 Book 1, Chapter 1 of With Fire and Sword, A Tale of the Past. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by David Leeson. With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel Binyon, Book 1, Chapter 1. It was a remarkable year, the year 1647, in which various portents in the heavens and on the earth foretold calamities and unusual occurrences. The chroniclers of those days mentioned the fact that in the spring the locusts swarmed in unprecedented numbers from the wild lands and destroyed crops and grass, and this of itself was a prediction of a tartar incursion. In the summer a total eclipse of the sun occurred, and shortly afterward a comet appeared in the sky. In Warsaw there was even a grave mound in the clouds above the city, also a cross of fire. Thereupon was proclaimed a fast, with giving of alms, for some people affirmed that a plague was to fall upon the land and destroy the human race. At length the winter came, so mild a winter that the eldest people had never witnessed one like it. In the southern districts the waters were not held by icy fetters, but swelled by the melting snow every morning they overflowed their basins and flooded the banks. There were copious rainfalls and the steps became like a vast slough. In the south the sun was so warm that, wonder of wonders, in the province of Brotslav and the wild lands, a green fleece covered the steps and expanse in mid-December. From the beehives there came a buzzing and humming, and the cattle were lowing in their enclosures. As the order of nature appeared to be changed, every one in Russia, in the expectation of unwanted occurrences, turned their anxious minds and eyes towards the wild lands, from which direction the danger seemed most threatening. Meantime nothing unusual occurred on the steps, and no battles nor encounters took place save those that are always occurring there, of which eagles, hawks, crows, and wild beasts are the only witnesses. For such was the nature of these lands, the last vestiges of civilized life disappeared as one went towards the south, not far from Chigrin in the direction of the Nipur, and from Uman in the direction of the Niester, and then a great distance as far as the coast lakes and the sea, up followed step between the two rivers as if framed by them. At the bend of the Nipur, in the niche beyond the rapids, Cossack life swarmed, but upon the steps themselves no one lived, and only on their borders were here and there patches which looked like islands in the midst of the sea. The country belonged in name to the Commonwealth, but it was a waste, and the Commonwealth permitted the Tartars to use it as a pasture land. As the Cossacks however frequently defended it, the pasture ground was often turned into a battlefield. How many battles were fought here, how many men were killed, has never been recorded. Eagles, hawks, and crows alone witnessed these scenes, and whoever heard after the cawing and flapping of wings, and saw the dense flocks of birds as they circled about one particular spot, knew that corpses and bones lay there unburied. In the long grass man hunted man, like wolves or antelopes. All might hunt who wished. The outlaw sought refuge in the wild steps, the shepherd completely armed guarded his flocks, the night errant sought adventures, robbers sought plunder, the Cossacks sought the Tartar, and the Tartars sought the Cossack. It happened sometimes that whole bands defended their flocks against an army of assailants. The step was at the same time both desert and peopled, quiet and threatening, peaceful yet full of danger, wild with the wilderness of desert lands and also savages. Occasionally a great war took place. Then the Tartar Chambouls, the Cossack regiments and the Polish of the Lockean banners would sweep over the plains like the waves of the sea. At night the howling of wolves responded to the neighing of horses. The beating of kettle drums and the blasts of trumpets resounded as far as the Lake of Ovid and on to the sea, and along the dark kushmen border a crowd surged like a great river. The frontiers of the Commonwealth from Kamenets to the Neeper were guarded by military posts and watchtowers, and one could easily know when the road had begun to swarm with people by the countless flocks of birds which, terrified at the Chambouls, flew towards the north. But when the Tartar came from the black forest and forded the Neeper from Valakia the birds followed him across the steps into the southern province. But this particular winter the birds did not migrate noisily to the Commonwealth, as was their want. It was quieter than usual on the steps. At the moment when our story opens the sun was just setting and its red glow illumined the whole desert region. On the northern border of the steps along the river Omelnik to its mouth the sharpest eye could not have detected a living being nor the slightest motion in the dark, dry, withered grass of the plains. The sun's bright disc was half below the horizon, the sky by degrees became darker and darker, and gloom gradually settled upon the steps. On the left bank of the river upon a tiny elevation that looked more like a grave mound than a hill were the ruins of a fortified military post that had been built by Teodorik Buczacki and afterwards destroyed by invaders the ruins cast a long shadow not far from them gleamed the waters of the river Omelnik that from its far distant source wound along to empty its waters into the Neeper. But the last gleam of light was gradually dying out from the earth and sky. From above the cry of the cranes alone was to be heard as they winged their way to the sea. No other sound broke the stillness. Night shrouded the desert and with its shadows came the hour when spectral visitors haunt the earth. At such times the nights on guard at the post related stories to one another of how at night in the wild lands the shades of those who had been killed and who had been snatched away in the midst of their sins would rise from their death sleep and dance in circles without hindrance from cross or church. And when at the hour of midnight the candles began to burn down prayers were offered up for the dead. It was said also that the ghosts of men on horseback scampered across the waist to overtake wayfarers wailing and pleading with them for a sign of the Holy Cross. And that among these were also vampires who hunted people with howlings. The practised ear could distinguish from afar the howling of the vampire from that of a wolf. Sometimes whole legions of ghosts appeared and came so near to the post that the sentries gave the alarm. This was the portent of a great war. The appearance of single ghosts boated no good but could not always be taken as an ill omen, for frequently a living person would appear before the traveller and disappear like a shadow, consequently it was easy to mistake him for a ghost. Night fell quickly over the region of the Omonique and it was not surprising that a ghost or a man should appear in the vicinity of the little military post. The moon rising from the other side of the neaper whitened the desert, the thistles, and the far steps with its light. At a distance on the steps other nocturnal beings appeared. Little clouds darkened the moon from time to time and forms gleamed out occasionally in the darkness and then were veiled by the shadows. At times they disappeared entirely and seemed to vanish in the darkness, slowly pushing onwards towards the elevation on which the first sentry was stationed. They crept quietly, carefully, and slowly, halting every now and then. There was something in their movements that inspired awe, as indeed did the whole step which was apparently so peaceful. From time to time a wind blew from the neaper with a wailing sound as it rustled the withered thistles which swayed back and forth and trembled as if in fear. At last the figures disappeared in the shadow of the ruins. In the pale light of the night only a horseman was seen keeping guard on the little hill. At last the rustling of the wind amid the thistles roused his attention. Moving towards the edge of the mound he peered attentively across the step. At this moment the wind became still, the rustling ceased, and there was perfect silence. Suddenly a shrill whistle was heard. Discordant voices began to shout in confusion, Allah! Allah! Jesus Christ! Help! Murder! The report of firearms was heard. Red flashes leaped in the darkness. The tramp of horses' hoofs was mingled with the clash of steel. Fresh horsemen appeared as if they had sprung up from the ground of the step. It seemed as if a storm had suddenly swept over the still and evil boating wilderness. Then the groans of men were heard amid the terrible uproar. At length all was quiet. The fight was over. A scene had just been enacted that was a matter of common occurrence in the wild lands. The horsemen gathered on the height, one of them dismounted, and looked closely at some object on the ground. Then was heard through the darkness a powerful voice of command. Allah! There! Strike a light! Presently sparks flew, and a flame sprang up from the dry reeds and chips which travelers across the wild lands always carry with them. Then a man stuck his pole with the fire-pot in the earth, and the bright light made clear the group of men beneath who were bending over a form that lay motionless on the ground. The men were soldiers, dressed in the red court uniform with wolf-skin shackles on their heads. One of them mounted on a powerful horse appeared to be the leader. Dismounting and approaching the prostrate figure, he asked, What do you think, Sergeant? Does he live or not? He lives, Commander, but the death-rattle is in his throat. A noose strangled him. What is he? Not a tartar, but a man of rank. God be praised! Saying this, the commander looked more closely at the dying man. He looks like a hetman, he said. The horse he was riding is of the best tartar breed. There's not a finer one in the con's stables, replied the Sergeant. Look! There they are holding it! The commander looked up and his face brightened. Close by where he stood two privates held a remarkably fine horse, which with ears pricked up and nostrils distended, stretched his neck forward and gazed at his master with terrified eyes. But the horse, Commander, will be ours, asked the Sergeant. Why you dog-worshipper, would you take a Christian's horse from him on the steps? But this is booty! Further conversation was here interrupted by a loud rattle from the throat of the strangling man. Poor Gorzalka down his throat, said the commander, unbuckle his belt. Do we camp here to-night? Yes, unsettle the horses and light the campfire. The soldiers set briskly to work. Some of them began to rub the prostrate man to bring him back to life, others gathered reeds for the fire, others spread camel and bearskins on the ground to serve as couches. The commander troubled himself no further about the strangling man, but loosened his belt and stretched himself out upon a cloak near the fire. He was a young man, slender, sunburned, very handsome, with delicate features and a large aquiline nose. His eyes had a somewhat overbearing and defiant expression, but his face gave the impression of honesty. A rather heavy mustache and a beard whose luxuriant growth proved that it had long been neglected added importance to his years. In the meantime two servants were busy preparing supper. They laid an already prepared quarter of mutton on the fire. Then they took from the horses several busterds that had been shot during the day, some partridges and an antelope. A servant took charge of the last and began to skin it. The wood fire blazed up and threw a great circle of light across the plain. The choked man began slowly to come back to life. After a time he opened his bloodshot eyes and gazed about among the group of strangers, examining their features. Then he attempted to rise. The soldier who had previously conversed with the commander placed his hands under the man's arms and lifted him up, another put in his hand a halberd upon which the stranger supported himself with all his strength. At last, painfully and with a choking voice, he managed to utter his first word. What a... They gave him gorzolka and he drank it greedily. It evidently did him no good, for when they took the flask away from him he asked in a perfectly clear voice, in whose hands am I? The commander got up and approached him, in the hands of those who rescued you. So you caught me with a lasso. What do you mean? We wield the sword, not the lasso. You wrong good soldiers with your suspicion. You were entrapped by some scoundrels who pretended to be tartars, and if you wish to see them there they lie, slaughtered like sheep. Then the commander pointed towards the dark mass of bodies that lay at the foot of the hill. Then the unknown said, Now permit me to rest. They placed a saddle-blanket of soft felt under him, and he lay upon it still and quiet. He was a man in the prime of life, of medium stature, broad shouldered, of almost gigantic frame and expressive features. His head was massive, his complexion was swarthy and very sunburnt, his eyes were black and slightly oblique like those of a tartar, and his twisted mustache broadened at the ends into thick tufts, his strong face betokened pride and daring, it was both attractive and repulsive, possessing the dignity of a hetman with tartar cunning, kindness, and ferocity combined. After he had rested for a time on the saddle-blanket, he rose, and to the great surprise of all, instead of expressing his thanks, he walked over and looked at the corpses. The course brute, growled the commander. The stranger looked closely into each face and nodded his head as a man might who had guessed all, then he turned slowly back towards the commander, feeling his sides as if looking for his belt into which he evidently wished to thrust his hands. This air of importance in a man who had but lately been saved from the halter displeased the young commander, who remarked not without bitterness, one would ask whether you were looking for friends among those rascals, or whether perhaps you wished to say a prayer for their souls. They are unknown to me, he answered, with dignity. You are both right and wrong. You are right in thinking I was looking for friends, and you are wrong in thinking them rascals, for they are the servants of a certain nobleman who is my neighbor. So you and your neighbor evidently do not drink at the same spring. A peculiar smile flitted across the thin lips of the stranger. You are mistaken again, he muttered through his teeth. Then shortly he spoke out. But pardon me, sir, for not having sooner expressed my thanks for the assistance and kind care that has saved me from a sudden death. Your valour has offset my carelessness, for I had become separated from my people, but my gratitude is in proportion to your readiness in coming to my assistance. Then he extended his hand. But the hotty young commander did not rise or respond. He said, I should first like to know if I am talking to a nobleman, for even if I did doubt the fact, it does not become me to accept thanks from one whose name I do not know. I see that you have the true nightly sense of honour, and you are right. I should have prefaced my discourse and my thanks with my name. I am Zinobius Abdunk, and quarter the arms of Abdunk with a cross. I am a nobleman of the province of Kiev, a landed proprietor, and a colonel of the Cossack Regiment of Prince Dominik Zaslavsky, and I am Jan Skyshetsky, lieutenant of the curaseurs of his excellency, Prince Jeremy Vishnovetsky. You serve under a celebrated warrior, except my thanks and hand. The commander hesitated no longer. The heavy cavalry was accustomed, it is true, to look down on the rest of the army, but Skyshetsky was on the steps of the wildlands where less attention was paid to the difference in rank. Besides, he was dealing with a colonel, of which fact he was soon convinced by the evidence of his own eyes, for when his men brought back Pan Abdunk's belt and sabre, which they had taken from him while they were endeavoring to restore him to consciousness, they handed him at the same time a short truncheon with a hilt of bone and a head made of horn, such as Cossack colonels always carry. Besides this, colonel Abdunk's clothing was of fine material, and his conversation gave evidence of a keen intelligence and a knowledge of the world. Commander Skyshetsky now invited Abdunk to join the company. The odor of the roast meat was wafted across from the wood fire and tickled the pallets and the nostrils of the hungry men. An attendant took the roast from the fire, and putting it in an earthen dish served them. They began to eat, and when a huge sack made of goat skin and filled with Moldavian wine was added to the feast, the conversation waxed lively. Here's to our safe return home, said Skyshetsky. So you are on your way home, from Wints, if I may ask, said Abdunk. A long way from here, from the Crimea. And what were you doing there? Were you a hostage? No indeed, colonel, I was with the Khan himself. Abdunk's curiosity was aroused. Oh, indeed, you were in fine company. On what mission did you go to see the Khan? I went with a letter from his Excellency Prince Yorami. He sent you, then. What did his Excellency see the prince right about to the Khan? The commander looked his companion sharply in the face. Colonel, he said, you looked closely into the faces of the knaves who caught you with a lasso. That was your affair. But what the prince wrote to the Khan is neither your business nor mine, but their own. At first, answered Abdunk craftily, I wondered that the prince should choose so young a man as an ambassador to the Khan, but I am no longer astonished, for I see that all the young in years you are old in experience and judgment. The commander swallowed the flattering words and curling the ends of his moustache, said, and now tell me what you are doing on the Omenik, and how you happened to be here alone. I am not alone. I left my men behind. I am on my way to Kudak to see Pankrodzitsky, who is in command there, and to whom Hetman W gave me letters. And why do you not go by water? Because I am obeying orders which I do not see fit to disobey. It is strange that the Hetman should have given such an order, and that you should have fallen into such straits. Had you gone by water, such a thing could not have happened. My good, sir, the steps are quiet just now. I have known them here to fore, and what has happened to me is the result of the wickedness and envy of men. And whom do you suspect? It is a long story. An evil neighbor, commander, has ruined my property, has driven me from my land, has killed my son, and as you have seen has attempted my life. And you carry no sabre at your side. Over Abduck's powerful face there passed a look of hatred, his eyes glared, and he said slowly and emphatically, surely I carry one, and with God's help I will seek no other assistance against my enemies. The commander was about to speak, but suddenly a sound of horses hoofs was heard on the plain, or rather the hurried pattering of hoofs upon the slippery earth. Then there appeared one of the commander's men who was keeping watch, with word that a company of horse was approaching. These must be my men, said Abduck, whom I left behind beyond Tasminah, not suspecting treachery I had promised to wait them here. In a little while a company of horsemen drew up in a semi-circle around the hill. By the light of the fire the horse's heads could be distinguished with dilated nostrils snorting from fatigue, and above them the riders, who, bending over, screened their faces with their hands from the fire, and peered eagerly towards the light. �Hello, men, who are you?� shouted Abduck. �Servants of God!� replied voices from the darkness. �Yes, these are my Cossacks,� exclaimed Abduck, turning to the commander. �Come here, come here!� Some of the men sprang from their horses and approached the fire. �We have made haste. Indeed we have, little father. What happened to you?� I was detained. �Fedga, the traitor, was informed of my coming and waited here with others. He must have ridden at breakneck speed. They tried to strangle me with a noose. �Moseful God! And who is that pole at your side?� Then they looked threateningly at Kishatosky and his companions. �These are good friends,� said Abduck. �God be thanked I am safe and well. We must proceed on our way at once.� �God be praised. We are ready.� The late arrivals began to warm their hands over the fire, for the night, though fine, was cold. There were about forty robust and well-armed men. They did not look like Cossack regulars, which surprised Kishatosky, especially as there was such a large company of them. All this looked very suspicious to the commander. If Hetman W. had really sent Abduck to Kudak, he would have given him a company of regulars. And again, why should he have ordered him to make the journey from Chigrin across the steppes instead of by water? The fact that he would have to forward all the rivers that flow through the plains to empty into the Nipur would only delay him, and it looked rather as if Abduck were trying to avoid going to Kudak. Moreover, the young commander was astonished at Abduck's personality. He remarked at once that the Cossacks, who were usually on familiar terms with their carnales, treated him with unusual respect as if he were a real Hetman. He must therefore be a knight of great importance, which appeared all the more strange to Kishatosky, as he knew the Ukraine on both sides of the Nipur and had never heard of an Abduck who was especially celebrated. He noticed also something peculiar in the features of this man, a hidden power which showed in his face at times, like the gleam from the flame of a fire, a will of iron which seemed to indicate that this man would yield to no other man nor to any circumstance. Prince Yeremi had just such willpower expressed in his features, but what was inborn in the prince by virtue of his high lineage and his position might well cause remark when found in a man of no known name, who had lost his way in the desert steppes, Kishatosky pondered long and deeply. At first it occurred to him that Abduck might be a powerful outlaw who had sought to escape the law by fleeing to the steppes. Then again he thought that he might be the captain of a band of robbers, but this did not seem probable. The apparel and speech of the man indicated some other position in life. The commander did not know what to make of it. He kept on guard while Abduck offered his horse to be led forward. Commander, the latter said, time is everything for a man on the road. Allow me to thank you once more for having rescued me. May God grant that I can repay you some day with equal service. I did not know whom I was rescuing, therefore I deserve no thanks. Thus speaks your modesty which is equaled only by your courage, except this ring. The commander frowned, took a step backward and scanned Abduck closely. The latter, however, continued with an almost paternal earnestness in his voice and bearing. See here I am not giving you the ring for its intrinsic value, but for its other virtues. While still a youth I was held captive by the Musselmans, and I received this ring from a pilgrim who was just returning from the Holy Land. In this little eye is contained dust from the Holy Sepulchre. Such a gift should not be spurned though it come from the hand of an outlaw. You are a young man and a soldier, and if the gray beard who is tottering to the grave does not even know what awaits him before his last hour, how much less the youth who has a long life before him and who must meet with many on adventure, this ring will guard and protect you from calamity when the day of judgment comes, and I say to you that this day is already beginning to dawn across the wild lands. He paused. There was silence for a moment saved for the crackling of the flames and the snorting of the horses. From out the distant rushes came the mournful howls of the wolves. Suddenly Abduck repeated as if speaking to himself, the day of judgment is already dawning across the wild lands, and when it comes the world will wonder. The commander took the ring mechanically, so astonished was he at the words of this remarkable man. Abduck, however, stared fixedly into the darkness of the steppe. Then he turned slowly and mounted his horse. His followers were already at the foot of the hill. To the road! To the road! Farewell, dear soldier, said he to the commander. The times are such that one brother dares not trust another, and that is the reason why you have not discovered the identity of the man you rescued, for I did not tell you my name. Then you are not Abduck? That is my coat of arms. And your name? Bogdan Zinovy Mianitsky. Then he rode down the hill, and his men followed him. Speedily they were hidden from view by the night and the mist, but when they had ridden some distance the wind bore back the words of a Cossack song. O set us free, Lord, us wretched slaves from hard bondage, from out the Moslem's bondage dread, into the bright mourning, by still waters into the joyful land, into the Christian's world, hear our prayers, O Lord, the prayers of the unhappy we poor slaves. The voices gradually died away, and at last were lost in the wind that whistled among the reeds. End of Book One, Chapter One. Book One, Chapter Two of With Fire and Sword, by Henrik Sinkiewicz, translated by Samuel A. Binyon. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The next morning, quite early, Skashtosky reached Chigrin and put up in the house of Prince Yerimi, where he expected to stay for some time in order to rest his men and horses after the long journey from the Crimea. They had been forced to make this journey by land, owing to the rise of the Nipper, and to its unusually strong current, for no boat could make headway against the stream this winter. Skashtosky himself was glad to rest a while, and then he went to see the former commissary of the Commonwealth, Panthatsvilikovsky, a brave soldier, who, although not in the service of the Prince, was his trusty friend. The commander desired to ask him if he had any communications from Lubny. The Prince had sent no special instructions, but had only sent word that Skashtosky, if the Khan's answer were favourable, should proceed slowly on his journey, so as to spare the horses and men. The Prince's business with the Khan was as follows. It concerned the punishment of some Tartar Murtzas who had invaded his territory beyond the Nipper, and whom he had already severely punished. The Khan had given a favourable reply to the Prince's letter. He had promised to send a special embassy in April to punish the disobedient, and in order to keep on good terms with such a renowned warrior, he had sent the Prince, by Skashtosky, a thoroughbred horse and a sable cap. Skashtosky, who had fulfilled his mission well, a mission that in itself was a proof of the high esteem in which he was held by the Prince, was delighted to be allowed to stop in Chigrin, instead of having to hurry homeward, but the old Zatzvilikovsky was very much worried over certain things that had been taking place in Chigrin for some time past. They went together, therefore, to Dopula, of Alakian, who kept a wine-shop in the town. Here they found, although it was quite early, a crowd of nobles. It was a market day, and on this particular day a drove of cattle had been driven into Chigrin which were on their way to the camp of the Royal Army, and this had brought a crowd of people to the place. The nobles were want to gather in the marketplace in the so-called bell-corner near Dopula's. Here were assembled tenants of Konyatspolsky, officials of Chigrin, proprietors of neighboring estates, those that rented and those that owned them, independent nobles, land stewards, a few Cossack elders, and many more of lower rank, some living on their own property, and some on that of others. These various groups all sat upon benches ranged about oaken tables conversing in loud tones. The subject that seemed to interest them all was the flight of Bogdan Zenovih Mianitsky. This was the most important event that had happened in town. Skyshettsky took his place in a corner with Zatsvilikovsky, and began to inquire of him what kind of phoenix this Bogdan Zenovih Mianitsky was, of whom everyone was speaking. Don't you know, answered the old soldier, he is the secretary of the Zaporizion Army, the heir of Subota. And he added softly, My friend, we have long known each other. We were companions in arms in many a battle in which he distinguished himself, especially under Setsora. Such an accomplished soldier of wide military experience is not to be found in the whole Commonwealth. One dare not speak it aloud, but he has the head of a Hetman, a man of gigantic intellect and great understanding. The Cossacks obey him better than they do their own Koshavs and Atomans, a man not without his good qualities, but proud, restless, and when he hates, he can be terrible. What has happened to force him to flee from Chagrin? Disputes with the star of Tschaplinsky, but these were trifles. It is nothing unusual for one noble to break up another's domestic arrangements merely out of spite. He is not the only one who has done it, and the Starotza is not the only one who has suffered. They say that he seduced a wife of the Starotza. The Starotza had carried off his sweetheart and married her, and in revenge Bogdanzenovich Mernitsky, they say, seduced her. And this is probably true for, as a rule, women are giddy. But these are only pretenses behind which more serious matters lie hidden. See, this is how it was. In Cherkass there lived an old Cossack colonel, Barabash, a friend of mine. He had a privilege and writings from the king, which it was rumored incited the Cossacks to rebel against the nobility. But as he is a benevolent good man, he kept them to himself and said nothing about them. Mernitsky invited Barabash to dinner at his house here in Chagrin, and during his absence he sent some of his people to Barabash's country seat, who took his letters and documents from his wife, and went off with them. May God forbid that they should stir up another such rebellion as that of Ostronitsa, for I repeat, he is a terrible man, and has disappeared, and is hiding, God only knows where. Then Skashetovsky answered, He is a fox. He has led me on slippery ground. He told me that he was a Cossack colonel under Prince Zaslavsky. I found him last night in the steps and rescued him from the halter. That's Filikovsky put both hands to his head. In God's name, what do you say? That cannot be. It is not only possible it is a fact. He told me that he was a colonel under Prince Zaslavsky, and that he was sent on a mission by the great Hetbontupankroditsky at Kudak. But I did not believe him, as he did not travel by water, but sneaked through the steps. Oh, he is crafty. Like Ulysses, where did you meet him? Beside the Omelnik on the right bank of the Neeper. He was apparently riding toward Siech. He wanted to avoid Kudak. Now I understand. Were there many with him? About forty, but they came too late. If my men had not been on the spot, the Starotsa's people would have strangled him. Stop! This is a serious matter. The servants of the Starotsa, did you say? So he informed me. How could the Starotsa know where to find him when all the people in the town are racking their brains to discover where he is hiding? I am sure I don't know. Perhaps Mianitsky was lying, and pretended that the common robbers were servants of the Starotsa in order to make out a better case. Impossible! But it is a curious affair. You know that we have letters from the Hetbont commanding us to arrest Mianitsky and to detain him in prison. There the commander could reply a noble stalked into the room with a great clatter. He banged the door several times, looked boldly into the room, and called out, My regards, gentlemen! He was a man of forty years, of short stature, with an overbearing look, and eyes that stood out like plums in his head and were never still, apparently a very excitable, nervous, easily provoked man. Regards, gentlemen! he repeated, more loudly and with greater emphasis as no one answered him. Regards, regards! was echoed by several voices. It was Pan Chaplinsky, Vice Starotsa of Chigrin, the trusted servant of the young standard-bearer Konyac Poltsky. He was not popular in Chigrin, for he was a brawler and a bully and revengeful, but he had considerable influence, so it was politic to be on good terms with him. Zatsvilikovsky was the only one whom he respected and esteemed, as indeed did everyone because of his dignity, virtue, and valor. As soon as he spied him, Chaplinsky walked across the room to where he sat, and bowing somewhat stiffly to Skyshettsky, he sat down beside him with his glass and mead. Starotsa! said Zatsvilikovsky, do you know what has become of Melnitsky? He has been hanged, as sure as my name is Chaplinsky, and if he is not hanged yet, he certainly will be. Now that he has the Hetman's letters, I only wish that I could get my hands upon him. With these words he brought his clenched fist down upon the table with such force that the glasses splashed over. Don't forget the wine, good sir, said Skyshettsky. Zatsvilikovsky interrupted him. How can you hope to catch him? He has fled, and not a soul knows where he is hiding. No one knows. I know, as sure as my name is Chaplinsky. You know Kvedka? Well, Kvedka is in his service, but he is in mine also. He will turn Judas to Melnitsky. There is much to tell. Kvedka has become intimate with Melnitsky's men. He is a shrewd fellow. He knows every move, and he has undertaken to bring me Melnitsky dead or alive, and he has gone across the steps ahead of him, and knows where he expects to stop, and will await him there. Yes, he is a damned rascal. Here he banged the table again. Don't spill the wine, repeated Skyshettsky emphatically. He felt a strong antipathy for this vice-steroza from the first moment that he saw him. The noble colored blinked his bulging eyes, and looked insultingly at Skyshettsky. As he remarked, however, that he wore the colors of Vyshnyovetsky, he restrained himself. For although Konyatspotsky was at the time at enmity with the Prince Vyshnyovetsky, Chagrin was too near Lubny for it to be safe to insult the prince's colors. Then the prince had so picked his men that one would think twice before entering into a quarrel with one of them. So Kvedka has undertaken to bring Melnitsky to you, queried Zatvilikovsky. Yes, and he will bring him, as sure as I am Chaplinsky. And I say that he will not bring him. Melnitsky has eluded his would-be captors, and is on his way to Siech, and the governor of Krakow must be notified of the fact today. Melnitsky is not to be played with. In short, he has more brain, a stouter arm, and better luck than you who are far too hasty. Melnitsky has continued his journey uninjured, I repeat, and if you do not believe me, I will produce the man who saw him only yesterday, on the steps, and who bid him good-bye. That is impossible, impossible! cried Chaplinsky, clutching at his hair with one hand. Moreover, continued Zatvilikovsky, this cavalier with us rescued him himself, and cut down your servants for which however he is not guilty, in spite of letters from the Hetman, for he was on his way back from the Crimea on a special mission, and knew nothing of the letters. Coming upon a man, upon the steps who had been set upon by villains, he went to his assistance. I am telling you about Melnitsky's escape in good time, for he might hunt you up at your country-place, and that might not be an unmixed pleasure for you. Upon this he began to quarrel with him, and sputtered, "'Few to the devil with you!' Zatvilikovsky did not love Chaplinsky. Chaplinsky sprang from his seat speechless with rage, his face was purple, and his eyes seemed to be starting from his head. He stood thus before Skashtosky, and uttered disjointed sentences, "'How, what, you, in spite of the Hetman's letter, I will, I will!' Skashtosky did not stir. He merely leaned his elbow on the table, and stared at the stammering Chaplinsky as a hawk might look at a sparrow in a net. "'What do you hang on to me like a can on a dog's tail?' he inquired. "'I will take you to court! You, in spite of the letters, the Cossacks will!' He shouted so loudly that everyone in the room stopped talking to listen. The people present turned their attention to Chaplinsky. He was always seeking a quarrel, that was his nature. He made trouble with everyone he met, but that he should quarrel with Zatvilikovsky, the only man whom he respected, and with a soldier who wore Vishnovetsky's colors was incredible. "'Keep quiet!' said the old officer. "'This gentleman is my guest. I will, I will take you to court, to jail!' screamed Chaplinsky, caring for nobody. Skashtosky now stood up his full height, but did not draw his sabre. He grasped it, however, in the middle, and put the cross hilt tight under Chaplinsky's nose. "'Just smell that!' he said coolly. "'Damn you! I hear servants!' cried Chaplinsky, and tried to seize the hilt. But he was not quick enough to draw the sword. The young commander twisted him round, seized him by the collar with one hand, and by the trousers below the belt with the other, and in spite of his struggles lifted him bodily, and carried him across the room between the benches to the door, calling out, "'Brothers, make room for this horned beast, for he will hurt!' When he reached the door he pushed Chaplinsky against it, opened it, and then threw the vice staroza out into the street. Then he returned quietly, and sat down beside Zatsfilikovsky as before. An absolute silence reigned in the room for a few minutes. The strength which Skashtosky had displayed won the respect of the nobles present. In a little while, however, the whole room shook with laughter. "'Long live Vyshnyovetsky's man!' cried all. "'He has fainted, he has fainted, and is covered with blood!' cried others, who out of curiosity peeped through the door to see what Chaplinsky was going to do. His servants are lifting him up. Only a small part of the partisans of the vice staroza were silent, and as they had not courage to take his part they simply scowled at Skashtosky. "'To speak the truth to him causes this hound to snap at one's heels,' said Zatsfilikovsky. "'He is a ker, not a hound,' said a stout noble as he approached. He had a cataract in one eye, and a hole in his forehead, the size of a dollar through which the naked bone showed. "'He is a ker, not a true hound. Allow me,' said he, turning to Skashtosky, "'to offer you my regards. I am Zagloba. My ascultion is a star in the forehead, as anyone may easily tell by this hole, which was made by the bullet of a robber, when I was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to do penance for the sins of my youth. "'Give us peace,' said Zatsfilikovsky. "'Once before you told us that someone had struck you on the forehead with a glass at Radom.' "'A robber's bullet, as sure as I live, the Radom affair is another matter.' "'You may perhaps have made a vow to go to the Holy Land, but you have never been there, that is certain.' "'I did not reach there, for I received my crown of martyrdom at Gallots. If I lie, I am an arch-dog and no nobleman. Yes, and a dog that can bark. If I am a rogue, I will be an open one. My regards to you, Commander.' Meantime others drew near to make the acquaintance of Skashtosky, and to assure him of their friendship, as they did not like Chaplinsky, and were pleased to see him disgraced. It is strange and hardly credible at this day that the entire nobility in the neighborhood of Chigrin, as also the smaller landed proprietors and farmers, and even those serving the Konyatspoltskys, all knowing the enmity between Chaplinsky and Mianitsky, took the part of the latter. Mianitsky was known as a distinguished soldier, who had won well-earned laurels in many wars. It was also known that the King himself was on intimate terms with him, and prized his opinions very highly. The whole quarrel was looked upon as an ordinary contention between two nobles, such as happened by the Thousand, especially in Russian lands. They, therefore, sided with the one most popular, little dreaming of the terrible results that would follow. It was not until later that their hearts were filled with hatred against Mianitsky, as were also the hearts of the nobles and clergy of both rituals. Men stepped up to Skashtosky with glasses in their hand and said, Drink, brother! Drink with me! Drink with me also! Long live Vishnilvetsky! So young and already a lieutenant of the Prince! Long live Prince Yeremey, the Hetman of Hetmans! We will go with Prince Yeremey to the end of the world, against Turks and Tartars and to Constantinople! Long live our gracious Lord and King, Vladislav IV! The one who shouted the loudest was Panzagloba. He seemed ready to out-drink and out-talk a whole regiment. Sirs, he shouted so that the window-panes rattled, I have already sued the sultan on account of the assault made upon me in Galatz. Do not blow so much about yourself, you might get locked jaw. In what way, good sir? Quattur articuli judiciicastrencis stuprum incendium latrosinium et visarmata alienis idibis illata was not that visarmata? You clocked like a woodcock. I will go before the highest court. Oh, keep quiet! I will obtain judgment. I will show him upper rascal and then war, even within for me. Here's to your health, gentlemen. Skyshettsky broke out laughing with the others, for the wine had begun to take effect upon him. But the noble continued like a woodcock delighted with its own voice. By good chance his speech was interrupted by another noble, who approached and pulled him by the sleeve, and said with a singing Lithuanian accent, Introduce me also Panzerglober Tupanskyshettsky. Oh, certainly, with pleasure. Lieutenant, this is Panpol Sinoga. Put bepienta. Corrected the noble. It's all the same of the coat of arms of Zervi Pludri. Zervicaptur. Corrected the noble again. It's all the same from Sikisky. Dog's entrails. From Mishikysky, said the nobleman. It's all the same, Nesky, oh, whether I prefer mouse or dog in trails, but I am sure that I would not like to live in either, for to dwell therein is not easy, and to go out is not polite. Sir, he continued to Panzkyshettsky, pointing at the Lithuanian. For a week I have been drinking at the expense of this noble, who carries a sword at his belt as heavy as his money belt, and a money belt that is as heavy as his wit. But if I have ever drunk at the expense of a more original fellow than this, you may call me as big a fool as this man who pays for my wine. He is out with it now, cried laughingly the assembled nobles. But the Lithuanian did not get angry. He only waved his hand, smiled pleasantly, and answered, You should give us peace. It does not sound well. Sikishettsky looked with interest at the stranger, who in truth deserved the appellation of an original fellow. In the first place he was so tall that his head nearly struck the ceiling, and his extraordinary leanness made him appear still taller. His broad shoulders and senuous neck betokened great strength, but he was only skin and bone. His stomach had so sunk in beneath his chest that one might have thought he was starving, although he was comfortably dressed in a gray coat of Freeburg cloth, with tight sleeves and a pair of Swedish high boots which were just coming into fashion in Lithuania. A broad and well-wotted belt of elk skin for want of support fell to his hips, and from it hung a crusader's sword so long that it reached almost to the armpit of this gigantic man. But whoever the sword might scare would soon be reassured by the countenance of its possessor, a face as lean as the entire whole person adorned with drooping eyebrows and an equally drooping hemp-colored mustache, but with an honest, open expression, like that of a child. The drooping brows and mustache gave the face a distressed and sad, and at the same time a comical expression. He looked like a man whom people would take advantage of, but he pleased Skyshettovsky because of his honest face and his perfect, soldierly self-control. Lieutenant, said he, you are in the service of Prince Vishnirvetsky. At your service. The Lithuanian folded his hands as if in prayer and raised his eyes heavenward. Ah, what a warrior he is! What a knight! What a leader! God grant the commonwealth many such. Yes indeed. Is it possible for me to enter into his service? He would gladly receive you. At this point Zagloba joined in the conversation. The prince would then have two spits in his kitchen, one would be yourself and the other your sword, or he would employ you as a hangman and would hang the criminals round your neck, or he would use you as an executioner, or would give orders for the robbers to be hanged on you, or use you as a yardstick for measuring cloth. Sure, as a man and a Catholic, you are not ashamed to be as long as a serpent or a pagan lance? It is disgusting to hear it, said the Lithuanian patiently. May I ask your name, said Skyshettovsky, for when you spoke, Pan Zagloba interrupted us so with his shouting that I was really unable to catch it. Pod bepienta, polv synoga! interrupted Zagloba, Zervik captor of Mishikeshki. Now you have it straight, I drink his wine, but I'll be hanged if those are not infidel names. Is it long since you left Lithuania? asked the lieutenant. I have been in Chigrin just two weeks, when I heard through Pan Zatzfilikovsky that you were to pass through Chigrin, I waited in order to present my petition to the prince with your recommendation. May I ask you out of curiosity why you wear such an executioner's sword at your side? This is no executioner's sword, lieutenant. This is a crusader's sword. I carry it, because it is a trophy of war and an heirloom of our family. It did good service at Koenitz in Lithuanian hands, and that is why I wear it. But it is a frightful weapon and must be tremendously heavy. You must use both hands to it. It can be wielded with both hands or one. Let me look at it. The Lithuanian took the sword off and handed it to Skyshettsky, but Skyshettsky's hand gave way at its weight. He could neither handle it, nor strike a blow with it with one hand. He could swing it with both hands, but it was still very heavy. Skyshettsky felt a little ashamed, and turning to those present, he said, Now, gentlemen, which of you can describe a cross with this sword? We have all tried it, answered several voices, but the commissary Panzatz-Vilikovsky alone can lift it, and he cannot make a cross with it. And you, sir, said Skyshettsky, turning to the Lithuanian. The noble lifted the sword as if it were a slender cane, and whirled it about with the greatest ease, until the room was filled with a swishing sound and a light breeze swept over the faces of those who stood about. God be with you, said Skyshettsky. You may be sure of a place in the Prince's service. God knows how I desire it. The sword will not get rusty in his service. But how about your wits, said Zagloba? You cannot manage so well about them. Zatz-Vilikovsky now arose and got ready to leave the room with the lieutenant, when a man with snow-white hair entered the room, and seeing Zatz-Vilikovsky called out, Colonel, I have come here expressly to see you. It was Barabash, the Cossack Colonel. Let us go to my quarters, said Zatz-Vilikovsky. The room here is so full of smoke that one can hardly see. They passed out together, and Skyshettsky with them. As they crossed the threshold, Barabash asked, Is there any news of Melnitsky? He has fled to Sitch. This officer met him on the steps. Then he did not go by water. I sent a courier to arrest him at Kudak. But as it is, this was of no use. Then Barabash covered his eyes with his hands and repeated several times. I, Christ, save us! Christ, save us! What do you fear? Do you not know what he obtained from me through treachery? Do you know what it means if such documents are published in Sitch? Help us, O Christ! Unless the king makes war on the Muslims, this will be a spark in a powder magazine. Do you predict a rebellion? I do not predict one. I see one. And Melnitsky is a better man than Nalovaki and Laboda. Who will follow his lead? Who? All the Zaporosians, registered regiments, the townspeople, the peasants, the small landowners, and I know not who besides. Here Barabash pointed to the marketplace and to the people trading there. The whole square was packed with gray oxen, which were being driven to Korsun for the soldiers, and with the oxen were a great number of herdsmen, who spent their whole lives in the steppes and deserts, absolutely savage men, having no religion. Religionus Nullius, as Voyavoda Kaisel said, of any kind. They looked more like desperados than like shepherds, fearful and terrible, clothed in a variety of lockmans. Most of them were clad in sheepskin coats with hair upon the outside, which hung loosely from their shoulders, so that although it was wintertime, one could see the bare chest tanned by the winds of the steppes. They were all armed, but with the most diverse weapons. Some had bows and quivers slung across their backs, others bore muskets or squealers, as the Cossacks called them. Some carried tartar swords, others carried scythes, and still others had only a stick with a horse's jawbone fastened to one end of it. Among them mingled the no less savage, but better armed men from the niche, who were taking dried fish, game, and mutton tallow to sell in the camp. Farther on were ox-drivers with salt to sell, bee-hunters from the steppes and forests, bee-farmers with honey, settlers with pitch and tar, peasants with teems, Cossack regulars, tartars from yellow-grod, and God knows who besides. Loiterers and serumocks from the ends of the earth. The town was full of drunken men, who all had quarters in chigrin, and who indulged in carousels before they sought their beds. A huge fire had been built in the marketplace, and here and there a barrel of pitch was burning. On every side was noise and tumult. The piercing notes of the tartar fives, and the roll of drums mingled with the bellowing of the oxen, and the softer notes of lyres, to which blind minstrels sang the then popular song, O bright Falcon, my own true brother, Thou sourced so high, Thou seest so far. Mingled with the song sounded the wild shouts of Cossacks who were dancing the tropac in the marketplace, completely drunk, and smeared from head to foot with tar. Hoo-ha! Hoo-ha! It was all so wild and mad. Satsvilikovsky needed only a glance to convince him that Barabash was right, that it needed but the slightest breath to set free those unbridled elements only too ready to plunder, and accustomed to war with which the whole Ukraine was filled, and just behind those masses stood Siege and the Zaporosians, that had only recently been bridled and kept under according to Maslov's stave, but who were restlessly champing the bit, remembering their old prerogatives and hating commissaries, but representing an organized force, and this force had the sympathy of the unnumbered masses of the peasantry behind it, less patient of control here than in other portions of the commonwealth, because in their vicinity was Chertomelik, where lawlessness, murder, and robbery prevailed. The standard bearer, who was a Russian and a zealous advocate of Eastern rights, fell into sad reflections. He was an old man, and he well remembered the times of Nalevaika, Loboda, and Kremsky. He knew the Ukraine robber ways perhaps better than anyone in Russia, and at the same time he knew also Mianitsky, and knew that this man was worth twenty times as much as Loboda and Nalevaika. He appreciated, therefore, the danger implied by his flight to Sech, especially on account of the letters from the king of which Pan Barabash had spoken, which, as he said, were full of promises to the Cossacks, and invited them to rebel. Colonel of the Circassians, said he to Barabash, you ought to ride to Sech, to weaken Mianitsky's influence, and pacify the people. Ensign, answered Barabash, I will tell you this much, that at the earliest rumour of Mianitsky's flight with the documents, half of my Circassians followed him this night. My hour is past. The grave awaits me, not the Field Marshal's baton. In fact Barabash was a valiant soldier, but an old man, and without influence. Meantime they had arrived at Zatfilikovsky's quarters. The old officer had regained the composure that was natural to his gentle disposition, and as they sat down to half a part of mead, he said cheerfully, All these things are but trifles, if, as it is said, war against the Musselmans is preparing, and it certainly must be so, for although the Commonwealth does not desire war, and the diet has opposed him, the King can yet assert his will. This fire can be employed against the Turks, and in any event we have time upon our side. I will go myself to the Governor in Krakow, will inform him how matters stand, and will beg him, as he is nearest to us, to come to our aid with his forces. Whether I shall succeed, I know not. For though he is a brave Lord and a warrior, he is overconfident in himself and his army. You, Colonel, hold the Circassians in check, and you, Lieutenant, warn the Prince, when you reach Lubny to keep special watch on the siege. Should they begin operations, I repeat, we still have time. There are not many people in siege just now. They are out fishing and hunting, or in the villages round the Ukraine. Before they gather together, the waters of the Neeper may be considerably swollen. In addition to this, the name of the Prince is feared, and if they find out that he has his eye upon Chathomelik, they will probably keep quiet. I could, if it were necessary, start from Chigrin in a couple of days, said the Lieutenant. That's good. Two or three days make no difference, and you, Colonel of the Circassians, send couriers to inform Prince Dominic and the royal standard-bearer, but I see that you are already asleep. In fact, Barabash had folded his hands across his stomach and was fast asleep. Presently, he even began to snore. When the Cossack Colonel was not eating or drinking, which he loved above everything, he was sleeping. See here, said Zetsfilikovsky softly to the Lieutenant, with the assistance of an old man like this, the statesmen at war saw expect to hold the Cossacks in check. May God help them. They even trust Galnitsky himself, and the Chancellor has entered into negotiations with him. He will most likely find his confidence betrayed. The Lieutenant sighed to show his sympathy. Barabash only snored louder and murmured in his sleep, Save us, O Christ, save us! When do you expect to leave, Chigrin? asked the ensign. I must wait two days for Czaplinsky, who will certainly want to call me out to wipe out the indignity he has suffered. He will never do that. He would sooner send his servants against you, if you did not wear the Prince's colours. But it is a bad business to quarrel with the Prince, even for the servants of the Konyatspoltsky. I shall send him word that I await him, and shall leave the town in two or three days. I do not fear an ambush while I have a sword at my side, and a handful of men. With these words the Lieutenant took his leave of the old ensign, and departed. There was such a bright glow in the sky above the town from the great fires in the marketplace, that one might have imagined that the whole of Chigrin was in flames, especially as the noise and shouts grew louder as night approached. The Jews dared not venture from their houses. From every corner crowds of herders howled their melancholy songs of the steppes, while savage Zaporosians danced about the fires, throwing their caps in the air, firing off their guns, and drinking gozalka by the quart. Here and there arose a fight which was quelled by the Starotsa's men. The Lieutenant was forced to beat his way through the crowd with the handle of his saber, and hearing the noisy cossacks, it seemed to him at times as if the rebellion had already broken out. He fancied also that he could hear subdued curses. The words of Barabash still rang in his ears, Christ save us! Christ save us! and his heart beat faster. Meanwhile the songs of the herders grew louder in the town, and the Zaporosians continued to fire and fill themselves with gozalka. The noise of the firing and the wild, Uh-ha! Uh-ha! still echoed in his ears as he lay down to sleep in his quarters. End of Book 1, Chapter 2 Book 1, Chapter 3 of With Fire and Sword by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Samuel A. Benion. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. A few days later the Lieutenant and his retinue were marching with quick pace towards Lubny. When they had forded the Dnieper, they marched along the broad highway across the steps which connects Chigrin with Lubny, winding through Zhuki, Semimogil, and Korol. Similar roads led from the capital of the Prince's territory to Kiev. In earlier times, before the battle which Hetman Zholievsky fought against Solonitsa, there were no roads at all. One had to travel from Lubny to Kiev across the steps and over the desert. The way to Chigrin was by water, and on returning one passed through Korol. Taking it all together, the country beyond the Dnieper, the former land of the Polovets, was a desert, scarcely more populous than the wildlands, often infested by Tartars and without protection from the bands of Zaporizans. On the banks of the Sula rose immense forests, teeming with life, seldom traversed by the foot of man, at certain places on the slopes of the Sula, and Ruda, Sleparod, Korovaya, Ozhatsva, Chol, and other greater and smaller rivers and streams, marshes had formed. These were partly overgrown with thick brush and forests and partly open land resembling a meadow. In these woods and morasses, animals of all descriptions found a convenient hiding place. In the darkest depths of the forests roamed an immense number of orocks, bears, and wild boars, and also an incalculable number of wolves, lynxes, martins, heads of deer, and red antelopes. In the swamps and pools, beavers built their dams, and the saying was current among Zaporizans that among these beavers there were some a century old and snow white with age. On the high dry steps roamed herds of wild horses with shaggy heads and bloodshot eyes, the rivers teamed with fish and waterfowl. It was a wonderful country, half asleep, but full of traces of previous human habitation. Everywhere might be seen the ruins of former dwellings, Lubny and Coral themselves had risen from such ashes. Everywhere were grave mounds, new and old overgrown with shrubs and trees, and here as in the wild lands, ghosts and vampires appeared at night. Old Zaporizans recounted to one another, as they sat around their fires, the wonderful things that happened in these forest depths, where even now the howling of strange animals could be heard. Weird noises, half human and half brute, as if the terrible cries of battle mingled with those of the chase. From rivers and lakes came muffled sounds as of the ringing of bells from cities that lay submerged beneath their waters. It was not a hospitable, accessible country, for in some places it was too wet and soggy, in others there was lack of water, and the land was parched and dry. Moreover it was not safe for human habitation, for when colonists settled there for agriculture they were soon swept away by tartar invasions. These Zaporizans were the only people who visited the country in order to trap beaver and to kill game and catch fish, for in times of peace the majority of the people at siege and niche spent most of their time in hunting, or as it was called in doing business on all the rivers, in all the rivers, forests, marshes, and glens, beaver hunting in spots whose whereabouts were known to very few, but settled life still sought to find an abiding place in this country, like plants which endeavor to take root in the soil wherever they can, and which, though frequently torn up, spring up again in unexpected places. On these desert places arose cities, settlements, colonies, villages, and farms. The soil was in many places fertile and freedom allured, but it was not until the country came into the possession of the princes Vishnyovetsky that life began to flourish there. Prince Michael, after his marriage with a Mojlovian lady, began to cultivate his territory beyond the Nipur. He attracted people thither, settled the desert places, gave exemption from military services for thirty years, built monasteries, introduced his princely authority. Even the settlers who had come into the country at some early period, and thought that they were on their own ground, were glad to join the ranks of the princes' tenants, for by so doing they put themselves under the protection of a mighty power that could shield and defend them from the tartars and from the swarms of the even more dangerous Nizhovs, lowlanders. But real activity only flourished under the iron rule of young prince Yaramy. His territory began immediately outside Chigrin and extended far away to the confines of Konotop and Romney. These were not all his princely possessions, but starting from the province of Sandomersky, his territory extended to the provinces of Volinia, Russia, and Kiev, but his domain beyond the Nipur was the eye in the head of the victor of Putivla. Long did the tartar lurk on the borders of the Orla and the Voskla, and sniffed like a wolf before he ventured to urge his horses northwards. The Nizhovs dared make no trouble. The restless bands on the territory became subjects, while bands of marauders who had long lived by violence and raids were now held in check by the military outposts on the borders of the territory, and like chained dogs showed their teeth threateningly to passers-by. Thus development and a flourishing condition of things came to pass. Roads were made on the traces of the old highways, rivers were damned by tartar slaves or by the Nizhovs who had been captured with weapons in their hands in acts of violence, where once the night wind had blustered through the reeds, where wolves and vampires had howled, now mill wheels sounded. Beside the wind mills more than four hundred mill wheels ground grain beyond the Nipur. Forty thousand tenants poured their tributes into the coffers of the Prince, the forest swarmed with apiaries, and on their borders there rose new villages, hamlets, and farmhouses. On the steps side by side with wild horses there grazed domestic cattle and horses. The needless monotony of the steps and forests was broken by the smoke from cottage chimneys and by the gilded spires of the churches and chapels. The waste had been transformed into a populous country. The commander, therefore, rode on gaily, leisurely, as though he were traveling over his own lands, and found secure resting places along the road. It was the beginning of January, 1648, but the unusual and remarkably mild winter brought but little suffering. The breath of spring was in the air, over the earth gleamed many little puddles caused by the thaw. The fields were clothed with green, the sun's rays were so powerful that at midday furs were as burdensome as they are in summer. The commander's suite had been considerably augmented, for in Chagrin it was joined by a Balakian embassy which the hospedar had sent to Lubny in the person of Pan-Rosvan Osu, an escort accompanied the embassy, together with wagons and servants. Travelling with the lieutenant also was our friend Pan-Longin Podbipienta of the house of torn cowl, with his long sword at his side, and followed by some servants. The bright sun, the clear weather, and the breath of approaching spring filled all hearts with gladness. The lieutenant was all the more happy, for he was returning from a long journey to the roof of the prince which was also his own, and as he had fulfilled his mission well he was sure of a hearty welcome. But he had other grounds for his gladness. Besides the favour of the prince whom the lieutenant loved with all his heart, there was in Lubny a certain pair of black eyes as sweet as honey. These eyes belonged to Anusia Bozoboata Krasianska, lady in waiting to Princess Griselda, the most beautiful of all the ladies of the princely household. She was a great flirt, whom every man in Lubny sighed for, but who appeared to care for no one in particular. Princess Griselda maintained a strict propriety and a rigid austerity in her court, but this, however, did not deter the young people from exchanging loving glances and ardent sighs. Panskyshettsky, in common with others, directed many gleaming glances toward the dark-eyed beauty, and sometimes when he was alone in his quarters he would take up his lute and sing, Thou art the fairest of the fair, or the tartar makes captives of people, but Thou makest captives of hearts. But as he was a joyous man and a thoroughgoing soldier, entirely devoted to his profession, he did not take it very seriously to heart that Anus smiled upon Panvekovts of the Valakian cavalry, or upon Panvertsel of the artillery, or upon Panvolodzhovsky of the dragoons, as well as upon himself, and that she even smiled upon Panbaranovsky of the Hussars, although he had gray hair and lisped because a musket-ball had smashed the roof of his mouth. Our lieutenant had even crossed swords once with Panvolodzhovsky on Anousya's account, but if he was forced to remain too long in Lubny without any war against the tartars, life became tedious to him, even in Anousya's presence, and if he was called to the front, he went gladly without sorrow or regrets. At the same time he was always glad to come home again, and as he was now returning from the Crimea after bringing his mission to a satisfactory conclusion, he hummed joyfully to himself as he galloped alongside of Panlongin, who bestrowed an enormous Livonian mare, and maintained his usual thoughtful and serious expression. The wagons of the Embassy and of the escort remained some distance in the rear. The ambassador is sleeping like a log in his carriage, said the lieutenant. He chattered to me about Valokia until he grew weary. I listened to him out of curiosity. It is a rich country, nothing else, excellent climate, gold wines, tropical fruits, and cattle without number. I thought to myself, our prince is a descendant from a Mojlovian, and has just as good a right to wear the crown of the hospedars as anyone else. Prince Michael had made good his title to it. Valokia is not new to our master. He has already beaten the Turks, the Tartars, the Valokians, and the Transylvanians on its soil. But the people there are not so hardy as we are, so Panza Globa told me in Chigrin, said Longin, and if I did not believe what he said there is a confirmation of the fact in the prayer book. What, in the prayer book? I have one here and I can show it to you. I always carry one with me. Saying, he unfastened the straps of his saddle-bag and took out a small book, neatly bound in calf, and kissing it piously, he turned a dozen pages and said, Read. Skishtoski began, We flee to thee for refuge, holy mother of God. Where is there anything about the Valokians? What are you talking about? This is an antiphony. Read on, that we may be worthy of the promises of the Lord through Christ. Amen. Well now come to the question. Skishtoski read on. Question, why do they call the Valokian cavalry light cavalry? Answer, because it runs away lightly. Hmm, true. Well indeed, but there is a strange mixture of subjects in this prayer book. Yes, because this is a military book where the prayers are interspersed with various military instructions, wherein you can get information of all nations, and can find out which are good and which are bad. As for the Valokians, it is evident that they are cowardly servants, and above all great traitors. That they are traitors is certain. That was proven by the adventures of Prince Michael. And to tell the truth, I have also heard that the Valokian is by nature a bad soldier, although the prince has an extraordinary fine Valokian regiment, commanded by Pan Bikoviets. But I am not positive if in the whole regiment are to be found twenty Valokians. What think you, Lieutenant, as the prince many men under arms? There may be eight thousand, not counting the Cossacks who are in quarters, but Zatzfilikovsky told me that fresh troops had been called out. Then will God give a war under the prince? It is said that great preparations are being made for a war with the Turks, that the king is to advance with the entire force of the Commonwealth. I know that the gifts to the Tartars have been kept back, and that they dare not stir for fear of consequences. While I was in the Crimea, I heard of it, and it was doubtless on this account that I was so well received, for the report is current that if the king marches forth with the Hetmans, the prince will attack the Crimea and make an end of the Tartars. One thing is certain, no one else would be entrusted with such an undertaking. Panlongin raised his hands and eyes towards heaven. Grant gracious God such a holy war to the honor of Christendom and our people, and grant to me a sinner that I may fulfill my vow, that I may find happiness in battle, or meet an honorable death. Then you have made a vow upon this war. To such a noble knight as yourself I will lay bare all the secrets of my soul, although I have much to tell. But if you will lint me your ear, I will begin. In Scipium you know my coat of arms is cowl-trencher, which arises from the following story. When my ancestors, Stovecobodbipcentus, or near Grunwald, three knights in monkish garb riding towards him, he charged them, and with one stroke cut off their heads, and this fact is related by all the chroniclers with much praise for my ancestors. Your ancestors' hand was no lighter than your own, and he was rightly given the name cowl-trencher. The king gave him a coat of arms on which were three goat's heads on a field argent. As a remembrance of those knights for similar heads were graven on their shields, this coat of arms, together with the sword which I carry, was bequeathed by my ancestor, Podbipcentus, to his heirs, with the wish that they might maintain the glory of the race and of the sword. Certainly you come of noble stock. Here Lungen began to sigh pitifully, and as soon as he seemed to feel more cheerful, he continued, I am the last of my race. I made a vow in trochy to the most holy virgin that I would live in chastity, and would not enter the married state until I had with this sword cut off three heads at one blow, like my ancestor, Stoveco Podbipienta. O gracious heaven, thou seest that I have done all that was in my power. I have kept my vow of chastity to this day. I have bid my yearning heart be still. I have sought war. I have had no luck. The lieutenant laughed under his moustache. You have not cut off the three heads. Why I have not had the opportunity. I have had no luck. Two I have had the chance at, but never three. One can hardly beg enemies to place themselves in a line to be cut down. God only knows my sorrow. The strength is in my bones. Fortune is there, but youth is gone. I shall soon be forty-five years old. My heart pines for love. My race is dying out, and the three heads have not yet come. That is the kind of Cal Trencher I am, the laughing stock of men, as the global rightly says, but I bear everything with patience and offer myself to the Lord Jesus. The Lithuanian sighed so heavily that even the mare, evidently from sympathy with her master, also began to sigh and to snort piteously. I can tell you one thing, said the lieutenant, if you find no opportunity under Prince Yoramie, you will find one nowhere. God grant it! answered Longan, that is why I am seeking the Prince's favour. The conversation was interrupted by the unusual sound of flapping wings. As we have already said, this winter the birds did not migrate, the rivers were not frozen, and consequently there was an extraordinary number, especially of aquatic birds, in the marshes. Just as the lieutenant and Longan were approaching the bank of the Khamlik, they suddenly saw above their heads a whole flock of cranes flying so low that one could have thrown a stick at them. They made loud noises as they flew, and instead of a lighting among the reeds, they unexpectedly rose higher into the air. They fly as if they were pursued, said Skyshetto-ski. Huh! Did you see that? said Pan Longan, pointing to a white bird who darted through the air in a diagonal line and sought to overtake the cranes. A falcon! A falcon! He won't let them alight! cried the commander. The ambassador has falcons. He must have let one loose. Just then the ambassador came up to them, riding at a quick pace on his black Anatolian horse, and following him were some of the servants' conveyances. Pan Commander, I invite you to enjoy some sport, he said. Is that your Excellency's falcon? Yes, a fine one, you shall see. They galloped on three abreast. The Valachian falconer followed with the hoop. He fixed his eyes sharply on the bird, shouted with all his might, and incited the falcon to the fray. The powerful bird had meanwhile forced the cranes to rise in the air. Then, with lightning swiftness, he rose higher himself and hung suspended above them. The cranes formed in an immense circle, and rustled their wings like a windstorm. A threatening sound filled the air. The birds stretched out their necks, turning their beaks upward, like spears, and awaited the attack. The falcon circled above them. Now he would sink a little. Then he would rise in the air as if he were hesitating about swooping down on the hundred sharp beaks that awaited him. His feathers gleamed in the sunlight and looked as bright as the sun itself in the unclouded blue of the sky. All at once, instead of swooping down upon the cranes, he darted off like an arrow into space, and disappeared among the trees and reeds. Skeshetowski was the first to rush on in search for him. The ambassador and Lungen followed his lead. At the bend of the road the lieutenant suddenly reigned in his horse. A strange sight met his eye. In the middle of the highway lay an overturned carriage with a broken axle. The horses, harnessed, were held by two Cossack boys. No coachman was in sight. He had evidently ridden off to look for assistance. Standing by the carriage were two women, one dressed in a fox-skin cloak and a fox-skin cap with a round brim. Her face was coarse and masculine. The other was a young lady with regular, clear-cut features. Upon the shoulder of this young girl was perched a falcon. His wings were spread over her breast, and he was stroking her with his beak. The lieutenant pulled up his horse so suddenly that its hoofs dug deep into the sand on the highway. Then he put his hand up to his cap, but did not know in his embarrassment what he ought to say, whether he should salute the ladies or ask about the falcon. The secret of his embarrassment was this, that beneath the martin cap two eyes looked out. Eyes beside which even those vanusia Bozoboata would lose their luster as a candle would be dimmed by the light of a torch. Above these eyes were dark, silky brows like two delicate bows. The blushing cheeks bloomed like the fairest flower, and between the rosy, half-open lips peeped teeth like pearls, while from under the cap she wore floated luxuriant black tresses. Is that Juno herself or some other divinity? Thought the lieutenant, as he gazed at the slender, well-formed figure, at the fair swelling bosom, and at the white falcon perched on her shoulder. Our lieutenant stood there with his cap off and stared as at a fairy scene, but his eyes gleamed and his heart thumped in his breast. He was about to say, if thou art mortal and not a goddess, but just at that moment up came the ambassador and Pan Longin, and with them the falconer with his hoop. When the goddess sawed this, she held out her hand to the falcon, which stepped down from her arm to perch on her hand, putting one foot before the other. The lieutenant wanted to get ahead of the falconer and take the bird off her hand, when suddenly a strange omen occurred. The falcon left one foot on the hand of the girl, and with the other he clutched the lieutenant's hand, and instead of stepping on to it, he began to scream for joy and to drag the two hands together with such force that they touched each other. The lieutenant felt a cold chill come over him, and the falcon would not let himself be taken until the falconer had drawn the hood over his head. Then the old lady began to speak. Sir Knight, she said, whoever you be, you will not refuse your protection to two women who have been left without assistance on their journey, and who do not know what to do. It is not more than three miles to our home, but the axle of our carriage is broken, and there is nothing for us but to stay all night on the open plains. I have sent the coachmen to my sons to ask them to send us a carriage, but before he reaches them and returns to us it will be dark, and we are afraid to stay in this dreadful place, for there are grave mounds close by. The old lady spoke rapidly, and in such a coarse voice that the lieutenant was surprised, but he answered politely. Could you imagine that we could leave you and your beautiful daughter without protection? We are journeying to Lubny, where we are soldiers in the service of his Excellency Prince Jeremy, and we have our own route, it is true, but even so we would willingly take the same road as you do, if our company is agreeable to you. As for the carriage, we have none, for my companions and I pursue our journey soldier fashion on horseback, but the ambassador has won, and I know that as a courteous knight he will willingly place it at your disposal. The ambassador raised his high sable shackle, for knowing Polish he understood the conversation. He then greeted the ladies as a polite boy are, and ordered the falconer to bring up the carriages that had remained some distance behind. Meanwhile, the lieutenant looked at the young lady who became abashed at his searching glances, and cast her eyes down to the ground. The old lady with the Cossack features continued, however, May God Almighty reward you for this aid, and as it is still a long way to Lubny, let me beg you not to despise my roof and that of my sons, beneath which we will gladly welcome you. We are from Rosloga Siramaki. I am the widow of Prince Kurtsevich, and this is not my daughter, but the daughter of the elder Kurtsevich, a brother of my husband, who entrusted his orphan to our care. My sons are now at home. I am returning home from Circassia, where I have been to make a vow through the holy immaculate. On our way home this accident has happened to us, and if you gentlemen had not been so polite, we should have been obliged to stay here all night. The princess would have continued talking, but in the distance were seen the carriages of the ambassador approaching, accompanied by Skyshetto Ski's soldiers. Then you are the widow of Prince Vassil Kurtsevich, asked the lieutenant. No, said the princess sharply and even angrily. I am the widow of Konstantin, and this is Vassil's daughter, Helena, she said, pointing to the young lady. We hear a great deal about Prince Vassil in Lubny. He was a brave soldier, and the intimate and confident of the departed Prince Michael. I have never been in Lubny, said Pani Kurtsevich pointedly, and as to his valor I know nothing, as to his later conduct that hardly bears remembering as everyone knows about it. At these words Helena's head sank on her breast like a broken flower, and the lieutenant answered sharply, You should not say that, on account of a frightful error in human justice, which sentenced him to forfeit his life and property, Prince Vassil was obliged to save himself by flight, but later on his innocence was established, and he was reinstated in public opinion as a man of honour, and all the more honour is due him in proportion to the injustice that was done him. The princess looked keenly at the lieutenant, and upon her unpleasant course features anger was plainly visible, but Skyshetto Ski, although a young man, had so much nightly dignity and self-possession that she dared not answer him. She turned instead to her niece Helena. It is not right that you should hear this. Come here and see that the baggage is put into the carriage, in which through the permission of these gentlemen we are to continue our journey. Permit me to assist you, young lady, said the lieutenant. They walked together to the carriage, but no sooner did they stand opposite to each other on either side of the door than the silken lashes of the young princess were raised, and her glance fell upon that of the lieutenant like a bright warm sun ray. How can I thank you, she said with a voice which seemed like the sweetest music to Skyshetto Ski, like the tones of a lute or of a flute. How can I thank you for having stood up for my father's honour, for condemning the injustice that was done him by his nearest relatives? Fair lady, answered the lieutenant, who felt his heart melting like snow in spring. God forgive me if for such thanks I would not go through fire or even spill my blood, but where the pleasure in doing so is great, the merit is small, and for such a trifle it does not become me to accept the payment of thanks from your mouth. If you value them lightly I cannot, as a poor orphan, show my gratitude in any other way. I do not undervalue them, but I would wish to deserve such a great favour by a long, faithful nightly service, and I beg only that you will grant me such a service. At these words the young princess blushed like a crimson rose and appeared embarrassed, but she suddenly paled, and placing her hands before her face said in a tearful voice, This service would bring you only misfortune. The lieutenant leaned across the door of the carriage and said softly and tenderly, Let it bring what God will, I would still fall at your feet and pray for it. It is not possible, Knight, that you who have only just seen me should wish joyfully to undertake this service. I had scarcely beheld you when I seemed to forget my own existence completely, and I felt that a hitherto free soldier would now be forced to become a slave, but it seems to be the will of God. Love is like the arrow that unexpectedly strikes the breast, and I too feel its power, although I would not have believed it yesterday had anyone foretold it. If you would not believe it yesterday, how can you believe it today? Time will prove it better than I can, and you can judge of my sincerity at this moment not only by my words, but by my face. The silken lashes were again raised, and the princess's eyes met the manly noble features of the young soldier, and such an enraptured expression was in his eyes that a deep blush overspread her face. But her gaze did not falter, and he drank in all the sweetness of those wonderful eyes. As though they had just met on the highway of the steps, they looked at one another like two beings in whom love had simultaneously awakened. Two beings that were made for each other, and whose souls flew to meet one another like doves. The shrill voice of the princess Constantine calling the girl put an end to this moment of rapture. The carriages had arrived, the servants began to transfer the baggage, and it was not long before all was in readiness. His Excellency, Panrosvan Ursu, as a courteous boyar, had given up his own carriage to the ladies, the lieutenant mounted his horse, and all continued the journey. Day was already dying. The waters of the Kahamlik glistened in the golden light, from the setting sun and the purple twilight. Light clouds, changing gradually to crimson, piled themselves high in the sky, lingered there a while as though weary of wandering, and as if they were sleeping in some strange cradle. Skyshettsky rode alongside the young princess in silence, for he felt as if he could not continue their recent talk before strangers, and mere empty words were impossible to him now. In his heart was rapture, but his head buzzed as if from wine. The whole caravan moved briskly along. The silence was broken only by the snorting of the horses, or by the clank of the stirrups. In the rear the soldiers struck up a valachian strain, but they did not keep it up, and then Longin sang through his nose a pious chant, From heaven I have commanded that everlasting light may shine. Also in thickest clouds of night have I the world enwrapped. The night had fallen, the stars twinkled in the heavens, and above the damp meadows a white mist rose like a boundless sea. They had come to the forest, but had scarcely ridden a few furlongs when the sound of horses' hoofs was heard approaching, and five horsemen appeared before the caravan. They were the young princes who had been informed by the coachmen of the accident that had happened to their mother, and were hastening to meet her with a carriage and four horses. Is it you, my little sons? cried the old princess. The horsemen rode up beside the carriage. We, mother, remain there. Thanks to these gentlemen I am no longer in need of assistance. Let me present my sons to your excellency. Simeon, your Andreiyev, and Nikolai. And who is the fifth? she exclaimed, looking more closely. Why, if my old eyes do not deceive me, it is Bohun. The young princess suddenly leaned back into the depths of the carriage. At your service, princess, and yours, Panahalena, said the fifth horseman. Bohun, said the elder lady, have you just come from your regiment, you hawk, and with your theopo? Welcome, welcome! Well, little sons, I have already invited these gentlemen to stay overnight at Rosloga, and now do your share of courtesy. When guests are in the house, God is in the house. You are very welcome to our house, gentlemen. The bull-yolves took off their hats, saying, We humbly invite you, sirs, to our modest home. They have already promised me, his excellency, the ambassador, and the lieutenant, we shall entertain noble knights, but I do not know if the gentlemen who are accustomed to court life will be able to enjoy our simple fare. We are accustomed to soldiers' fare, not to courtly dishes, said Skishtosky, and Pan Rosvan Ursu added, And I have enjoyed hospitality in the country houses of the nobility, and I know that often the court dishes could not be compared with them. The carriages proceeded on their journey, and the old princess continued, Our best days have long since passed. In Volinia and Lithuania there are Kurtseviches who keep up state and live like gentlemen, but they will have nothing to do with their poor relations. May God punish them for it. With us you will find Cossack poverty that you will be graciously pleased to excuse and must accept our hospitality as it is offered with good heart. My five sons and myself own a little handlet and a few farms, and this young lady is under our care. These words astonished the lieutenant, for he had heard in Lubny that Rosloga was a magnificent property, and besides that that it had belonged to Prince Vassal, Princess Helena's father. However, it did not seem just the thing to ask how it had come into the hands of Constantine and his widow. You say you have five sons? said Pan Rosvan. I had five like young lions, answered the princess, but the eyes of the eldest were burned out with torches by the heathens in Bialochrod. He lost his mind in consequence. When my other sons go to war I stay at home alone with him, and my niece here, who gives me more trouble than pleasure. The contemptuous manner in which the old princess spoke of her niece was so evident that it did not escape the watchfulness of the lieutenant. His anger rose, and he was on the verge of uttering an ugly oath, but the words died on his lips as he looked at the young princess and saw by the moonlight that her eyes were wet with tears. What is the matter? Why do you cry? he asked softly. The young princess was silent. I cannot see you shed tears, said Skishtosky, bending towards her, and as he saw that the old princess was in conversation with Pan Rosvan, and had her head turned away, he added, for God's sake speak even one word. God is my witness that I would sacrifice blood and health to comfort you. Suddenly he felt that one of the horsemen had come up so close to him that the flanks of their horses touched. Conversation with the young lady was interrupted. Skishtosky turned his head in surprise and in anger toward the audacious intruder. In the moonlight he saw two eyes staring at him boldly, defiantly, and scornfully. The dreadful eyes gleamed like those of a wolf in a dark forest. What the devil is it, thought the lieutenant, a demon or what? And then he asked, looking at those fiery eyes, why dost thou jostle me so? Why dost thou fasten thine eyes on me? The horseman answered nothing but continued to stare fixedly and boldly. If it is too dark for thee to see I will strike a light, and if the highway is too narrow then be off into the steps, said the lieutenant in a louder tone. And thou, Nave, see that thou comest away from that carriage before we are out of the steps, answered the horseman. The lieutenant, who was a man of action, instead of replying, gave his opponent's horse such a dig in the ribs with his foot that the poor creature groaned, and with one bound, landed on the extreme edge of the highway. His rider pulled him up suddenly, and for an instant it looked as if he were going to attack the lieutenant. But all at once the shrill, commanding tone of the old princess called out, Oh, what is the matter with you? These words had a magic effect. The horseman turned his horse's head and, crossing to the other side of the carriage, rode beside the old lady who proceeded. What ails you, eh? Mind you are not in Periyaslav, nor in Crimea, but in Rosloga. Remember that, and now ride ahead and guide the carriages, for we are coming to the ravine, and it is dark there. Hurry, Cyrilmak! Skasiatowski was as much surprised as annoyed. This bohun evidently sought an opportunity to insult him, but what reason had he to do so? Why this unexpected attack? Then it suddenly occurred to him that the Princess Helena was the cause of the contention, and this idea was confirmed when he looked in her face and noticed in spite of the darkness that it was colorless and that her features expressed dismay. Meanwhile, bohun had ridden quite a distance ahead as the princess had commanded him. Now she looked after him, and speaking half to herself and half to the lieutenant said, That is a mad fellow, a perfect devil of a Cossack! He does not seem to be quite right in the head, said Skasiatowski disdainfully. Is he a Cossack in your son's service? The old princess threw herself back in her carriage. What do you say? That is Lieutenant Colonel bohun, the celebrated knight and friend of my son's, and to me a sixth son. It cannot be possible that you have not heard his name, he is known for and wide. In truth Skasiatowski knew his name well. Among the names of the various Cossack colonels and Ottomans, that of bohun was on every lip on both sides of the Nipper. Blind beggars sang songs about bohun at all the fairs and in the wine shops. Whence he came and who he was no one knew. One thing was certain, the steps were his cradle, and the Nipper, the Perigin and the Chertomek with its labyrinth of sharp bends, with its bays, rocks, islands, ravines and reedy marshes were his playground. From infancy he had grown up in the most intimate association and brotherhood with this wild world. In times of peace he went with the rest fishing and hunting, glided in and out among the bends of the Nipper, waded through marsh and reeds along with crowds of half naked companions, or spent whole months in the depths of the forest. His schools were raids to the wildlands, among the tartar herds of cattle and horses, setting traps, fighting, expeditions among the nomadic tribes on the coast, expeditions to Biolograd, Velakia, or else by boat to the Black Sea. He knew no days but on horseback, no nights but by the watchfires on the steps. From childhood he was the idol of all niche. He early became a leader, and it was not long before he surpassed all in daring. He was ready to ride to Baqe Serai with a hundred men, and to make a conflagration under the very eyes of the Khan. He laid camps and villages in ashes, slaughtered the inhabitants, and ordered the mursas to be torn asunder by horses. He raged like a hurricane and ravaged like death. On the water he fell like a madman on the Turkish galleys. He ventured into the deepest depths of the forest. He crept, as they used to say, into the jaws of the lion. Many of the expeditions that he undertook were sheer folly. Others less bold, less venturesome, had found their death by being impaled in Istanbul, or perished at the oars of Turkish galleys. He always came back safe and with rich booty. It was said that he had enormous treasures and had hidden them in secret places on the neaper. But at times he was seen stamping with muddy boots on gold embroidered draperies, placing cushions under his horses hoofs, or clothed in damask, soiling himself with tar, on purpose to show his cossack disdain for gorgeous clothing and furniture. He abided long in no one place. His acts were governed by his moods. At times when he was in Chigrin, Cerkas, or Periyaslav, he would riot with the other's apparosians. At others he would live like a mink, spoke to no one, and fled into the steppes. At times he surrounded himself with blind, wandering minstrels whose music and songs he listened to all day long, and whom he loaded with gold. With the nobility he could be a courtly knight, with the cossacks the wildest of cossacks. Among knights a knight, among robbers a robber. Many thought him crazy for he had an unbridled, wild spirit. What he wanted, what he was striving for, whom he served, he knew not himself. He served the steppes, the tempests, war, love, and his own fancy. It was this temperament which distinguished him from other boars and assassins, and from the ordinary herd of robbers who had only plunder as their object, and who cared not whether they plundered tartars or their own brothers. Bohan indulged in plunder, but war was dearer to him than booty. He loved danger for its own sake, he paid for songs with gold, he sought fame, and was careless about the rest. Of all leaders he best personified Cossack knighthood, and so songs chose him for their darling, and his name was famous throughout the Ukraine. Lately he had become Lieutenant Colonel of the Periyaslav Regiment, but he now exercised the authority of Colonel, for the old loboda held his baton with a feeble hand. Skyshettsky knew well therefore who Bohan was, and when he asked the old princess if he was a Cossack in the service of her sons, he did so with intentional contempt, for he saw in him an enemy, and in spite of the fame of this robber-leader, the blood of the lieutenant boiled at the thought that a Cossack should dare to pick a quarrel with him so boldly. He judged also that as it had already begun it would not soon come to an end, but Skyshettsky was a man tough as steel, full of confidence in himself, a man who gave way to nothing or to no one, who sought danger almost eagerly. He would have preferred to have pursued Bohan at once, but he continued to ride beside the princess. Moreover the carriages had already passed the ravine, and in the distance could be seen the lights of Rosloga.