XVIII
Kmita, however, did not start that day, nor the following, for threatening news began to arrive at Kyedani from every side. Toward evening a courier rushed in with tidings that Mirski’s squadron and Stankyevich’s also were marching to the hetman’s residence, prepared to demand with armed hand their colonels; that there was terrible agitation among them, and that the officers had sent deputations to all the squadrons posted near Kyedani, and farther on to Podlyasye and Zabludovo, with news of the hetman’s treason, and with a summons to unite in defence of the country. From this it was easy to see that multitudes of nobles would fly to the insurgent squadrons and form an important force, which it would be difficult to resist in unfortified Kyedani, especially since not every regiment which Radzivill had at hand could be relied on with certainty.
This changed all the calculations and plans of the hetman; but instead of weakening, it seemed to rouse his courage still more. He determined to move at the head of his faithful Scottish regiments, cavalry and artillery, against the insurgents, and stamp out the fire at its birth. He knew that the soldiers without colonels were simply an unorganized throng, that would scatter from terror at the mere name of the hetman. He determined also not to spare blood, and to terrify with examples the whole army, all the nobles, nay, all Lithuania, so that it should not dare even to tremble beneath his iron hand. Everything that he had planned must be accomplished, and accomplished with his own forces.
That very day a number of foreign officers went to Prussia to make new enlistments, and Kyedani was swarming with armed men. The Scottish regiments, the foreign cavalry, the dragoons of Myeleshko and Kharlamp, with the “fire people” of Pan Korf, were preparing for the campaign. The prince’s haiduks, his servants, and the citizens of Kyedani were obliged to increase the military forces; and it was determined to hasten the transfer of the prisoners to Birji, where it would be safer to keep them than in exposed Kyedani. The prince hoped with reason that to transport the colonels to a remote fortress, in which, according to treaty, there must be a Swedish garrison already, would destroy in the minds of the rebellious soldiers all hope of rescuing them, and deprive the rebellion itself of every basis. Pan Zagloba, the Skshetuskis, and Volodyovski were to share the lot of the others.
It was already evening when an officer with lantern in hand entered the cellar in which they were, and said—
“Prepare, gentlemen, to follow me.”
“Whither?” asked Zagloba, with a voice of alarm.
“That will be seen. Hurry, hurry!”
“We come.”
They went out. In the corridor Scottish soldiers armed with muskets surrounded them. Zagloba grew more and more alarmed.
“Still they would not lead us to death without a priest, without confession,” whispered he in the ear of Volodyovski. Then he turned to the officer; “What is your rank, I pray?”
“What is my rank to you?”
“I have many relatives in Lithuania, and it is pleasant to know with whom one has to do.”
“No time for inquiries, but he is a fool who is ashamed of his name. I am Roh Kovalski, if you wish to know.”
“That is an honorable stock! The men are good soldiers, the women are virtuous. My grandmother was a Kovalski, but she made an orphan of me before I came to the world. Are you from the Vyerush, or the Korab Kovalskis?”
“Do you want to examine me as a witness, in the night?”
“Oh, I do this because you are surely a relative of mine, for we have the same build. You have large bones and shoulders, just like mine, and I got my form from my grandmother.”
“Well, we can talk about that on the road. We shall have time!”
“On the road?” said Zagloba; and a great weight fell from his breast. He breathed like a bellows, and gained courage at once.
“Pan Michael,” whispered he, “did I not say that they would not cut our heads off?”
Meanwhile they had reached the courtyard. Night had fallen completely. In places red torches were burning or lanterns gleaming, throwing an uncertain light on groups of soldiers, horse and foot, of various arms. The whole court was crowded with troops. Clearly they were ready to march, for a great movement was manifest on all sides. Here and there in the darkness gleamed lances and gun-barrels; horses’ hoofs clattered on the pavement; single horsemen hurried between the squadrons—undoubtedly officers giving commands.
Kovalski stopped the convoy and the prisoners before an enormous wagon drawn by four horses, and having a box made as it were of ladders.
“Take your places, gentlemen,” said he.
“Someone is sitting there already,” said Zagloba, clambering up. “But our packs?”
“They are under the straw,” said Kovalski; “hurry, hurry!”
“But who are sitting here?” asked Zagloba, looking at dark figures stretched on the straw.
“Mirski, Stankyevich, Oskyerko,” answered voices.
“Volodyovski, Yan and Stanislav Skshetuski, and Zagloba,” answered our knights.
“With the forehead, with the forehead!”
“With the forehead! We are travelling in honorable company. And whither are they taking us, do you know, gentlemen?”
“You are going to Birji,” said Kovalski.
When he said this, he gave the command. A convoy of fifty dragoons surrounded the wagon and moved on. The prisoners began to converse in a low voice.
“They will give us to the Swedes,” said Mirski; “I expected that.”
“I would rather sit among enemies than traitors,” answered Stankyevich.
“And I would rather have a bullet in my forehead,” said Volodyovski, “than sit with folded arms during such an unfortunate war.”
“Do not blaspheme, Michael,” answered Zagloba, “for from the wagon, should a convenient moment come, you may give a plunge, and from Birji also; but it is hard to escape with a bullet in the forehead. I foresaw that that traitor would not dare to put bullets in our heads.”
“Is there a thing which Radzivill does not dare to do?” asked Mirski. “It is clear that you have come from afar and know him not. On whomsoever he has sworn vengeance, that man is as good as in the grave; and I remember no instance of his forgiving anyone the slightest offence.”
“But still he did not dare to raise hands on me!” answered Zagloba. “Who knows if you have not to thank me for your lives?”
“And how?”
“Because the Khan loves me wonderfully, for I discovered a conspiracy against his life when I was a captive in the Crimea. And our gracious king, Yan Kazimir, loves me too. Radzivill, the son of a such a one, did not wish to break with two such potentates; for they might reach him, even in Lithuania.”
“Ah! what are you saying? He hates the king as the devil does holy water, and would be still more envenomed against you did he know you to be a confidant of the king,” observed Stankyevich.
“I think this,” said Oskyerko. “To avoid odium the hetman would not stain himself with our blood, but I could swear that this officer is bearing an order to the Swedes in Birji to shoot us on the spot.”
“Oi!” exclaimed Zagloba.
They were silent for a moment; meanwhile the wagon had rolled into the square of Kyedani. The town was sleeping, there were no lights in the windows, only the dogs before the houses snapped angrily at the passing party.
“Well,” said Zagloba, “we have gained time anyhow, and perhaps a chance will serve us, and some stratagem may come to my head.” Here he turned to the old colonels: “Gentlemen, you know me little, but ask my comrades about the hot places in which I have been, and from which I have always escaped. Tell me, what kind of officer is this who commands the convoy? Could he be persuaded not to adhere to a traitor, but take the side of his country and join us?”
“That is Roh Kovalski of the Korab Kovalskis,” answered Oskyerko.
“I know him. You might as well persuade his horse as him; for as God is bountiful I know not which is more stupid.”
“But why did they make him officer?”
“He carried the banner with Myeleshko’s dragoons; for this no wit is needed. But he was made officer because his fist pleased the prince; for he breaks horseshoes, wrestles with tame bears, and the man has not yet been discovered whom he cannot bring to the earth.”
“Has he such strength?”
“That he has such strength is true; but were his superior to order him to batter down a wall with his head he would fall to battering it without a moment’s delay. He is ordered to take us to Birji, and he will take us, even if the earth had to sink.”
“ ’Pon my word,” said Zagloba, who listened to this conversation with great attention, “he is a resolute fellow.”
“Yes, but with him resolution consists in stupidity alone. When he has time, and is not eating, he is sleeping. It is an astonishing thing, which you will not believe; but once he slept forty-eight hours in the barracks, and yawned when they dragged him from the plank bed.”
“This officer pleases me greatly,” said Zagloba, “for I always like to know with whom I have to do.”
When he had said this he turned to Kovalski. “But come this way, please!” cried he, in a patronizing tone.
“What is it?” asked Kovalski, turning his horse.
“Have you gorailka?”
“I have.”
“Give it!”
“How give it?”
“You know, gracious Kovalski, if it were not permitted you would have had an order not to give it; but since you have not an order, give it.”
“Ah,” said Kovalski, astonished, “as I live! but that is like forcing.”
“Forcing or not forcing, it is permitted you; and it is proper to assist a blood relative and an older man, who, if he had married your mother, might have been your father as easily as wink.”
“What relative are you of mine?”
“I am, for there are two stocks of Kovalskis—they who use the seal of Vyerush and have a goat painted on their shield, with upraised hind leg; and they who have on their shield the ship in which their ancestor Kovalski sailed from England across the sea to Poland; and these are my relatives, through my grandmother, and this is why I, too, have the ship on my shield.”
“As God lives! you are my relative.”
“Are you a Korab (ship)?”
“A Korab.”
“My own blood, as God is dear to me!” cried Zagloba. “It is lucky that we have met, for in very truth I have come here to Lithuania to see the Kovalskis; and though I am in bonds while you are on horseback and in freedom I would gladly embrace you, for what is one’s own is one’s own.”
“How can I help you? They commanded me to take you to Birji; I will take you. Blood is blood, but service is service.”
“Call me Uncle,” said Zagloba.
“Here is gorailka for you, Uncle,” said Kovalski; “I can do that much.”
Zagloba took the flask gladly, and drank to his liking. Soon a pleasant warmth spread through his members. It began to grow clear in his brain, and his mind became bright.
“Come down from the horse,” said he to Kovalski, “and sit here a short time in the wagon; let us talk, for I should like to have you say something about our family. I respect service, but this too is permitted.”
Kovalski did not answer for a while.
“This was not forbidden,” said he, at last.
Soon after he was sitting at the side of Zagloba, and stretched himself gladly on the straw with which the wagon was filled.
Zagloba embraced him heartily.
“How is the health of thy old father?—God help me—I’ve forgotten his name.”
“Roh, also.”
“That’s right, that’s right. Roh begat Roh—that is according to command. You must call your son Roh as well, so that every hoopoo may have his topknot. But are you married?”
“Of course! I am Kovalski, and here is Pani Kovalski; I don’t want any other.”
So saying, the young officer raised to the eyes of Zagloba the hilt of a heavy dragoon sabre, and repeated, “I don’t want any other.”
“Proper!” said Zagloba. “Roh, son of Roh, you are greatly pleasing to me. A soldier is best accommodated when he has no wife save such a one, and I will say more—she will be a widow before you will be a widower. The only pity is that you cannot have young Rohs by her, for I see that you are a keen cavalier, and it would be a sin were such a stock to die out.”
“Oh, no fear of that!” said Kovalski; “there are six brothers of us.”
“And all Rohs?”
“Does Uncle know that if not the first, then the second, has to be Roh?—for Roh is our special patron.”
“Let us drink again.”
“Very well.”
Zagloba raised the bottle; he did not drink all, however, but gave it to the officer and said, “To the bottom, to the bottom! It is a pity that I cannot see you,” continued he. “The night is so dark that you might hit a man in the face, you would not know your own fingers by sight. But hear me, Roh, where was that army going from Kyedani when we drove out?”
“Against the insurgents.”
“The Most High God knows who is insurgent—you or they.”
“I an insurgent? How could that be? I do what my hetman commands.”
“But the hetman does not do what the king commands, for surely the king did not command him to join the Swedes. Would you not rather slay the Swedes than give me, your relative, into their hands?”
“I might; but for every command there is obedience.”
“And Pani Kovalski would rather slay Swedes; I know her. Speaking between us, the hetman has rebelled against the king and the country. Don’t say this to anyone, but it is so; and those who serve him are rebels too.”
“It is not proper for me to hear this. The hetman has his superior, and I have mine; what is his own belongs to the hetman, and God would punish me if I were to oppose him. That is an unheard of thing.”
“You speak honestly; but think, Roh, if you were to happen into the hands of those insurgents, I should be free, and it would be no fault of yours, for nec Hercules contra plures!—I do not know where those squadrons are, but you must know, and you see we might turn toward them a little.”
“How is that?”
“As if we went by chance to them? It would not be your fault if they rescued us. You would not have me on your conscience—and to have a relative on a man’s conscience, believe me, is a terrible burden.”
“Oh Uncle, what are you saying! As God lives, I will leave the wagon and sit on my horse. It is not I who will have uncle on my conscience, but the hetman. While I live, nothing will come of this talk.”
“Nothing is nothing!” said Zagloba; “I prefer that you speak sincerely, though I was your uncle before Radzivill was your hetman. And do you know, Roh, what an uncle is?”
“An uncle is an uncle.”
“You have calculated very adroitly; but when a man has no father, the Scriptures say that he must obey his uncle. The power of an uncle is as that of a father, which it is a sin to resist. For consider even this, that whoever marries may easily become a father; but in your uncle flows the same blood as in your mother. I am not in truth the brother of your mother, but my grandmother must have been your grandmother’s aunt. Know then that the authority of several generations rests in me; for like everything else in the world we are mortal, therefore authority passes from one of us to another, and neither the hetman nor the king can ignore it, nor force anyone to oppose it. It is sacred! Has the full hetman or even the grand hetman the right to command not merely a noble or an officer, but any kind of camp-follower, to rise up against his father, his mother, his grandfather, or his blind old grandmother? Answer me that, Roh. Has he the right?”
“What?” asked Kovalski, with a sleepy voice.
“Against his blind old grandmother!” repeated Zagloba. “Who in that case would be willing to marry and beget children, or wait for grandchildren? Answer me that, Roh.”
“I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski,” said the still sleepier officer.
“If it is your wish, let it be so,” answered Zagloba. “Better indeed that you have no children, there will be fewer fools to storm around in the world. Is it not true, Roh?”
Zagloba held down his ear, but heard nothing—no answer now.
“Roh! Roh!” called he, in a low voice.
Kovalski was sleeping like a dead man.
“Are you sleeping?” muttered Zagloba. “Wait a bit—I will take this iron pot off your head, for it is of no use to you. This cloak is too tight at the throat; it might cause apoplexy. What sort of relative were I, did I not save you?”
Here Zagloba’s hands began to move lightly about the head and neck of Kovalski. In the wagon all were in a deep sleep; the soldiers too nodded in the saddles; some in front were singing in a low voice, while looking out the road carefully—for the night, though not rainy, was exceedingly dark.
After a time, however, the soldier leading Kovalski’s horse behind the wagon saw in the darkness the cloak and bright helmet of his officer. Kovalski, without stopping the wagon, slipped out and nodded to give him the horse. In a moment he mounted.
“Pan Commandant, where shall we stop to feed?” asked the sergeant, approaching him.
Pan Roh gave no word in reply, but moving forward passed slowly those riding in front and vanished in the darkness. Soon there came to the ears of the dragoons the quick tramp of a horse.
“The commandant has gone at a gallop!” said they to one another. “Surely he wants to look around to see if there is some public house near by. It is time to feed the horses—time.”
A half-hour passed, an hour, two hours, and Pan Kovalski seemed to be ahead all the time, for somehow he was not visible. The horses grew very tired, especially those drawing the wagon, and began to drag on slowly. The stars were leaving the sky.
“Gallop to the commandant,” said the sergeant; “tell him the horses are barely able to drag along, and the wagon horses are tired.”
One of the soldiers moved ahead, but after an hour returned alone.
“There is neither trace nor ashes of the commandant,” said the soldier; “he must have ridden five miles ahead.”
The soldiers began to grumble.
“It is well for him he slept through the day, and just now on the wagon; but do thou, soldier, pound through the night with the last breath of thy horse and thyself!”
“There is an inn eighty rods distant,” said the soldier who had ridden ahead. “I thought to find him there, but no! I listened, trying to hear the horse—Nothing to be heard. The devil knows where he is!”
“We will stop at the inn anyhow,” said the sergeant. “We must let the horses rest.”
In fact they halted before the inn. The soldiers dismounted. Some went to knock at the door; others untied bundles of hay, hanging at the saddles, to feed the horses even from their hands.
The prisoners woke when the movement of the wagon ceased.
“But where are we going?” asked old Stankyevich.
“I cannot tell in the night,” answered Volodyovski, “especially as we are not going to Upita.”
“But does not the load from Kyedani to Birji lie through Upita?” asked Pan Yan.
“It does. But in Upita is my squadron, which clearly the prince fears may resist, therefore he ordered Kovalski to take another road. Just outside Kyedani we turned to Dalnovo and Kroki; from the second place we shall go surely through Beysagoli and Shavli. It is a little out of the way, but Upita and Ponyevyej will remain at the right. On this road there are no squadrons, for all that were there were brought to Kyedani, so as to have them at hand.”
“But Pan Zagloba,” said Stankyevich, “instead of thinking of stratagems, as he promised, is sleeping sweetly, and snoring.”
“Let him sleep. It is clear that he was wearied from talk with that stupid commandant, relationship with whom he confessed. It is evident that he wanted to capture him, but with no result. Whoso would not leave Radzivill for his country, will surely not leave him for a distant relative.”
“Are they really relatives?” asked Oskyerko.
“They? They are as much relatives as you and I,” answered Volodyovski. “When Zagloba spoke of their common escutcheon, I knew it was not true, for I know well that his is called wczele (in the forehead).”
“And where is Pan Kovalski?”
“He must be with the soldiers or in the inn.”
“I should like to ask him to let me sit on some soldier’s horse,” said Mirski, “for my bones are benumbed.”
“He will not grant that,” said Stankyevich; “for the night is dark, you could easily put spurs to the horse, and be off. Who could overtake?”
“I will give him my word of honor not to attempt escape; besides, dawn will begin directly.”
“Soldier, where is the commandant?” asked Volodyovski of a dragoon standing near.
“Who knows?”
“How, who knows? When I ask thee to call him, call him.”
“We know not ourselves, Colonel, where he is,” said the dragoon. “Since he crawled out of the wagon and rode ahead, he has not come back.”
“Tell him when he comes that we would speak with him.”
“As the Colonel wishes,” answered the soldier.
The prisoners were silent. From time to time only loud yawning was heard on the wagon; the horses were chewing hay at one side. The soldiers around the wagon, resting on the saddles, were dozing; others talked in a low voice, or refreshed themselves each with what he had, for it turned out that the inn was deserted and tenantless.
The night had begun to grow pale. On its eastern side the dark background of the sky was becoming slightly gray; the stars, going out gradually, twinkled with an uncertain, failing light. Then the roof of the inn became hoary; the trees growing near it were edged with silver. The horses and men seemed to rise out of the shade. After a while it was possible to distinguish faces, and the yellow color of the cloaks. The helmets began to reflect the morning gleam.
Volodyovski opened his arms and stretched himself, yawning from ear to ear; then he looked at the sleeping Zagloba. All at once he threw back his arms and shouted—
“May the bullets strike him! In God’s name! Gracious gentlemen, look here!”
“What has happened?” asked the colonels, opening their eyes.
“Look here, look here!” said Volodyovski, pointing at the sleeping form.
The prisoners turned their glances in the direction indicated, and amazement was reflected on every face. Under the burka, and in the cap of Zagloba, slept, with the sleep of the just, Pan Roh Kovalski; but Zagloba was not in the wagon.
“He has escaped, as God is dear to me!” said the astonished Mirski, looking around on every side, as if he did not yet believe his own eyes.
“Oh, he is a finished rogue! May the hangman—” cried Stankyevich.
“He took the helmet and yellow cloak of that fool, and escaped on his horse.”
“Vanished as if he had dropped into water.”
“He said he would get away by stratagem.”
“They will never see him again!”
“Gentlemen,” said Volodyovski, with delight, “you know not that man; and I swear to you today that he will rescue us yet—I know not how, when, with what means—but I swear that he will.”
“God grant it! One cannot believe his eyesight,” said Pan Stanislav.
The soldiers now saw what had happened. An uproar rose among them. One crowded ahead of the other to the wagon, stared at their commandant, dressed in a camel’s hair burka and lynx-skin cap, and sleeping soundly.
The sergeant began to shake him without ceremony. “Commandant! commandant!”
“I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski,” muttered Roh.
“Commandant, a prisoner has fled.”
Kovalski sat up in the wagon and opened his eyes. “What?”
“A prisoner has fled—that bulky noble who was talking with the commandant.”
The officer came to his senses. “Impossible!” cried he, with terrified voice. “How was it? What happened? How did he escape?”
“In the helmet and cloak of the commandant; the soldiers did not know him, the night was dark.”
“Where is my horse?” cried Kovalski.
“The horse is gone. The noble fled on him.”
“On my horse?”
“Yes.”
Kovalski seized himself by the head. “Jesus of Nazareth! King of the Jews!”
After a while he shouted, “Give here that dog-faith, that son of a such a one who gave him the horse!”
“Pan Commandant, the soldier is not to blame. The night was dark, you might have struck a man in the face, and he took your helmet and cloak; rode near me, and I did not know him. If your grace had not sat in the wagon, he could not have done it.”
“Kill me, kill me!” cried the unfortunate officer.
“What is to be done?”
“Kill him, catch him!”
“That cannot be done in any way. He is on your horse—the best horse; ours are terribly road-weary. He fled at the first cockcrow; we cannot overtake him.”
“Hunt for a wind in the field!” said Stankyevich.
Kovalski, in a rage, turned to the prisoners. “You helped him to escape! I will—”
Here he balled his gigantic fist, and began to approach them. Then Mirski said threateningly, “Shout not, and remember that you are speaking to superiors.”
Kovalski quivered, and straightened himself involuntarily; for really his dignity in presence of such a Mirski was nothing, and all his prisoners were a head above him in rank and significance.
Stankyevich added: “If you have been commanded to take us, take us; but raise no voice, for tomorrow you may be under the command of any one of us.”
Kovalski stared and was silent.
“There is no doubt you have fooled away your head, Pan Roh,” said Oskyerko. “To say, as you do, that we helped him is nonsense; for, to begin with, we were sleeping, just as you were, and secondly, each one would have helped himself rather than another. But you have fooled away your head. There is no one to blame here but you. I would be the first to order you shot, since being an officer you fell asleep like a badger, and allowed a prisoner to escape in your own helmet and cloak, nay, on your own horse—an unheard of thing, such as has not happened since the beginning of the world.”
“An old fox has fooled the young man!” said Mirski. “Jesus, Mary! I have not even the sabre!” cried Kovalski.
“Will not the sabre be of use to him?” asked Stankyevich, laughing. “Pan Oskyerko has said well—you have fooled away your head. You must have had pistols in the holsters too?”
“I had!” said Kovalski, as if out of his mind.
Suddenly he seized his head with both hands: “And the letter of the prince to the commandant of Birji! What shall I, unfortunate man, do now? I am lost for the ages! God give me a bullet in the head!”
“That will not miss you,” said Mirski, seriously. “How will you take us to Birji now? What will happen if you say that you have brought us as prisoners, and we, superior in rank, say that you are to be thrown into the dungeon? Whom will they believe? Do you think that the Swedish commandant will detain us for the reason simply that Pan Kovalski will beg him to do so? He will rather believe us, and confine you under ground.”
“I am lost!” groaned Kovalski.
“Nonsense!” said Volodyovski.
“What is to be done, Pan Commandant?” asked the sergeant.
“Go to all the devils!” roared Kovalski. “Do I know what to do, where to go? God give thunderbolts to slay thee!”
“Go on, go on to Birji; you will see!” said Mirski.
“Turn back to Kyedani,” cried Kovalski.
“If they will not plant you at the wall there and shoot you, may bristles cover me!” said Oskyerko. “How will you appear before the hetman’s face? Tfu! Infamy awaits you, and a bullet in the head—nothing more.”
“For I deserve nothing more!” cried the unfortunate man.
“Nonsense, Pan Roh! We alone can save you,” said Oskyerko. “You know that we were ready to go to the end of the world with the hetman, and perish. We have shed our blood more than once for the country, and always shed it willingly; but the hetman betrayed the country—he gave this land to the enemy; he joined with them against our gracious lord, to whom we swore allegiance. Do you think that it came easy to soldiers like us to refuse obedience to a superior, to act against discipline, to resist our own hetman? But whoso today is with the hetman is against the king. Whoso today is with the hetman is a traitor to the king and the Commonwealth. Therefore we cast down our batons at the feet of the hetman; for virtue, duty, faith, and honor so commanded. And who did it? Was it I alone? No! Pan Mirski, Pan Stankyevich, the best soldiers, the worthiest men. Who remained with the hetman? Disturbers. But why do you not follow men better, wiser, and older than yourself? Do you wish to bring infamy on your name, and be trumpeted forth as a traitor? Enter into yourself; ask your conscience what you should do—remain a traitor with Radzivill, the traitor, or go with us, who wish to give our last breath for the country, shed the last drop of our blood for it. Would the ground had swallowed us before we refused obedience to the hetman; but would that our souls never escaped hell, if we were to betray the king and the country for the profit of Radzivill!”
This discourse seemed to make a great impression on Kovalski. He stared, opened his mouth, and after a while said, “What do you wish of me, gentlemen?”
“To go with us to the voevoda of Vityebsk, who will fight for the country.”
“But when I have an order to take you to Birji?”
“Talk with him,” said Mirski.
“We want you to disobey the command—to leave the hetman, and go with us; do you understand?” said Oskyerko, impatiently.
“Say what you like, but nothing will come of that. I am a soldier; what would I deserve if I left the hetman? It is not my mind, but his; not my will, but his. When he sins he will answer for himself and for me, and it is my dog-duty to obey him. I am a simple man; what I do not effect with my hand, I cannot with my head. But I know this—it is my duty to obey, and that is the end of it.”
“Do what you like!” cried Mirski.
“It is my fault,” continued Roh, “that I commanded to return to Kyedani, for I was ordered to go to Birji; but I became a fool through that noble, who, though a relative, did to me what a stranger would not have done. I wish he were not a relative, but he is. He had not God in his heart to take my horse, deprive me of the favor of the prince, and bring punishment on my shoulders. That is the kind of relative he is! But, gentlemen, you will go to Birji, let come what may afterward.”
“A pity to lose time, Pan Oskyerko,” said Volodyovski.
“Turn again toward Birji!” cried Kovalski to the dragoons.
They turned toward Birji a second time. Pan Roh ordered one of the dragoons to sit in the wagon; then he mounted that man’s horse, and rode by the side of the prisoners, repeating for a time, “A relative, and to do such a thing!”
The prisoners, hearing this, though not certain of their fate and seriously troubled, could not refrain from laughter; at last Volodyovski said, “Comfort yourself, Pan Kovalski, for that man has hung on a hook persons not such as you. He surpassed Hmelnitski himself in cunning, and in stratagems no one can equal him.”
Kovalski said nothing, but fell away a little from the wagon, fearing ridicule. He was shamefaced in presence of the prisoners and of his own soldiers, and was so troubled that he was pitiful to look at.
Meanwhile the colonels were talking of Zagloba, and of his marvellous escape.
“In truth, ’tis astonishing,” said Volodyovski, “that there are not in the world straits, out of which that man could not save himself. When strength and bravery are of no avail, he escapes through stratagem. Other men lose courage when death is hanging over their heads, or they commit themselves to God, waiting for what will happen; but he begins straightway to work with his head, and always thinks out something. He is as brave in need as Achilles, but he prefers to follow Ulysses.”
“I would not be his guard, though he were bound with chains,” said Stankyevich; “for it is nothing that he will escape, but besides, he will expose a man to ridicule.”
“Of course!” said Pan Michael. “Now he will laugh at Kovalski to the end of his life; and God guard a man from coming under his tongue, for there is not a sharper in the Commonwealth. And when he begins, as is his custom, to color his speech, then people are bursting from laughter.”
“But you say that in need he can use his sabre?” asked Stankyevich.
“Of course! He slew Burlei at Zbaraj, in view of the whole army.”
“Well, God save us!” cried Stankyevich, “I have never seen such a man.”
“He has rendered us a great service by his escape,” said Oskyerko, “for he took the letters of the hetman, and who knows what was written in them against us? I do not think that the Swedish commandant at Birji will give ear to us, and not to Kovalski. That will not be, for we come as prisoners, and he as commanding the convoy. But certainly they will not know what to do with us. In every case they will not cut off our heads, and that is the main thing.”
“I spoke as I did merely to confuse Kovalski completely,” said Mirski; “but that they will not cut off our heads, as you say, is no great consolation, God knows. Everything so combines that it would be better not to live; now another war, a civil war, will break out, that will be final ruin. What reason have I, old man, to look on these things?”
“Or I, who remember other times?” said Stankyevich.
“You should not say that, gentlemen; for the mercy of God is greater than the rage of men, and his almighty hand may snatch us from the whirlpool precisely when we least expect.”
“Holy are these words,” said Pan Yan. “And to us, men from under the standard of the late Prince Yeremi, it is grievous to live now, for we were accustomed to victory; and still one likes to serve the country, if the Lord God would give at last a leader who is not a traitor, but one whom a man might trust with his whole heart and soul.”
“Oi! true, true!” said Pan Michael. “A man would fight night and day.”
“But I tell you, gentlemen, that this is the greatest despair,” said Mirski; “for everyone wanders as in darkness, and asks himself what to do, and uncertainty stifles him, like a nightmare. I know not how it is with you, but mental disquiet is rending me. And when I think that I cast my baton at the feet of the hetman, that I was the cause of resistance and mutiny, the remnants of my gray hair stand on my head from terror. So it is! But what is to be done in presence of open treason? Happy are they who do not need to give themselves such questions, and seek for answers in their souls.”
“A leader, a leader; may the merciful Lord give a leader!” said Stankyevich, raising his eyes toward heaven.
“Do not men say that the voevoda of Vityebsk is a wonderfully honest man?” asked Pan Stanislav.
“They do,” replied Mirski; “but he has not the baton of grand or full hetman, and before the king clothes him with the office of hetman, he can act only on his own account. He will not go to the Swedes, or anywhere else; that is certain.”
“Pan Gosyevski, full hetman, is a captive in Kyedani.”
“Yes, for he is an honest man,” said Oskyerko. “When news of that came to me, I was distressed, and had an immediate foreboding of evil.”
Pan Michael fell to thinking, and said after a while: “I was in Warsaw once, and went to the king’s palace. Our gracious lord, since he loves soldiers and had praised me for the Berestechko affair, knew me at once and commanded me to come to dinner. At this dinner I saw Pan Charnyetski, as the dinner was specially for him. The king grew a little merry from wine, pressed Charnyetski’s head, and said at last: ‘Even should the time come in which all will desert me, you will be faithful.’ With my own ears I heard that said, as it were with prophetic spirit. Pan Charnyetski, from emotion, was hardly able to speak. He only repeated: ‘To the last breath! to the last breath!’ And then the king shed tears—”
“Who knows if those were not prophetic words, for the time of disaster had already come,” said Mirski.
“Charnyetski is a great soldier,” replied Stankyevich. “There are no lips in the Commonwealth which do not repeat his name.”
“They say,” said Pan Yan, “that the Tartars, who are aiding Revera Pototski against Hmelnitski, are so much in love with Charnyetski that they will not go where he is not with them.”
“That is real truth,” answered Oskyerko. “I heard that told in Kyedani before the hetman. We were all praising at that time Charnyetski wonderfully, but it was not to the taste of Radzivill, for he frowned and said, ‘He is quartermaster of the king, but he might be under-starosta with me at Tykotsin.’ ”
“Envy, it is clear, was gnawing him.”
“It is a well-known fact that an apostate cannot endure the lustre of virtue.”
Thus did the captive colonels converse; then their speech was turned again to Zagloba. Volodyovski assured them that aid might be looked for from him, for he was not the man to leave his friends in misfortune.
“I am certain,” said he, “that he has fled to Upita, where he will find my men, if they are not yet defeated, or taken by force to Kyedani. With them he will come to rescue us, unless they refuse to come, which I do not expect; for in the squadron are Lauda men chiefly, and they are fond of me.”
“But they are old clients of Radzivill,” remarked Mirski.
“True; but when they hear of the surrender of Lithuania to the Swedes, the imprisonment of the full hetman and Pan Yudytski, of you and me, it will turn their hearts away greatly from Radzivill. Those are honest nobles; Pan Zagloba will neglect nothing to paint the hetman with soot, and he can do that better than any of us.”
“True,” said Pan Stanislav; “but meanwhile we shall be in Birji.”
“That cannot be, for we are making a circle to avoid Upita, and from Upita the road is direct as if cut with a sickle. Even were they to start a day later, or two days, they could still be in Birji before us, and block our way. We are only going to Shavli now, and from there we shall go to Birji directly; but you must know that it is nearer from Upita to Birji than to Shavli.”
“As I live, it is nearer, and the road is better,” said Mirski, “for it is a high road.”
“There it is! And we are not yet in Shavli.”
Only in the evening did they see the hill called Saltuves-Kalnas, at the foot of which Shavli stands. On the road they saw that disquiet was reigning in all the villages and towns through which they passed. Evidently news of the hetman’s desertion to the Swedes had run through all Jmud. Here and there the people asked the soldiers if it were true that the country was to be occupied by Swedes; here and there crowds of peasants were leaving the villages with their wives, children, cattle, and effects, and going to the depths of the forest, with which the whole region was thickly covered. In places the aspect of the peasants was almost threatening, for evidently the dragoons were taken for Swedes. In villages inhabited by nobles they were asked directly who they were and where they were going; and when Kovalski, instead of answering, commanded them to leave the road, it came to shouts and threats to such a degree that muskets levelled for firing were barely sufficient to open a passage.
The highway leading from Kovno through Shavli to Mitava was covered with wagons and carriages, in which were the wives and children of nobles wishing to take refuge from war in estates in Courland. In Shavli itself, which was an appanage of the king, there were no private squadrons of the hetman, or men of the quota; but here the captive colonels saw for the first time a Swedish detachment, composed of twenty-five knights, who had come on a reconnoissance from Birji. Crowds of Jews and citizens were staring at the strangers. The colonels too gazed at them with curiosity, especially Volodyovski, who had never before seen Swedes; hence he examined them eagerly with the desiring eyes with which a wolf looks at a flock of sheep.
Pan Kovalski entered into communication with the officer, declared who he was, where he was going, whom he was conveying, and requested him to join his men to the dragoons, for greater safety on the road. But the officer answered that he had an order to push as far as possible into the depth of the country, so as to be convinced of its condition, therefore he could not return to Birji; but he gave assurance that the road was safe everywhere, for small detachments, sent out from Birji, were moving in all directions—some were sent even as far as Kyedani. After he had rested till midnight, and fed the horses, which were very tired, Pan Roh moved on his way, turning from Shavli to the east through Yohavishkyele and Posvut toward Birji, so as to reach the direct highway from Upita and Ponyevyej.
“If Zagloba comes to our rescue,” said Volodyovski, about daylight, “it will be easiest to take this road, for he could start right at Upita.”
“Maybe he is lurking here somewhere,” said Pan Stanislav.
“I had hope till I saw the Swedes,” said Stankyevich, “but now it strikes me that there is no help for us.”
“Zagloba has a head to avoid them or to fool them; and he will be able to do so.”
“But he does not know the country.”
“The Lauda people know it; for some of them take hemp, wainscots, and pitch to Riga, and there is no lack of such men in my squadron.”
“The Swedes must have occupied all the places about Birji.”
“Fine soldiers, those whom we saw in Shavli, I must confess,” said the little knight, “man for man splendid! Did you notice what well-fed horses they had?”
“Those are Livland horses, very powerful,” said Mirski. “Our hussar and armored officers send to Livland for horses, since our beasts are small.”
“Tell me of the Swedish infantry!” put in Stankyevich. “Though the cavalry makes a splendid appearance, it is inferior. Whenever one of our squadrons, and especially of the important divisions, rushed on their cavalry, the Swedes did not hold out while you could say ‘Our Father’ twice.”
“You have tried them in old times,” said the little knight, “but I have no chance of testing them. I tell you, gentlemen, when I saw them now in Shavli, with their beards yellow as flax, ants began to crawl over my fingers. Ei, the soul would to paradise; but sit thou here in the wagon, and sigh.”
The colonels were silent; but evidently not Pan Michael alone was burning with such friendly feeling toward the Swedes, for soon the following conversation of the dragoons surrounding the wagon came to the ears of the prisoners.
“Did you see those pagan dog-faiths?” said one soldier; “we were to fight with them, but now we must clean their horses.”
“May the bright thunderbolts crush them!” muttered another dragoon.
“He quiet, the Swede will teach thee manners with a broom over thy head!”
“Or I him.”
“Thou art a fool! Not such as thou wish to rush at them; thou seest what has happened.”
“We are taking the greatest knights to them, as if into the dog’s mouth. They, the sons of Jew mothers, will abuse these knights.”
“Without a Jew you cannot talk with such trash. The commandant in Shavli had to send for a Jew right away.”
“May the plague kill them!”
Here the first soldier lowered his voice somewhat and said, “They say the best soldiers do not wish to fight against their own king.”
“Of course not! Did you not see the Hungarians, or how the hetman used troops against those resisting. It is unknown yet what will happen. Some of our dragoons too took part with the Hungarians; these men very likely are shot by this time.”
“That is a reward for faithful service!”
“To the devil with such work! A Jew’s service!”
“Halt!” cried, on a sudden, Kovalski riding in front.
“May a bullet halt in thy snout!” muttered a voice near the wagon.
“Who is there?” asked the soldiers of one another.
“Halt!” came a second command.
The wagon stopped. The soldiers held in their horses. The day was pleasant, clear. The sun had risen, and by its rays was to be seen, on the highway ahead, clusters of dust rising as if herds or troops were coming.
Soon the dust began to shine, as if someone were scattering sparks in the bunches of it; and lights glittered each moment more clearly, like burning candles surrounded with smoke.
“Those are spears gleaming!” cried Pan Michael.
“Troops are coming.”
“Surely some Swedish detachment!”
“With them only infantry have spears; but there the dust is moving quickly. That is cavalry—our men!”
“Ours, ours!” repeated the dragoons.
“Form!” thundered Pan Roh.
The dragoons surrounded the wagon in a circle. Pan Volodyovski had flame in his eyes.
“Those are my Lauda men with Zagloba! It cannot be otherwise!”
Now only forty rods divided those approaching from the wagon, and the distance decreased every instant, for the coming detachment was moving at a trot. Finally, from out the dust pushed a strong body of troops moving in good order, as if to attack. In a moment they were nearer. In the first rank, a little from the right side, moved, under a bunchuck, some powerful man with a baton in his hand. Scarcely had Volodyovski put eye on him when he cried—
“Pan Zagloba! As I love God, Pan Zagloba!”
A smile brightened the face of Pan Yan. “It is he, and no one else, and under a bunchuck! He has already created himself hetman. I should have known him by that whim anywhere. That man will die as he was born.”
“May the Lord God give him health!” said Oskyerko.
Then he put his hands around his mouth and began to call, “Gracious Kovalski! your relative is coming to visit you!”
But Pan Roh did not hear, for he was just forming his dragoons. And it is only justice to declare that though he had a handful of men, and on the other side a whole squadron was rolling against him, he was not confused, nor did he lose courage. He placed the dragoons in two ranks in front of the wagon; but the others stretched out and approached in a half-circle, Tartar fashion, from both sides of the field. But evidently they wished to parley, for they began to wave a flag and cry—
“Stop! stop!”
“Forward!” cried Kovalski.
“Yield!” was cried from the road.
“Fire!” commanded in answer Kovalski.
Dull silence followed—not a single dragoon fired. Pan Roh was dumb for a moment; then he rushed as if wild on his own dragoons.
“Fire, dog-faiths!” roared he, with a terrible voice; and with one blow of his fist he knocked from his horse the nearest soldier.
Others began to draw back before the rage of the man, but no one obeyed the command. All at once they scattered, like a flock of frightened partridges, in the twinkle of an eye.
“Still I would have those soldiers shot!” muttered Mirski.
Meanwhile Kovalski, seeing that his own men had left him, turned his horse to the attacking ranks.
“For me death is there!” cried he, with a terrible voice.
And he sprang at them, like a thunderbolt. But before he had passed half the distance a shot rattled from Zagloba’s ranks.
Pan Roh’s horse thrust his nose into the dust and fell, throwing his rider. At the same moment a soldier of Volodyovski’s squadron pushed forward like lightning, and caught by the shoulder the officer rising from the ground.
“That is Yuzva Butrym,” cried Volodyovski, “Yuzva Footless!”
Pan Roh in his turn seized Yuzva by the skirt, and the skirt remained in his hand; then they struggled like two enraged falcons, for both had gigantic strength. Butrym’s stirrup broke; he fell to the ground and turned over, but he did not let Pan Roh go, and both formed as it were one ball, which rolled along the road.
Others ran up. About twenty hands seized Kovalski, who tore and dragged like a bear in a net; he hurled men around, as a wild boar hurls dogs; he raised himself again and did not give up the battle. He wanted to die, but he heard tens of voices repeating the words, “Take him alive! take him alive!” At last his strength forsook him, and he fainted.
Meanwhile Zagloba was at the wagon, or rather on the wagon, and had seized in his embraces Pan Yan, the little knight, Mirski, Stankyevich, and Oskyerko, calling with panting voice—
“Ha! Zagloba was good for something! Now we will give it to that Radzivill. We are free gentlemen, and we have men. We’ll go straightway to ravage his property. Well! did the stratagem succeed? I should have got you out—if not in one way, in another. I am so blown that I can barely draw breath. Now for Radzivill’s property, gracious gentlemen, now for Radzivill’s property! You do not know yet as much of Radzivill as I do!”
Further outbursts were interrupted by the Lauda men, who ran one after another to greet their colonel. The Butryms, the Smoky Gostsyeviches, the Domasheviches, the Stakyans, the Gashtovts, crowded around the wagon, and powerful throats bellowed continually—
“Vivat! vivat!”
“Gracious gentlemen,” said the little knight when it grew somewhat quieter, “most beloved comrades, I thank you for your love. It is a terrible thing that we must refuse obedience to the hetman, and raise hands against him; but since his treason is clear, we cannot do otherwise. We will not desert our country and our gracious king—Vivat Johannes Casimirus Rex!”
“Vivat Johannes Casimirus Rex!” repeated three hundred voices.
“Attack the property of Radzivill!” shouted Zagloba, “empty his larders and cellars!”
“Horses for us!” cried the little knight.
They galloped for horses.
Then Zagloba said, “Pan Michael, I was hetman over these people in place of you, and I acknowledge willingly that they acted with manfulness; but as you are now free, I yield the command into your hands.”
“Let your grace take command, as superior in rank,” said Pan Michael, turning to Mirski.
“I do not think of it, and why should I?” said the old colonel.
“Then perhaps Pan Stankyevich?”
“I have my own squadron, and I will not take his from a stranger. Remain in command; ceremony is chopped straw, satisfaction is oats! You know the men, they know you, and they will fight better under you.”
“Do so, Michael, do so, for otherwise it would not be well,” said Pan Yan.
“I will do so.”
So saying, Pan Michael took the baton from Zagloba’s hands, drew up the squadron for marching, and moved with his comrades to the head of it.
“And where shall we go?” asked Zagloba.
“To tell the truth, I don’t know myself, for I have not thought of that,” answered Pan Michael.
“It is worth while to deliberate on what we should do,” said Mirski, “and we must begin at once. But may I be permitted first to give thanks to Pan Zagloba in the name of all, that he did not forget us in straits and rescued us so effectually?”
“Well,” said Zagloba, with pride, raising his head and twisting his mustache. “Without me you would be in Birji! Justice commands to acknowledge that what no man can think out, Zagloba thinks out. Pan Michael, we were in straits not like these. Remember how I saved you when we were fleeing before the Tartars with Helena?”
Pan Michael might have answered that in that juncture not Zagloba saved him, but he Zagloba; still he was silent, and his mustache began to quiver. The old noble spoke on—
“Thanks are not necessary, since what I did for you today you certainly would not fail to do for me tomorrow in case of need. I am as glad to see you free as if I had gained the greatest battle. It seems that neither my hand nor my head has grown very old yet.”
“Then you went straightway to Upita?” asked Volodyovski.
“But where should I go—to Kyedani?—crawl into the wolf’s throat? Of course to Upita; and it is certain that I did not spare the horse, and a good beast he was. Yesterday early I was in Upita, and at midday we started for Birji, in the direction in which I expected to meet you.”
“And how did my men believe you at once? For, with the exception of two or three who saw you at my quarters, they did not know you.”
“To tell the truth, I had not the least difficulty; for first of all, I had your ring, Pan Michael, and secondly, the men had just learned of your arrest and the treason of the hetman. I found a deputation to them from Pan Mirski’s squadron and that of Pan Stankyevich, asking to join them against the hetman, the traitor. When I informed them that you were being taken to Birji, it was as if a man had thrust a stick into an anthill. Their horses were at pasture; boys were sent at once to bring them in, and at midday we started. I took the command openly, for it belonged to me.”
“But, father, where did you get the bunchuck?” asked Pan Yan. “We thought from a distance that you were the hetman.”
“Of course, I did not look worse than he? Where did I get the bunchuck? Well, at the same time with the deputations from the resisting squadrons, came also Pan Shchyt with a command to the Lauda men to march to Kyedani, and he brought a bunchuck to give greater weight to the command. I ordered his arrest on the spot, and had the bunchuck borne above me to deceive the Swedes if I met them.”
“As God lives, he thought all out wisely!” cried Oskyerko.
“As Solomon!” added Stankyevich.
Zagloba swelled up as if he were yeast.
“Let us take counsel at once as to what should be done,” said he at last. “If it is agreeable to the company to listen to me with patience, I will tell what I have thought over on the road. I do not advise you to commence war with Radzivill now, and this for two reasons: first, because he is a pike and we are perches. It is better for perches never to turn head to a pike, for he can swallow them easily, but tail, for then the sharp scales protect them. May the devil fix him on a spit in all haste, and baste him with pitch lest he burn overmuch.”
“Secondly?” asked Mirski.
“Secondly,” answered Zagloba, “if at any time, by any fortune, we should fall into his hands, he would give us such a flaying that all the magpies in Lithuania would have something to scream about. See what was in that letter which Kovalski was taking to the Swedish commandant at Birji, and know the voevoda of Vilna, in case he was unknown to you hitherto.”
So saying, he unbuttoned his vest, and taking from his bosom a letter, gave it to Mirski.
“Pshaw! it is in German or Swedish,” said the old colonel. “Who can read this letter?”
It appeared that Pan Stanislav alone knew a little German, for he had gone frequently to Torun (Thorn), but he could not read writing.
“I will tell you the substance of it,” said Zagloba. “When in Upita the soldiers sent to the pasture for their horses, there was a little time. I gave command to bring to me by the locks a Jew whom everyone said was dreadfully wise, and he, with a sabre at his throat, read quickly all that was in the letter and shelled it out to me. Behold the hetman enjoined on the commandant at Birji, and for the good of the King of Sweden directed him, after the convoy had been sent back, to shoot every one of us, without sparing a man, but so to do it that no report might go abroad.”
All the colonels began to clap their hands, except Mirski, who, shaking his head, said—
“It was for me who knew him marvellous, and not find a place in my head, that he would let us out of Kyedani. There must surely be reasons to us unknown, for which he could not put us to death himself.”
“Doubtless for him it was a question of public opinion.”
“Maybe.”
“It is wonderful how venomous he is,” said the little knight; “for without mentioning services, I and Ganhof saved his life not so long ago.”
“And I,” said Stankyevich, “served under his father and under him thirty-five years.”
“He is a terrible man!” added Pan Stanislav.
“It is better not to crawl into the hands of such a one,” said Zagloba. “Let the devils take him! We will avoid fighting with him, but we will pluck bare these estates of his that lie on our way.”
“Let us go to the voevoda of Vityebsk, so as to have some defence, some leader; and on the road we will take what can be had from the larders, stables, granaries, and cellars. My soul laughs at the thought, and it is sure that I will let no one surpass me in this work. What money we can take from land-bailiffs we will take. The more noisily and openly we go to the voevoda of Vityebsk, the more gladly will he receive us.”
“He will receive us gladly as we are,” said Oskyerko. “But it is good advice to go to him, and better can no one think out at present.”
“Will all agree to that?” asked Stankyevich.
“As true as life!” said Pan Mirski. “So then to the voevoda of Vityebsk! Let him be that leader for whom we prayed to God.”
“Amen!” said the others.
They rode some time in silence, till at last Pan Michael began to be uneasy in the saddle. “But could we not pluck the Swedes somewhere on the road?” asked he at last, turning his eyes to his comrades.
“My advice is: if a chance comes, why not?” answered Stankyevich. “Doubtless Radzivill assured the Swedes that he had all Lithuania in his hands, and that all were deserting Yan Kazimir willingly; let it be shown that this is not true.”
“And properly!” said Mirski. “If some detachment crawls into our way, we will ride over it. I will say also: Attack not the prince himself, for we could not stand before him, he is a great warrior! But, avoiding battles, it is worth while to move about Kyedani a couple of days.”
“To plunder Radzivill’s property?” asked Zagloba.
“No, but to assemble more men. My squadron and that of Pan Stankyevich will join us. If they are already defeated—and they may be—the men will come to us singly. It will not pass either without a rally of nobles to us. We will bring Pan Sapyeha fresh forces with which he can easily undertake something.”
In fact, that reckoning was good; and the dragoons of the convoy served as the first example, though Kovalski himself resisted—all his men went over without hesitation to Pan Michael. There might be found more such men in Radzivill’s ranks. It might also be supposed that the first attack on the Swedes would call forth a general uprising in the country.
Pan Michael determined therefore to move that night toward Ponyevyej, assemble whom he could of the Lauda nobles in the vicinity of Upita, and thence plunge into the wilderness of Rogovsk, in which, as he expected, the remnants of the defeated resisting squadrons would be in hiding. Meanwhile he halted for rest at the river Lavecha, to refresh horses and men.
They halted there till night, looking from the density of the forest to the high road, along which were passing continually new crowds of peasants, fleeing to the woods before the expected Swedish invasion.
The soldiers sent out on the road brought in from time to time single peasants as informants concerning the Swedes; but it was impossible to learn much from them. The peasants were frightened, and each repeated separately that the Swedes were here and there, but no one could give accurate information.
When it had become completely dark, Pan Volodyovski commanded the men to mount their horses; but before they started a rather distinct sound of bells came to their ears.
“What is that?” asked Zagloba, “it is too late for the Angelus.”
Volodyovski listened carefully, for a while. “That is an alarm!” said he.
Then he went along the line. “And does anyone here know what village or town there is in that direction?”
“Klavany, Colonel,” answered one of the Gostsyeviches; “we go that way with potash.”
“Do you hear bells?”
“We hear! That is something unusual.”
Volodyovski nodded to the trumpeter, and in a low note the trumpet sounded in the dark forest. The squadron pushed forward.
The eyes of all were fixed in the direction from which the ringing came each moment more powerful; indeed they were not looking in vain, for soon a red light gleamed on the horizon and increased every moment.
“A fire!” muttered the men in the ranks.
Pan Michael bent toward Skshetuski. “The Swedes!” said he.
“We will try them!” answered Pan Yan.
“It is a wonder to me that they are setting fire.”
“The nobles must have resisted, or the peasants risen if they attacked the church.”
“Well, we shall see!” said Pan Michael. And he was panting with satisfaction.
Then Zagloba clattered up to him. “Pan Michael?”
“What?”
“I see that the odor of Swedish flesh has come to you. There will surely be a battle, will there not?”
“As God gives, as God gives!”
“But who will guard the prisoner?”
“What prisoner?”
“Of course, not me, but Kovalski. Pan Michael, it is a terribly important thing that he should not escape. Remember that the hetman knows nothing of what has happened, and will learn from no one, if Kovalski does not report to him. It is requisite to order some trusty men to guard him; for in time of battle he might escape easily, especially if he takes up some stratagem.”
“He is as capable of stratagems as the wagon on which he is sitting. But you are right; it is necessary to station someone near. Will you have him under your eye during this time?”
“H’m! I am sorry to be away from the battle! It is true that in the night near fire I am as good as blind. If it were in the daytime you would never have persuaded me; but since the public good requires it, let this be so.”
“Very well, I will leave you with five soldiers to assist; and if he tries to escape, fire at his head.”
“I’ll squeeze him like wax in my fingers, never fear!—But the fire is increasing every moment. Where shall I stay with Kovalski?”
“Wherever you like. I’ve no time now!” answered Pan Michael, and he rode on.
The flames were spreading rapidly. The wind was blowing from the fire and toward the squadron, and with the sound of bells brought the report of firearms.
“On a trot!” commanded Volodyovski.