 Book II. XI. of With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkiewicz, translated by Samuel A. Binyon. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Xivonos marched from Aladsertva, passed through Skvera and Poribish towards Makhnovka, and wherever he passed the last traces of habitation disappeared. Whoever did not join his forces perished by the knife. The very grain in the ear, the forests and gardens were burned down, and the prince also on his side was doing his best to destroy life. After the slaughter of Poribish and the bloody baptism which Colonel Baranovsky has given to Nimirov, the army destroyed several large detachments of Cossacks and pitched camp near Rhaegrode, for they had passed a month in the saddle. They were weakened by fatigue and death and had considerably diminished their ranks. Arrest was necessary, for the hands of these reapers were exhausted from their bloody harvest. The prince even hesitated and considered whether it would not be better to go into a more peaceful land for a time in order to rest and to increase his forces, and especially on account of the horses who resembled skeletons of animals rather than living creatures, as for a month they had eaten no corn and had lived only on the downtrodden grass. Here, after a week's halt, news was brought that troops were coming to the assistance of the army. The prince rode to meet them and actually met Colonel Janusz Tyshkiewicz, the voyavoda of Kiev who was at the head of fifteen hundred brave horsemen, and with him Krzysztof Tyshkiewicz, subaltern judge of Brotslav, young Pan Aksak, almost a boy, but leading a well-armed company of Hussars, besides a number of noblemen, among who were Pan's Zhenyutov, Polubinsky, Yitnitsky's, Galovikys, Kherdy's, Boguslovsky's, some with a following, others without, altogether about two thousand horse not counting the servants. The prince was beside himself with joy, and full of gratitude he invited the voyavoda into his house, the simplicity and bareness of which astonished him, for the prince, who in Lubny was accustomed to live like a king, in war times allowed himself no comfort in order to set an example to his soldiers. He was living, therefore, in a single room, through whose narrow door the voyavoda of Kiev could not pass on account of his enormous girth, and he was obliged to have a servant push him through from behind. The furniture of the room consisted of one table, some wooden benches and a bed of planks covered with horse-hide, and besides these only a pallet in the doorway upon which a servant slept that he might be ready at any moment. This simplicity surprised the voyavoda, who loved comfort and always traveled with a great many rugs and pillows. As he stepped into the room he looked at the prince in astonishment. He was surprised that such a great mind could live amid such simplicity and discomfort. He had seen the prince at the diet in Warsaw, and was indeed distantly related to him, though he had but slight acquaintance with him. As soon as the prince began to speak, however, he knew at once that he was dealing with an extraordinary man, and he, the old senator, the old jovial soldier and comrade in arms, who was accustomed to slap his brother's senators on their shoulders and to call Prince Dominic, my friend, and was even on confidential terms with the king, could not approach Vishnovetsky with such familiarity, although the prince had received him politely and was grateful to him for his timely assistance. Servoyavoda! he said, God be thanked that you have come with some fresh men, for I am already at my last gasp. I notice that the soldiers of your highness are quite worn out, poor fellows, and I'm not a little sorry to see it, for I have come to your excellency with the request that you would come to my assistance. Is there any haste? Periculum in mora! Periculum in mora! Some ten thousand vagabonds are approaching. Sivonos is leading them, and has been sent against your highness. I have heard from an informer, but he heard that your excellency was going to Constantinople. He turned off in that direction, and on the road he besieged Maknovka, and has caused such devastation that it cannot be described in words. I have heard about Sivonos, and have been waiting here for him. As, however, he has escaped me, I see that I must go and look for him. Indeed, this matter can stand no delay. How strong is the garrison at Maknovka? Two hundred Germans, very fine soldiers, are in the castle that should yet hold out for some time, but the worst of it is that a great number of the nobles have swarmed into the town with their families, and as the town is only protected by ramparts and palisades it cannot hold out very long. Truly, a matter can bear no delay, repeated the prince. Then turning to his boy, Zelinsky, he said, go at once and call the colonels. The voyavoda of Kiev in the meantime took his seat upon a bench to take breath. He looked round a little anxiously for signs of supper, for he was hungry and liked good living. The steps of armed men were heard approaching, and the prince's officers entered the room. They were swarthy, emaciated, with unshaven beards, sunken eyes, and the traces of unspeakable fatigue in their features. They bowed in silence before the prince and his guest, and waited to hear what he had to say. Gentlemen, said the prince, all the horses saddled. They are your highness. Ready to march? As ever, your highness. Good, in an hour we will set out to find Sivonos. Eh? said the voyavoda of Kiev, looking in astonishment at Pankrishtov, the subaltern judge from Brotslav. The prince, however, continued, Colonel Poniatovsky and Colonel Vyashul will first march out, and with them Colonel Baranonsky and the dragoons, and an hour later Vyatsil's cannon will follow them. The colonels bowed and left the room, and presently was heard the sounds of trumpets calling to saddle. The voyavoda of Kiev had not expected such haste, indeed he had not wished it, for he was tired and excited. He had calculated on resting twenty-four hours with the prince, and thought he would then be in plenty of time, and now he had to mount his horse without sleeping and without eating. My prince, he said, will your soldiers be able to reach Makhnovka, for I see that they are frightfully fatigued, and the road is long. Do not let your headache on that account, they go to battle as to a singing. I see it, keen soldiers, but my men are tired from the journey. But you said, periculum in mora. That is true, but we might at least rest for a night. We have come from the vicinity of Melnik. Servoyavoda, we come from Lubny, from the Nipur country. We have been a whole day on the march. We have been a whole month. Then the prince went out in order to superintend personally the order of march. But the voyavoda stared at young Krzysztov, slapped his knees with both hands, and said, Now I have found what I want. By God, they let me die of hunger here. They are hot-headed fellows. I came here for help, thinking that after the great exertions they would not march out for two or three days, and here they do not give me time to draw breath. May the devil take them. The strap which that rascal of a servant fastened badly has rubbed my foot. My stomach is growling. May the devil take them. Makhnovka is Makhnovka. But the stomach is a stomach. I also am an old soldier. I have seen more wars than these men. But do not go so head over heels. They are devils, not men. They do not sleep. They do not eat. Only fight. As true as I love God, they do not eat. Do you notice these kernels, Pankrysztov? Did they not look like specters? What? But they have the courage of lions, answered Pankrysztov, who was a zealous soldier. Dear God, what confusion and disorder abound in other camps when it is a question of setting out on the march, how much running hither and thither, how much dragging of wagons back and forth, looking for horses, and here, listen, the companies of infantry are already setting out. Yes, yes, so they are, the devil, said the voyavoda. But the young Panaksak folded his soft boyish hands. Oh, he is a great commander, he said with enthusiasm. Milk, stop! said the voyavoda. Kuntaito was also a great commander. Do you understand me? The prince entered. To horse, gentlemen, we are setting out. The voyavoda could stand it no longer. Your Highness, let them bring me something to eat, for I am hungry. He cried in an outbreak of anger. Oh, my dear voyavoda, said the prince, laughing and taking his arms. Pardon me, pardon me. I apologize with my whole heart, but in warm and forget these things. What, Pankrysztov, did I not say so? They do not eat! said the voyavoda, turning to the subaltern judge from Brotslov. The supper did not last long, and two hours later, even the infantry had already left Regrod. The army took its way through Vinic and Litin towards Mielnik. On the way Vyoshul came upon a horde of tartars in Zavorobka, whom he and Volodzhovsky slaughtered to the last man, and also freed a couple of hundred prisoners, almost all girls. The devastated region which showed everywhere traces of Sivonos' hand began here. Siyavka was burnt down, its inhabitants murdered in the most frightful manner. The unfortunate said evidently offered resistance to Sivonos, who in return had given them over to the sword and the flames. At the entrance to the village, the pan Siyavsky himself was hanging on an old oak, and was immediately recognized by Tyshekevich's men. He was perfectly naked and wore around his neck an immense necklace of human heads which were threaded on a rope. They were the heads of his six children and his wife. In the village itself which had been burned to ashes, the regiment saw on both sides of the way a long line of Cossack torches, that is to say, men with their hands raised above their heads, who were fastened to posts stuck in the ground, and wound round with straw covered with tar which had been set on fire. The greater number of them had only their hands burned. The rain had evidently prevented the rise of the flames. These corpses, with their drawn faces, with their black stumps of hands raised to heaven, were a terrible sight. All about there was a strong odor of decay. Crows and ravens were hovering above the corpses, and, on the approach of the army, flew away with a loud noise in order to settle on the more distant posts. Several wolves fled before the approaching soldiers and hid themselves in the thicket. The train moved silently through the dreadful alley of torches and counted them. There were over three hundred odd. At length they passed through the unhappy village and breathed once more the pure air of the steps, but the traces of devastation continued. It was the early part of July. The wheat was almost ripe, and an early harvest was expected, but entire crops were partially burned, partly trodden down, beaten apart, crushed into the ground. It looked as though a hurricane had passed over the land, and indeed a hurricane had passed over it, the most dreadful of all, the hurricane of civil war. The soldiers of the Prince had often seen flourishing regions destroyed after tartar invasions, but such madness of destruction they had never in their life seen. The woods were burned down as well as the grain, where the fire had not destroyed the trees, the tongues of flame had burned off bark and foliage, blackened them with smoke and left the trunks standing like skeletons. The voyavoda of Kiev saw this spectacle and could hardly trust his eyes. Miedjakov, Jar, Futor, Sloboda were a heap of ashes. Here and there the peasants had joined Sivonos. The women and children, however, had been taken captive by the horde that Vyarshul and Volodrovsky had destroyed. On the earth devastation, in the air, flocks of crows, ravens, harvest. The traces of the Cossack army were constantly renewed. Here and there one came across broken wagons, corpses of men and animals that had not yet been given over to decay. Broken pots, brass kettles, bags of damp flour, smoking ruins, overthrown new haystacks. The Prince urged his company forward to Miannik and did not give them time to draw breath. The old voyavoda seized his head with both hands and repeated piteously, My Makanovka, my Makanovka, I see that we can never get there in time. Meanwhile, the news had reached Miannik that it was not the old Sivonos himself but his son, who was besieging Makanovka, with several thousand men, and that it was he who had commanded this inhuman devastation. The town, it was said, was already taken. The Cossacks had hewn down the nobility and the Jews, taken the noble ladies into their camp, where a worse fate than death awaited them, but the little castle under the command of Colonel Lev was still holding out. The Cossacks stormed it from the Bernardine monastery in which they had killed the monks. Lev was fighting with the remnants of his garrison and of his gun powder, but could not hold out much longer than one night more. The Prince therefore left the infantry, the cannon and the bulk of the army behind, commanding them to go to Byschik, while he, with the Vojavoda, Pan-Khristov and Pan-Aksak, and two thousand men hastened to their relief. The old Vojavoda wanted to hold him back, for he had completely lost his head. Makanovka is lost, we shall be too late, let us give it up and defend the other places and provide them with garrisons, pleaded he. But the Prince would not listen to him. The young sub-judge from Bratslav urged an immediate advance, and the army was anxious for war. Now that we have come here, we will not go back without shedding blood, said the colonels, and they went forward. When within a half a mile of Makanovka, a number of horsemen came riding at full speed to meet them, it was Colonel Lev with his comrades. When the Vojavoda saw him, he guessed at once what had happened. The citadel is taken! he cried. It is, answered Lev, and as he spoke he fell in a dead faint, for he was cut with swords and wounded with bullets and had lost much blood, and the others began to relate what had happened. The Germans had been killed to the last man. They preferred to die rather than to give up. Lev had fought his way through the crowd and through the broken gates, but in the rooms of the tower a number of noblemen were still defending themselves and these must be assisted without delay. The soldiers put spurs to their horses. They soon came in sight of the town and castle, above which a thick cloud of smoke told of the fire that was just beginning. The day was already declining. A golden purple glow shown in the heavens and the army at first took it for the reflection of a fire. By the bright light one saw the regiments of the Zaporosians and the close ranks of the blacks who swarmed all the more boldly through the gates to meet the prince from the fact that no one in the town had heard anything of his being close at hand. They believed rather that only the Vojavoda of Kiev was coming to raise the siege. Vodka had evidently made them perfectly blind, or else the taking of the citadel had filled them with immense self-confidence, for they came boldly down from the hill and began amid great rejoicing to form in battle order to the sound of kettle-drums and trumpets. At this site a cry of joy arose from the polls and the Vojavoda of Kiev had an opportunity for the second time to admire the discipline of the prince's troops. They halted at the site of the Cossacks and placed themselves at once in order of battle. The heavy cavalry in the center, the light cavalry on both wings, so that there was nothing more to do and they could begin operations at once. "'Pankrish-tav, what kind of people are those?' said the Vojavoda, with one move they are in battle order. They could fight a battle without a leader.' The prince, however, as a cautious general, with his baton in his hand flew in and out between the companies from one wing to another, overseeing everything and giving his last orders. The evening glow was reflected on his silver breastplate, and he looked like a bright flame darting hither and thither among the ranks, for he was the only one that glistened among the dark armor. There was drawn up in the center of the front line three regiments, one commanded by the Vojavoda of Kiev himself, one commanded by the young Panaksak, and the third by Colonel Tyshevich. Behind them, in the second line, the dragoons under Baranovsky's command, and last of all, the prince's giant hussars with Pankrish-tavsky at their head. The wings were commanded by Vyashul, Kuchel, and Poniatovsky. They had no cannon, for Vyrtzel had remained behind in Vyschik. The prince rode up hastily to the Vojavoda, and motioned with his baton. "'You may begin first to avenge the insult put upon you.' The Vojavoda waved his baton in the air. His men bowed in their saddles and moved forward. One could at once recognize, by the way in which he commanded his company, that, although the Vojavoda was unwieldy and a loiterer, and a man on whom years were beginning to tell, he was yet an experienced and valiant soldier. He did not allow his soldiers to dash forward to a violent attack, but led them slowly, in order to spare their strength, increasing the force of his attack as he gradually approached the enemy. He himself rode in the front rank with his baton in his hand. His attendants carried his long heavy sword, though it was not too heavy for his hand. The blacks swarmed on foot to meet the company, with sides and flails in their hands, in order to receive the first attack, and thus make it easier for the Zaporosians. They had hardly come within a hundred yards of each other, when the mob from Maknovich recognized the Vojavoda by his enormous bulk and stature, and began to shout, "'Ey, gracious Vojavoda, the harvest is at the door. Why do you not command your serfs to go and reap? Your servants, gracious Lord, we will pierce your belly!' A shower of bullets fell on the soldiers but did no harm, for they dashed forward like a storm wind. Both sides met with a crash. The clattering of sides was heard and the rattling of the flails as they fell on the shields, and from all directions arose cries and groans. The lances made a road through the thickly packed blacks, through which the horses rushed like a hurricane, overturning, treading down and crushing everyone on their way, and, as in a meadow, when a row of reapers sets to work, the luxuriant grass falls beneath their sides and they move forward, swinging their side handles through the air. So did the immense masses of blacks grow less. They seemed to melt beneath the shower of blows. They disappeared, and knocked over by the horses they could no longer stand, and began to waver. Presently the cry was heard, "'Save yourselves! Save yourselves!' The entire mob threw down their sides, flails, hay-forks, and muskets and started back in wild flight towards the regiments of Zaporosians that they had left in the town. But the Zaporosians feared that the fleeing mob might bring their ranks into confusion, and they placed their lances at rest so that the mob at sight of this reception ran hither and thither with howls of despair. It was not long, however, before Kuchel and Poniatovsky, who had separated from the two wings of the Prince's army, scattered them like chaff. The voyavoda, marching over the corpses of the blacks, stood face to face with the Zaporosians, dashed forward upon them as they did upon him, for they wished to answer assault with assault, and they dashed into one another like two waves that come from opposite directions and, at their meeting, form a high ridge of foam. Thus did the horses rear opposite one another, the horsemen forming a wall, and the swords above those walls looked like the foam. The voyavoda soon saw that he had not to deal here with the blacks but with the picked trained forces of the Zaporosians. The two lines pressed against each other and had to bend, as neither could force their way through. Corpses fell thickly about, for each man found his man, each sword its sword. The voyavoda himself hung his baton at his side, seized his sword that his attendant was carrying, and worked in the sweat of his brow, puffing like a blacksmith's bellows. Beside him the two pants in Utov's, the Kyrgyz, Bogyslavskys, Yalovitsky's, and Polubinsky's were moving back and forth. On the side of the Cossacks, Ivan Burdovut was fighting most savagely. He was Lieutenant Colonel of the Kalmuk regiment, a Cossack of gigantic strength and stature, who was all the more terrible because his horse equalled him as a fighter. Many a man turned his horse aside, so as not to encounter this centaur who spread death and destruction around him. The brothers Cinyutos dashed towards him, but Burdovut's horse seized the young Andri between his teeth and killed him in a moment. When the older brother Raphael saw this, he slashed his sword across the animal's forehead above the eyes. The horse was wounded, but not killed, for the sword struck the brass button on the strap across the forehead. But at this moment Burdovut pierced Raphael in the throat and killed him on the spot. Thus fell the brothers Cinyutos and lay with their gilded shields in the dust beneath the horse's feet. Burdovut, however, darted like a flame into the other ranks and attacked Prince Polubinsky, a youth of sixteen, whose right arm he cut off. Pan Urbinsky saw this and rushed to avenge the death of his relation. He fired his pistol at Burdovut's face but missed it, and only carried away his ear and covered him with blood. Burdovut and his horse were now a frightful sight, both of them black as night, both covered with blood, both with wild eyes and distended nostrils, both raging like a hurricane. Urbinsky himself did not escape death at his hands. Like an executioner, Burdovut chopped off his head with one blow. The eighty-year-old Jotinsky and the two Nick Chim Nick fell under his hand. The others began to draw back in terror, especially as behind Burdovut gleamed a hundred more Zaporosian swords and a hundred bloody lances. The wild Zaporosian leader finally perceived the voyavoda of Kiev, and with a tremendous shout of joy he sprang towards him over turning horses and riders in his way. The voyavoda, however, did not retreat. Trusting in his enormous strength, he breathed heavily like a wounded wild boar, raised his sword above his head, gave his horse the spur, and dashed forward on Burdovut. The voyavoda's last hour would certainly have come. The fates would have certainly cut the thread of his life with their shears, which they did later at Okshe. If Silnitsky, a noble youth, had not sprung like lightning upon the Zaporosian leader and seized him round the waist before he could cut him with his sword, for while Burdovut was occupied with him, Colonel Kierdy shouted for help for the voyavoda. In a moment some ten men were on the spot and separated him from the Zaporosian, then a fierce struggle ensued. But the weary regiments of the Prince began to waver before the superior strength of the Zaporosians. They retreated and were getting into confusion when the sub-judge of Brotslav and Aksak advanced with fresh companies. It is true that at the same moment new Zaporosian regiments also came into the fray, but on the other hand the Prince was waiting with Baranovsky's dragoons and Skyshettsky's hussars who, up to this, had taken no part in the battle. The bloody slaughter began afresh. Twilight had already fallen, but the flames had spread to the farthest house in the town. The glow of the fire lighted up the battlefield, and one could see distinctly both ranks, the Polish and the Cossacks, as they attacked each other at the foot of the hill. One could see the color of the standards and even the faces of the soldiers. Yashul, Poniatowski, and Kuchel were also in the thick of the fight, for after they had destroyed the mob they began to attack the Cossack wings which, beneath their pressure, began to retreat towards the hill. The long line of fighters curved towards the town at both ends, and this curve became still sharper. Four, as the Polish wings moved forward, the middle ranks overpowered by the Cossacks retreated towards the Prince. Three new Cossack regiments advanced in order to break through the ranks, but at this moment the Prince commanded Pan Baranovsky's dragoons to advance, and these reinforced the strength of the wavering ones. The Hussars alone remained with the Prince. From the distance they seemed like a thick wood growing straight from the ground, a threatening cluster of iron men, horses, and lances. The evening wind moved the banners above their heads, and they waited patiently, not fretting to fight before the word of command. Patiently, for as warriors practiced and experienced in many battles, they knew well that they would have their bloody share. Among them stood the Prince in his silver armor, the gold baton in his hand, directing his strained glance on the field of battle. On the left hand Panskosietowski, a little sideways near the end of the line, in his capacity of lieutenant he had turned back his sleeve and waited, holding in his powerful hand, with arm bared to the elbow, a sword instead of a baton, waiting patiently for the word of command. The Prince, with his left hand shading his eyes from the firelight, gazed upon the battle. Half of the Polish semicircle retreated slowly towards him, overpowered by superior strength, for Baranovsky could not hold them any longer, the same Baranovsky who had conquered Nymivor. The Prince saw how desperately hard was the task of the soldiers. The flash of sabers was seen above the black line of heads, but it soon vanished as the blow fell. Riderless horses plunged out of the crowd of combatants, naing and running across the plain with floating mains, looking against the background of firelight like monsters of hell. The red flag floating for a time above the crowd suddenly fell, to rise no more. But the glance of the Prince flew across the line of fighting men beyond to the town, where at the head of two-picked regiments, young Sivonos himself stood awaiting the moment when he could plunge into the center and completely break the wavering ranks of the Poles. At length he darted forward and rushed with a frightful yell upon Baranovsky's dragoons, but the Prince was waiting for this moment. Forward! he cried to Skashetovsky. Skashetovsky raised his sword and the iron wall advanced. They had not far to ride, for the advancing column had approached considerably. Baranovsky's dragoons, with the speed of lightning, divided and separated right and left in order to leave the way open for the Hussars to reach the Cossacks, and they plunged through the open way with their whole might upon the conquering forces of Sivonos. Jeremy! Jeremy! shouted the Hussars. Jeremy! was repeated by the whole army. The dreaded name filled the hearts of the Zaporosians with sudden terror. Now for the first time they learned that it was not the Voyavoda of Kiev, but the Prince himself who was commanding. Besides they were unable to offer any resistance to the Hussars against whom their own energy had thrown them, and who, like a falling wall, crushed all beneath them. The only salvation for them was to make a breach in their ranks by dividing and separating on both sides, so as to allow the Hussars to pass through, and then to attack them on both flanks. But the flanks were already protected by the dragoons and by Verschul, Kuchel, and Poniatovsky's light cavalry, who, after they had driven back the Cossack wings, forced their way to the center. Now the order of the battle was changed, for the light regiments lined up at two sides and sort of formed at once a roadway between which the Hussars flew at mad speed, crushing men and horses, forcing their way and scattering everything before them. Plunging forward, bellowing and howling, the Cossacks flew towards the hill and the town. If Verschul's wing had succeeded in uniting with Poniatovsky's wing, they would have been surrounded and slain to the very last man. But neither of Verschul nor Poniatovsky dared to venture this, for the crowd of fugitives was too great, so they only attacked the flanks till their hands grew weary with wielding the sword. Young Givonos, although brave and rash, lost his head completely when he saw that his brief experience was powerless against such a leader as the Prince, and fled at the head of his men toward the town. Verschul, who was standing at the flank, spied the fugitive, sprang after him, and gave the young leader a blow in the face with his sword. It did not kill him, for his helmet checked the force of the blow, but he was covered with blood, and his courage forsook him completely. But Verschul nearly paid for this act with his life, for at that moment Berdabut with the remainder of the Kalnitsky Regiment dashed towards him. He had twice opposed the Hussars, but twice as if repulsed by superhuman power, he had been obliged to retreat like the rest. At length he restored order among his men, and determined to attack Kuchel on the flank, and to make his way through the dragoons into the open field. But before he could force the passage through, the way that led to the hill and the town was so closely packed with men that a speedy retreat was impossible. The Hussars advanced slowly towards this human throng, broke their lances, and began to hack at the crowd with their swords. A confused, disorderly wild battle began, and raged without mercy in the midst of the crowd. Amid the glow and the noise, amid the exhalations from men and horses, corpse fell upon corpse, the hoofs of the horses sank in quivering flesh. At places the crowd was so closely packed that there was not even room to strike with the sword. They fought with clubs, knives, and fists. The horses began to neigh. Here and there came cries of Mercy Poles. These cries grew louder, increased and drowned the clash of swords, the sound of breaking bones, the rattling breath and frightful gasp of the dying. Mercy, Mercy Masters! sounded ever more piteously, but compassion did not exist in that mass of combatants. The fiery flames alone lighted them, as the sun threw a storm. Bertaboot alone, at the head of his Kalnitsky's soldiers, did not beg for mercy. He had no room to fight, and so, with his knife, he cut a path. First he attacked the stout Zeke and thrust him through the body, so that he fell from his horse. Oh, Jesus! he cried, and lifted his head no more beneath the horse's hoofs which trampled out his entrails. There was soon room enough, and Bertaboot now raised his sword and cut off Zokulsky's head, together with his helmet, and then he overthrew Priyaman Zatovich with their horses. There was more room. Young Zenobuish made a slash at his head, but the sword slipped from his hand and cut through the air, and the Zaporosian gave him a blow in the face and killed him on the spot. The Kalnitsky's followed him, hewing with their swords and piercing with their daggers. He is possessed! he is possessed! cried the Hussars. The sword does not hurt him, the madman! and he really had foam on his lips and mad fury in his eyes. Presently he remarked Skyshetosky, and, once recognizing him as an officer by his turned up sleeve, he sprang towards him. All held their breath and stopped fighting to look at the encounter between the two dreaded warriors. For Skyshetosky had not allowed himself to be alarmed by the cry he is possessed. But anger raged in his breast at the sight of so much carnage. He ground his teeth and charged, snorting with rage upon the Zaporosian leader. They came upon each other with such force that their horses reared. The swords cut through the air, and suddenly the sword of the Zaporosian was snapped in two by the stroke of the Polish sword. It seemed as if no power could save Berdobut when he sprang and seized Skyshetosky in such a tight clasp that both seemed to form one body, then his knife gleamed at the throat of the hasar. Death flashed before Skyshetosky's eyes, for he could not strike another blow with his sword, but like lightning he let fall the sword that hung by a strap at his belt and with his hand seized the uplifted hand of the Zaporosian leader. For a moment these two hands struggled convulsively in the air, but Skyshetosky's hand must have been of iron, for the Zaporosian howled like a wolf, and the knife fell from his numbed fingers before the eyes of all, like ripe grain from the ear. Then Skyshetosky let the crushed hand drop, and seizing him by the neck forced his head down to the saddle-tree, with his left hand he grasped the baton at his side, brought it down once, twice, and the Zaporosian gurgled and fell from his horse. The Kalnitsky soldiers screamed aloud at this sight and hastened to avenge themselves, but as they did so the hasars fell upon them and cut them to pieces. At the other end of the line of hasars the battle had never ceased, for the throng was not so great. There might be seen Longin fighting furiously, cut cowl and adorned with Anna's scarf. On the day after the battle the knights gazed in astonishment at the scene of action, and, as they saw the trunkless arms and hands, heads split open, bodies cut in half, whole paths covered with corpses of men and horses, they said softly to one another, Look, that is where Longin fought! The prince himself looked on these corpses, and, although on the following day he was very much worried by news that he received, he marveled, for he had never seen such blows in his life. The battle appeared to be coming to an end. The heavy cavalry first moved forward, driving before them the Zaporosian regiments who had sought shelter on the hill in the direction of the town, who shells and Poniatovsky's regiments cut off the retreat of the fugitives who were surrounded, but defended themselves with despair until the last man had fallen. But through their death they had saved the others, for when Vyashul, two hours later, came into the town with his tartar guards, he found not a single Cossack left. The enemy under cover of the darkness, the pouring rain had put out the fire, had quickly seized the empty wagons in the town, and with the speed that is peculiar to Cossacks, made them ready for travelling and fled from the town across the Nipper, burning all bridges behind them. The first thing Vyashul did when he got into the town was to set free a number of noblemen who had defended themselves in the Citadel. The Prince commanded Vyashul to punish the citizens who had united with the Cossacks, and placed himself at the head of a pursuing party, but he could not take the baggage train without cannon and infantry. The enemy, having gained time by burning the bridges, for one was now obliged to go far along the river to cross, had fled so swiftly that the tired horses of the Prince's cavalry could hardly reach them. The Cossacks, however, although celebrated for their defence in the train, did not offer as valiant a resistance as usual. The terrible certainty that the Prince had followed them had taken away their courage so that they despaired of escape. And their last hour would certainly have come, for Pan Baranovsky, after fighting the whole night, had already taken forty wagons and two cannon, had it not been for the voyavoda of Kiev who opposed further pursuit and withdrew his men. This caused a sharp dispute between him and the Prince, which was overheard by many of the colonels. Why, said the Prince, do you wish to spare the enemy when you fought against them with such intensity in the battle? Do you wish to lose through indolence this morning the glory that you won last evening? Prince, answered the voyavoda, I do not know what spirit dwells in you, but I am a man of flesh and blood and need rest after my work, and so do my people. I will ever fight against the enemy as I have fought to-day when he stands opposite me, but I will not pursue the defeated, the fugitives. Hear them down to the last man, cried the Prince. And what then, asked the voyavoda, this slaughter will come to an end, then old shivonos will come and burn and destroy, and slaughter your men as he has done in Shijav, and the unfortunate must atone for our work. Oh, I see how it is, cried the Prince already furious. You, together with the chantler and the regiments, belong to the peace party, who wish to put down the rebellion by negotiation, but by the living God nothing will come of it, as long as I grasp a sword. But the voyavoda answered, I belong to no party but to God, for I am old and will soon stand before him, and that I do not wish that too heavy a burden of the blood that is shed in the peasant war should oppress me, should not surprise your highness. If, however, your highness feels hurt to think that the command was not given to you, I say to you that as far as courage is concerned, you would not be fitted for it, and yet it is perhaps better that you should not have it, for you would drown not only the rebellion in blood, but with it this unfortunate land. The Prince knitted his jovian brows, his neck swelled, and his eyes shot fire, and all present were alarmed for the voyavoda, when suddenly Skeshetowski came up in haste and said, Your Highness, news from the old Sivonos. The Prince's thoughts were immediately directed in another channel, and his anger against the voyavoda disappeared. Four men were led forward who had arrived with news, among them two old reverend priests who, at the sight of the Prince, fell on their knees. Save us, Master, save us! They cried, and stretched out their hands imploringly towards him. Whence do you come? asked the Prince. We are from Polona. Sivonos the Elder has besieged the castle and the town, and if your sword does not threaten his head we are all dead men. The Prince answered, I know that a number of persons have taken refuge in Polona, but as I was told mostly people of Russia, you are in God's service and are bound not to join the rebellion and have opposed it, standing fast by your mother, and yet I fear treachery from you, such as I experienced at Nemerov. Then the messengers began to swear by all the saints in heaven that they had hastened to meet the Prince as a saviour, and that the thought of treachery was quite foreign to them, and they spoke the truth, for Sivonos had besieged them with fifty thousand men, and sworn that he would put them all to death simply because, as subjects of Russia, they would not join the rebellion. The Prince promised them help, but as his chief strength was in Bischik he was obliged to wait for it. The messengers departed with comfort in their hearts. Then the Prince turned to the voyavoda of Kiev and said, Pardon me, I see myself that we must let the younger Sivonos go in order to reach the old Sivonos. The young man may wait a little longer for the halter. I believe that you will not desert me in this new undertaking, as I live, said the voyavoda. The trumpets now sounded and called the regiments who had gone to the baggage train to return. It was necessary to rest and give the horses a breathing space. Towards evening the whole division came from Bischik, and with them Panstakovich, the envoy from the voyavoda of Brotslov. Pan Kishel wrote a letter to the Prince, full of expressions of admiration. He entreated the second Marius to save his country in its dangerous extremity. He depicted the joy that the arrival of the Prince from the Transnipa had aroused in all hearts, and congratulated him upon his victory. Only at the close of the letter did it become evident what motive he had for writing. The Lord of Brotslov told the Prince that the negotiations had begun, that he himself, with other companions, was going to Bialotskyev, and that he hoped to soothe and pacify Mianitsky. In conclusion he begged the Prince not to deal too severely with the Cossacks, and to give up as much as possible all war-like undertakings until the close of the negotiations. Had one announced to the Prince that his whole Nipa country was devastated, that all the cities had been raised to the ground, it would not have wounded him so deeply as did this letter. Panskoshetovsky, Pan Baranovsky, both the Shikheviches and Kyrdys witnessed his distress. The Prince placed his hand over his eyes, his head fell backwards as though an arrow had pierced his heart. Dishonor! Dishonor! God in heaven, let me die that I may not witness this thing! A deep silence reigned among those present, and the Prince continued, I would not live in this Commonwealth, for I should be ashamed. The Cossack Blacks, the peasantry, have flooded the country with blood, united with the heathen against their own mother. The Hetmans are beaten, the armies destroyed, the glory of the nation trampled under foot, authority is overcome, the churches burned down, the priests, the nobles slain, the women ravished, and upon these ruins, this Dishonor, at sight of which our ancestors would have died, what does the Commonwealth answer? With the traitor, with her despoilers, with the allies of the heathen she enters into negotiations and promises them satisfaction. Oh God, let me die! I repeat, for we can no longer live in the world who feel the Dishonor of the mother country and bring our lives to her as a sacrifice. The voyavoda of Kiev was silent. Pansishtov, however, spoke after a short pause. Pankiziel is not the Commonwealth. The Prince answered, do not talk to me of Kiziel, I know very well that he has a large party at his back. What he is doing is quite in accord with the views of the primate, the chancellors, Prince Dominic and many noblemen who today, during the interregnum, have taken the rudder of the Commonwealth in their hands and represent its majesty, or rather through weakness unworthy of a great nation dishonor it. Not with speeches, but with blood must this fire be extinguished, for it is more glorious for a nightly nation to be destroyed than to humiliate itself and bring upon itself the contempt of the whole world. And once more the Prince covered his eyes with his hand. The sight of this sorrow and pain was so overwhelming that the colonels hardly knew how to keep back the tears that came into their eyes. My Prince, Zatsfilikovsky ventured to say, let them fight with their tongues, we will continue to fight with our swords. So be it, answered the Prince, my heart is breaking at the thought of what we ought now to do. When we heard of the misfortune of our country, did we not march through wild forests, through impassable swamps to reach here? Have we not denied ourselves sleep, food, and drink? Have we not sacrificed our last strength to save this, our mother from downfall, from shame? Our hands fall from weariness, hunger gnaws on us, our wounds are painful, but we despise fatigue if we can only restrain the enemy. You tell me that I am hurt because I did not have the Chief Command. The world may judge whether those who hold it are worthy, and I call on God and on you as witnesses, that I, like yourself, have not sacrificed my blood for the sake of reward and dignities, but from pure love of our mother country, and as we are drawing our last breath, what do they announce to us, that these gentlemen of Warsaw and this Pankejel in Hush are thinking of conciliating the enemy, dishonor and disgrace? Kejel is a traitor, cried Pan Baranovski. Then Pan Staković, an earnest and quiet man, arose and turning to Baranovski said, as a friend of the voyavoda of Brotslav and serving under him, I cannot suffer that he should be here called a traitor. His beard has grown gray with anxiety, and he serves his country as he thinks best, mistakenly perhaps but honorably. The Prince did not hear this answer, for he was sunk in sorrow and thought. Baranovski dared say no more in his presence, but he fixed his steely glance upon Staković, as though he would say, I'll settle with you, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Meanwhile Yeremi had awakened from his brooding thoughts and said gloomily, We have no other choice than either to disobey, for in the time of interregnum, they rule, or to sacrifice the honor of the country, for which we suffered labors and fatigues. From disobedience came all the evils of this Commonwealth, said the voyavoda of Kejel very earnestly. Shall we then suffer the disgrace of the Commonwealth? If they should command us to-morrow to go to Tuhaybey and to Mjolnitski with a rope around our necks, should we also obey him? Vito, said Panšištov, the sub-judge of Brotslav. Vito, repeated Kejedy. The Prince turned to his colonels. Speak, old soldiers, he said. Satsvilokovski spoke first. My Prince, I am seventy years old. I am an Orthodox Russian. I was a Cossack Commissary. Mjolnitski himself called me father. I ought to counsel negotiations, but if I must decide between disgrace or war, going as I am to the grave, I would say war. War, repeated Skyshatovski, war, war, repeated numerous voices, among them those of Shishtov, the two Kejedys, Baranovski, and all present. War, war! It shall be as you say, said the Prince with dignity, and struck his baton on the letter of Pankizyel that lay open on the table. End of Book II, Chapter XI. Book II, Chapter XII of With Fire and Sword, by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel A. Benyon. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. A day later, as the army was halting in Rilsolve, the Prince called Skyshatovski to him and said, Our fighting strength is weak and exhausted. Givonos, however, has sixty thousand men, and his forces increase from day to day, for the blacks are flocking to him. I cannot count on the voyevoda of Kiev, for at heart he belongs to the peace party, and even if he accompanies me he does so unwillingly. We must in some way or other try and increase our forces, and I have just heard that two colonels are stationed not far from Konstantinov, Osynskiy with the Kingsguard, and Koritskiy. Take for safety a hundred of my Seminov guards, go to these men, and take them my command, that they should hasten and come to me without delay, for I wish to attack Givonos in a few days. No one can do my commission as well as you, therefore I send you, and the matter is of the greatest importance. Skyshatovski bowed and set out the same evening at twilight for Konstantinov, so as to travel without being observed. For here and there might be found Givonos' scouts, or swarms of blacks who were committing highway robbery in the forests and on the roads, and the prince had advised him to avoid any engagement so that he might not lose time. He therefore went along quietly, and by daybreak reached the pond of Visivari, where he came upon both the colonels and, at the sight of them, felt very joyful. Osynskiy had an excellent dragoon regiment trained after foreign fashion, and Germans. Koritskiy had only German infantry consisting exclusively of veterans of the Thirty Years' War. These dreaded and admired soldiers were so well trained that they were like a sword in the hands of its commander. Both regiments were remarkably well armed and well provided with ammunition. When they heard that they were to join the prince, they shouted for joy, for they were longing for battle and knew that they would never have such a good chance under any other command. Unfortunately both colonels refused to go, for both belonged to the command of Prince Dominik Zeslavskiy and had special orders not to unite with Vishniovetsky. In vain did Skyshettovskiy explain to them what glory they would gain under the leadership of such a general, what services they might render the country. They could not be persuaded and said that obedience was, for soldiers, the first law and the first duty. They said also that they would unite with the prince in case the safety of their regiments demanded it. Skyshettovskiy returned with a heavy heart, for he knew how painful this disappointment would be to the prince, and how weary and exhausted his regiments were from the marches, from the continual encounters with the enemy, from the skirmishing with detached bands, and, not least of all, through wakefulness, hunger, and exertion. Under such circumstances it was almost an impossibility to measure their strength with that of the enemy, which was ten times greater. Skyshettovskiy saw, therefore, quite clearly that a delay must take place in the expedition against Chivonos in order to give the army some rest and to await the influx of fresh nobles to the camp. Occupied with such thoughts Skyshettovskiy returned at the head of his Seminovs to the prince. He was obliged to go quietly, carefully, and only at night in order to avoid Chivonos's advance guard and also the numerous detached bands consisting of Cossacks and Blacks, who at times were very strong. They gathered throughout the whole neighborhood, set fire to the villages, killed the nobles, or captured the fugitives upon the highway. Thus he passed through Bakle and came to the thick forests of Mishnyets that were full of dangerous ravines and clefts. Fortunately, after a rainfall, the weather had cleared and the journey was easy. The July night was glorious, without a moon but lighted by stars. His Seminovs marched on the narrow forest path, guided by the Mishnyets' foresters, trusty people who knew their forest thoroughly. A deep silence reigned in the woods, broken only by the crackling of the dry branches beneath the hoofs of the horses, when suddenly a sound as of a distant singing interrupted by shouts came to the ears of Skyshettovskiy and his men. Halt! said Skyshettovskiy softly, stopping his men. What is that? An old forester stepped up to him and said, Those are crazy people who wander about in the woods and scream. They have lost their reason through the sight of the horrors that have occurred. Yesterday we met a noble lady who wanders about, looks at the pine trees, and calls, Children, children! It is evident that the peasants have killed her children. And then she stared at us and began to shriek so that our legs trembled. They say that there are many such people in all the forests. Although Skyshettovskiy was a night without fear, a shudder went through him from head to foot. Perhaps they are wolves that are howling like that. One cannot distinguish it, he said. No, indeed, sir, there are no wolves in the forests. They have all gone to the villages where there is enough of dead bodies. Dreadful times, cried the night, when the wolves live in the villages and crazy people howl in the forests. God, oh God! For a time there was silence, one heard nothing but the rustling in the tops of the pine trees, but presently the distant voices grew louder and more distinct. Hey! said the forester suddenly. It seems as if there might be a crowd of men there. Remain standing here, or move slowly forward, and I and my companions will go and see what it is. Good! said Skyshettovskiy, we will wait here. The foresters disappeared and were gone a whole hour. Skyshettovskiy was beginning to grow impatient and even nourished a suspicion that they were plotting some treachery against him when, suddenly, one of them sprang from the darkness. It is they, sir, said he, approaching Skyshettovskiy. Who? The rebel peasants. How many of them are there? There may be about two hundred. I do not know, sir, what we can do, for they are in the narrow pass through which we must go. They have lighted a fire. We cannot see it from here, for it is in the valley. They have no sentries. It is possible to come within an arrow shot away. Good! said Skyshettovskiy. Turning to his seminars, he gave orders to two officers. The train moved quickly forward and only the crackling twigs could betray them. No stirrup struck another. No sword clanked. The horses who were accustomed to stealthy attacks went forward, wolf-fashioned, without snorting or neighing. When the men came to the spot where the road turned, they noticed at once the fire and the indistinct forms of men. Skyshettovskiy now formed his soldiers into three divisions. One remained here, the other moved along the narrow path, so as to close the opposite entrance, and the third dismounted, crept forward on their hands and knees, and lay on the extreme edge of the pass immediately above the heads of the peasants. Skyshettovskiy, who was in this division, saw quite clearly, at a distance of from twenty to thirty paces, the whole camp, ten fires were burning, but they did not flame up, for kettles with food were hanging over them. The smell of steam and of the boiling meat came up to Skyshettovskiy and his soldiers. Around the kettles stood or lay the peasants drinking and chatting. Some had vodka bottles in their hands, others carried pikes on the end of which were placed trophies, heads of men, women, and children. The reflection of the fire revealed their dead eyes and their gleaming teeth. The same light shone upon the wild, dreadful faces of the peasants. Immediately beneath the wall of rock some lay asleep, snoring loudly, others chatted, others raked the fire till it rose in a column of golden sparks. At the largest fire, with his back to the rocky wall and towards Skyshettovskiy, sat a stout gray beard and twanged his lute. Around him about thirty peasants had formed a semi-circle. Skyshettovskiy heard distinctly the following words, hey, Dyad, sing about the Kossakolota. Now cried another, sing of Marusia, Mary Boguslovka. To the devil with Marusia, sing of the Pan of Potok, cried the greatest number of voices. The beggar struck the strings of his lute more forcibly, cleared his throat, and began to sing. Stand and observe round thee, thou rich and noble Lord. Soon wilt thou be like the man who possesses nothing. He directs and moves everything, God himself the merciful. All our deeds he weighs in his balance uprightly. Stand and observe round thee, thou who flyest so high, above the clouds, thou knowest wisdom, wide and deep. The old man here stopped a moment and sighed, and the peasants sighed with him. The crowd of listeners grew larger. But Skyshettovskiy, although he knew that his people must be ready, gave as yet no signal for the attack. The quiet night, the flickering fire, the wild forms, and the unfinished song about Pan Nicholas Pototsky, awakened in the night strange thoughts, emotions, and a longing which he could not explain to himself. The unhealed wounds of his heart opened afresh. He was seized with a deep sorrow for what had lately happened to him, for lost happiness, for those moments of peace and joy. He became plunged in thought and in reflection. The old man, however, continued to sing. Stand and observe round thee, thou who makest war, with arrow and bow, with powder-ball and sword. For in olden times also lived warriors and knights, who carried the sword and died through the sword. Stand and observe round thee, and give up thy pride. Thou from Potok strides boldly to Slavuta. The innocent souls hast thou cruelly slain. They own counsel art thou in Poland, and bearest thy scepter with boldness and might. And the Ziad stopped singing again when, suddenly, a stone grazed the elbow of one of the men and fell to the ground. Some of the peasants put their hands over their eyes and looked sharply towards the forest. Then Skyshetysky knew that the time had come, and fired his pistol into the crowd. Strike! Kill! he cried, and thirty Semenovs fired with precision and aimed at the peasants' faces, and immediately after the shots were fired they climbed like lightning down the steep wall of the pass, and plunged into the midst of the terrified and confused peasants. Strike! Kill! resounded from the entrance to the narrow pass. Strike! repeated the wild voices farther back. Yarimi! Yarimi! The attack was so sudden, the panic so terrible that, although the peasants were armed, they offered hardly any resistance. It had already been told in the camp of the rebel blacks that Yarimi, through the assistance of the evil one, was able to be and strike in several places at the same time, and now his name, which fell so unexpectedly upon the ears of these who thought themselves secure, sounded like the name of the evil one, and their weapons fell from their hands. Besides, the spikes and sides could not be handled in such a narrow space, for the peasants had run like a crowd of sheep to the opposite side of the ravine, and cut over the heads and faces by the swords of their pursuers, trodden underfoot, and in mad fear, stretching their hands towards the merciless steel, they met their death. The quiet wood was filled with the calamitous sound of battle. Some sought to flee across the precipitous wall of the ravine. They climbed up, hurt their hands, and fell back upon the points of the swords. Some died peacefully, others bellowed for mercy, others covered their faces with their hands, so as not to see the approach of death. Others, again, threw themselves upon the earth, face downwards, and above the clash of swords, and the screams of the dying were drowned by the cry of the assailants, YARAMI, YARAMI, a cry that made the peasants' hair stand on end, and rendered the approach of death so much the more terrible. The old singer, however, struck one of the soldiers such a blow in the face with his loot that he fell over, and, seizing the others by the hand so as to prevent them from striking him with their swords, he bellowed like an ox in his terror. When the rest of the soldiers saw this, they hastened to the spot to cut him down, but Skyshettsky sprang forward. Take him alive, take him alive! he cried. Stop! roared the old man. I am a nobleman, look, poor Latine, I speak Latin. I am not a zaiad, stop, I tell you, robbers, rascals, sons of horses! But the old man had not finished his litany when Skyshettsky looked in his face and screamed so loud that the walls of the ravine re-echoed with the sound, Zagloba! And suddenly fell upon his neck like a wild animal, clenched his fingers on the old man's arms, pressed his face against his, shook him as if he were a pear-tree, and cried, Where is the princess? Where is the princess? She is alive, she is well, she is in safety! answered the old man, screaming, Let me alone, you devil, you're shaking my soul out of me! Skyshettsky was so overcome at the joyful news that he, whom neither imprisonment nor wounds, pain nor the terrible birdaboot had been able to conquer, became suddenly weak. His hands fell at his sides, great drops of sweat started on his brow, and he sank on his knees, covered his face with his hands, leaned his head against the rocky wall, and remained thus in silence. One saw that he was giving thanks to God. Meanwhile the remainder of the unfortunate peasants had been cut down, except some whom they brought bound, in order to give them over to the executioner in the camp, and to extort confessions from them, the others lay stretched out dead. The battle was over, the noise ceased, the soldiers gathered round their leader, and when they saw him on his knees beside the rock, they looked at him uneasily, as if they feared he might have been wounded, but he rose to his feet and his countenance was as bright as the sunrise was dawning in his soul. Where is she? he asked Zagloba. Is she safe? In bar. The castle is strong and fears no attack. She is in the castle of Panaslavoshetsk with the nuns. Praise be God the Most High, said the knight, and his voice trembled with deep emotion. Give me your hand. I thank you from the depths of my soul. Suddenly he turned to his men. How many prisoners have you? Seventeen, answered the soldiers. Then Skyshettsky said, A great happiness has come to me and my soul is filled with compassion. Let them go free. The Seminov's could not believe their ears. That was not the custom in Vishnyovetsky's army. Skyshettsky slightly frowned. Let them go free, he repeated. The soldiers moved away, but in a few minutes the oldest sergeant came back and said, Lieutenant, you may not believe it, but they do not dare to go away. And are they unbound? Yes. Then leave them here. Mount your horses. Half an hour later the soldiers defiled along the narrow forest path amid absolute silence. The moon had risen and its silver beams pierced through the forest and lighted its dark depths. Panzagloba and Skyshettsky rode at the head and conversed. Tell me all you know about her, said the knight, then you took her out of Bohun's hands. Yes, I tied up his head as a farewell token so that he might not scream for help. You did splendidly as true as I live, but how did you get to bar? Eh, I could tell you a good deal about that, and I will have to tell you some other time. I am frightfully tired and my throat is parched by singing songs for the people. Have you not something to drink? I have a little jug of brandy. Here it is. The globa seized the jug and placed it to his lips, and one heard nothing but a gurgling. Skyshettsky, however, in his impatience, could wait no longer and asked, in good health. What? answered Skyshettsky, but to a dry throat everything seems healthy. But I am asking about the princess. The princess sound as a nut. God be praised and thanked. Is she happy in bar? She could not be better off in heaven. Everyone loves her on a count of her beauty. Panaslavl Skyshettsky loves her as her own child, and you could not count on your rosary the number of lads who are in love with her. But she thinks as much of them as I now think of your empty jug, and is constant in her love for you. God bless her, the darling, said Skyshettsky. Then she remembers me with love. Remembers you? I tell you I never could understand where she found breath for so many sighs. Everyone has compassion for her, especially the nuns whom she completely won over by her gentleness. Has she not also compelled me to all sorts of foolish acts that I have nearly paid for with my life? I was to find you in any case in order to let her know whether you live and are well. She wanted to send messengers several times, but no one dared undertake it until I finally took pity on her and set out for the camp. If I had not been disguised I would certainly have lost my head, but the peasants everywhere took me for a beggar, for I sing beautifully. Skyshettsky was speechless with joy, a thousand thoughts and remembrances crowded together in his mind. Helena seemed to stand before his very eyes, just as he had seen her the last time in Rosloga, immediately before his departure for Siege, pretty, slender, blushing, with her velvety black eyes with their irresistible fascination. Now it seemed to him as though he saw her, as though he felt the glow that radiated from her cheeks, as though he heard her sweet voice. He thought of that walk in the cherry wood, he thought of the cry of the cuckoo and of the questions that he had asked it, and of Helena's modesty when the cuckoo prophesied that she would have twelve sons. His soul went out from him, his heart was intoxicated with love and bliss, and all past suffering disappeared as a drop in the ocean. He did not know himself what this strange feeling was, he wished to cry aloud, to sink on his knees and thank God again, then to look back into the past, then to ask and ask questions without end. Presently he repeated, She lives, she is well, she lives, she is well, answered Zagloba like an echo, and she sent you here. Yes, and have you a letter? I have. Give it. It is so do up and now it is night. Be satisfied. I cannot, you see that so yourself. I see it. Zagloba's answers became ever more laconic. Finally his head nodded once or twice, and he was asleep. Skishtosky saw that there was nothing to be done with him, and he gave himself up again to thoughts. They were only interrupted through the tramping of horses, evidently a large division of cavalry that was swiftly approaching. It was Poniatovsky with the Prince's own Cossacks which the Prince had sent to meet Skishtosky, fearing that some harm might have happened to him. End of Book 2, Chapter 12 Book 2, Chapter 13 of With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel A. Binyon. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. One can easily understand how the Prince received the news of Osinski's and Koritski's refusal, which Skishtosky brought him at daybreak. Things had so happened that it needed a great soul like that of the Iron Prince not to collapse, not to despair, not to let his hands fall at his side. In vain did he spend an enormous fortune in maintaining the army. In vain, like a caged lion, did he hurl himself this way and that. In vain did he chop off one head of the rebellion after another. Did he perform prodigies of valor? All in vain. The moment would come in which he would feel his own powerlessness would retire somewhere into a peaceful country and become mute witness of all that happened in the Ukraine. And who had condemned him to inaction? Not the sword of the Cossacks, but the apathy of his own people. Had he not justly hoped when he moved out in May from the other side of the neaper country, when, like an eagle, he swooped down from the height upon the rebels, when, amid the universal fear and confusion, he had raised his sword above his head, that the whole republic would speedily hasten to help him and entrust their power to the avenging sword in his hands. The king was dead, and after his death, the command had fallen into other hands. He, the prince, they had ostentatiously forgotten. That was the first concession they had made to Mianitsky, but it was not on account of offended dignity that the soul of the prince now suffered. It was at the thought that the downtrodden Commonwealth had already sunk so low that she retreated before the Cossack, and preferred to restrain his daring hand through negotiations. Since the battle at Makhnovka, the news that reached the camp became more and more unfavorable. First the communication respecting the negotiations that were being entered into by Pankezyel, then the news that the rebellion had spread over Volinian Polizia. Finally the refusal of the colonels showed clearly the unfriendly attitude of the commander-in-chief Prince Dominik Zaslavsky Ostrogsky towards Vyshnogetsky, and during Skyshettsky's absence, Pan Korshzhinkovich came to the camp with the news that the whole of Ovruc was in flames. The people there were peaceful, and had taken no part in the rebellion, but the Cossacks had attacked them, and Shechovsky and Polshenits had compelled the peasants to join his ranks, and then the noblemen's houses and the towns were set on fire, and the nobles who did not flee were cut down, among them old Pan Yalets, a faithful servant and friend of the house of Vyshnogetsky. The Prince had, therefore, determined, after uniting with Ossinsky and Koritsky, to destroy Sivonos and then to march northwards to Ovruc in order to come to an understanding with the Hetman of Lithuania, and thus place the rebels between two fires. But all these plans were brought to naught through the orders that Prince Dominik had given his two colonels. For, after all his marches, battles, and fatigues, Yeremi was not strong enough to measure his forces with those of Sivonos, especially as he could not absolutely depend on the voyavoda of Kiev, Panyanush, who really belonged hard and sold to the peace-party. He had taken service under the authority and command of Yeremi, and was obliged to accompany him. But the more he saw that authority weakened, the more he was inclined to oppose the Prince's thirst for battle, as will soon be made evident. Skeshetosky gave an account of his expedition, and the Prince listened to him in silence. All the officers were present at the audience, all faces lowered when he told of the refusal of the two colonels, and all eyes were directed to the Prince, who said, So Prince Dominik sent them orders forbidding them to come. He did. They showed me his writing. Yeremi leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. After a while he said, This is in truth more than a man can bear. Must I work all alone, and instead of the expected assistance, meet only with obstructions? Could I not have gone quietly to Sandomir and remained there peacefully on my property? If I did not do it, it was because I love my country, and this is now my reward for my labours, for the loss of my fortune, for blood! The Prince spoke quietly, but so much bitterness, so much pain trembled in his voice that all hearts were filled with sorrow. The old colonels, veterans of Putivelle, Starts, Kumeika, and the young warriors in the last war, looked at him with inexpressible anxiety in their eyes, for they knew well what a hard struggle this iron man was undergoing. How terribly his pride must suffer from the humiliations that were heaped upon him. He, the Prince, by the grace of God, he, the voyavoda of Russia, the senator of the Commonwealth, must retreat before Amelnitsky, before a Shivonos. He, almost a king, who a short while before had received the ambassadors of the neighbouring rulers, was forced to retreat from the field of honour, in order to shut himself up in some little castle and wait for the result of a war that would be carried on by others, or the conclusion of degrading negotiations. He, chosen for the highest missions, and filled with a consciousness of his ability to fulfil them, must now acknowledge his powerlessness. The sorrows and the fatigues of the past weeks were evident in his appearance. He had become much emaciated. His eyes were sunken. His raven black hair showed streaks of grey, but a tragic calm overspread his countenance, for his pride would not allow him to betray his sorrow. Let it be as it will, he said. We will show this ungrateful mother that we cannot only fight for her but die for her. By heavens, I would far rather die a glorious death in some battle than wage a civil war against these peasants, but it cannot be otherwise. My prince, interrupted the voyavoda of Kiev, do not speak of death, for although God hides from our sight what may befall us, it may yet be a long time before our death. I respect your war like genius and your nightly spirit, but I cannot blame the victory, nor the chancellor, nor the military officers for endeavouring through negotiations, to put an end to this civil war, for we are shedding the blood of brothers, and from the most determined obstancy on both sides a foreigner alone can reap the benefit. The prince looked long into the eyes of the voyavoda and said gravely, If you show mercy to the conquered they will receive it with gratitude and never forget it, but you will only earn the contempt of the victors. Oh, if this people had never been wronged, but once the rebellion has been set on foot it must be crushed, not by negotiations but with blood, otherwise disgrace and ruin will be ours. Ruin is more certain if we carry on war on our own account, answered the voyavoda. Does that mean that you no longer wish to accompany me? Your highness, I call God to witness that I am not acting in bad faith towards you, but my conscience tells me that I must not give my men over to certain destruction, for their life is of value and may yet be of service to the commonwealth. The prince was silent after a few moments he turned to his officers. Old comrades in arms, you will not leave me, will you? All the officers as if impelled by the same power sprang towards the prince. Some kissed his robes, others clasped his knees, others raised their hands to heaven and exclaimed, We will stand by you to our last breath, to the last drop of blood. Lead us, lead us, we will serve you without pay. My prince, grant that I may also die at your side, exclaimed young Aksak, blushing like a girl. At this site even the voyavoda of Kiev was touched. The prince went from one to the other, putting his hand on each head and thanking them. A tremendous zeal had filled the hearts of young and old. The eyes of the warriors gleamed, their hands clutched their swords. I will live with you, I will die with you, said the prince. We will conquer, exclaimed an officer, on to Sivonos, on to Polona. He who wishes to leave us may do so. We will conquer without assistance. We will share neither glory nor death with anyone. Gentlemen, said the prince, may I wish that before we march on Sivonos we shall take a short rest to restore our strength. We have now been three months in the saddle. Our bodies are suffering from the labor's fatigues and the inculmency of the weather. We have no horses, our foot soldiers are barefooted. We will therefore march to the barrage, refresh ourselves and rest. Perhaps some new regiments may join us, and then we will go with renewed strength into the battle. When does your highness command us to set out? Asked that's Filikovsky. Immediately, old comrade, the prince now turned to the voyavoda. And where does your grace intend to go? To Glyniana, for I hear that the regiments are collecting there. Then we will accompany you to a peaceful region so that no misfortune may happen to you. The voyavoda answered nothing, for he was feeling a little uncomfortable. He was leaving the prince, and yet the prince was thinking only of his welfare and offering to accompany him. Was there irony in the words? The voyavoda did not know. He was of the opinion, however, that the prince's officers looked at him with increasing distrust, and it was evident that in any other, less well-disciplined army there would have been an outbreak against him. He bowed, therefore, and went out. The officers scattered, each one going to his regiment in order to prepare for the march. Skoshetosky alone remained with the prince. What kind of soldiers are in those regiments? asked the prince. You cannot find better ones anywhere. The dragoons are trained after the German fashion, and in the infantry guards are only veterans from the Thirty Years' War. When I saw them, I imagined I saw Roman legions before me. What's the strength? Two regiments, three thousand men in all, counting the dragoon. Tis a pity, a pity. One could do great things with such regiments. Sorrow was visible in the features of the prince. After a pause, he said, as though to himself, the choice of commanders-in-chief is unfortunate in such a time of necessity, or Storog would be all right if war could be one with El Quince and Latin. Cognac Poltsky, my brother-in-law, has the blood of warriors in his veins, but he is a young man without experience, and Soslovsky is the worst of all. I have known him a long time, a man of small courage and shallow understanding. His business is to sleep during the war, not to command armies. No, I will not say it aloud, or they might accuse me of jealousy, but I do say terrible times are coming, and now, just now, such men have taken the rudder in their hands. God, oh God, spare me this cup! What will become of the country? When I think of it, I long for death, for I am very weary, and I say to you, I shall not be with you much longer. My soul longs for war, but my body lacks strength. Your Highness should take more care of your health, for it is of great importance to the whole country, and one can see that your labours have pulled down your Highness very much. The country thinks otherwise as can be easily seen, or they would not have passed me by, and now they are taking the sword out of my hand. God grant that when Prince Charles exchanges his bishops mitre for a crown, he will know whom to exalt and whom to punish, but your Highness is still powerful enough to ask help from no one. I will go my own way. The Prince probably did not notice that, like the other petty kings, he desired to carry out a policy of his own, but even if he had noticed it he could not have acted in any other manner, for he had only one object in view that was to save the honour of the Commonwealth. Again there was a long silence which was at last broken by the neighing of horses and the sound of the bugles. The regiments were preparing to march. The noise awakened the Prince from his reflections. He shook his head as though he would cast off his sorrow and his unpleasant thoughts, and then said, And did you have a quiet journey? I melt in the forest of Mishnyets a large band of peasants, about two hundred men whom I destroyed. Good, and did you bring back any prisoners, for that is also very important. I had some prisoners, but— But you have killed them? What? No, your Highness, I let them go free. Jeremy looked at Skyshettersky in astonishment, then he suddenly frowned. What does that mean? Do you also belong to the party of peace? What does that mean? Your Highness, I have brought back an informant. Among the peasants we found a disguised nobleman who had escaped death. I let the others go free because God granted me mercy and comfort. I will willingly bear the penalty. This nobleman is Zagloba, who brought me news of the young princess. The Prince quickly approached Skyshettersky. She lives, she is well. Thank God she is. And where did she find refuge? She is in Bar. That is a strong fortress, my boy. Here the Prince raised his hands and, seizing Skyshettersky's head, he kissed him repeatedly upon the forehead. I rejoice in your joy, for I love you as a son. Panyang kissed the Prince's hand very heartily, and although he would at any time have willingly shed his blood on Jeremy's account, he felt anew that he would be ready to spring into the flames of hell at his command. Thus did the threatening, terrible Jeremy understand how to win the hearts of his knights. Well, I am not surprised that you let these peasants go. You shall go unpunished. But this nobleman is quite a character, so he brought her from the Transneper as far as Bar. Thank God! This is a great comfort to me in these sad times. He must be a very knowing fellow. Bring this Zagloba to me. Skyshettersky flew to the door which, at this moment, suddenly opened, and Vershul's red face appeared. He had returned with the Tartar bodyguard with whom he had been sent forward. My Prince! he cried, breathing heavily, Trivonos has taken Polona, and slaughtered ten thousand men, women, and children. The officers began to assemble again and crowded about Vershul. The Voyevoda of Kiev also came up. The Prince stood as if turned to stone, for he had not expected such news. But they were only people of Russia who were there. It cannot be possible. Not a soul escaped from the town. Do you hear, said the Prince, turning to the Voyevoda, you want to enter into negotiations with such an enemy, who does not even spare his own countrymen. Oh souls of dogs, if this is so, mate, a devil take them all. I will go with you, Prince. Then you shall be my brother, said the Prince. Long live the Voyevoda of Kiev, said old Zatzfilikovsky. Long live unity! And the Prince turned to Vershul. With her are they marching from Polona. Is nothing known? It seems they are going to Konstantinov. God in heaven! The Nossinsky's and Koritsky's regiments are lost, for they cannot get away in time with the infantry. We must forget the insult and hasten to help them. To horse, to horse! The face of the Prince beamed with joy, and a flush over spread his thin cheeks. For the road to glory once more lay open before him. End of Book Two, Chapter Thirteen Book Two, Chapter Fourteen of With Fire and Sword, by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel A. Binyon. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The army passed by Konstantinov and halted in Rosolovtsa. The Prince had calculated that when Koritsky and Ozynsky should receive news of the taking of Polona, they would be obliged to retreat to Rosolovtsa, and if the enemy should follow them, it would unexpectedly fall into the hands of the entire army of the Prince as into a trap, and thus suffer most certain defeat. This calculation was fulfilled to a great extent. The army took its stand and waited in readiness for a battle. Larger and smaller advance guards were sent out on all sides from the camp. The Prince remained in the village with several regiments and waited. Towards evening Bershul's Tartars announced that infantry were coming from Konstantinov. The Prince stepped out from the door of his quarters surrounded by his officers and with him several special attendants in order to see the approaching soldiers. Meanwhile the regiments, after they had been heralded by trumpet blasts, halted outside the village, and two colonels hurried at full speed to the Prince in order to offer him their services. It was Ozynsky and Koritsky. When they observed Vishnyovetsky and his stately suite of knights, they became confused, as they were uncertain how they would be received. They bowed low and waited in silence for the Prince to speak. The whale of fortune spins and humbles the proud, said the Prince. You would not accept our invitation, and now you come unsought. Your Highness, said Ozynsky boldly, from our very soul we desired to serve under you, but the orders were exact. He who gave them must answer for them. We beg for pardon, although we are guiltless, for as soldiers we had to obey in silence. Then has Prince Dominic recalled his orders. Ask the Prince. The command has not been recalled, said Ozynsky, but it no longer binds us, for the only help and safety for our army lie in your Highness's mercy, and under your command we will henceforth live, Sire, and die. These manly words and the officer's appearance made the best impression upon the Prince and his companions in arms. Ozynsky was a renowned soldier, and although still young, for he was not more than forty, he was already rich in experience of war, which he had gained in foreign armies. Every soldier's eyes rested with satisfaction upon him. Tall, straight as a pine, with a yellow mustache curving upward and a Swedish beard, he completely reminded one in bearing and appearance of the commanders in the Thirty Years' War. Koritsky, a tartar by origin, did not resemble him in the least. Of small stature and not well proportioned, he had a gloomy expression and looked strange in the foreign uniform, which did not suit his oriental features. He commanded a regiment of picked German infantry, and was noted as much for his courage as for his solanness, and the iron discipline that he maintained among his soldiers. We are waiting for your Highness's commands, said Ozynsky. I know that the soldier must obey, and if I sent for you it was because I did not know of the command. From now on we will pass through many good and bad hours in each other's company, but I hope that you will like your new service. If only your Highness is satisfied with us and our soldiers. Good, said the Prince, is the enemy far behind you. The vanguards are near, but the body of the troops cannot reach here until early to-morrow. Good, then we shall have time. Give your regiments orders to march across the square in order that I may see them, and find out what kind of soldiers you have brought me, and if we can do much with them. The colonels returned to their regiments and shortly came into the camp at their head. The soldiers of the Prince's own regiments came hurrying along like ants to see their new comrades. At the head were the royal dragoons under Captain Caesar, in heavy Swedish helmets with high crests. They rode matched paddolian horses. The men newly rested, dressed in bright glittering uniforms, were a refreshing contrast to the Prince's weary, worn-out men, whose uniforms were tattered and faded by sun and rain. Osinski and his regiment followed them, and Khoritzkis brought up the rear. A murmur of praise was heard from the Prince's officers at the site of the deep ranks of the Germans. Their doublets were uniformly red, their muskets glittered on their shoulders. They marched thirty abreast and as one man, with even powerful thundering step. They were all stoutly built broad-shouldered fellows, experienced soldiers who had been in many countries and many battles, mostly veterans of the Thirty Years' War, inured to war, well disciplined and experienced. As they approached the Prince, Osinski called out, Halt! The regiment stood as if rooted to the spot. The officers raised their staffs in the air. The ensign waved the flag three times and then lowered it before the Prince. Forward! cried Osinski. Forward! repeated the officers, and the regiment moved forward. In the same manner or even in better form did Khoritzki lead forward his men, and at the site of them all the soldiers' hearts rejoiced. Yeremi, who was a judge if any one was, placed his hands on his sides in satisfaction and looked on smilingly, for he was lacking in infantry, and it was certain that he could find no better ones in the whole world. He felt strengthened and hoped to be able to carry out great military undertakings. The officers discussed various military matters and different kind of soldiers that might be seen in the world. The Zaporosian infantry is good, especially in attacking a fortification, said Sleshinsky, but these fellows carry off the palm they are better drilled. Bah! much better! said Magerski. But they are heavy men, said Vyashul. If they should attack me I would undertake with my Tartars to make them so weary in two days that on the third day I could slaughter them like sheep. What are you talking about? The Germans are valiant soldiers. Yere Longan broke in in his singing Lithuanian voice. O God the Lord in His mercy has endowed the different virtues. I have heard that there is nothing in the whole world superior to our cavalry, and again that neither we nor the Hungarian infantry can compare with the Germans. Because God is just, said Zagloba, he has given you, for instance, a large fortune, a large sword and a heavy hand, but to make up for it very little wit. Oh! he has attacked him like a horse leech, said Skyshettsky, laughing. Panpob Bipienta blinked his eyes and said with his accustomed good nature, that is unpleasant to hear. He gave you, I should say, too long a tongue. If you think that he has done wrong in giving me such a one as I have, you will go to hell with your chastity, for you are setting yourself up against the will of God. O nonsense, no one can talk you down, you chatter and chatter. And do you know what distinguishes a man from an animal? Well, what? Reason and speech. Ah! he caught it that time, said Colonel McCursky. If you do not understand why the best cavalry are among the Poles and the best foot soldiers among the Germans, I will explain it to you. Well, why? asked several voices. See here, when God created the horse, he led it out that men might praise his work. Beside him stood a German, for they make their way everywhere. God showed him the horse and asked him in German, what is that? And the German answered, fared. What, said the creator who had heard, do you say fay to my work? You slovenly fellow, you shall not ride upon this animal, and if you do it will be the worst for you. With these words he gave the horse to the Poles. That is why the Polish cavalry is the best. The Germans then began to hurry along on foot and to beg forgiveness of God, and that is how they have developed such an excellent infantry. You related that very artistically, said Podbepienta. The conversation was interrupted here by a guest who came with the announcement that some forces were approaching the camp, that they could not be Cossacks, for they did not come from Konstantinov, but from an entirely different direction, from the river Zibrusha. Two hours later these same companies approached, with such a blast of trumpets and beating of drums, that the prince was annoyed, and sent word to them to keep quiet as the enemy was in the vicinity. It proved to be a Royal Cavalry Regiment Commander, Samuel Lush, a celebrated adventurer, a lawbreaker, a companion of gypsies and a bully, but a valiant soldier. He was at the head of eight hundred men of the same sort as himself, some of them nobles, some Cossacks, who all would have to hang if justice were done. But Prince Jeremy did not let himself be frightened by the unruliness of the soldiers, for he hoped that in his hands they would be transformed into meek lambs, and compensate by their courage and bravery for all that they lacked otherwise. It was therefore a lucky day, only yesterday, through the dissatisfaction of the voyavoda of Kiev, the prince had determined to defer the war until troops should come to his assistance, and to retreat into a quieter district in order to rest. And today he stood at the head of twelve thousand men, and although Chivonos counted five times as many, yet as they consisted for the greater part of blacks, their armies might be considered of equal strength. The prince thought no longer of rest. He shut himself up with Lash, the voyavoda of Kiev, Zatsfilikovsky, Matnitsky and Ozynsky, and they took counsel regarding the continuation of the war. It was resolved to give battle to Chivonos on the following morning, and if he should not advance to go and meet him. It was already dark, but since the last rainfall which had annoyed the army so dreadfully at Baknovka, the weather had been continuously fine. The golden stars shone in the dark vault of heaven, the moon gleamed and shone on the roofs of Rosolovsky. In the camp no one thought of sleeping. All were looking forward to the coming battle and preparing themselves for it by singing, according to old custom, soldiers' songs and promising themselves great happiness. The officers and the more distinguished guests were in the happiest mood. They had gathered round a large campfire and were carousing to their hearts content. Speak on, they called to Zagloba. What did you do when you were on the other side of the neaper, and how did you manage to get to bar? Pan Zagloba emptied a goblet of mead and said, My worthy sirs, if I should relate to you all from the beginning and enter into details, ten nights would not be sufficient to do it in, and certainly the mead would not hold out, for an old throat like an old wagon has to be greased. Enough if I tell you that I went to Korsun into the very camp of Milnitsky with the princess, and have succeeded in leading her safely out of that hell. Jesus Maria, you must have enchanted them, cried Volodrovsky. Well yes, I did bewitch them, answered Zagloba, for I learned the black art in my young days from a witch in Asia, who fell in love with me and divulged to me all the mysteries of witchcraft, but I could not bewitch all of them, for I found my master. Magicians and witches were swarming around Milnitsky. He has got so many devils in his service that he goes about among them as if they were peasants. If he goes to sleep, a devil takes off his boots, or his garments dusty, the devils beat them with their tails, and he, when he is drunk, knocks the teeth down the throat of one or the other because he says you have served me badly. The pious longan crossed himself and said, The powers of hell are with him, with us the powers of heaven. The blacks would have even betrayed to Bogdan who I was and whence I came, but I conjured them in such a manner that they kept their mouths shut. I feared also that Milnitsky would recognize me, for I was with him in Chagrin a year ago. We were twice adopulars together. There were also several other officers whom I recognized, but I had grown thin, my beard had grown to my waist, my hair fell over my shoulders, the disguise changed me so that no one knew me. Then you saw Milnitsky and spoke to him, Did I see Milnitsky? Exactly as I see you! Did he not send me as a spy to Podol that I might on the way read his manifesto to the peasants? He gave me a safe conduct as a protection against the hordes so that I could travel anywhere from Corsun without being molested. If I came across peasants or kneejaws I held the safe conduct under their noses and said, Smell that children and go to the devil. I made them give me something good to eat and drink everywhere I went, and I got it too, and also a carriage and pair, and I was very glad of that, for I was thinking continually of the poor princess who needed a rest after her long fatigue. I tell you, sirs, before we reached Bar, she looked so fresh again that the people in Bar could not take their eyes off her. There were many pretty girls there, for the nobility has collected them from all quarters, but in comparison with her they are like owls to a jay. People love her too, and you would do so also if you should learn to know her. Certainly it could not be otherwise, said the little Volodovsky. But why did you go as far as Bar? asked Megursky. Because I said to myself that I would not halt until I had found a safe place. I did not trust the small castles because I was afraid that the rebellion would come to their doors, but if it got as far as Bar it would knock its head against the wall, for Andrew Poniatavsky has garrisoned the walls very strongly and cares as much for Mielnitsky as I would for an empty glass. What do you say, gentlemen? Have I done well in remaining so far from the fight? Otherwise Bohun would certainly have followed me, and if he had caught me, I tell you, sirs, he would have made me into mincemeat for his dogs. You do not know him, but I know him, the devil take him. I shall have no peace until he is hanged. May God grant him such a happy ending. Amen! He has certainly not inscribed anyone so deeply in his black book as he has me. When I think of it, a cold shudder runs over me. That is why I take a glass or two more often than I did, although by nature I do not care to drink. What's that you say? asked Penpodby Pienta. Why, little brother, you drink like a well bucket. Do not look into the well, for you will see nothing wise, the reflection of a donkey, but let that pass. Well, when I set out with the safe conduct and the manifesto from Mielnitsky, I did not find any great difficulty anywhere. When I reached Vinnits I found the company of Panaksak, who is here in camp, but I did not lay off my beggars disguise, because I feared the peasants, but I threw away the manifesto. There is a strap maker who is called Suhak, who acts as a spy for the Zaporosians and who sends news to Mielnitsky. I sent the manifesto back by this man, and I wrote upon it such sentences that I am sure Mielnitsky will flay him when he reads them. But in bar itself I committed an indiscretion which nearly ruined me. What was it? Tell us! I met some drunken soldiers, wild people, who heard me call the princess Panna, for I was no longer so cautious as we were in the neighborhood of our friends. What, said they, what kind of beggar is this? What an extraordinary boy to whom one says Panna! They looked at the princess, she was as beautiful as a picture. Give her to us, they said. Well, the fight began. I put the poor girl into a corner, placed myself before her, and seized my sword. That is remarkable, answered Volodzhonsky, that you should carry a sword when you are dressed as a beggar. Said Zagloba, did I have a sword? Who told you that I had one? I had none. I seized one belonging to the soldiers that lay upon the table, for the quarrel was in the inn at Shepinsa. In the twinkling of an eye I had laid out two of my assailants. They seized their daggers. All I cried, dogs, I am a nobleman. They, however, cried, stop, stop, advance guards are coming. But we soon saw that it was not advance guards but Panna Slavoshiska with her train, whom her son was accompanying with fifty horsemen. A young fellow, they stopped in front of the soldiers and I spoke to the lady. She was so moved that the floodgates of her eyes were opened. She took the princess into her carriage and we got to bar. But do you think, sirs, that that was the end of it? Why, suddenly Slezinsky interrupted the narrative. Lugyandr, sirs, said he, is that the sunrise or what? It cannot be, answered Skyshetsky. It is still too early in the day. That comes from Konstantinov. Look there, it is getting brighter. It must actually be a fire. All faces became earnest. The story was forgotten. All jumped to their feet. The light of a fire. The light of a fire! several voices repeated. Chevonos is coming here from Polona. Chevonos with his whole army. The advance guard has probably set fire to the town or the surrounding villages. The trumpets gave the alarm quietly and at the same moment old Setzfilikovsky appeared with other officers. Gentlemen, said he, the scouts have brought news that the enemy is in sight. We must set out. To your regiments! To your regiments! The officers hastened as quickly as they could to their regiments. The servants put out the fires and soon complete darkness reigned in the camp. But in the distance, in the direction of Konstantinov, the sky became redder and redder, until the stars were finally extinguished by the glow and again the trumpets sounded softly. The call to mount was sounded from the mouthpiece. The indistinct masses of men and horses were set in motion. In the darkness was heard the tramping of horses, the measured tread of the foot soldiers, and finally the heavy rolling of Bertzel's gun carriages. From time to time the clatter of muskets or the sound of command was heard. It seemed ominous. Uncanny to march thus under the shadow of the darkness to the sound of whispering voices, the clatter of swords, the gleam of weapons. The regiments moved along the road to Konstantinov and turned in the direction whence the fire glow came that looked like a gigantic dragon or serpent creeping along in the darkness. But the glorious July night was coming to a close. In Rosolovtsa the cocks were beginning to crow and to call and answer each other all over the town. Rosolovtsa was only a mile from Konstantinov and, before the army in their slow march had made more than half of their way, a pale morning gleam arose behind the fire glow and filled with light the woods, the forests, the white strip of highway and the marching army which had been hidden by the darkness. One could now see clearly men, horses, and dense ranks of infantry. A cool morning wind was blowing and waving the flags above the heads of the knights. Vyoshul's Tartars took the lead, then came Poniatovsky's Cossacks, then the Dragoons, Versailles' Canon, the infantry, and in the rear the Hussars. Zagloba rode beside Skishtosky, but he was bent over in his saddle. It was evident that he was filled with apprehension at the prospect of the approaching battle. Panskishtosky, he said gently as though he feared someone was listening. What is it? Will the Hussars attack first? You say you are an old soldier, and you do not know that the Hussars will be reserved till the battle is about to be decided, until the moment when the enemy puts forth their utmost strength. I know well, I know, but I wanted to assure myself of it. They were silent a while, then Zagloba, in a still lower voice, asked, Is it Shibornos with his whole army? It is he. And how many men does he command? Counting the blacks, sixty thousand men. Oh, the devil, said Zagloba. Skishtosky smiled. Do not think, sir, that I am afraid, whispered Zagloba, but I have short breath and do not like a crowd. It makes me warm, and when it is warm I am a lost man. Yes, in a duel then one can at least make use of craft, but here what good will craft do. It is not the head but the hand that fights. Here I am a fool compared with Longan. I have here in my belt the twelve gold pieces which the Prince gave me, but believe me I would rather my body was somewhere else. By fire I do not like these great battles, plague take them. Nothing will happen to you, take courage. Courage, that is just what I am afraid of, that my courage may conquer my common sense. I am too hot-headed and I've already had a bad omen, as we sought by the watch fire two stars fell from heaven. Who can tell? Perhaps one of them is mine. For your good deeds, God will reward you and keep you safe and sound. If he only does not make out my pay too soon, why did you not stay with the baggage wagons? I thought I would be safer with the army. So you are. You will see it will not be much. We are accustomed to it, and custom is second nature. See, here we are at the slush and the vishova pond. Indeed, the waters of the vishova staves separated from the slush by a long dike shown from the distance. The whole army halted along the line. Already? asked Zagloba. The Prince is going to form the ranks, answered Skyshettsky. I do not like a crowd, I tell you, I do not like a crowd. The Hussars to the right wing, sounded the voice of the aid whom the Prince had sent to Skyshettsky. It was bright daylight, the glow of the fire had paled in the light of the rising sun. Its golden beams played on the tips of the Hussars' lances, and looked as though a thousand flames were gleaming above the heads of the knights. When the ranks were formed, the army, no longer hidden, sang in chorus, Hail, O ye portals of salvation! The mighty sound resounded across the dewy fields, was thrown back by the pine forests, and its echo rose to heaven. At length on the opposite bank of the ditch, a black swarm of Cossacks appeared, stretching as far as the eye could reach. Regiment after regiment of Zaporosians on horseback armed with long lances, the infantry with muskets, and the mass of the peasantry with scythes, flails, and hayforks in their hands, behind them lay in the midst the gigantic baggage train exactly like a town in motion. The creaking of thousands of carriages and the naing of horses reached even the ears of the Prince's soldiers. The Cossacks, however, moved on without their accustomed noise, and without shouting on the other bank of the ditch. The two opposing powers observed each other for a long time in silence. Zagloba, who kept close to Skyshettsky, looked at this sea of men and murmured, Jesus Christ, why hast thou created such a number of these ragamuffins? That must be Mielnitsky himself with the blacks and their lice. Is not that simple madness? Tell me, they will cover us with their caps. It was formerly so beautiful in the Ukraine. How they surge on and on. May the devil take them. May they be surged into hell, and all those who are against us. May they die of the rot. Do not curse, it is Sunday. Truly today is Sunday. It will be better to think about God. Parte no ster qui est in coelis. One cannot expect any respect from this pack. Sanctificate to nomin to him. What will happen in this ditch? Adviniot regnum to him. My breath is going. Fiat voluntas tua. May you die, you man killers. Look over there. What is that? A division of some hundred men had separated from the black mass and were moving in disorder towards the moat. That is the artillery, said Skyshettsky. Soon our men will go to meet them. Will the battle begin then? As certain as God is in heaven. May the devil take them. Zagloba's dissatisfaction here knew no bounds, and you are looking at it just as if it was a theater in Lent, cried he angrily to Skyshettsky, not as if your life was in danger. As I told you, we are accustomed to it. And are you going forward also to the carnage? It is not suitable for the knights of high rank to fight hand to hand with such an enemy, and no one does it who values his dignity, but in these times one does not think of his dignity. Ours are already going forward, cried Zagloba as he saw a long line of Volodrovsky's dragoons galloping toward the moat. Some volunteers from each regiment followed him, among others the Red Virshul, Kuchel, Poniatovsky, and the two Kavishovs, and from the Hussars, Longin Podbepienta. The space between the two divisions became considerably less. You'll witness some fine things, said Skyshettsky to Zagloba. Observe particularly Volodrovsky and Longin. Those are famous knights. Do you see them? Certainly I do. Then look, you two will long for it.