the fourth himself--"
"It is disgusting to hear him," interrupted the Lithuanian.
"And I don't wonder at _him_," continued Zagloba, pointing at
Volodyovski. "He will jump on a Cossack's bootleg, or hold to his
trousers as a burr does to a dog's tail, and get through quicker than
any of us. The Holy Spirit has not shone upon either of the two; but
that you, instead of restraining their madness, should add excitement
to it, that you are going yourself, and wish to expose us four to
certain death and torture,--that is the final blow! Tfu! I did not
expect this of an officer whom the prince himself has esteemed a
valiant knight."
"How four?" asked Skshetuski, in astonishment. "Do you want to go?"
"Yes!" cried Zagloba, beating his breast with his fists, "I will go. If
any of you go, or all go together, I will go too. My blood be on your
heads! I shall know next time with whom to associate."
"Well may you!" said Skshetuski.
The three knights began to embrace him; but he was angry in earnest,
and puffed and pushed them away with his elbows, saying: "Go to the
devil! I don't want your Judas kisses." Then was heard on the walls the
firing of cannon and muskets. "There it is for you, go!"
"That is ordinary firing," remarked Pan Yan.
"Ordinary firing!" repeated Zagloba, mocking him. "Well, just think
this is not enough for them. Half the army is destroyed by this
ordinary firing, and they turn up their noses at it."
"Be of good cheer," said Podbipienta.
"You ought to keep your mouth shut, Botvinia. You are most to blame;
you have invented an undertaking which if it is not a fool's errand
then I'm a fool."
"But still I'll go, brother," said Pan Longin.
"You'll go, you'll go; and I know why. Don't exhibit yourself as a
hero, for they know you. You have virtue for sale, and are in a
hurry to take it out of camp. You the worst among knights, not
the best,--simply a drab, trading in virtue. Tfu! an offence to
God,--that's what you are. It is not to the king you want to go, but
you would like to snort through the villages like a horse through a
meadow. Look at him! There is a knight with virtue for sale! Vexation,
vexation, as God is dear to me!"
"Disgusting to hear him!" cried the Lithuanian, thrusting his fingers
in his ears.
"Let disputes rest," said Skshetuski, seriously. "Better let us think
about this question."
"In God's name," said the starosta, who had listened hitherto with
astonishment to Zagloba, "this is a great question, but we can decide
nothing without the prince. This is no place for discussion. You are in
service and obliged to obey orders. The prince must be in his quarters;
let us go to him and see what he will say to your offer."
"I agree to that," answered Zagloba; and hope shone in his face. "Let us
go as quickly as possible."
They went out and crossed the square on which already the balls were
falling from the Cossack trenches. The troops were at the ramparts,
which at a distance looked like booths at a fair, so overhung were they
with many-colored clothing sheepskin coats, packed with wagons,
fragments of tents, and every kind of object which might become a
shelter against the shots which at times ceased neither day nor night.
And now above those rags hung a long bluish line of smoke, and behind
them ranks of prostrate red and yellow soldiers, working hard against
the nearest trenches of the enemy. The square itself was like a ruin;
the level space was cut up with spades, or trampled by horses; it was
not made green by a single grass-blade. Here and there were mounds of
earth freshly raised by the digging of walls and graves; here and there
lay fragments of broken wagons, cannon, barrels, or piles of bones,
gnawed, and whitening before the sun. Bodies of horses were nowhere
visible, for each one was removed immediately as food for the soldiers;
but everywhere were piles of iron,--mostly cannon-balls, red from rust,
which fell every day on that piece of land. Grievous war and hunger
were evident at every step. On their way our knights met greater or
smaller groups of soldiers,--some carrying wounded or dead, others
hurrying to the ramparts to relieve their overworked comrades. The
faces of all were black, sunken, overgrown with beard; their fierce
eyes were inflamed, their clothing faded and torn; many had filthy rags
on their heads in place of caps or helmets; their weapons were broken.
Involuntarily came the question, What will happen a week or two later
to that handful hitherto victorious?
"Look, gentlemen," said the starosta; "it is time to give notice to the
king."
"Want is showing its teeth, like a dog," said the little knight.
"What will happen when we have eaten the horses?" asked Skshetuski.
Thus conversing, they reached the tents of the prince, situated at the
right side of the rampart, before which were a few mounted messengers
to carry orders through the camp. Their horses, fed with dried and
ground horse-flesh and excited by continual fire, reared restively,
unable to stand in one place. This was the case too with all the
cavalry horses, which in going against the enemy seemed like a herd of
griffins or centaurs going rather by air than by land.
"Is the prince in the tent?" asked the starosta of one of the horsemen.
"Yes, with Pan Pshiyemski," answered the orderly.
The starosta entered first without announcing himself, but the four
knights remained outside. After a while the canvas opened, and
Pshiyemski thrust out his head. "The prince is anxious to see you,"
said he.
Zagloba entered the tent in good humor, for he hoped the prince would
not expose his best knights to certain death; but he was mistaken, for
they had not yet bowed when he said,--
"The starosta has told me of your readiness to issue from the camp, and
I accept your good will. Too much cannot be sacrificed for the
country."
"We have only come for permission to try," said Skshetuski, "since your
Highness is the steward of our blood."
"Then you want to go together?"
"Your Highness," said Zagloba, "they want to go, but I do not. God is
my witness that I have not come here to praise myself or to make
mention of my services; and if I do mention them, I do so lest some one
might suppose that I am afraid. Pan Skshetuski, Volodyovski, and
Podbipienta of Myshekishki are great knights; but Burlai, who fell by
my hand (not to speak of other exploits), was also a famous warrior,
equal to Burdabut, Bogun, and the three heads of the janissaries. I
mean to say by this that in knightly deeds I am not behind others. But
heroism is one thing, and madness another. We have no wings, and we
cannot go by land; that is certain."
"You will not go then?" said the prince.
"I have said that I do not wish to go, but I have not said that I will
not go. Since God has punished me with their company, I must remain in
it till death. If we should be hard pressed, the sabre of Zagloba will
be of service yet; but I know not why death should be put upon us four,
and I hope that your Highness will avert it from us by not permitting
this mad undertaking."
"You are a good comrade," answered the prince, "and it honorable on
your part not to wish to leave your friends; you are mistaken in your
confidence in me, for I accept your offer."
"The dog is dead!" muttered Zagloba, and his hands dropped.
At that moment Firlei, castellan of Belsk, entered the tent. "Your
Highness, my people have seized a Cossack who says that they are
preparing an assault for to-night."
"I have received information too," answered the prince. "All is ready,
only let our people hurry with the ramparts."
"They are nearly finished."
"That is well! We will occupy them in the evening." Then he turned to
the four knights. "It is best to try after the storm, if the night is
dark."
"How is that?" asked Firlei; "are you preparing a sally?"
"The sally in its own order,--I will lead it myself; but now we are
talking about something else. These gentlemen undertake to creep
through the enemy and inform the king of our condition."
The castellan was astonished, opened his eyes, and looked at the
knights in succession. The prince smiled with delight. He had this
vanity,--he loved to have his soldiers admired.
"In God's name!" said the castellan; "there are such hearts then in the
world? As God lives, I will not dissuade you from the daring deed."
Zagloba was purple from rage; but he said nothing, he only puffed like
a bear. The prince thought awhile, then said,--
"I do not wish, however, to spend your blood in vain, and I am not
willing that all four should go together. One will go first; if the
enemy kill him, they will not delay in boasting of it, as they have
once already boasted of the death of my servant whom they seized at
Lvoff. If they kill the first, the second will go; afterward in case of
necessity the third and the fourth. But perhaps the first will pass
through; in such an event I do not wish to expose the others to a
useless death."
"Your Highness," interrupted Skshetuski.
"This is my will and command," said Yeremi, with emphasis. "To bring
you to agreement, I say that he shall go first who offered himself
first."
"It was I!" cried Pan Longin, with a beaming face.
"To-night, after the storm, if it is dark," added the prince. "I will
give no letters to the king; you will tell what you have seen,--merely
take a signet-ring as credential."
Podbipienta took the signet-ring and bowed to the prince, who caught
him by the temples and held him awhile with his two hands; then he
kissed him several times on the forehead, and said in a voice of
emotion,--
"You are as near to my heart as a brother. May the God of Hosts and our
Queen of Angels carry you through, warrior of the Lord! Amen!"
"Amen!" repeated Sobieski, the castellan of Belsk, and Pan Pshiyemski.
The prince had tears in his eyes, for he was a real father to the
knights. Others wept, and a quiver of enthusiasm shook the body of Pan
Podbipienta. A flame passed through his bones; and rejoiced to its
depth was his soul, pure, obedient, and heroic, with the hope of coming
sacrifice.
"History will write of you!" cried the castellan.
"Non nobis, non nobis, sed nomini tuo, Domine, da gloriam (Not to us,
not to us, but to thy name, Lord, give the glory)," said the prince.
The knights issued from the tent.
"Tfu! something has seized me by the throat and holds me," said
Zagloba; "and it is as bitter in my mouth as wormwood, and there they
are firing continually. Oh, if the thunders would fire you away!" said
he, pointing to the smoking trenches of the Cossacks. "Oh, it is hard
to live in this world! Pan Longin, are you really going out? May the
angels guard you! If the plague would choke those ruffians!"
"I must take farewell of you," said Podbipienta.
"How is that? Where are you going?" asked Zagloba.
"To the priest Mukhovetski,--to confess, my brother. I must cleanse my
sinful soul."
Pan Longin hastened to the castle; the others returned to the ramparts.
Skshetuski and Volodyovski were silent, but Zagloba said,--
"Something holds me by the throat. I did not think to be sorrowful, but
that is the worthiest man in the world. If any one contradicts me, I'll
give it to him in the face. Oh, my God, my God! I thought the castellan
of Belsk would restrain the prince, but he beat the drums still more.
The hangman brought that heretic! 'History,' he says, 'will write of
you.' Let it write of him, but not on the skin of Pan Longin. And why
doesn't he go out himself? He has six toes on his feet, like every
Calvinist, and he can walk better. I tell you, gentlemen, that it is
getting worse and worse on earth, and Jabkovski is a true prophet when
he says that the end of the world is near. Let us sit down awhile at
the ramparts, and then go to the castle, so as to console ourselves with
the company of our friend till evening at least."
But Pan Longin, after confession and communion, spent the whole time in
prayer. He made his first appearance at the storm in the evening, which
was one of the most awful, for the Cossacks had struck just when the
troops were transporting their cannon and wagons to the newly raised
ramparts. For a time it seemed that the slender forces of the Poles
would fall before the onrush of two hundred thousand foes. The Polish
battalions had become so intermingled with the enemy that they could
not distinguish their own, and three times they closed in this fashion.
Hmelnitski exerted all his power; for the Khan and his own colonels had
told him that this must be the last storm, and that henceforth they
would only harass the besieged with hunger. But after three hours all
attacks were repulsed with such terrible losses that according to
later reports forty thousand of the enemy had fallen. One thing is
certain,--after the battle a whole bundle of flags was thrown at the
feet of the prince; and this was really the last great assault, after
which followed more difficult times of digging under the ramparts,
capturing wagons, continual firing, suffering, and famine.
Immediately after the storm the soldiers, ready to drop from weariness,
were led by the tireless Yeremi in a sally, which ended in a new defeat
for the enemy. Quiet then soothed the tabor and the camp.
The night was warm but cloudy. Four black forms pushed themselves
quietly and carefully to the eastern edge of the ramparts. They were
Pan Longin, Zagloba, Skshetuski, and Volodyovski.
"Guard your pistols well, to keep the powder dry," whispered Pan Yan.
"Two battalions will be ready all night. If you fire, we will spring to
the rescue."
"Nothing to be seen, even if you strain your eyes out!" whispered
Zagloba.
"That is better," answered Pan Longin.
"Be quiet!" interrupted Volodyovski, "I hear something."
"That is only the groan of a dying man,--nothing!"
"If you can only reach the oak grove."
"Oh, my God! my God!" sighed Zagloba, trembling as if in a fever.
"In three hours it will be daylight."
"It is time!" said Pan Longin.
"Time! time!" repeated Skshetuski, in a stifled voice. "Go with God!"
"With God, with God!"
"Farewell, brothers, and forgive me if I have offended any of you in
anything."
"You offend? O God!" cried Zagloba, throwing himself into his arms.
Skshetuski and Volodyovski embraced him in turn. The moment came.
Suppressed gulping shook the breasts of these knights. One alone, Pan
Longin, was calm, though full of emotion. "Farewell!" he repeated once
more; and approaching the edge of the rampart, he dropped into the
ditch, and soon appeared as a black figure on the opposite bank. Once
more he beckoned farewell to his comrades, and vanished in the gloom.
Between the road to Zalostsitse and the highway from Vishnyovets grew
an oak-grove, interspersed with narrow openings. Beyond and joining
with it was an old pine-forest, thick and large, extending north of
Zalostsitse. Podbipienta had determined to reach that grove. The road
is very perilous, for to reach the oaks it was necessary to pass along
the entire flank of the Cossack tabor; but Pan Longin selected it on
purpose, for it was just around the camp that most people were moving
during the whole night, and the guards gave least attention to
passers-by. Besides, other roads, valleys, thickets, and narrow places
were set by guards who rode around continually, by essauls, sotniks,
and even Hmelnitski himself. A passage through the meadows and along
the Gnyezna was not to be dreamt for the Cossack horse-herders were
watching there from dusk till daylight with their herds.
The night was gloomy, cloudy, and so dark that at ten paces not only
could a man not be seen, but not even a tree. This circumstance was
favorable for Pan Longin; though on the other hand he was obliged to go
very slowly and carefully, so as not to fall into any of the pits or
ditches, occupying the whole expanse of the battle-field and dug by
Polish and Cossack hands. In this fashion he made way to the second
Polish rampart, which had been abandoned just before evening, and had
passed through the ditch. He stopped and listened; the trenches were
empty. The sally made by Yeremi after the storm had pushed the Cossacks
out, who either fell, or took refuge in the tabor. A multitude of
bodies were lying on the slopes and summits of these mounds. Pan Longin
stumbled against bodies every moment, stepped over them, and passed on.
From time to time a low groan or sigh announced that some one of the
prostrate was living yet.
Beyond the ramparts there was a broad expanse stretching to another
trench made before the arrival of Yeremi, also covered with corpses;
but some tens of steps farther on were those earth-shelters, like
stacks of hay in the darkness. But they were empty. Everywhere the
deepest silence reigned,--nowhere a fire or a man; no one on that
former square but the prostrate.
Pan Longin began the prayer for the souls of the dead, and went on. The
sounds of the Polish camp, which followed him to the second rampart,
grew fainter and fainter, melting in the distance, till at last they
ceased altogether. Pan Longin stopped and looked around for the last
time. He could see almost nothing, for in the camp there was no light;
but one window in the castle glimmered weakly as a star which the
clouds now expose and now conceal, or like a glow-worm which shines and
darkens in turn.
"My brothers, shall I see you again in this life?" thought Pan Longin;
and sadness pressed him down like a tremendous stone. He was barely
able to breathe. There, where that pale light was trembling, are his
people; there are brother hearts,--Prince Yeremi, Pan Yan, Volodyovski,
Zagloba, the priest Mukhovetski; there they love him and would gladly
defend him. But here is night, with desolation, darkness, corpses;
under his feet choruses of ghosts; farther on, the blood-devouring
tabor of sworn, pitiless enemies. The weight of sadness became so great
that it was too heavy even for the shoulders of this giant. His soul
began to waver within him.
In the darkness pale Alarm flew upon him, and began to whisper in his
ear: "You will not pass, it is impossible! Return, there is still time!
Fire the pistol, and a whole battalion will rush to your aid. Through
those tabors, through that savageness nothing will pass."
That starving camp, covered every day with balls, full of death and the
odor of corpses, appeared at that moment to Pan Longin a calm,
peaceful, safe haven. His friends there would not think ill of him if
he returned. He would tell them that the deed passed human power; and
they would not go themselves, would not send another,--would wait
further for the mercy of God and the coming of the king. But if
Skshetuski should go and perish! "In the name of the Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost! These are temptations of Satan," thought Pan Longin. "I am
ready for death, and nothing worse can meet me. And this is Satan
terrifying a weak soul with desolation, corpses, and darkness; for he
makes use of all means." Will the knight return, cover himself with
shame, suffer in reputation, disgrace his name, not save the army,
renounce the crown of heaven? Never! And he moved on, stretching out
his hands before him.
Now a murmur reached him again, not from the Polish camp, however, but
from the opposite side, still indefinite, but as it were deep and
terrible, like the growling of a bear giving sudden answer in a dark
forest. Disquiet had now left Pan Longin's soul; sadness had ceased,
and changed into a mere sweet remembrance of those near to him. At
last, as if answering that menace coming up from the tabor, he repeated
once more in spirit: "But still I will go."
After a certain time he found himself on that battle-field ere on the
first day of the storm the prince's cavalry had defeated the Cossacks
and janissaries. The road here was more even,--fewer pits, ditches,
shelters, and no corpses, those who had fallen in the earlier struggles
had been buried by the Cossacks. It was also somewhat clearer, for the
ground was not covered with various obstacles. The land inclined
gradually toward the north. But Pan Longin turned immediately to the
flank, wishing to push through between the western pond and the tabor.
He went quickly now, without hindrance, and it seemed him already that
he was reaching the line of the tabor, when some new sound caught his
attention. He halted at once, and after waiting a quarter of an hour
heard the tramp and breathing of horses. "Cossack patrols!" thought he.
The voices of men reached his ears. He sprang aside with speed, and
searching with his foot for the first depression in the ground, fell to
the earth and stretched out motionless, holding his pistol in one hand
and his sword the other.
The riders approached still nearer, and at last were abreast of him. It
was so dark he could not count them; but he heard every word of their
conversation.
"It is hard for them, but hard for us too," said some sleepy voice.
"And how many good men of ours have bitten the dust!"
"Oh, Lord!" said another voice, "they say the king is not far. What
will become of us?"
"The Khan got angry with our father; and the Tartars threaten to take
us, if there will be no other prisoners."
"And in the pastures they fight with our men. Father has forbidden us
to go to the Tartar camp, for whoever goes there is lost."
"They say there are disguised Poles among the market-men. I wish this
war had never begun."
"It is worse this time than before."
"The king is not far away, with the Polish forces. That is the worst!"
"Ha, ha! You would be sleeping in the Saitch at this hour; now you have
got to push around in the dark like a vampire."
"There must be vampires here, for the horses are snorting."
Their voices receded gradually, and at last were silent. Pan Longin
rose and went on.
A rain fine as mist began to fall. It grew still darker. On the left
side of Pan Longin gleamed at the distance of two furlongs a small
light; after that a second, a third, and a tenth. Then he knew he was
on the line of the tabor. The lights were far apart and weak. It was
evident that all were sleeping, and only here and there might they be
drinking or preparing food for the morrow.
"Thank God that I am out after the storm and the sally," said Pan
Longin to himself. "They must be mortally weary."
He had scarcely thought this when he heard again in the distance the
tramp of horses,--another patrol was coming. But the ground in this
place was more broken; therefore it was easier to hide. The patrol
passed so near that the guards almost rode over Pan Longin. Fortunately
the horses, accustomed to pass among prostrate bodies, were not
frightened. Pan Longin went on.
In the space of a thousand yards he met two more patrols. It was
evident that the whole circle occupied by the tabor was guarded like
the apple of the eye. But Pan Longin rejoiced in spirit that he was not
meeting infantry outposts, who are generally placed before camps to
give warning to mounted patrols.
But his joy was of short duration. Scarcely had he advanced another
furlong of the road when some dark figure shifted before him not more
than twenty yards distant. Though unterrified, he felt a slight tremor
along his spine. It was too late to withdraw and go around. The form
moved; evidently it had seen him. A moment of hesitation followed,
short as the twinkle of an eye. Then a suppressed voice called,--
"Vassil, is that you?"
"I," said Pan Longin, quietly.
"Have you gorailka?"
"I have."
"Give me some."
Pan Longin approached.
"Why are you so tall?" asked the voice, in tones of terror.
Something rustled in the darkness. A scream of "Lor--!" smothered the
instant it was begun, came from the mouth the picket; then was heard
the crash as it were of broken bones, heavy breathing, and one figure
fell quietly to the earth. Pan Longin moved on.
But he did not pass along the same line, for it was evidently a line of
pickets; he turned therefore a little nearer to the tabor, wishing to
go between the pickets and the line of wagons. If there was not another
line of pickets, Pan Longin could meet in that space only those who
went out from camp to relieve those on duty. Mounted patrols had no
duty here.
After a time it became evident that there was no second line of
pickets. But the tabor was not farther than two bow-shots; and
wonderful! it seemed to grow nearer continually, though he tried to go
at an equal distance from line of wagons.
It was evident too that not all were asleep in the tabor. At the fires
smouldering here and there sitting figures were visible. In one place
the fire was greater,--so large indeed that it almost reached Pan Longin
with its light, and he was forced to draw back toward the pickets so as
not to pass through the line of illumination. From the distance he
distinguished, hanging on cross-sticks near the fire, oxen which the
butchers were skinning. Disputing groups of men looked on. A few were
playing quietly on pipes for the butchers. It was that part of the camp
occupied by the herdsmen. The more distant rows of wagons were surrounded
by darkness.
But the line of the tabor lighted by the smouldering fires again
appeared as if nearer to Pan Longin. In the beginning he had it only on
his right hand; suddenly he saw that he had it in front of him. Then he
halted and meditated what to do. He was surrounded. The tabor, the
Tartar camp, and the camps of the mob encircled all Zbaraj like a ring.
Inside this ring sentries were standing and mounted guards moving, that
no one might pass through.
The position of Pan Longin was terrible. He had now the choice either
to go through between the wagons or seek another exit between the
Cossacks and the Tartars. Otherwise he would have to wander till
daylight along that rim, unless he wished to return to Zbaraj; but even
in the latter case he might fall into the hands of the mounted patrol.
He understood, however, that the very nature of the ground did not
permit that one wagon should stand close to another. There had to be
intervals in the rows, and considerable ones. Such intervals were
necessary for communication, for an open road, for necessary travel. He
determined to look for such a passage, and with that object approached
still nearer to the wagons. The gleam of fires burning here and there
might betray him, but on the other hand they were useful, for without
them he could see neither the wagons nor the road between them.
After a quarter of an hour he found a road, and recognized it easily,
for it looked like a black belt between the wagons. There was no fire
on it; there could be no Cossacks there, since the cavalry had to pass
that way. Pan Longin put himself on his knees and hands, and began to
crawl to that dark throat like a snake to a hole.
A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour; he crawled continually,
praying at the same time, commending his body and soul to the
protection of the heavenly powers. He thought that perhaps the fate of
all Zbaraj was depending on him then, could he pass that throat; he
prayed therefore not for himself alone, but for those who at that
moment in the trenches were praying for him.
On both sides of him all was silent,--no man moved, no horse snorted,
no dog barked; and Pan Longin went through. The bushes and thickets
looked dark before him; behind them was the oak-grove; behind the
oak-grove the pine-woods, all the way to Toporoff; beyond the
pine-woods, the king, salvation, and glory, service before God and man.
What was the cutting of three heads in comparison with this deed, for
which something was needed beyond an iron hand? Pan Longin felt the
difference, but pride stirred not that clean heart; it was only moved
like that of a child with tears of thankfulness.
Then he rose and passed on. Beyond the wagons there were either no
pickets or few easily avoided. Now heavier rain began to fall,
pattering on the bushes and drowning the noise of his steps. Pan Longin
then gave freedom to his long legs, and walked like a giant, trampling
the bushes; every step was like five of a common man,--the wagons every
moment farther, the oak-grove every moment nearer, and salvation every
moment nearer.
Here are the oaks. Night beneath them is as black as under the ground;
but that is better. A gentle breeze sprang up; the oaks murmured
lightly,--you would have said they were muttering a prayer; "O great
God, good God, guard this knight, for he is thy servant and a faithful
son of the land on which we have grown up for thy glory!"
About seven miles and a half divided Pan Longin from the Polish camp.
Sweat poured from his forehead, for the air was sultry, as if gathering
for a storm; but he went on, caring nothing for the storm, for the
angels were singing in his heart. The oaks became thinner. The first
field is surely near. The oaks rustle more loudly, as if wishing to
say: "Wait; you were safe among us." But the knight has no time, and he
enters the open field. Only one oak stands on it, and that in the
centre; but it is larger than the others. Pan Longin moves toward that
oak.
All at once, when he was a few yards from the spreading branches
of the giant, about a dozen figures push out and approach him with
wolf-springs: "Who are you? who are you?" Their language is unknown;
their heads are covered with something pointed. They are the Tartar
horse-herders, who have taken refuge from the rain. At that moment red
lightning flashed through the field, revealing the oak, the wild
figures of the Tartars, and the enormous noble. A terrible cry shook
the air, and the battle began in a moment.
The Tartars rushed on Pan Longin like wolves on a deer, and seized
him with sinewy hands; but he only shook himself, and all the
assailants fell from him as ripe fruit from a tree. Then the terrible
double-handed sword gritted in the scabbard; and then were heard groans,
howls, calls for aid, the whistle of the sword, the groans of the
wounded, the neighing and the frightened horses, the clatter of broken
Tartar swords. The silent field roared with all the wild sounds that
can possibly find place in the throats of men.
The Tartars rushed on him repeatedly in a crowd; but he put his back to
the oak, and in front covered himself with the whirlwind of his sword,
and slashed awfully. Bodies lay dark under his feet; the others fell
back, impelled by panic terror. "A div! a div!" howled they, wildly.
The howling was not without an answer. Half an hour had not passed when
the whole field swarmed with footmen and horsemen. Cossacks ran up, and
Tartars also with poles and bows and pieces of burning pitch-pine.
Excited questions began to fly from mouth to mouth. "What is it, what
has happened?" "A div!" answered the Tartars. "A div!" repeated the
crowd. "A Pole! A div! Take him alive, alive!"
Pan Longin fired twice from his pistols, but those reports could not be
heard by his comrades in the Polish camp. Now the crowd approached him
in a half-circle. He was standing in the shade, gigantic, supported by
the tree, and he waited with sword in hand. The crowd came nearer,
nearer. At last the voice of command shouted: "Seize him!"
They rushed ahead. The cries were stopped. Those who could not push on
gave light to the assailants. A whirl of men gathered and turned under
the tree. Only groans came out of that whirl, and for a long time it
was impossible to distinguish anything. At last a scream of terror was
wrested from the assailants. The crowd broke in a moment. Under the
tree remained Pan Longin, and at his feet a crowd of bodies still
quivering in agony.
"Ropes, ropes!" thundered a voice.
The horsemen ran for the ropes, and brought them in the twinkle of an
eye. Then a number of strong men seized the two ends of a long rope,
endeavoring to fasten Pan Longin to the tree; but he cut with his
sword, and the men fell on the ground on both sides. Then the Tartars
tried, with the same result.
Seeing that too many men in a crowd interfere with one another, a
number of the boldest Nogais advanced once more, wishing absolutely to
seize the enormous man alive; but he tore them as a wild boar tears
resolute dogs. The oak, which had grown together from two great trees,
guarded in its central depression the knight; whoever approached him
from the front within the length of his sword perished without uttering
a groan. The superhuman power of Pan Longin seemed to increase with
each moment. Seeing this, the enraged hordes drove away the Cossacks,
and around were heard the wild cries: "Bows! bows!"
At the sight of the bows, and of the arrows poured out at the feet of
his enemies from their quivers, Pan Longin saw that the moment of death
was at hand, and he began the litany to the Most Holy Lady.
It became still. The crowds restrained their breath, waiting for what
would happen. The first arrow whistled, as Pan Longin was saying,
"Mother of the Redeemer!" and it scratched his temple. Another arrow
whistled, as he was saying, "O glorious Lady," and it stuck in his
shoulder. The words of the litany had mingled with the whistling of
arrows; and when Pan Longin had said, "Morning Star," arrows were
standing in his shoulders, his side, in his legs. The blood from his
temples was flowing into his eyes; he saw as through a mist the field
and the Tartars; he heard no longer the whistle of the arrows. He felt
that he was weakening, that his legs were bending under him; his head
dropped on his breast. At last he fell on his knees. Then he said, with
a half groan: "Queen of the Angels--" These words were his last on
earth. The angels of heaven took his soul, and placed it a clear pearl
at the feet of the "Queen of the Angels."