 Book I, Chapter XIII of With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkiewicz, translated by Samuel A. Binyon, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Very early next morning the Cossack forces infantry and cavalry marched out of Siech, although the steps were not yet stained with blood the war had begun. Regiment followed regiment, they seemed like grasshoppers awakened by the spring sun as they crept out of the reeds of the Chertomylik and marched away over the meadows of the Ukraine. In the forest beyond Besavluk, six thousand picked tartar warriors were already prepared to march, incomparably better armed than the usual robber mob of Stambul, these formed the allies which the Khan had sent to the Zaporosians and to Mianitsky. At sight of them the Cossacks threw their caps in the air and saluted them with musket and gun. The shouts of the Cossacks mingled with the Allah of the Tartars and echoed in the air. Mianitsky and Tuhay Bey both beneath their banners rode to meet each other and saluted each other formally. The order of march was arranged with the quickness peculiar to Tartars and Cossacks, and then the forces began their maneuvers. The mounted tartars enclosed both wings of the Cossacks, the center was formed by Mianitsky's cavalry, and behind them marched the dreaded Zaporosian infantry. Then came the gunners with the cannon, then the military wagons, the baggage masters, the commissariat, and finally the herders with the reserve stock and the cattle. After the regiments had crossed the forest of Besavluk they dispersed on the steps. The weather was beautiful, not a cloud to be seen in the sky. A gentle wind blew from the north towards the sea. The sun played on the spears and on the flower of the wilderness. The wild lands stretched out like a limitless sea before the troops, and Joy filled the hearts of the Cossacks at this site. The great red flag with the archangel displayed on it was repeatedly dipped to greet the native steps, and following this example the Bunchuks and the regimental standards were lowered. A shout of joy rose from each breast. The regiments separated, the drummers and the buglers placed themselves at the head of the army. The kettle-drums rattled, the bagpipes and the theorboes sounded, and to this accompaniment arose a song which sung by thousands of voices echoed through the air and over the steps. O ye steps, O land of home, in flowery garments robed and boundless as the ocean. The pipers let go the rains, bent back on their saddle-cloths, and struck the strings of their lutes, their eyes raised heavenward. The bell-players raised their hands above their head and struck the bells, the drummers tattooed on their kettle-drums, and all these sounds blended with the monotonous words of the song, and the shrill tone of the tartar pipes in a strange, wild music, sad as the wilderness itself. All the regiments became intoxicated with delight, their heads moved in time to the melody of the song, and finally it seemed as if the whole steps were being stirred by the music, men, horses, and flags. Works of frightened birds flew above and accompanied the army like a second army in the air. At times the song and music were silent, and then could be heard the fluttering of the flags, the trampling and snorting of horses, the creaking of the wagons, the screaming of swans or cranes. At the head of the column, beneath the great red flag and the bonchuk, Rodmelnitsky, clothed from head to foot in red, seated upon a white horse, holding the glittering gold field-martial staff in his hand, the whole train moved slowly forwards in the direction of the north like a threatening ocean wave covering untilled woods and hills, and filling the desert of the steps with noise and bustle. And from Chigrin, from the northern boundary of the wilderness, another great wave came from the opposite direction, the king's forces under the command of the young Pototsky. Here the Zaporosians and tartars marched as if they were going to a wedding with a song on their lips, yonder the earnest hussars proceeded in grim silence as if they were marching reluctantly to an inglorious war. Here beneath the red flag an old experienced leader carried the field-martial's baton as if he were confident of a victory and vengeance. There at the head of his forces sat a youth with thoughtful countenance, as though he realized his sad, inglorious destiny. The immense steps lay between them as yet. Melnitsky did not hurry, he calculated thus. The farther the young Pototsky penetrated into the desert, the farther he separated himself from the two Hetmans, the easier it would be to conquer him. Meanwhile the forces of the Zaporosians were augmented from day to day by fresh fugitives from Chigrin, Porlots, and from all the border towns of the Ukraine, and these brought news from the enemy's camp. And then Melnitsky learned that the old Hetman had sent his son with only two thousand horsemen by land, and six thousand men and a thousand soldiers of the German infantry in boats down the Nipper. Both divisions had distinct orders to keep within touch of each other, but this command was disobeyed on the first day, for the boats were carried down by the strong current of the Nipper, and had got in advance of the division on the coast whose progress was still more delayed by having to ford the small rivers that flow into the Nipper. Melnitsky hoped that this separation would become even greater, and that was why he did not hurry. The third day after they set out he struck camp in the vicinity of Komisevoda and rested. Meanwhile Tuhebe's spies brought informants, two dragoons who had escaped from Pototsky's camp immediately beyond Chigrin. They had galloped day and night, and so were in advance of their division. Once brought before Melnitsky, their story confirmed what Melnitsky already knew of the fighting strength of the young Stephen Pototsky. They, however, brought the new information that the leaders of the Semenovs, who came with the German infantry on the boats, were no other than old Berabash and Tchaichovsky. When Melnitsky heard this last name he sprang into the air as if he had been bitten by a tarantula. Tchaichovsky, the colonel of the Periyas-Love-Line regiment? A very same illustrious hetman, answered the dragoon. Melnitsky turned to the officers who surrounded him. March! he commanded in a voice of thunder. Within an hour later the train moved forward although the sun was going down and the night was threatening. Dreadful reddish clouds were grouped together in the west in the shape of dragons and leviathans, and approached each other as if they would enter into a combat. The army moved to the left towards the bank of the Neeper. Now it moved silently without song and without the sound of the kettle-drums or bells, and as quickly as the grass would allow, for it grew so tall that the regiments, as they walked through it, sometimes lost sight of each other and the bright flags appeared to be floating along the steps. The cavalry and the wagons trod down a path for the infantry, who moved forward with difficulty and profoundly left a considerable way behind. Meanwhile darkness fell over the steps. The immense red gleaming moon broke slowly through the clouds, but was ever again hidden. It shone brightly for a few moments and went out again like a lamp which is blown by the wind. It was already getting towards midnight when to the eyes of the Cossacks and Tartars there became apparent black gigantic masses which were distinctly seen against the dark background of the sky. They were the walls of Kudak. The advance guards, hidden by the darkness, crept carefully and gently forward like wolves or nightbirds. Perhaps it would be possible unexpectedly to attack the fortification which was buried in sleep, but suddenly a flash of light was seen on the ramparts. A terrific roar shook the rocks of the neeper, and a fiery ball described an arc in the sky and fell into the grass of the steps. The gloomy Cyclops Grudzitsky wishes to let us know that he is awake. The one-eyed dog, Mianitsky said to Tuhaybe, sees in the night. The Cossacks avoided the fortress. They could not think of attacking it now that the King's forces were approaching, and so continued their march. But Colonel Grudzitsky continued to fire after them so that the walls of the citadel trembled, not in order to kill anyone, for they were too far off, but to warn the regiments on the neeper and those that might be in the neighborhood. The sound of the cannon of Kudak, however, echoed in the heart and ears of Skyshettsky. The young knight who, at Mianitsky's command, had been carried along in the army of the Cossacks had become very ill the following day. In the fight at Kortits he had indeed received no deadly wounds, but he had lost so much blood that his life was in danger. His wounds, which the old cantars had bound up, Cossack fashion, had reopened. A fever seized him, and the whole night long he lay half unconscious upon a Cossack telega. The cannons of Kudak awoke him. He opened his eyes, sat up in the wagon, and let his glance wander around him. The Cossack train marched through the darkness like a ghostly procession, and the fortress roared and flashed in the red smoke. The fiery cannonballs rolled through the steps, crackling and snarling like maddened dogs. At this sight such an intense sadness took possession of Skyshettsky such a longing that he was ready to die if only his soul could fly to those he loved. War, war! And here he was in the camp of the enemy, unarmed, sick, and chained to the wagon. The commonwealth in danger and he not able to fly to her assistance, and in Lubny the forces were already under marching orders. The prince with his flashing eyes is moving from rank to rank, and when he beckons with his princely staff three hundred spears clash like thunder. Here several well-known faces appeared to the vision of the lieutenant. The little Volodzhovsky is flying at the head of his dragoons with his small sword in his hand. But he is an incomparable fighter and whoever interferes with him is as good as dead. Over there Panpodbypienta seems to raise his executioner's sword. Will he cut off the three heads or not? The priest Yaskulsky consecrates the colors and prays with uplifted hands, but he is an old soldier, and when he cannot stand it any longer he calls out from time to time kill, kill! Armed riders bend forward to their horse's ears. The regiments ride forward, separate, run hither and thither. There is a battle, war, tempest. Suddenly the scene changes. Helena appears pale with disheveled hair and cries, Help! Help! Bohan pursues me! Skyshettsky sprang up in the wagon, but a voice, this time a real voice, said to him, I still, child, or I will tie you down. It was the Zakar to whom Yalnitsky had given the commission to watch the lieutenant as the eye of his head. He laid him down again in the wagon, covered him with horse's hides, and asked him, What is the matter? Skyshettsky, at this question, came to himself. The visions vanished. The wagons were approaching the banks of the Neeper. A cool gust came from the river, and the night grew clearer. Waterbirds were beginning their morning chatter. Listen, Zakar, have we already passed Kudak? asked Skyshettsky. Yes, answered the Zaporosian. Where are we going? I do not know. There will surely be a fight, but I do not know. At these words Skyshettsky's heart beat joyfully. He had thought that Yalnitsky would besiege Kudak, and thus begin the war, but the haste with which the Cossacks moved forward made him surmise that the royal forces were already near, and that Yalnitsky had intentionally passed by the fortress in order not to be obliged to fight beneath its cannon. Today I may be free, thought the lieutenant, and raised his eyes gratefully to heaven. End of Book 1, Chapter 13. Book 1, Chapter 14 of With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel A. Pinyin. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The thunder of the Kudak cannon was heard also by the forces which under the command of Old Berabash and Shechovsky were sailing down the Neeper. They consisted of six thousand Cossacks of the line, and a regiment of picked German infantry commanded by Hans Flick. And Nicholas Pototsky had long hesitated whether he should send the Cossacks against Melnitsky. As Shechovsky, however, had a great influence over them, and the Hetman had absolute confidence in him, he merely made the men take the oath of fealty and sent them against the enemy in God's name. Shechovsky, a soldier of full experience and rich in military laurels, was a client of the house of Pototsky to whom he owed everything, his position as commander, his nobility, which they had obtained for him in the diet, and, last of all, the enormous possessions which lay at the junction of the Nester and the Ladava, which he had received for his use as long as he lived. So strong were the ties which bound him to the commonwealth and to Pototsky that not a shadow of doubt could arise in the soul of the Hetman. He was, besides a man in the prime of life, for he was hardly fifty and in the service of this country a great future lay before him. Many thought they saw in him the successor of Stephen Mianitsky, who had begun as a simple knight of the steppes, and had risen to be Voyevoda of Kiev and senator of the commonwealth. It depended on Shechovsky himself whether he would follow the same road upon which courage, a wild energy, and a boundless ambition impelled him, equally hungry for wealth as for honors. This ambition it was that had induced him a short time before to seek to attain the dignity of Starotza of Litin, and when finally Korbut had received this post, Shechovsky buried his disappointment in his own bosom, although he was almost ill from envy and anger. Now fate appeared once more to smile on him, for, as the chief Hetman had given him such an important military position, he was able to reckon with some certainty that his name would come to the ears of the king. And that was very important, for then it would only be necessary to put forward a request in order to obtain the privilege. With these words so dear to a nobleman's heart, he has made obeisance to us and prayed us to reward him, and we, in memory of his faithful service, grant him, etc. By this means one obtained wealth and honors in Russia. By this means the immense surface of desert steppes, which had formerly belonged to God and to the commonwealth, went into private hands. In this manner a pauper became a lord, and could comfort himself with the hope that his heirs might one day take their place among the senators. One thing only grieved Shechovsky, that he must share his important office with Barabash, but this division was only nominal. In truth the venerable Cherkass Colonel had become so old and weak, especially in later years, that he belonged only with his body to this earth. His soul, his mind, were constantly in a state of semi-unconsciousness as is usually the case before the death of the body. At the beginning of the expedition he had gathered himself together and began to work actively. One might have believed that the old soldier's blood flowed more quickly at the sound of the trumpets. In his time he had been a famous knight and leader of the steppes. But soon after setting out, the plashing of the oars had soothed him. The songs of the soldiers and the movement of the boats had sent him to sleep, so that he forgot the God's world. Shechovsky ordered and managed everything. Barabash awoke only to eat, and when he had finished he asked from habit about one thing and another. They gave him any suitable answer, and then he would sigh and say, Ah, I would willingly march to the grave in another war, but God's will be done. Meanwhile the conjunction with the crown forces, which marched under the command of Stephen Pototsky, was broken at once. Shechovsky complained that the hussars and the dragoons marched too slowly, that they also, when crossing the river, took matters too leisurely, that the young son of the Hetman did not possess sufficient military experience, but in spite of all this he continued his journey. The boats floated down the neaper towards Kudak and distanced the royal forces more and more. At length one night was heard the thunder of cannon. Barabash slept and did not awake. Flick, however, who had sailed ahead, got into a small boat and went to Shechovsky. Colonel, he said, those are the cannons of Kudak. What shall we do? Anchor the boats. We will remain all night in the rushes. Yelnitsky is doubtless besieging the forces. According to my opinion we ought to hasten to its relief. I do not ask you for your opinion. I only give my orders. The command belongs to me. Colonel, anchor and wait, said Shechovsky. As he saw, however, that the energetic German was tugging at his yellow beard and had no idea of giving in without very good reasons. He added somewhat less sternly. The castellan may arrive to-morrow with the cavalry and the fortifications cannot be taken in one night. But if he should not arrive, well, then we will wait even two days. You do not know Kudak. You would break your teeth against its walls, and I will not move to the relief without the castellan, for I have no right to do so. That is his affair. Shechovsky appeared to be absolutely in the right, therefore Flick did not insist any longer and went back to his Germans. After a while the boats began to approach the right bank of the river and make their way to the reeds that covered the edges of the river for over a hundred feet on either side. The plashing of the oars ceased, the boats were completely hidden in the reeds, and the river appeared to be perfectly still. Shechovsky forbade the men to sing, to light a fire, or to carry on any conversation, so that deep silence prevailed, which was only interrupted by the echo of the cannon from Kudak. But no one on the boats, except old Berabash, closed their eyes. Flick, a nightly and warlike man, would have preferred to fly like a bird to Kudak. The soldiers asked each other in whispers, what would happen to the fortress? Could it hold out? Would it hold out? And the thunder of the cannon grew more frequent. All were convinced that the fortress was repelling and determined assault. Yelnitsky is not joking, but Grozitsky also is not joking, whispered the Cossacks, and what will to-morrow bring? The same question presented itself also to Shechovsky, who sat in the prow of his boat, buried in deep thought. He had known Yelnitsky well, and for a long time. Either too he had always considered him a man of remarkable ability, who only needed a field for his energy to soar upwards like an eagle. Now however Shechovsky doubted his ability. The cannon thundered uninterruptedly. Yelnitsky must be besieging Kudak. If it is true, thought Shechovsky, he is a lost man. How was it that after he had incited the Zaporosians to rebel, after he had assured himself of the Khan's assistance, after he had gathered forces such as no Cossack leader ever commanded? How was it that Yelnitsky, instead of marching to the Ukraine with all speed, instead of arousing the people and gaining the towns over to him, in order to destroy the Hetmans as speedily as possible, and to bring the whole country into his power before fresh defenders and fresh forces arrived? How was it that Yelnitsky, the old soldier, should be so mad as to storm an impregnable fortress that could hold out for a year? Was he going to allow his best fighting men to be dashed to pieces against the walls of Kudak, like the waves of the neeper that dashed themselves upon the rocks of the rapids? Would he wait near Kudak till the Hetmans gathered their forces and surrounded him, as they did in Alevaika at Solonits? He is a lost man, repeated Chechovsky. His own Cossacks will deliver him up. An unsuccessful attack will only breed discontent and insubordination. The spark of the rebellion will be extinguished. Yelnitsky will not inspire any more terror than a sword with a broken hilt. He is a fool. Consequently, thought Chechovsky, to-morrow I will take my soldiers and Germans on shore, and the following night I will unexpectedly attack his forces, weakened as they are by the assault. I will hew down the Zaporosians to the last man and cast Melnitsky bound at the feet of the Hetman. It is his own fault. He might have prevented it. Here Chechovsky's ambition took a higher flight. He knew right well that the young Pototsky could not in any case arrive until the following night, who then would cut off the head of the Hydra, who would crush the rebellion which, with its frightful torch, might consume the whole Ukraine. The old Hetman will perhaps look a little blank to think that this should have all happened without his son's assistance, but he will soon recover himself and, meanwhile, all the rays of glory and of the royal grace will fall upon Chechovsky's victorious prow. And yet I shall have to divide the glory with old Barabash and with Grudzitsky. Chechovsky looked very gloomily before him, but he soon became cheerful again. That old fossil Barabash may be laid in the earth any day, and Grudzitsky asks nothing better than to remain at Kudak and from time to time frighten the Tartars with his guns, so Chechovsky would remain alone. If he could only become Hetman of the Ukraine, the stars twinkled in the sky, and to the Colonel they appeared like the gems in his field marshals baton, the wind stirred the reeds, and to him it seemed as if it were the rustle of the Hetman's bonchok. The cannons at Kudak continued to thunder. Melnitsky is offering his throat to the sword, thought the Colonel, but that is his own fault. It might have been different. If he had only pushed forward to the Ukraine, it might have all been different. There everything is bubbling and raging. There is powder only waiting for the spark. The Commonwealth is mighty, but in the Ukraine she has no power, and the King is old and sick. A victory by the Zaporosians might have incalculable results. Chechovsky buried his face in his hands and sat immovable. The stars continued their course towards their setting, and gradually settled over the whole steps. The blackbirds hidden in the grass began to call to one another. It would soon be day. At length the thoughts of the Colonel resolved themselves into a firm determination. Tomorrow he would attack Melnitsky and grind him to dust. Across his corpse he would attain wealth and dignity. He would be the instrument of punishment in the hands of the Commonwealth. He would be her defender, and in the future her honored citizen and senator. After the victory over the Zaporosians and Tartars they could deny him nothing. And yet they had not given him this starosta-ship of Lityn. At this recollection Chechovsky clenched his fist. He had not received the starosta-ship in spite of his military service. Only because he was an upstart, because his rival derived his descent from princes. In this Commonwealth it was not enough to be a noble. One must wait until one's crest was covered with mildew, like wine, until it was as rusty as iron. Melnitsky alone was able to introduce a new order of things which the king himself would gladly favor, but the unlucky fellow would rather smash his head on the stones of Kudak. By degrees the Colonel became calmer. They had denied him the starosta-ship. That was the consequence. They would be all the more anxious to reward him, especially after the overthrow of the rebellion, especially after he had delivered the Ukraine. Yes, the entire Commonwealth from the Civil War. Then they would not refuse him anything. Then he would no longer need Pototsky. His drowsy head sank on his breast, and he fell asleep and dreamed of starosta-ships, of castellans, of grants from the king and from the diet. When he awoke, day was breaking. In the boats all were asleep. In the distance the waves of the neeper gleamed in the pale uncertain light. All about reigned absolute silence. This silence had awakened him. The cannons of Kudak had ceased to thunder. How was that, thought Chechovsky, is the first attack repulsed or Kudak taken? But that could not be, no. The defeated Cossacks were probably halting somewhere far from the fortress and dressing their wounds, and the one-eyed Grodzitsky was looking after them through the loopholes and was loading his guns again. Tomorrow they would return to the attack and again run their heads against the walls. Meanwhile the day had come Chechovsky wakened the people in his boat and sent a boat to Flick. Flick came without delay. Colonel, said Chechovsky to him, if the castellan does not come this evening, and if the storming is continued during the night, we will go to the relief of the fortress. By men are ready, said Flick, then give them powder and bullets. That has been done. We will land at night and advance as quietly as possible through the steps. We will attack them unexpectedly. Good, Chechovsky, said Flick, but should we not rather get a little nearer in the boats? It is about four miles to the fortress, somewhat far for the infantry. The infantry can take the horses of the seminars. Sir, good. The men must lie still in the reeds, not go ashore, and make no noise like no fires, for the smoke might betray us. We must not be discovered. The fog is so thick that they would not see the smoke. In fact, the river and the little bay overgrown with rushes in which stood the boats and the steps as far as the eye could reach were covered with a white impenetrable mantle of fog. As it was, however, still early in the morning, the mist might rise and reveal the expanse of the steps. Flick paddled away. The people on the boats moved slowly. Chechovsky's commands were announced that they should keep quiet, therefore the men went to their morning meal without the usual noise made by soldiers. No one passing by the shore or sailing down the middle of the stream would have believed that, in the reeds nearby, some thousands of men lay hidden. The horses were fed by hand that they might not nay. The boats lay hidden in the mist in the thicket of reeds. Here and there a small two-ord boat went back and forth, bringing biscuits and orders from the commander, otherwise all was as still as the grave. Only there were heard in the grass, in the rushes, in the reeds, and in the river-marshes around the whole inlet various strange sounds. Pugoo! Pugoo! Then silence. Pugoo! Pugoo! And again all was still, as if those voices that called from the shore were awaiting an answer. But no answer came, for the third time cries were heard but quicker and more impatiently. Pugoo! Pugoo! Then sounded from the boats Chechovsky's voice through the mist. Who goes there? Pugoo! Kossak from log! The hearts of the Seminovs who were in the boats beat restlessly. That mysterious call was familiar to them. In this way the Zaporosians signaled to each other in winter quarters. In this way also, in times of war, they invited their brothers of the regular regiments and the Kossaks of the towns to a conference. Many of these Kossaks belonged secretly to the brotherhood. Again sounded Chechovsky's voice. What do you want? Pugged Dan Melnitsky, the headman of the Zaporosians, writes his friend Konochechovsky to a conference. He must give hostages ten kursans. Agreed! At this moment, alongside the poles, the Zaporosians sprang up like flowers. They rose up out of the grass in which they had lain hidden. Far away across the steps, their cavalry and cannons were in the way. The Zaporosians were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. They were in the way. The cannon came marching on, and hundreds of flags and banners and bunchucks appeared. They marched with songs and the beating of kettle-drums. All this seemed like a greeting rather than a meeting of hostile forces. The Seminov's on the boats answered with loud shouts. Meanwhile, the boats came along commanded by the Kursan Atomans. Chechovsky boarded one of them and went ashore. There they brought him a horse and immediately led him to Melnitsky. When Melnitsky saw him, he took off his cap and greeted him cordially. "'Were the Colonel,' said he, my old friend and comrade, when the chief Hetman of the Crown commanded you to seize me and bring me into camp, you were not willing to do it, but warned me so that I might save myself by flight, and for this act I owe you gratitude and brotherly affection.' Then he stretched forth his hand courteously, but the dark face of Chechovsky remained cold as ice. "'Now, however, after being saved, sir Hetman, you have become the leader of the rebellion. Ah, wrongs, yours and mine, and those of the whole Ukraine would I redress, with the king's charter of rights in my hands, and in the hope that our gracious lord will not countered against me.' Chechovsky looked sternly into Melnitsky's eyes and said emphatically, "'Have you besieged, Kudak?' "'Aye, I would have been mad to do so. I went past it and did not even fire one shot, although the old Cyclops received me with his cannon. I have urgent business in the Ukraine, not in Kudak, but I was especially anxious to see you, my old friend. What do you want with me? Ride a little way with me across the steps, and we will come to an understanding.' They mounted their horses and rode away. They were gone one hour. On their return Chechovsky's face was pale and agitated. He took leave of Melnitsky, who said to him on the road, "'We too will be the only ones in the Ukraine, and over us the king alone, and no one else.' He returned to the boats. Old Barabash, Flick and the others awaited him impatiently. "'What's going on there?' They asked him on all sides. "'Pull up close to the shore,' answered Chechovsky in a commanding voice. Barabash opened his sleepy eyes. A strange fire was in his glance. "'What?' he said. "'Go ashore. We must give ourselves up.' The pale yellowish face of Barabash suddenly became crimson. He sprang from the kettle-drum on which he was sitting, rose to his full height, and suddenly this old man, bowed with age, was transformed into a giant full of strength and life. "'Trieson!' he roared. "'Trieson!' repeated Flick, and seized his rapier. But before he could draw it, Chechovsky flashed his sword through the air, and with a blow cut him to the ground. Then he sprang from the boat into a small boat that was lying near, in which were sitting for his apparitions with oars in their hands, and cried, "'To the boats!' The boat darted away like an arrow. Chechovsky, with cap on the tip of his bloody sword, stood in the middle of the boat, his eyes flashing fire, and cried with a powerful voice, "'Children, we will not kill our own people. Long live Bogdan Milnitsky, the headman of the apparitions! Long live Milnitsky!' repeated hundreds and thousands of voices. "'Death to the Poles! Death!' The roar from the boats answered the apparitions on the shore, but many in the boats that were lying at a distance did not know what all the commotion was about, but as the news spread that Panchechovsky had gone over to the apparitions, a regular furor of joy took possession of the Seminovs. Six thousand caps were thrown into the air, six thousand muskets roared, the boats trembled beneath the tread of the Cossacks. Tumult and confusion arose. But the joy was to be paid for in blood. Old Barabash preferred to die rather than betray the flag under which he had served his whole life long. A few dozen Cherkass soldiers took his side and a short dreadful fight took place, like all those fights in which a handful of men who do not desire mercy but death defend themselves against a multitude. Neither Chechovsky nor any of the Cossacks had expected any such opposition. The old lion was awakened. To a demand to lay down his arms he replied with shots, and one could see him with the Field Marshal's staff in his hand, his white hair floating in the wind, giving his commands in a voice of thunder and with the energy of youth. His boat was surrounded on all sides, the men on the boats who could not get near sprang into the water, waded through the reeds, and seizing the edge of the boat climbed furiously into it. The resistance was short. Barabash's Seminovs lay pierced, battered, or with mangled hands on the bottom of the boat. Only the old man still defended himself with his sword in his hand. Chechovsky made his way to him. Surrender! Die, traitor! answered Barabash and raised his sword to strike. Chechovsky withdrew rapidly into the crowd. Kill! he said to the Cossacks, but it seemed as if no one wished to be the first to raise his hand against the old man. Unfortunately, however, the old colonel slipped on the bloody bottom and fell down. As he lay on the deck, he no longer inspired fear or respect, and soon a number of swords had pierced his body. The old man was able only to cry out, Jesus Maria! They began to hack at the prostrate form and to cut it to pieces. They threw the head from one boat to another and played ball with it until, through a clumsy catch, it fell into the water. There still remained the Germans who were not so easily dealt with, for the regiment consisted of a thousand veterans who had been trained in many wars. The valiant flick had fallen under Chechovsky's hand, but at the head of the regiment there still remained Johann Werner, the Lieutenant Colonel, a veteran of the Thirty Years' War. Chechovsky was certain of victory, for the German boats were surrounded on all sides by Cossacks. He wished, however, to retain such a large number of incomparable and well-armed infantry for Mianitsky, therefore he preferred to treat with them. For a time it seemed as if Werner would agree to what he wanted, for he conversed quietly with Chechovsky and listened attentively to all the promises with which the latter and his friends overwhelmed him. The pay in which the Commonwealth was in arrears would be paid up immediately, and also for a year ahead, and after that time the soldiers might go wither they would, even into the King's camp. Werner acted as if he were considering, but meantime he gave quiet instructions for the boats to pull up close to one another, so that they formed a compact circle. At the edge of this circle stood a wall of foot soldiers, without powerful men, in yellow jerkens and yellow caps, in perfect order of battle. The left foot advanced ready to fire, the muskets at their right side. Werner, his sword drawn, stood in the front row and considered for some time. Finally he raised his head. "'Ere hop, man,' he said, "'we understand one another. You will lose nothing in the new service,' cried Chechovsky joyfully, "'but on condition.' "'Well, I agree to it. Well, that's all right. Our service to the Commonwealth ends in June. From June out we belong to you.' An oath rose to Chechovsky's lips, but he held it back. "'Are you mocking me, Lieutenant?' he asked. "'No,' answered Werner quietly, "'our military honour behooves us to keep a word. Our service is at an end in June. We serve for money, but we are no traitors. Otherwise no one would employ us, and you yourself would not trust us. For who would be surety that we would not go over to the Hetman in the very first battle? What do you want, then? That you let us leave you. That is impossible, you madman. I will have you all cut down. And how many of your own men do you expect to lose? Not one of you shall escape. You will leave half your men on the field.' Both spoke the truth, therefore Chechovsky, although the coolness of the German aroused his blood, and fury began to take possession of him, did not wish to begin the combat. Before the sun sets, he cried, "'Reflect, or the firing will begin.' And he moved off quickly in his small boat in order to confer with Mianitsky. A period of suspense followed, the Cossack boats closed in a circle round the Germans, who maintained a calm bearing as only old practiced soldiers can maintain in the face of danger. To the threatenings and insults which poured unceasingly from the Cossack boats, they answered with a disdainful silence. It was a truly imposing sight, this calmness in the midst of the increasing ebullitions of rage on the part of the Cossacks, who with threats shook their lances and muskets, ground their teeth and cursed and impatiently awaited the signal for combat. Meanwhile the sun, which had moved from the south to the west, withdrew by degrees its golden beams from the inlet. Finally it became perfectly dark. The bugles sounded, and thereupon was heard Chechovsky's voice in the distance. The sun is down, have you decided?" Yes, answered Werner. He turned to his soldiers and waved his drawn sword. Foyah! He commanded in a quiet, phlegmatic voice. A report, the splash as men fell into the water, cries of rage and rapid firing, answered the voices of German muskets. The cannon on the shore began to roar and hurl their balls at the German boats. The whole place was full of smoke, and amid the thunder, it cries, the whir of the tartar arrows, the rattle of muskets and guns, the regular salvos of their muskets alone announced that the Germans were still defending themselves. At sundown the fight still raged, but it appeared to be slagging in intensity. Melnitsky, accompanied by Chechovsky, Tuhay Bey, and several Ottomans, had come to the shore to observe the fight. His distended nostrils inhaled the smoke of the powder, his ears heard with delight the noise of the drowning and slaughtered Germans. The three commanders looked at this carnage as if it were a play, which at the same time was a favourable omen for them. The battle ceased, as the firing slackened, louder and louder rose the cries of triumph from the Cossacks to the clear sky. Tuhay Bey, cried Melnitsky, this is our first victory. There are no prisoners, growled the Mercer, I do not care for such a war. You will find plenty in the Ukraine. You will be able to fill the hole of stumble and gallots with your captives. If I find no other, I will take you. With these words the wild Tuhay laughed ominously, but presently added, I should have liked to have those Franks. The fight was over. Tuhay Bey turned his horse's head towards the camp. The others followed him. Now for the Zolta Vody! cried Melnitsky. The Lieutenant had heard the noise of combat and tremblingly awaited the result, for he thought at first that Melnitsky had begun an engagement with all the forces of the Hetman. But towards evening Old Sakhar enlightened him, the news of the treachery of the soldiers under Shchetchovsky and the destruction of the Germans disturbed the inmost soul of the young knight, for this was but the preliminary to other treachery, and Skyshettsky knew well that a greater part of the Hetman's forces consisted chiefly of Cossacks. The anxiety of the Lieutenant increased, and the triumph of the Zaporosians heightened his misery. Everything foretold the worst that could happen. There were no tidings from the Prince, and the Hetmans had evidently committed a grave error when, instead of marching upon Kudak with all their forces, or awaiting the enemy in a fortified camp in the Ukraine, they had divided their forces, voluntarily weakened themselves, and laid the way open to defection and treachery. They spoke in the Zaporosian camp of a considerable army under Shchetchovsky and Stephen Pototsky, but the Lieutenant had given no credit to this news. He believed that these were only the strong vanguards which at the right time would be withdrawn. Other things had happened, meanwhile. Mianitsky had, through Shchetchovsky's treachery, strengthened themselves with several thousand men, and a frightful danger threatened young Pototsky. Deprived of assistance and having lost his way in the wilderness, how easily could Mianitsky surround him and exterminate his forces? Amid the pain caused by his wounds, amid his unrest, in his sleepless nights all that comforted Skyshettsky was the remembrance of the Prince. Mianitsky's star would pale when that of the Prince rose in Lupini, and who could say that he had not already united with the Hetmans? Although Mianitsky's forces were strong, although his expedition had begun successfully, although Tuhay Bey accompanied him and, in the event of mishap, the Tsar of the Crimea himself had promised assistance, Skyshettsky had not the least idea that this storm would be of long duration, that a Cossack could shake the whole commonwealth to its foundations and cripple its power. The storm will be broken on the threshold of the Ukraine, thought the lieutenant, for we have quelled all the Cossack insurrections. They sprang up like flames and subsided at the first encounter with the Hetmans. It has always been thus. When on the one hand a swarm of niche bandits marched forward to battle, on the other hand a power that was bounded by two seas, the result was easily foretold. The storm could not last long, therefore it would pass, and good weather come again. This thought encouraged Skyshettsky, kept him so to speak on his feet, for otherwise he would have been crushed by such a heavy burden as he had never yet borne in his life. Though the storm should pass, it would devastate fields, overthrow houses, and cause irretrievable damage. If through this storm he had come within an ace of losing his life, had lost his strength, and had come into bitter slavery, just at the time when freedom meant so much to him, as much as life itself, how would those weak ones who could not defend themselves suffer from this storm. What might be happening to Helena in Rosloga? But Helena must surely be in Lubny. In his dreams the lieutenant saw her surrounded by friends, flattered by the prince and by the Princess Griselda, admired by the knights, and pining for her knight who had disappeared somewhere in Siege. But the time would come when the knight would return, had not Mielnitsky himself promised him his freedom, and besides this Cossack's storm-wave would flow on to the very threshold of the Commonwealth. Then it would be broken, and all anxiety, all sorrow, all unrest would be at an end. The storm-wave was indeed moving forward. Mielnitsky marched on without delay with his forces, expecting to meet the son of the Hetman. His power was truly formidable, for with him, in addition to Tushchechovsky's Semenovs and the Chambuls of Tuhay Bay, he led nearly five-and-twenty thousand trained soldiers eager for the fray. No positive information had been received of Pototsky's fighting strength. Fugitives said that he had two thousand heavy cavalry and some cannon. Under these circumstances the issue of the battle might be doubtful, for an attack by those dreadful Hussars was often sufficient to exterminate a force of ten times their number. Kodkevich, the Hetman of Lithuania, had once in his time with three thousand cavalry crushed to the earth eighteen thousand picked men of infantry and Swedish cavalry at Kirchholm, and one squadron of curiciers had scattered with wild fury several thousand English and Scotch mercenaries at Klushin. Mielnitsky was aware of this, therefore according to the words of the Russian chronicler, he proceeded slowly and carefully with the many eyes of his understanding, looking around him on all sides like a crafty hunter, and posting his sentries at a distance of a mile and more from the camp. He was approaching the Zoltovoda. Two more informers were captured. They confirmed the report of the weakness of the King's army, and brought word that the Castellan had already crossed the Zoltovoda. When Mielnitsky heard this he halted, and remained as if rooted to the spot surrounding himself with earthworks. His heart beat joyfully. If Pototsky ventured on an assault he would be beaten. The Cossacks could not stand in the open field against curiciers, but they fought excellently behind earthworks, and as they had such an overwhelming superiority of numbers they would undoubtedly repulse their assailants. Mielnitsky depended upon Pototsky's youth and inexperience, but the young Castellan was accompanied by an experienced warrior, the Starosta of Zivets, and Stephen Charnetsky, Colonel of the Hussars. He appreciated the danger and persuaded the Castellan to return across the Zoltovoda. There was nothing for Mielnitsky to do but to follow him. On the following day after they had crossed the Zoltovoda the two opposing forces stood face to face. But neither of the leaders would make the first attack. Mielnitsky's camp began hastily to surround itself with earthworks. It was Saturday the fifth of May, a pouring rain fell, and continued the whole day. The sky was so completely covered with clouds that it was quite dark at midday as on a day in winter. Towards evening the rain fell more heavily. He rubbed his hands for joy. If the steps only become soft, he said to Skyshetsky, I will not hesitate to undertake an engagement with the Hussars, for they would sink in the mud in their heavy armor. And the rain streamed and streamed down as if heaven had come to the aid of the Zaporosians. The army entrenched itself slowly and gloomily amid the pouring rain. No fire would burn. Some thousand Cossacks went out to prevent the Polish army from escaping under the protection of the mist. Then followed a deep silence. Nothing was heard, save the splashing of the rain and the sighing of the wind. No one slept in either camp. The following morning the bugles in the Polish camp sounded long and plaintively, as if they were calling to the attack. Then drums began to beat here and there. A sad, dark, wet day broke. A storm wind arose, but a fine, steady rain continued to fall as if through a sieve. Schetowski commanded a cannon to be fired. This was followed by a second, a third, a tenth, and as the usual communications by means of cannon had begun between the two camps, Schetowski said to his Cossack protector, Zakar, lead me to the entrenchment that I may see what is going on. Zakar himself was inquisitive and therefore offered no opposition. They went to a high corner from which one could see clearly and distinctly the somewhat sunken valley of the steppes, the swamp of the Zolta Voda water, and both armies, but hardly had Schetowski cast a glance over the country when he put both hands to his head and cried, By the living God that is only a vanguard, nothing more! In truth the fortifications of the Cossack camp were almost a mile and a quarter in extent, while those of the Poles in comparison looked like nothing more than a readout. The inequality of strength was so great that a Cossack victory appeared certain. Schetowski's heart was heavy. The hour had not yet come for the downfall of pride and insurrection, but now a new triumph was at hand, so at least it seemed. The skirmishing had already begun by the firing of the cannon from the elevation. Single horsemen or small bodies of horsemen could be seen in hand-to-hand conflict. These were the Tartars, who were fighting with Pototsky's Semenovs, dressed in dark blue and yellow. The horsemen attacked each other and then fell back, attacked each other's flank, shot at one another with pistols or bows, or sought to entrap one another with larriots. These skirmishes observed from a distance seemed like play, and it was only when a riderless horse was seen plunging about that one knew that life and death were in the balance. The Tartars poured forth in ever-increasing numbers. The ground was soon black with their dense swarms. Then fresh regiments came out from the Polish camp and drew up in order of battle before the entrenchment. It was so near that Skaszetowski, with his sharp eye, could distinctly see the colors, the bonczuks, even the corporals, and the lieutenants who sat on horseback a little to one side of the companies. His heart began to beat with excitement, his pale face to take on some color, and, as if he could find ready listeners in the car and the Cossacks who were at the cannon and beside the corner, he cried exultingly, and still more exultingly, the nearer the squadrons approached the entrenchment. Those are Balaban's dragoons whom I saw in Tarkas. That is of a Lachian regiment. They have a cross on their colors. Ah, here comes the infantry from the ramparts. Then he cried in still greater excitement, and stretching out his hands, the Hussars, Panchaunetsky's Hussars! The Hussars had indeed appeared, and above them a cloud of birds and a forest of lances ornamented with gold tassels and long green and black penance. They came riding forward six abreast and pulled up before the earthworks, and at the sight of their calmness, their dignity, and their skill, tears of joy came into Skyshetto's key's eyes and dimmed his sight for a while. Although the forces were so unevenly matched, although those few regiments were opposed to a whole phalanx of Zaporosians and Tartars who, as usual, formed in wings, although their ranks extended so far into the steps that one could hardly see the end of them, Skyshetto's key yet believed in victory. His face beamed, his strength returned, his eyes flashed as he looked towards them, and he could hardly contain himself. Ah, child, growled Odzakar, I so would like to enter paradise. Meanwhile, a few scattered Tartar divisions had plunged forward with shouts and cries of Allah! They answered them from the camp with shots, but the attack was only a threat. The Tartars, before reaching the Polish squadrons, retreated in the direction of their own forces and disappeared into the crowd. Then sounded the great drum of Siege, and at its call a gigantic semi-circle of Cossacks and Tartars moved forward. Mianitzki was evidently trying to see if he could not, with one stroke, crush those regiments and occupy the camp. In case of a wild retreat it would be possible, but such an event did not seem probable among the Polish regiments. They stood calm, spread out in a tolerably long line with the earthworks at their back, and the cannons on their flank, so that they could only be attacked from the front. For a moment it looked as if they were going to receive the attack, but when the Crescent had covered half the field the trumpets in the entrenchments sounded for attack, and the array of lances which, up to this time had been raised in the air, were lowered to the level of the horse's heads. The Hossars are attacking! cried Skishtoski. They had crouched in their saddles and galloped forward, and immediately behind them came the dragoons and the whole line of battle. The assault of the Hossars was terrific. In the first attack they fell upon three Kursins, those of Steblowski and that of Mirorodzki, and annihilated them in an instant. The shouts and cries came to Skishtoski's ears. Horses and men who had been overthrown by the gigantic force of the iron riders fell like blades of wheat before the breath of the storm. The resistance lasted so short a time that it seemed to Skishtoski as if some gigantic dragon had swallowed the three regiments at a gulp. The horses, terrified by the noise of the birds, carried terror into the ranks of the Zaporosians. The regiments of Urklyevsky, Kombolotsky, Minsky, Shereysky, and Titorovsky became completely demoralized as the swarm of fugitives rushed among them and began to retreat in disorder. Meanwhile, Hossars had called up the assistance of the dragoons and with them began a bloody slaughter. The Kursin of Vascharinsky took to flight after an obstinate but short resistance, and fled in wild terror to the very entrenchments, and transformed into disorderly masses, pursued, slashed with swords, pressed upon by the iron on set, they could not gain a moment in which to restore order. "'Devils, not Poles!' cried old Zakhar. Skishtoski was half delirious, he was ill and could not control himself, so that he laughed and cried at the same time, and screamed out the word of command as if he were himself leading a regiment. Zakhar held him by the coat and called others to assist him. The fighting was so close to the Kossak camp that one could almost distinguish the faces of the soldiers. The cannon roared from the breastworks, but the Kossak balls which reached friend as well as foe only increased the confusion. The Hossars had forced their way to the Kursa of Pashkovsky, which formed the Hetman's Guard, and in the middle of which was Mianitsky himself. Suddenly a frightful yell arose from the ranks of the Zaporosians. The great red banner wavered and fell, but at this moment Shachovsky, with his five thousand men, rushed into the fight. He dashed on his immense, sorrel horse into the front rank without a cap, his sword held above his head, and reformed the scattered Nizhovs. As they saw help approaching, they turned, although in disorder, to renew the attack. The battle raged again in the center of the line. Mianitsky's luck failed him on both wings. The Tartars, thanks to the Valakian regiment and Pototsky's Semenovs, who had twice repulsed them, had completely lost their courage. Tuhay Bey had had two horses killed under him. The victory was finally inclining toward the side of young Pototsky. But the fight did not last much longer. The rain which had grown more heavy had now become such a downpour that one could not see through the streams of water. No longer drops but perfect torrents poured on the earth from the flood-gates of heaven. The steps were transformed into a lake. It became so dark that one could not see another at a distance of a few steps. The noise of the rain drowned the voices of command. The damp muskets and guns were silent. Heaven itself seemed to put an end to the slaughter. Mianitsky went to the skin and mad with rage, plunged into his camp, and spoke not a word to any one. They made him a tent of camel-skins, beneath which he might take shelter. Here he sat alone, given over to gloomy thoughts. Despair had taken possession of him. Now only did he realize what an undertaking he had on hand. Beaten, repulsed, and defeated in a fight with such a small opposing force that one might with justice consider them merely a vanguard, he knew how immense was the power of resistance of the army of the Commonwealth, and had taken it into account when he undertook the war, and yet he had miscalculated. So at least it seemed to him at this moment, and he seized his close-shaven head as if he would dash it against the first cannon that came in his way. How would it be when he had to encounter the forces of the Hetman and of the whole Commonwealth? The entrance of Tuhay Bey interrupted his thoughts. The eyes of the tartar gleamed with rage, his face was white, his teeth glistened between his hairless lips. Where are the men? Where are the prisoners? Where are the heads of the generals? Where is the victory? He asked in a hoarse voice. Melnitsky sprang from his seat. Yonder! He cried with a voice of thunder and pointed in the direction of the royal camp. Didn't go, did I? growled to Tuhay Bey. And if you will not go, I will lead you with a rope to the Crimea. I will go, said Melnitsky. This very day I will go. I will fetch soldiers. I will fetch prisoners. But you must render the Khan an account, for you demand prisoners and are afraid of the battle. Dog! Held to Tuhay Bey, you are sending the Khan's army to destruction! They stood thus for a moment, facing each other, gasping with rage. Melnitsky first regained his calmness. Tuhay Bey, be quiet, said he. The rain has interrupted the fight just as the dragoons had overpowered Shechovsky. I know them. Tomorrow they will fight with less energy. The steps will be more marshy. The Hussars will succumb. Tomorrow all will be ours. You have said it, muttered Tuhay Bey, and I will keep my word. Tuhay Bey, my friend, the Khan sent you to assist me, not to torment me. You premised victories, not defeats! They have taken some of the dragoons' prisoners. I will give them to you. Give them to me. I will have them impaled. Do not do that. Let them go free. They are soldiers from the Ukraine of Balaban's squadron. I will send them over that they might bring the dragoons over to our side. It will be just as it was with Shechovsky. Tuhay Bey grew calm. He looked at Melnitsky sharply and said, Sapent! Craft is worth as much as courage. If I can persuade the dragoons to desert, not one man will escape me. Do you understand? I will have Putotsky. You shall have him, also Chaniatsky. And now give me some large Zolka, for it is cold. All right. At this moment in Stept Shechovsky, the Colonel was as gloomy as night. The starost ships, the dignities, castles and treasures of his dreams had, after the day's fight, become veiled in a fog. Tomorrow they might completely vanish, and out of that fog might arise in their place the hangman's rope or the gallows. Had he not, by killing the Germans who belonged to the Hetman, burned all his bridges behind him, he would most certainly have reflected how he might now betray Melnitsky and go over with his soldiers into Putotsky's camp. But that was now impossible. They all three sat down to the big bottle of Gorzolka, and began to drink in silence. The noise of the rain subsided gradually. It was twilight. Shechovsky, exhausted with joy, weak and pale, lay motionless in the wagon. As a car, who had learned to like him, commanded the Cossacks to spread a felt canopy over him. The Lieutenant heard the melancholy patter of the rain, but in his soul all was bright, happy and full of light. His Hussars had shown what they could do. His Commonwealth had offered a resistance worthy of her majesty. The first assault of the Cossacks had been shattered by the lances of the King's army. And the Hetmans were still there, and Prince Jeremy and so many forces, so many noblemen, so much power, and over all these the King, chief among peers. Skyshetosky's bosom rose with pride as if he felt all these powers in himself. At this moment he experienced for the first time since the day he lost his freedom in Siege, a certain feeling of sympathy for the Cossacks. They were in the wrong, but blind when they ventured to attack the sun with mattocks. They were in the wrong, but unfortunate in having allowed themselves to be led away by a man who was leading them into evident destruction. His thoughts then wondered farther, peace would come, and then each one would have a right to think of his own personal happiness. At this moment his soul and mind were in Rosloka. There in the vicinity of the lion's den it would be quiet as in poppy-land. There the insurrection would never raise its head, and should it do so, Helena would undoubtedly be already in Lubny. Finally the thunder of canon interrupted the golden thread of his thoughts. Mielnitsky had drunk himself full and was leading his regiments again to the attack. But it amounted to nothing more than a thunder of canon. Shachovsky restrained the Hetman. The following day was Sunday. It passed quietly without a shot being fired. The camps lay opposite each other, like those of two allied armies. Skyshetosky attributed this quiet to the disaffection of the Cossacks. Alas, he did not know that Mielnitsky, during this interval, was looking around him with the numerous eyes of his mind, and was doing his best to entice Balaban's dragoons over to his side. On Monday at early dawn the fight began afresh. Skyshetosky watched it as before, with a smiling, beaming face. Once more the royal troops advanced from the entrenchment, but this time did not undertake an attack but opposed the enemy from where they stood. The steps were not only soft on the surface, as on the first day of the fight, but the rain had soaked through to some depth. The heavy cavalry could hardly move, and at first this gave the agile Zaporosian and Tartar regiments the advantage. Gradually the smile disappeared from Skyshetosky's lips. The mass of the assailants almost completely covered the earthworks of the poles. It seemed as if every moment that barrier would be broken and the assault inevitably began on the ramparts. He observed that the regiments did not fight with half the courage or half the eagerness that they had shown the first day. They defended themselves obstinately, however, but they did not attack as fiercely as the Khorzins. They did not make a clean sweep of the field like a hurricane. The ground of the steps which was soaked through and through had weakened their power and really banished the heavy cavalry behind the entrenchments. The impetus which gave them courage and decided the victory was wanting, and today they were obliged to stay still, inactive. Mielnitsky, however, continued to lead new Khorzins to the attack. He himself was everywhere. He himself led every Khorzin to the attack and only retreated before the swords of the enemy. His zeal infected even the Zaporosians, and although they fell in dense masses, they ran like a stormwind against the earthworks with screams and howls. They plunged against the wall of iron breasts, against the points of their lances, and retreated again, covered with sword-cuts and decimated. Under these assaults the regiments began to waver, to melt away, and here and there to retreat, as a wrestler clutched in the iron arms of an opponent becomes weaker, and again struggles and regains strength. Before noon almost all the fighting strength of the Zaporosians was under fire and in the battle. The battle raged so fiercely that between the two opposing forces a new rampart had been formed. A rampart made of the corpses of men and horses. At every moment there came back to the Cossack entrenchment swarms of bandaged, bleeding, mud-covered, panting, exhausted warriors. But they came back with songs on their lips, on their features glowed warlike courage and a certainty of victory, even as they sank powerless to the earth they cried, On to death! The garrison which remained behind in the camp was yearning for the fray. Kasziatowski was sad. The Polish squadrons began to disappear from the field behind their fortifications. They could hold out no longer, and one noticed the feverish haste of their retreat. At this site some twenty thousand voices shouted joyfully. The attack was renewed with double vigor. The Zaporosians sprang upon the necks of Pototsky's Seminovs who covered the retreat. But the cannon and the rain of musket-bullets repulsed them. The fighting ceased for a time. In the Polish camp was heard the sound of the parley trumpet that called a truce. Mielnicki, however, did not wish to parley. Twelve kursans dismounted in order to unite with the infantry and the tartars in storming the breast-works of the Poles. Kasziatowski was to hasten to their assistance with three thousand infantry at the decisive moment. All the kettle-drums, triangles, and trumpets began to sound at one time and drowned the shouts and salvos of musket-tree. Kasziatowski looked tremblingly at the deep ranks of the incomparable Zaporosian infantry that dashed towards the ramparts and surrounded them in a narrowing circle. Long streaks of white smoke poured forth on them from the earth-works as if a giant breath would blow away the grass-hoppers which swarmed on all sides. The cannon-balls plowed furrows in their ranks. The report of firearms was more frequent. The thunder of the cannon was unceasing. His eyes filled with tears. Here and there the ranks of assailants twitched convulsively like a wounded snake, but they continued their attack. Already they have reached the goal. Already they are at the breast-works. The cannon can no longer hurt them. Kasziatowski closed his eyes. And now, like lightning, the question flashed through his mind. Should he, when he opened his eyes, still see Polish standards on the breast-works? Would he see them? Would he not see them? The tumult increased and an unusual noise was heard. Had something happened? From the midst of the camp came cries. What is that? What has happened? Oh, my dear God! The cry escaped Kasziatowski's lips as he opened his eyes, and, instead of the huge golden standard of the king, he saw the red flag with the archangel. The camp had been taken. It was not till evening that he learned from Zakar the details of the battle. It was not for nothing that Tuhay Bey had called Mianitsky's serpent, for just at the moment of the most obstinate resistance the Balaban dragoons had been persuaded to go over to the Cossacks, had hurled themselves upon the rear of their own regiments, and helped to destroy them even to the last man. In the evening Kasziatowski saw the prisoners and was present at the death of young Pototsky, whose throat was pierced by an arrow. He lived only a few hours after the battle and died in Stephen Charnetsky's arms. Tell my father," whispered the young castellan in his dying moments, tell my father that I, as a knight, he could say no more. His soul left his body and flew to heaven. It was long before Kasziatowski forgot that pale face and those blue eyes directed to heaven in the moment of death. He made this vow over the cold corpse that if God gave him back his freedom he would wash away the insult of captivity and revenge the death of his friend in streams of blood. But not a tear flowed down his stern face, for he was a knight of iron, celebrated for his brave deeds and uncrushed by any misfortune. He fulfilled his vow. He did not give way to despair, but consoled Kasziatowski, who suffered torture at the defeat and ignominy of the Commonwealth. The Commonwealth has suffered many defeats, said Charnetsky, but she has an irresistible strength in herself. No power hitherto has broken her and the insurrection of the peasants, which God himself will punish, will not break her, for they are opposing themselves to his will when they rise against their superiors. And the defeat? It is sad, certainly, but who has suffered this defeat? The Hetmans? The King's army? No. For the desertion and treachery of Shechchowsky, the division which Pototsky commanded could only be looked upon as a vanguard. The rebellion will undoubtedly spread over the whole Ukraine, for the peasants there are insolent and ready for war, but this rebellion is not the first. The Hetmans and Prince Jeremy, whose power has hitherto remained untouched, will crush it. The greater the strength with which it breaks forth, the longer it will slumber once it is crushed, perhaps forever. They must indeed be of little faith and weak hearts who could believe that any Cossack leader in company with one Tartar, Merza, could really threaten a mighty people. It would go hard with the commonwealth if an ordinary uprising of the peasantry should decide her fate and her right to exist. Truly, we undertook this war in a spirit of contempt, concluded Charnetsky, and although our vanguard is annihilated, I believe that it is not with the sword that the Hetmans will suppress it, nor with weapons, but with the lash. And as he thus spoke, it was not as if a prisoner were speaking, or a soldier who had been conquered, but a proud Hetman who is confident of victory on the following day. This greatness of soul and his firm faith in the commonwealth fell like balm upon the wounds of the lieutenant. He saw Mernitsky's might so close, so near, that it blinded him a little, and all the more because, up to this time, the results had been favorable to him. But Charnetsky must be right. The fighting strength of the Hetmans was still untouched, and behind them was the whole power of the commonwealth, and therefore the power of right and of God's will. The lieutenant went away consequently with his soul strengthened and cheerful, and as he went, he asked Charnetsky if he would not soon negotiate with Mernitsky for his freedom. I am Tuhay Bay's prisoner, said Stephen. I will pay him my ransom, but I will have nothing to do with that leader of the Cossacks. I would send him to the gallows. The car, who had arranged this meeting between the prisoners and Chachetsky, when leading him back to the wagon, also tried to comfort him on the way. They did not have any difficulty with Young Pototsky, he said, but they will have trouble with the Hetmans. The work is only begun, and what the end will be, God only knows. Yes, the Cossacks and the Tartars have taken a quantity of Polish property, but to take and to keep out two different things, and you, child, do not worry, do not despair, you will gain your freedom, you will return to your own people, and the old man will mourn for you. It is hard in one's old age to be all alone in the world. It will be more difficult with the Hetmans, ah, more difficult. In fact, this victory, although it was a brilliant one, did not in any way decide the struggle in Mernitsky's favor. It might indeed tell against him, for it was easy to foresee that the Grand Hetman, to avenge the death of his son, would proceed with a special ferocity against the Zaporosians, and would leave nothing undone to annihilate them once and for all. The Grand Hetman had a certain grudge against Prince Yeremi, which, although it was concealed by politeness, nevertheless came to the surface on various occasions. Mernitsky knew this well, and also judged that Pan Krakowsky would now lay aside this grudge, and reach forth the hand of fellowship to the Prince, in order to assure himself of the assistance of the celebrated warrior and his mighty army. And with the united forces under such a leader as the Prince, Mernitsky dared not measure himself, for as yet he had not sufficient confidence in himself. He resolved therefore to hasten, at the same time as the news of the defeat should reach the Hetman, to cross the Zoltovoda into the Ukraine and attack the Hetman before the Prince could come to his assistance. He allowed his forces therefore no rest, and the morning following the battle they were already on the march, he made his preparations as quickly as if he were pursuing the Hetman. It seemed as if a deluge was flooding the steppes and were hurrying forward, and gathering all the waters in its course. They passed forests, woods, hills, without halting they crossed the rivers. The fighting power of the Cossacks was increased on their journey, for new crowds of peasants who had fled from the Ukraine joined themselves to their ranks. The peasants also brought news of the Hetmans, but they contradicted one another. Some said that the Prince was already on the other side of the Nipper, others maintained that he had already joined the royal forces, but all agreed that the Ukraine was in flames. The peasants were not only fleeing to Mernitsky in the wild lands, but they also set fire to villages and towns, attacked their masters, and armed themselves generally. The King's army had been fighting for two weeks. Stéblève was taken, near Derenhof a bloody battle had been fought. The Cossacks from the towns had, in several places, already joined the side of the blacks and were waiting everywhere to enlist. Mernitsky had counted on all this and he hastened all the more. Finally he stood on the threshold. Chagrion opened her gates to him. The Cossack garrison at once joined his standard. Chaplinsky's house was stormed. A number of the nobility who had taken refuge in the town were slaughtered. Cries of joy, ringing of bells, and processions did not cease for a moment. The whole neighborhood was in flames. Everyone seized sides and pikes and united with the Zaporosians. The countless crowds of country people streamed into the camp from all directions. People and certain news had been brought that Prince Yeremi had offered his assistance to the Hetman but had not yet joined him. Mernitsky breathed more freely. He rode forward without delay and marched through with rebellion, slaughter, and fire on his way. This might be seen by the corpses and ashes on the road. He moved along like an avalanche crushing everything in his way. The land had become a desert after he had passed through it. He moved onward like an avenging angel, like the dragon in the legend. His steps pressed blood from the ground. His breath was a breath of flame. In Cherkass he halted with the main body of the army and sent forward the Tartars under Tuhe Bey and the wild Chivonos to attack the Hetmans at Korsun and they attacked them without delay. But they paid dearly for their rashness. Repulsed, decimated, almost annihilated, they were forced to retreat in disorderly flight. Mernitsky hastened to their assistance. On the way he received news that Shinyavsky had gone over with several regiments to the Hetmans who had left Korsun and gone on to Bogoslav. The news was true. Mernitsky took Korsun without any opposition and the wagons supplies in one word the entire camp and hurried after them along the Great Highway. It did not take long to overtake them as they had not gone far. At Krutobolka his advance guards came upon the first Polish encampment. It was not permitted to Skyshettsky to see this battle, for he remained in Korsun with the baggage. Zakhar brought him to the marketplace into Zaboschetsky's house. The blacks had already hanged its owner and placed a guard made up from the remnant of the camp of Mirgorod in front of it, for the mob plundered the houses continually and murdered everybody they suspected of being Poles. Through the broken windows Skyshettsky saw storms of drunken, bloodthirsty peasants with rolled up sleeves going from house to house, from cellar to cellar, peering in all corners and attics. From time to time a frightful noise announced that a nobleman, a Jew, a man or a woman had been found. They would drag the victim to the marketplace and rage around him with the most frightful fury. The mob fought with one another for portions of the corpse, smeared their faces with blood in wild delight and hung the still reeking entrails round their necks. The peasants seized little Jewish boys by their feet and tore them asunder amid the mad laughter of the crowd. They threw themselves also upon the houses that were guarded by sentries where distinguished prisoners were kept, who had been allowed to live because large ransoms were expected for them. But the Zaporosians or Tartars who were keeping watch repulsed the mob and knocked them on the head with pikes, bows, or with ox-eyed thongs. All this was going on before the house in which Skyshettersky was a prisoner. Zakhar commanded that the peasants should be beaten without mercy and the mere Gorodians obeyed the command with delight, for the Nizhavs accepted the assistance of the country people in time of war, but they despised them immeasurably more than they did the nobility. Were they not called the aristocratic Cossacks? Milnitsky himself had more than once given a considerable number of the country people to the Black Tartars that they might drive them into the Crimea and from thence to Turkey and Asia Minor and sell them. The mob raged, therefore, upon the marketplace and their madness rose to such a pitch that they finally began to kill each other. The day was declining. One whole side of the marketplace, the Greek church and the house of the priest, were set on fire. Fortunately, the wind blew the flames towards the country and prevented the spread of the fire, but the immense blaze lighted up the market as brightly as sunlight. It became unbearably warm and from the distance came the terrible thundering of cannon. The fight at Krutaboka was evidently growing more fierce. Our men must be getting quite warm over there, growled old Zakar. The Hitmans are not at play, and Bodotsky is an able soldier. Then he pointed through the window at the blacks. See! He said they are rioting now, but when Milnitsky is killed we will down even them. At this moment the sound of tramping horses was heard, and several dozens of foam-flecked horses with their riders plunged into the marketplace. Their faces were black from the powder, their clothing in disorder, and their heads bound up in rags showed that they had just returned from the fight. All those who believe in God save themselves! The Poles are slaying us! They cried with loud voices. Noise and confusion ensued. The crowd surged hither and thither, like the waves lashed by a storm. Suddenly a wild terror took possession of them. A disordered flight began, and as the streets were already choked with wagons and a portion of the marketplace was on fire, they knew not which way to turn. The blacks began to press on one another, to scream, to fight, and to howl for mercy, although the enemy was still at a distance. When the lieutenant heard what was happening he became wild with joy, ran up and down the room as if he were crazy, beat his breast with both hands, with all his might, and cried, I knew that this would happen, I knew it as sure as I live! Now they have to do with the Hetmans, now with the whole common wealth. The hour of justizement has come. What is that? Again was heard the sound of trampling horses, and this time some hundred horsemen, mostly Tartars, appeared on the marketplace. They had evidently fled blindly. The mob got in their road, they plunged into the mob, rode madly over them, beat them, hunted them, slashed them out of the way with their swords, and dashed forward with their horses on to the highway that led to Tcherkas. They are flying like the storm wind, said Zakhar. The words had hardly been spoken when a second division came by, and a third, the flight seemed to be general, the sentries before the houses began to become impatient and also showed a desire to run away. Zakhar dashed through the porch. Halt! He cried to his mere Garodians. The smoke, the heat, the confusion, the trampling of horses, the noise of the fire, the howling of the mob, all blended together in the glow of the flames in a hellish spectacle on which the Lieutenant looked from his window. What a rout it must have been! What a rout! He cried to Zakhar, without considering that Zakhar could not share his joy. Then another division of fugitives shot by like lightning. The thundering of cannons shook the foundations of the houses of Corson. Suddenly a dreadful voice close to the house began to cry, Save yourselves! Mial is slain! Shachovsky is slain! To Hebe is slain! Upon the marketplace it seemed as if it might be the end of the world. Men plunged madly into the flames. The Lieutenant sank on his knees and lifted his hands to heaven. Almighty God! Great and just God! Honour be to thee in the height! Zakhar interrupted this prayer by springing into the room. O child! He cried, gasping for breath. Come out and promise pardon to the Mirko-Rodians, for they want to run away, and if they fly the blacks will dash into the house. Shachetovsky went on the balcony. The Mirko-Rodians were pacing uneasily up and down, and showed an unmistakable wish to leave their watch, and to hasten to the highway which led to Cherkass. Terror had seized everyone in the town. Now and then crowds of fugitives came by, as if on wings from Crutabalka. All fled in the greatest confusion, peasants, charters, Cossacks of the towns, and Zaporosians. And yet Mianitsky must still be making resistance. The battle could not be decided, for the cannon thundered with redoubled might. Shachetovsky addressed the Mirko-Rodians. As you, he began with a loud voice, have faithfully guarded my person. You need not save yourselves by flight. I assure you of my protection, and favour with the Hetman. The Mirko-Rodians uncovered their heads to the last man. Shachetovsky, however, placed his hands on his hips and looked proudly at them, and across the market place, which had become more and more deserted. What a turn of fate! Shachetovsky not long before, a prisoner who was dragged along with the Cossack troops, now stood among that bold Cossack crowd like a master among his subjects, like a nobleman among the common people, like a curacere among camp followers. He, the prisoner, now promised mercy, and heads were uncovered at sight of him, and humble voices cried in a tone of gloomy terror and submission, Of mercy, sir, as I have said so will it be. His promise was indeed safe as regards to Hetman to whom he was well known, for he had frequently taken him letters from Prince Yereme, and knew how to win his favour. He stood there, his hands on his hips, and joy beamed on his countenance that was lighted up by the glow of the fire. Thus the war is at an end, thus the wave has broken on the threshold, he thought. Jonetsky was right. The power of the Commonwealth is impregnable. Her might cannot be shaken. At these thoughts his breast filled with pride, but it was not the unworthy pride which arose from a satisfied thirst for vengeance, from the humbling of his enemies, nor from the restoration of his freedom which he hoped for before long, and not because people uncovered their heads before him, though he was proud to think he was a son of this victorious Commonwealth, of this mighty power at whose gates all wickedness, all assault, all treachery was brought to naught and shattered as are the powers of hell at the gate of heaven. He was proud as a noble patriot that he had been strengthened when in doubt and had not been deceived in his faith, vengeance he no longer desired. She crushes like a queen, she forgives like a mother, he thought. Meanwhile the sound of cannon was changed into an uninterrupted thunder. Again the noise of tramping horses was heard in the deserted streets. A Cossack riding bareback dashed like lightning into the market place, bareheaded in his shirt sleeves, and with battered, bleeding face. He checked his steed, sprang to the ground, spread out his hands, opened his mouth to take a deep breath, and began to shout, Nell is beating the poles, the great lords are all killed, the Hitmans, the colonels, the knights, and the cavaliers. No sooner had he spoken than he reeled and fell to the ground, the mere Ghorodians hastened to his assistance. Color and pallor alternated in Skyshetto's ski's face. What does he say? he asked feverishly of Zakhar. What has happened? It cannot be! By the living God it cannot be! All was still, only the flames hissed across from the opposite side of the market place. Sheaves of sparks flew, and gutted houses fell together with a crash. Fresh riders appeared. The poles are beaten, beaten! A division of Tartars followed them. They rode slowly, for they were surrounding some men on foot, evidently prisoners. Skyshetto's ski could not believe his eyes. He recognized in the prisoners the uniform of the Hitman of the Hussars. He clasped his hands and repeated in a strange horse voice. It cannot be! It cannot be! Still was heard the thunder of Canon. The fight was not over, but in all the streets that the fire had not reached, swarms of Zapperosians and Tartars were pouring. Their faces were black, they breathed hard, but they sang songs as if they were intoxicated. Thus do soldiers return after victory. The Lieutenant grew as pale as a corpse. It cannot be! He repeated hoarsely. It cannot be! The Commonwealth! A new object attracted his attention. Chachovsky's Seminov's came along, bearing a number of flags. They came riding into the middle of the market place and threw them on the ground. Alas! Alas! They were Polish flags. The thunder of Canon grew fainter in the distance. The clatter of approaching wagons was heard. First came a high Cossack Tolega, then came a number of others, all surrounded by Cossacks of the Pashkov Kurzin, wearing yellow caps. They passed close before the house where stood the Meregorodians. Chachovsky placed his hand to his forehead, for the glow of the fire blinded him, and looked closely at the forms of the prisoners who sat in the first carriage. Suddenly he stepped back, threw up his arms like a man whose breast is pierced by an arrow, and from his mouth came a frightful, unearthly cry. Jesus Maria! It is the headmines! And he sank into Zakhar's arms, a mist covered his eyes. His face became set and cold as death. Shortly after that, three horsemen at the head of innumerable regiments rode into the market place of Korsun. The man in the middle, dressed in red, sat upon a white horse, his hand on the gold field-martial's baton at his side, and looked proudly before him like a king. It was Miannitsky at either side of him rode to Hebe and Chachovsky. The Commonwealth lay in dust and blood at the feet of the Cossacks.