 Book 4, Chapter 2 of With Fire and Sword. At Zabaraj, Volodievsky and Zagloba found all the royal forces gathered and awaiting the enemy. Here the Cup-bearer, who had come from Konstantinov and Lance Koronovsky, the Castilian of Keminets, who first wore at Bar, and the Third Commander, Pan-Fearly, of Dombrovica, the Castilian of Belsk, Andrei Sierakovsky, the Secretary of the Crown, and Pan-Kognets Blowsky, the Standard Bearer, and Pan-Peshmetsky, the General of the Army, who was especially experienced in the capture of towns and their defense, and with them ten thousand troops besides the forces of Prince Yermy, who had been previously stationed at Zabaraj. Peshemsky pitched his camp on the southern slope of the town, and fortress behind the two lakes and the Gurnia Rivlett, formed a powerful camp which he fortified according to the foreign fashion, so that it could only be taken from the front as it was protected on the rear and sides by the lakes, the stream, and the castle. In this camp the commanders purposed to resist Kemelnetsky and to hold him in check until the king should arrive with the rest of his forces in the general levy of the entire nobility. But could this plan be carried out against the might of Kemelnetsky? Many doubted that this could be done, and gave good reasons for their doubts, one of them being the disorder in the camp itself. First of all, discord was brewing in secret among the leaders. The commanders had come to Zabaraj unwillingly. They yielded to the will of Prince Yermy. They had wished at first to defend Konstantinov, but when news was spread that Prince Yermy promised to take part in the struggle only on condition that Zabaraj should be selected for the place of defense, those soldiers declared to the royal commanders that they wished to go to Zabaraj, and would fight nowhere else. Neither persuasions nor the authority of the commanders were of any avail, and the commanders soon discovered that should they resist longer, the army from the Hussar regiments down to the last soldiers from the foreign contingent would leave and go over to Vishnovyetsky's standard. This was but another deplorable example of the lack of discipline so frequent in those days, caused by the incompetence of the leaders, the discord among them and the fear of Kemolnyetsky's strength, and the unheard of defeats, especially that of Pilyovets. Consequently, the commanders were obliged to go to Zabaraj, where, in spite of the royal appointments, the supreme command passed into the hands of Vishnovyetsky, for the army would obey only him, fight and die under him alone. But this real leader had not yet come to Zabaraj, and therefore the restlessness of the troops increased. Discipline was lax, and their hearts grew faint. For it was already known that Kemolnyetsky and the Khan were approaching with an army the like of which had not been seen since the days of Tammerlane. Fresh rumors spread through the camp like ill-omend birds, new and more alarming rumors came ever and on which weakened the courage of the soldiers. It was feared that a panic like the one at Pilyovets might suddenly occur and scatter this handful of troops that barred Kemolnyetsky's way to the heart of the Commonwealth. The leaders themselves lost their heads. Their contradictory orders were not carried out, and if at all unwillingly. Yermy alone could rescue the camp, the army and the country. As soon as Zagloba and Volodievsky arrived with the troops of Kushel, they mangled it once in the vortex of military life. No sooner did they reach the square than they were surrounded by officers of different regiments who eagerly inquired after news. At the sight of the captive Tartars, new hope arose in the hearts of the curious. They have stampeded the Tartars. They have taken Tartar prisoners. God has granted a victory, cried some. The Tartars are here and Berle with them, cried others. To armsmen, to the ramparts. The report spread through the camp, and Kushel's victory was magnified as it went from mouth to mouth, a rapidly increasing crown gathered about the prisoners. Kill them, they cried, what shall we do with them? Questions fell like snowflakes, but Kushel would not answer and went to the quarters of the Castilian of Belsk to report. Volodievsky and Zagloba were greeted by acquaintances in the Russian squadron, but they got away as soon as they could, for they wished to see Sketsk-Tusky. They found him in the castle, together with the old Zast Vilikovsky, two monks of St. Bernard that belonged there, and Pan Longing. Sketsk-Tusky grew somewhat pale when he saw them. He closed his eyes, for their sight brought him too many sad recollections to bear without pain. But he greeted them calmly, even joyfully, asked them where they had been, and was content with any answer they gave. For believing the princess to be dead he wished for nothing, hoped for nothing, and had not the slightest idea that the long absence of his friends had any bearing upon the princess. Nor did they make any mention of the purpose of their expedition, although Longing gazed at one, then at the other, with a questioning look, sighing and twisting about in his place, hunting for even a shadow of hope in their faces. But both were taken up by Sketsk-Tusky, whom Pan Michael embraced again and again, for his heart melted at the sight of that faithful friend who had suffered so much and lost so much that life was scarce worth the living. "'You see,' said he, to Sketsk-Tusky, "'we shall have all our old comrades with us again, and you shall be happy with us. We are on the eve of a war the like of which we have not seen before, and which fills the heart of every soldier with delight. If God restores to you your health, you will often find yourself at the head of the Hossars.' "'God has already restored me to my health,' replied Sketsk-Tusky, "'and I wish nothing for myself, except to serve as long as service is necessary.' Sketsk-Tusky was indeed really well, for his youth and vigorous constitution had overcome his illness. Grief had torn his soul, but could not destroy his body. He had merely grown thin and yellow, so that his forehead, his cheeks, and his nose looked as if molded of church wax. His former austere look had settled more deeply on his face, which had an expression of rigid calmness, such as is seen on the face of a corpse. There were now silver threads woven in his dark beard. But in other respects he did not differ from other men, except that contrary to the custom of a soldier he avoided tumults, crowds, and drinking bouts, preferring to associate with monks, listening with attention to their discourses about convent life and the hereafter. But in regard to the war he performed his duties conscientiously and interested himself equally with the others in regard to the expected siege. Soon indeed the conversation turned to the subject, for no one in the camp, in the castle, and in the town thought of anything else. The old Zastvilikovsky inquired about the Tartars and about Berle, whom he had known for a long time. "'He is a great warrior,' said he, and it is to be regretted that he now rebels against his own country with the others. We served together at Kotsim. He was then but a youth, but already he gave promise of becoming a remarkable man.' "'Why, he comes from the Dniper regions and leads the trans-Dniper men,' said Sketschewski. How is it, then, father, that he marches up now from the south from Kamenets?' "'Probably,' said Zastvilikovsky, Kamenetsky, purposely, sends him there to spend the winter, when Tukhebe remained on the Dniper and the Merza greatly hates Berle from former days. No one has made it so hot for the Tartars as Berle. And now he becomes their messmate.' "'So it is,' said Zastvilikovsky. Such are the times, but Kamenetsky will take care that they do not eat each other up.' "'And when do you expect Kamenetsky to be here, father?' Zastvilikovsky. Any day, who can tell, the commanders ought to send out one scouting party after another, but they don't do it. I had a hard time to get them to send Kushel southward, and Piglovsky, and Kolhansky-Khaminyen. I wanted to go myself, but there is council after council here. They should send out some squadrons with the crown secretary. They should make haste lest it be too late. God send us the prince, or disgrace will befall us, like that of Piliothlietz.' "'I saw the soldiers when we rode through the square,' said Zagloba, and it appeared to me that there are more fools among them than good men. They are only fit for shopkeepers, and not to be our messmates, who love glory and value it more than life.' "'What are you talking about?' said the old man sharply. I don't wish to insinuate anything against your bravery, though I have my own opinion about that, but the soldiers here are the flower of the chivalry of the Commonwealth. They need only a head, a leader. Khaminyetsky is a good cavalry officer, but no leader. Pan-fearly is old, and as to the cup-bearer, well, he with Prince Dominic made a reputation at Piliothlietz. No wonder that no one will obey them. A soldier sheds his blood readily if he is sure that it is necessary, but he will not sacrifice himself needlessly. But now, instead of preparing for the siege, they are quarreling about the positions they should hold. "'Is there a sufficiency of provisions?' asked Zagleba with alarm. "'Not as much as are needed, but we are worse off in regard to fodder. Should the siege last over a month, we shall have only shavings and stones for the animals.' "'There is still time to make provision,' said Volodyovsky. "'Then go and tell them that. God send our prince, I repeat.' "'You are not the only one who longs for him,' interrupted Longing. "'I know,' answered the old man. "'Look out upon the square. All who are upon the ramparts are eagerly looking towards old Zabraj. Others mount to the towers, and if anyone cries out jokingly, he comes. Everyone goes mad from joy. The thirsty deer pants not more eagerly for the water than we for him. Would that he could get here before Kemolnyetsky, for I fear that impediments are in his way.' "'We pray for his safe arrival all day long,' said one of the monks of St. Bernard. The prayers and wishes of all the knights were soon to be fulfilled, though the following day brought still greater anxiety and was fraught with evil omens. It was Thursday, July 8, when a frightful storm burst upon the town and over the newly built ramparts. Rain poured down in torrents. Part of the earthworks was washed away. The Gnieza and both lakes overflowed. In the evening lightning struck a section of infantry under Panfirli, the Castilian of Belsk, killed several men and tore the flagged shreds. This was looked upon as an evil omen, a visible sign of God's wrath, especially as Panfirli was a Calvinist. Zagloba proposed that a deputation be sent to him with a request that he become converted, for God's blessing could not abide with an army whose leader was living in errors obnoxious to heaven. Many shared this opinion, and it was only the respect due to the Castilian and his dignity that prevented the sending of the deputation. The general discouragement increased. The storm raged without interruption. The ramparts, though strengthened with stones and palisades, became so soft that the cannon began to sink. They were obliged to put boards under the cannons, mortars and even under the eight pounders. In the deep trenches the water rose to the height of a man. Night brought no abatement. The tempest drove before it from the east gigantic mountains of clouds that amidst dreadful thunderings in the sky poured out their entire store of rain, lightning, and thunder upon Zabraj. Only the baggage attendants remained in the tents. The soldiers, the commanders, with the exception of the commander of the Kemenets, sought shelter in the town. Had Kemolnyetsky arrived with the tempest, he could have taken the camp without resistance. Next morning the storm had somewhat abated, though it was still raining off and on. Not before five o'clock did the wind dissipate the clouds. The blue sky then showed itself against the camp, and in the direction of Old Zabraj a rainbow of brilliant seven hues appeared, the mighty arc of which extended with one arm beyond Old Zabraj, while with the other it seemed to drink up the moisture of the black forest. It gleamed and played against the background of the scutting clouds. Hope rose in all hearts. The knights returned to camp and mounted the slippery ramparts in order to enjoy the sight of the rainbow. They began at once to converse in lively fashion, and to conjecture what this favorable sign might mean, when Volodyovsky, who with the others stood close to the trench, shielded his link's eyes with his hand and cried out. Soldiers are approaching from under the rainbow. Soldiers. A commotion arose as if a whirlwind had stirred the mass of people and shouts arose. The words soldiers are coming flew like arrows from one end of the ramparts to the other. The soldiers began to push and crowd and to gather into groups. Then the noise ceased and it became still. All hands shaded their eyes, all eyes gazed into the distance, and all with baited breath and beating hearts continued to look outward. And then, from beneath the seven-colored arch something emerged and became more and more distinct, rising out of the distance and coming nearer and nearer and growing more and more clearly visible, until at last flags and lances and bun chucks appeared, and then a forest of lances, their eyes did not deceive them. These were soldiers. Then a mighty shout burst simultaneously from the throats of all, a shout of triumphant joy. Yeromey! Yeromey! Yeromey! Frenzy seized even the oldest soldiers. Some hurled themselves from the ramparts, waded through the trench and ran afoot across the flooded plain towards the approaching regiments. Others rushed to their horses. Others laughed. Others wept, extending their hands towards heaven and crying out, he is coming our father, our savior, our leader. One might have thought that the siege was over, that Kemolunetsky was vanquished and the victory won. The squadrons of the prince had drawn so near that the ensign could be distinguished. As usual the regiments of the light cavalry of the prince's Hussars, Seminovs, and the Wallachians advanced in front, behind them could be seen the foreign infantry under Maknitsky, then Verstals' cannons with the dragoons and the heavy Hussars. The sun's rays flashed upon their armor and upon the points of the upraised lances. An unusual splendor shone upon the advancing army like the halo of victory. Skeztusky, who with long gene, stood upon the ramparts, recognized from afar his own squadron which he had left behind him in Zemost, and a faint flush suffused his yellowish cheeks. He drew deep breaths as if freeing himself from some great burden and his eyes brightened. Before him were days of superhuman labors, heroic battles, the best means of healing the wounds of his heart and of banishing painful recollections, forcing them deeper and deeper into the secret innermost depths of his soul. Nearer and nearer came the squadrons and now scarcely a thousand steps separated them from the camp. The chiefs came running in order to witness the arrival of the prince. The three commanders also, and with them Pyschnymetsky, the crown secretary, the standard-bearer of the crown, the chief of Krasnostovsk, Pankorf, and all other officers, Polish as well as foreign. All shared the general joy, especially Panlenshtronotsky, who was a soldier, a greater knight than a commander, but who loved the glory of war. He pointed with his baton in the direction whence Prince Yermy came, and in a voice loud enough to be heard by all, he cried. Behold, there comes our greatest leader, and I am the first to surrender my command and authority into his hands. Now the regiments of the prince entered the camp. They numbered all together three thousand men, but they bore in their hearts the courage of a hundred thousand. They were indeed the victors of Porobysh, Nimniaral, Makinovka, and Konstantinov. Acquaintances and friends greeted each other. At the end the versatile artillery toiled in Wirily, dragging after them four cannon, two eight-pounders, and six captured grapeshot guns. All together twelve guns. The prince, who had personally supervised the departure of his troops from old Zabarysh, arrived in the evening after sunset. Everybody ran to see him, the soldiers bearing pine sticks, lamps and torches, and chips of combustible wood surrounded the prince's horse and barred his passage. They seized the bridle of his horse so as to have a longer look at him. They kissed his garments and almost lifted him on their shoulders. The enthusiasm rose to such a stage that not only the native soldiery, but also the foreign contingent declared that they would serve him without pay for three months. The throng about the prince so increased that he could not advance a step, but sat upon his white palfrey, surrounded by the soldiers like a shepherd among his flock. There was no end to the shouts and hurrahs. The evening was clear and still. Myriads of stars twinkled in the dark sky. Air-long, good omens appeared. Just as Pan Lance Korofsky, with his field marshals of baton in his hand, approached the prince in order to hand it over to him, a star fell from the vault of the sky and leaving after it a stream of light like a comet, disappeared in the direction of Konstantinov, from whence Kemolnyetsky was known to be advancing. "'That was Kemolnyetsky's star,' cried the soldiers. "'A miracle, a miracle, a visible sign. Long live Jeremy the Victor!' exclaimed a thousand voices, and the commander of Konstantinov approached and made a sign with his hand to indicate that he wished to speak. Silence fell, and he said, "'The king gave me this baton, but I surrender it into your more deserving hands, O Victor, and wish to be the first to submit myself to your orders.' And we also,' exclaimed the other two commanders. Three batons were extended towards the prince, but he drew back his hand and said, "'It was not I who gave you your rank, and therefore I cannot take it from you.' "'Together with three, let there be a fourth,' said fearly. "'Long live Vishnovetsky, long live the commanders,' exclaimed all the nobles. "'We will live and die together.'" At this moment the prince's horse raised its head, shook its reddish mane, and knade mightily, while all the horses in the camp answered in unison. This also was taken as an omen of victory. The eyes of the soldiers flashed fire. The thirst for battle filled their hearts, and a tremor of enthusiasm ran through their bodies. The chiefs shared the general enthusiasm. The cup-bearer wept and prayed. The Castilian of Keminets and the Starosta of Krasnostavsk were the first to clatter their sabers, exciting the soldiers who, rushing upon the ramparts, stretched their hands out in the darkness towards the direction from whence they expected the enemy and cried aloud, "'Come on, you dog brothers, we are ready for you.'" That night no one slept in the camp, and until dawn broke the shouts lasted and the pine torches burned. In the morning the crown secretary, Sera Kovtsky, returned from a scouting expedition to Kolhansky, Kamnyan, and reported that the enemy were about five miles from the camp. The expedition had given battle to an outnumbering horde and the two men's Kovtsky, Olisk, and several other trustee soldiers had fallen. Prisoners that had been taken affirmed that behind the horde Kimolnyetsky and the Khan with all their forces were approaching. The day passed in waiting and preparations for defense. The prince, having assumed command, immediately put the army in order, indicating where each section should take its position and directing how each should defend itself and give succor to the others. A cheerful spirit displayed itself in the camp. Discipline was established, and in place of the former confusion, conflict of authority, and uncertainty, good order and accuracy prevailed. In the forenoon all took up their positions. The sentries thrown forward reported from time to time what was going on in the vicinity. Servants set out to the neighboring villages, brought back as much of provisions and provinder as they could lay their hands upon. The soldiers upon the ramparts chattered cheerfully and sang, and passed the night and sleeping about the camp fires, their swords in their hands, ready for the fray at any moment that the fortress might be stormed. At dawn indeed something black emerged from the direction of Vishnavsta. The bells in the town sounded as an alarm, and in the camp the plaintive notes of the trumpets put the soldiers on the alert. The infantry regiments drew up on the ramparts. In the openings the cavalry stood ready to attack at the first signal, and along the entire line of the entrenchment little clouds of smoke arose from the fuses. At this moment the prince appeared upon his white charger. He wore silver armor, but no helvement. His eyes shone with gladness, and no shadow of concern clouded his countenance. We have guests, gentlemen. We have guests, he repeated, riding along the ramparts. Silence reigned. Nothing was heard but the flutter of banners playing in the breeze. The enemy approached nearer, and could now be plainly seen. It was but the first wave that dashed up now, not Kemolnyetsky and the Khan, but a reconnaissance of 30,000 picked tartars armed with bows, muskets, and sabers. Having taken captive 1,500 men that had been sent out for provisions, they advanced in dense columns from Vishnapsa, and stretching out in a long semicircle, they went around from the opposite side towards Old Zabaraj. The prince, perceiving that this was but the vanguard of the approaching army, ordered the cavalry to advance from the entrenchments. Words of command were heard. The regiments advanced and poured out from behind the ramparts, like bees from a hive. The plain was filled with men and horses. From afar the captains with batons in their hands could be seen riding around in squadrons, placing them in line of battle. The horses snorted and occasionally their nays sounded through the lines. Then from out to the mass emerged two divisions of tartars and seminoffs of the prince, and went forward in an easy trot. Their bows shook on their backs, their caps gleamed. They rode in silence, at their head the fair-haired versial, whose horse reared like mad, throwing its four hooves in the air as if it wished to toss aside its bit and throw itself into the tumult. There was not a cloud in the blue sky, the day was clear and serene, the advancing host could be discerned as on the palm of the hand. At this moment there appeared from the direction of old Zabaraj, a small wagon-train belonging to the prince, which had not entered with the army and now hurried on as fast as possible lest the horde should capture it. Indeed it did not escape their vigilance, and soon the long half-moon pushed forward to surround it. Shouts of Allah came to the ears of the infantry on the ramparts. Versials squadrons flew like a whirlwind to the rescue. But the half-moon reached the train first and surrounded it in a moment like a black ribbon. Simultaneously some thousands of the horde with unearthly howls turned towards Versial to surround him also. But here Versial's experience and the skill of his soldiers came into play. When he saw that the horde was surrounding him, he divided his forces into three parts and galloped to the sides, then he divided them into four parts and then into two, so that each time the enemy had to swing round having no opponent to face. The enemy's wings were thus broken. At the fourth turning they met breast to breast. Versial at once attacked the weakest part with his whole strength, broke through the line at the first crash, and got in the rear of the enemy. Then careless of pursuit he swept towards the wagon train. Old veterans, who from the ramparts had watched this maneuver, stuck their arms akimbo and shouted and exclaimed, May the ball strike them! Only the prince's captains can lead in this way. Then in the form of a sharp wedge, Versial flew towards the wagon train and struck the ring and circling it as an arrow pierces the body of a man and immediately penetrated to the center. Now, instead of two combats, one raged alone, but all the fiercer. It was a wonderful sight. The wagon train in the center of the plane, like a moving fortress, puffed out clouds of smoke and spat forth fire. In circling it, a black swarm like a mighty whirlwind, horses rushing about without riders, within a wild uproar and the rattling of muskets. In one place, some were crowding upon each other. In another, they kept unbroken order. As a wild boar that is surrounded tears with its white tusks, the bloodthirsty pack of hounds, so that wagon train defended itself against the Tartars, hoping that other and stronger aid than Versials might come. Indeed it was not long before the red dragoons of Kuschel and Volodyovsky swept along the plane, looking like red flowers driven along by the breeze. They reached the crowd of Tartars and rushing into it as if into a black forest were soon lost to sight, but the terrible uproar grew louder. The soldiers wondered that the prince did not send at once a sufficient force to the rescue, but he delayed purposely in order to show the soldiers the kind of warriors that he had brought with him, and so to increase their courage and prepare them for greater dangers. The firing from the wagon train grew fainter. There was evidently no time to load, or the musket barrels had grown too hot. But the shouts of the Tartars grew louder. Then the prince gave a signal, and immediately three squadrons of hussars, his own under Kuschelsky, one under the starosta of Krasnostovsk, and a royal squadron under Puglovsky, shot out of the camp into the battlefield. They charged from the rear, broke through the ring of the Tartars like an axe, dispersed them over the plane, chased them towards the woods, and drove them a quarter of a mile from the camp. The little wagon train entered the entrenchments in safety amid the shouts of triumph and thunders of cannon. The Tartars, however, knowing that Kamilnetsky and the Khan were close behind, remained in the neighborhood and soon appeared again. With shouts of Allah, they circled around the camp, occupying the highways and surrounding the villages, from which black columns of smoke soon arose. Quite a number of horsemen came up close to the entrenchments, these where it once attacked by the soldiers of the prince, especially by detachments of Tartar, Wallachian, and Dragoon regiments. Virshul was unable to take part in these sallies. He had received six wounds in his head while defending the wagon-tray and lay in his tent as if dead. Volodyovsky, however, who was as red as a lobster from blood stains and could scarce a peace his thirst for combat, was everywhere to the front. The skirmishes lasted until evening, the infantry and the knights of reserved squadrons watching the fighting from the ramparts as if looking upon a play. Many prisoners were made, and when Pan-Michael had made an end of one, he turned again and his red uniform was seen flying all over the field. Skeztusky, from afar, pointed him out to Pan-Lance Tokaronsky as a curiosity, for whenever he met a Tartar the man fell as if struck by lightning. Zagloba, though he could not be heard by Pan-Michael, kept shouting out encouraging words from the ramparts. From time to time he addressed the soldiers around him, saying, Look, gentlemen, that is the way I taught him to use his saber. Good! Keep on! With God's aid he will soon equal me. The sun had set meantime, and the soldiers began to retire from the field, on which there remained only dead men and horses. In the town the bells rang the Angelus. Night came on gradually, but it did not grow dark, for all about was the glow of fires. Many villages were in flames. Zaloshtyts, Berizhnyts, Lublonsky, Sturyukha, Kresovts, Zardizy, Vaklovka, and the entire vicinity, as far as the eye could see, was ablaze. The clouds of smoke appeared red in the night, the stars shone out from a red background. Great flocks of birds frightened out of the woods and from the thickets and ponds circled in the reddened air like flying flames. The cattle and their enclosures, frightened at the unusual sight, were bellowing pitifully. It is impossible that the vanguard alone has caused such a conflagration, said the veterans, to one another in the entrenchments. Without doubt Kemelnitsky, with the Cossacks and the entire horde, is close at hand. These were not mere surmises for Pan Serakovsky, on the day previous, had brought news that the hetmen of the Zaporizhyns, together with the Khan, were closely following their vanguard, thus they were expected with certainty. All the soldiers were upon the ramparts, the people were upon the roofs and towers. All were greatly excited. Women wept in the churches and raised imploring hands to the most holy sacrament. The fearful suspense bore most heavily upon all, in the camp, in the castle, and the town. But it did not last long. The night had not passed, when the first ranks of the Cossacks and Tartars appeared on the horizon. They were followed by more, by tens, by hundreds, and thousands, until it seemed as if all the trees of the forests and groves had cut loose from their roots and were marching towards the Zaporizh. In vain did the eye seek an end to those lines. As far as the eye could see, there appeared a swarm of men and horses, the end of which appeared to be lost in the smoke and flame of far off. The clouds or like locusts they moved on, covering the entire region with a dreadful, moving mass. Before them came the threatening murmurs of human voices, like the song of the wind, among the tops of the hoary pines in the forest. About a quarter of a mile from the camp they halted and spread themselves about, and lit their night fires. You see the fires, whispered the soldiers, they spread farther than a horse can go in one breathing. Jesus Maria, said Zagloba, to Schetztusky, I have within me the courage of a lion and fill no fear, but I wish that before to-morrow a flaming thunderbolt might wipe them from the earth. By the love of God there are too many of them. There will not be a greater throng in the valley of just hose of fat. And tell me, what did the thieves want? Would it not be better if these thieves remained at home and worked quietly on the land? How can we help it if God has made us nobles and them peasants, with the duty of obedience imposed upon them? I get furious when I think about it. I'm a mild sort of man, and could be applied to wounds, but let them not rouse my wrath. They have been allowed too much liberty, too much bread, and therefore they have multiplied like mice in a barn, and now wish to fight with the cats. But just wait, wait. Here's a cat called Prince Yurimi, and another whose name is Zagloba. What do you think? Will such men stop to negotiate? If the peasants were submissive, then their lives might be spared. Might they not? One thing worries me all the time, and that is if there be a sufficient stock of provisions in the camp. To the devil with it. Just look, gentlemen, there behind the conflagration new fires are rising, and further away still more fires. May the black plague destroy such a gathering. Why talk about negotiations? Answered Skets Tewski, when they believe they have everything in their own hands, and that they can wipe us out tomorrow. But they can't do it, can they? Asked Zagloba. That rests with God, but at any rate, since the prince is here, it will not be easy for them. You console me, indeed. What do I care if it be easy for them or not? The thing that concerns me is whether they can succeed at all. It is no slight consolation for a soldier to feel that he is not laying down his life for nothing. To be sure, to be sure, but lightning strike it all, and your consolation with it. At this moment Longin and Volodyovsky approached. The Cossacks and the Horde together are said to number half a million, said the Lithuanian. May your tongue be cut out, said Zagloba. You bring cheerful news. It will be easier to repulse them in assault than to attack them in the open field, answered Longin mildly. Now that the prince and Kemolnyetsky have at last met, said Pan-Michael, there will be no talk about negotiations, either the governor or the monk. Tomorrow will be judgment day, he added, rubbing his hands. The little knight was right. In that war the two fiercest lions had not yet met face to face. The one had conquered the Hetmans and the commanders, the other had defeated the mighty Cossack admins. Each had always been victorious, each was the terror of his enemies, but this encounter was to decide whose scale was to rise or fall. Vishnovetsky beheld from the ramparts the countless myriads of Tartars and Cossacks and in vain strained his eyes to get them all in view. Kemolnyetsky from the field beheld the castle and the camp and thought to himself, over there is my most terrible enemy. If I crush him, who then will stand in my way? It was evident that the struggle between these two men would rage long and stubbornly, but the ultimate result could not be doubtful. The prince at Lubny and Vishnovetsky stood at the head of 15,000 men, the camp servants included, while behind the peasant chieftain stood all the forces from the Sea of Azov and the Don to the mouth of the Danube. Then also with him was the Khan, leading the hordes of the Crimea, the Balgrod, Noyash, and of the De Brujda. The tribes living along the banks of the Dnieper and the Dnieester, the Nizhovs and countless blacks from the steppes, woods, ravines, towns, villages, hamlets, and farms, and all who had formerly served under the crown. All these were with Kemolnyetsky. Besides these, Circassians, Wallachian, Keralash, Cilistrian, and Rumalian Turks, and bands of Serbians and Bulgarians joined him. It seemed as if a new migration of nations were taking place, that the nations had abandoned their homes and the freezing steppes, and were going westward to conquer new lands and to found a new empire. This was the proportional strength of the contending forces, a handful against hundreds of thousands, and an island against the sea. It was no wonder, therefore, that many a heart beat with alarm, that not only this town, not only this corner of the country, but the whole Commonwealth looked upon this lonely entrenchment encircled by a deluge of wild warriors as the tomb of noble knights and of their great leader. Kemolnyetsky also regarded it in the same light, for hardly had the fires been kindled in his camp when there appeared before the entrenchments a caustic envoy waving a white flag, blowing upon his trumpet, and crying out not to shoot at him. The sentinels admitted him at once. I come from the Hetman to Prince Yeremi, he said to them. The prince had not yet dismounted, and was, on the walls, his face bright as heaven. The fires were reflected in his eyes, and made a rosy halo about his delicate white face. When the caustic stood before the prince, he lost his power of speech, his legs trembled, and ants seemed to be crawling over his body as though he was an experienced soldier and had come as an envoy. Who are you? asked the prince in a quiet tone. I am Captain Sokol, sent by the Hetman. And what is your message? The captain bowed his head several times as low as the stirrups of the prince. Pardon me, prince, I repeat what I was commanded to say. I am innocent. Speak boldly. The Hetman commanded me to announce to you that he came as a guest to Zabaraj, and intends to visit you at the castle to-morrow. Tell him that not to-morrow, but to-day I give a feast in the castle, answered the prince. Indeed an hour later the cannon-stothered forth salutes, shouts of joy were heard, and the windows of the palace were illumined by thousands of gleaming lights. When the Khan heard the vivids and the sound of the kettle-drums and trumpets, he stepped out in front of his tent, in company with his brother, Nur Eddin, the sultana Galga, Tukebe, and many mursas, and set for Kemolnyetsky. The Hetman, though somewhat intoxicated, appeared at once, and bowing, and placing his fingers on his forehead, on his chin, and on his breast, he awaited the pleasure of the Khan. For a long time the Khan gazed at the brightly-illumined palace, shining in the distance, and nodded his head. Then he ran his fingers through his thin beard, falling in two locks over his fur-shuba, and pointing to the shining windows, asked. Hetman of the Zabarajans, what is going on there? Mitezar, answered Kemolnyetsky, Prince Yermy is giving a feast. The Khan was astonished. He is feasting. It is a funeral feast, answered Kemolnyetsky, for to-morrow they will all be dead. Meanwhile, fresh salvos arose from the castle in the sounds of trumpets, and confused shouts reached the Khan's ears. La'ala, Ila'ala, murmured the Khan, this jihar has a lion-heart. After short silence he added, I would rather be with him than with you. Kemolnyetsky trembled. He had paid dearly already for this indispensable friendship of the Tartars, but he was not sure of his terrible ally. The slightest whim of the Khan would turn the horde against the Cossacks and irretrievably ruin them. Kemolnyetsky knew that the Khan was only lending his aid for the sake of booty, gifts, and captives, and that he regarded himself as a legitimate monarch. He blushed inwardly that he was supporting it, uprising against a king, and that he was an accomplice of a Kemolnyetsky against such a Vishnovitsky. The Cossack commander often filled himself with drink, not only from force of habit, but from despair. Great monarch, he cried, Yermy is our enemy. He has driven the Tartars from the trends deeper. He has hung merzas like wolves upon the trees in order to spread terror. He intended to ravage the Crimea with fire and sword. And you? Have you committed no depredations in the Ulysses? Asked the Khan. I am your slave. Touke Bayes' blue lips began to tremble and his eyes flashed. He had a deadly enemy among the Cossacks, who once upon a time had destroyed and beaten down a whole shamble, and he himself had almost perished. The name of that man forced itself with the power of hateful recollections to the lips of the Merza. He could not restrain himself, and hissed out, Berlay, Berlay. Touke Bayes, say Kemelnitsky, you and Berlay at the exalted and wise command of the Khan poured water on your blades last year. A new salvo from the castle interrupted their discourse. The Khan extended his hand and described a circle, enclosing it in Jabarj, the castle, and the entrenchments. Will all that be mine tomorrow? He asked, addressing Kemelnitsky. Tomorrow they must all die, answered Kemelnitsky. His eyes glued upon the castle. Then he bowed again, and touched with his hand his brow and chin and breast, considering the interview closed. The Khan wrapped himself in his fur, for the July night was quite cool, and turning towards the tent said, It is late. All nodded, while the Khan deep in thought went slowly to his tent murmuring in a low voice, La alla, I la alla. He proceeded towards his own tent, muttering to himself on the way. The castle, the town, the booty, and the captives, I leave to you. But Yermy belongs to me, even should I have to pay for him, with my neck. Gradually the fires began to die down. Gradually the dull murmur of hundreds of thousands of voices died away. Here and there might be heard the sound of pipes, or the shouting of the tartar herdsmen, as they drove horses to pasture during the night. After a while, however, these sounds became still, and sleep arraigned over the countless legions of Cossacks and tartars. End of Book 4, Chapter 2, Part 1 Book 4, Chapter 2 of With Fire and Sword Only in the castle was there a sound of revelry, as if a wedding were being celebrated there. In the camp it was generally expected that the storm would break on the morrow. Indeed, a throng of Cossacks, tartar, and other wild warriors advanced from Kemelnitsky at an early hour towards the entrenchments like dark clouds enveloping the summit of a mountain. The soldiers, who on the preceding day had been unable to count the campfires, were now astonished at the sight of this sea of heads. This was not yet an attack, but in an examination of the field, the ramparts, the trenches, and the entire Polish encampment. And as a swelling wave of the ocean, driven by the wind, from afar approaches the shore, surges, foams with rage, strikes with a roar, and then recedes into the distance, so they made an attack here and there, receding and advancing again, as if wishing to test the enemy's power of resistance and to convince themselves that the mere sight of their numbers would crush the spirit of the enemy before they destroyed its body. They opened fire also, and the balls fell thickly about the camp, which quickly responded with lively volleys. Now there appeared upon the ramparts a procession bearing the most holy sacrament in order to encourage the soldiers. The priest Mu Kowiecki bore the golden picks, raising it with both hands before his face, and sometimes high aloft. He walked beneath an embroidered canopy, his face bore the marks of asceticism, his eyes were closed, and upon his head he wore a hood. Beside him walked two priests who supported him under the elbows. Yeskolski, the chaplain of the Hussallars, formerly a famous soldier and well-versed in the art of war. The other Jebdkowsky, who was also an ex-soldier, a gigantic monk of St. Bernard and second in strength throughout the whole camp only to Longin. The poles of the canopy were carried by four noblemen, one of whom was Aglaba, and they were preceded by little girls with sweet faces who scattered flowers. The procession marched over the entire length of the ramparts, and after it marched the officers of the army. The soldiers, when they beheld the shining picks, the calm faces of the priests, and the girls dressed in their white garments, filled their hearts swell and became filled with enthusiasm. The wind scattered the powerful odor of burning myrrh in the censors, and the heads of all were bowed in humility. Mukhovetsky raised the picks aloft from time to time, and elevating his eyes towards heaven intoned the hymn beginning, before such a great sacrament. The powerful voices of Yeskolski and Jebdkowsky continued, The deep bass of the cannon accompanied the hymn, and at times hising cannonballs flew over the canopy, or fell within the ramparts, frightening Zaglaba, who squeezed himself close to the canopy post. Especially did fear overcome him when the procession halted for prayer. At such times the whizzing of the cannonballs could be distinctly heard flying overhead like great birds and a flying bird. Zaglaba grew more red in the face, and Chaplen Yeskolski, looking aside over the field, murmured to himself, they are only fit to tend chickens and should not meddle with cannon. Indeed the Cossacks had very poor gunners, and he, as an old soldier, could not calmly bear the sight of this poor marksmanship and waste of powder. Again the procession moved on, and the hymn continued, and the hymn continued. Again the procession moved on until it arrived at the other end of the ramparts, where there was no great pressure from the enemy. After the Cossacks and Tartars had attempted again and again to strike terror and panic among the besieged, they finally withdrew to their own positions and remained there. Meantime the procession had strengthened to the hearts of the besieged. It was evident that Chaplen Yeskolski was awaiting the arrival of his wagon-train. He seemed to be so sure of capturing the fort at the first assault, that he scarcely had any trenches made for the cannon, and raised no other earthworks to defend himself from the besieged. The wagon-train arrived on the following day and arranged themselves in several tens of rows of wagons stretching from Vernyakov to Dabina, a distance of about one mile. With it also arrived reinforcements, first of which were the splendid Zaporsian infantry, who could almost be compared to the Turkish Janissaries, and who were far better adapted to make an assault than the Tartars, or the rest of the blacks, about Zabaraj. Tuesday, July 13, was passed in feverish preparations on both sides. There was no doubt that the assault had been ordered, for trumpets and kettle-drums sounded the alarm from early morning among the Cossacks, while in the Tartars camp the great sacred drum, called the bolt, rolled like thunder. Evening felt clear and calm, but from the lakes and the Ghaniza, light fogs arose. At length the first star twinkled in the sky. At once sixty Cossack cannons belched forth smoke and flame with a simultaneous roar. Countless legions rushed with frightful yells towards the walls. The assault had begun. To the soldiers standing on the ramparts, the earth appeared to tremble beneath their feet. The oldest veterans could recall no such scene. Jesus, Maria, what is that? asked Zagloba, standing beside Schetts-Tusky, in a breach between the ramparts, giving orders to his Hussars. These are not men that are coming against us. You know that they are not men. The enemy are driving oxen ahead, so that we may waste our powder first upon them. The old nobleman grew red as a beat. His eye started from their sockets, and one word forced its way through his lips, which expressed its feelings at the moment. Scoundrels. The oxen urged on with clubs and burning brands by the Wild Herdsmen became mad through fear. They rushed forward with a terrible bellowing, now crowding each other, now hurrying on, now scattering and turning backward. Urged by shouts and scourged with raw hides, they surged up to the ramparts. Now Verstel made his cannons speak. Smoke filled the air, the sky became red as scarlet, the frightened beasts scattered as if dispersed by lightning, half of them falling to the ground while the enemy marched over their bodies. Captives, driven by spears and fire-brands, ran ahead with sand-bags with which to fill the trenches. These were peasants from the neighborhood of Zabraj, who had not had time to flee into the town before the enemy arrived. Among them were men, both old and young, and also women. They ran along, weeping, shrieking, and their hands outstretched towards heaven, praying for mercy. That wailing made the hare stand on end, but compassion was dead at that moment. From the rear the spears of the Cossacks threatened them. In front Verstel's cannon-balls crushed them. Grape-shot tore them to pieces and made long furrows amid the rows of these wretched ones. They ran ahead, wading in blood, stumbling, rising again and rushing onward, with a vast pack of Cossacks, Turks, and Tartars close upon their heels. The Fossa was soon filled with corpses, blood and sand-banks. Soon it was even with the ground and the enemy rushed over with shouts and yells. One regiment pushed on after the other. By the light of the cannon flashes the officers could be seen driving with their batons fresh masses against the ramparts. The picked troops assaulted the quarters and soldiers of Prince Irmi, for Kemolnitsky knew well that there would be the greatest resistance. First the soldiers from Sish. Behind them the terrible Pereslav, legions under Loboda. Besides those, Vorchenko led a regiment of Circassians. Kuak led the Karovsk Regiment. Nietzsche the Bratlov. Stepka the Uman. Morosky the Korsan. There were also the Kalnik and the powerful division of Bialotskirv. Fifteen thousand men, and with them Kemolnitsky, looking as red as Satan amid the fires, his breast open and exposed to the shots of the enemy, with the Ivan eagle in the face of a cannon amid all the chaos, smoke, confusion of battle and flames, planning everything, ordering everything. Behind the Cossacks came the Wild Dawn Cossacks, then the Circassians armed with knives. Nearby Tukei Bay led picked troops of Neugeis. After them came the Subagazi Balagrod Tartars, followed by Kurt Luke, Swarthi, Estrakans, armed with gigantic bows and arrows. They followed one another so closely that the hot breath of those behind were felt by those in front of them. Who can tell or describe how many fell ere they reached the trench filled with the bodies of captives? But they reached it, crossed it, and began to climb the ramparts. It seemed as if this night, bright with stars, was the night of judgment. Cannonballs which flew over the heads of the nearer, plowed into farther ranks. Bombs with Polish hissing noises, described fiery arcs in the darkness, making the darkest of night as light as day. The German and Polish infantry with the dismounted dragoons of the Prince at their side poured fire and lead upon the faces and breasts of the Cossacks. The front ranks desired to retreat, but pushed from behind they could not. Thus they fell on the spot. Blood spouted beneath the feet of those that advanced. The ramparts grew slippery. Feet, hands, and breasts slid from them. The men clambering up, slid off, climbed up again to be enveloped in clouds of smoke, blackened with soot, stabbed, beaten, but disregarding death and wounds. Here and there hand-to-hand combats took place. Men could be seen as though possessed and manned with rage grinding their teeth and with faces covered with blood. The survivors fought over the quivering bodies of the dead and dying. Commands could no longer be heard. They were drowned in the terrible general uproar that merged all sounds. The thunder of guns, the groans of the wounded, and the hissing of the grenades. The terrible struggle wherein no quarter was given lasted for hours. About the rampart another was formed by corpses which hindered the assailants. The sick Cossacks were almost butchered to a man. The Pereslav Regiment lay in rows about the rampart. The Karkovsk, Bratslav, and Umand divisions were decimated. Still others pressed forward, pushed from behind by the guard of the Hetman, the Rumalian Turks, and the Tartars of Urumbrie. Now confusion rose amid the ranks of the assailants, for the Polish infantry, the Germans, and the dragoons did not yield a step. Panting, covered with blood, streaming with sweat, half mad with the smell of blood, they flung after another upon the enemy like raging wolves upon a flock of sheep. At this moment Kemolnyetsky pressed forward with the remnants of the first divisions, and with his fresh forces of Balilserke, Tartars, Turks, and Circassians. The cannons ceased thundering, bombs whizzed no more, hand weapons alone made themselves hurt along the western rampart. Shouting commenced anew. At last even the firing of muskets ceased. Darkness enveloped the combatants. No, I could see what was taking place but something was rolling along in the darkness like a gigantic body quivering in convulsions. It was impossible to tell from the cries which arose, whether they were cries of triumph or despair. At times even these ceased, and then nothing could be heard save one immense and horrible groan from all sides as if it issued from beneath the earth and from its air higher and higher as if the souls of the fallen were flying aloft and groaning over the battlefield. But these were but occasional pauses, after which the uproar and howls grew louder and the unearthly noise of combat became fiercer and more terrible. Again was heard the crackle of muskets for Major Magnitsky with the rest of the infantry came up to the aid of the exhausted regiments. In the rear ranks of the enemy the trumpets sounded a retreat. There was a pause in the combat. The Cossacks retreated about a furlong from the ramparts and placed themselves under the protection of their cannon. But within half an hour Magnitsky drove them for a third time to the assault. Now Prince Yermy appeared on the ramparts. It was easy to recognize him for the penin and bunchuk insignia of the Heppens rank waved above his head, while before and behind him were born flaring torches making a blood red glare. Soon the enemy's cannon were belching at him but the artillerymen aimed badly and the balls flew high above him beyond the Ghaniza while he stood calmly and surveyed the approaching masses. The Cossacks slackened their pace as if dazzled by the sight of him. A murmur like the quick whisper of the breeze swept through their ranks. Yermy! Yermy! On the rampart and the glare of the blood red torches the Prince appeared to them like a fabulous giant in folklore. A tremor ran through their weary limbs and their hands made the sign of the cross. But Yermy stood still. He waved his golden baton and at once a swarm of death-dealing bombs hurtled through the air and fell into the enemy's ranks. Like a wounded dragon the dense mass writhed and a cry of terror was heard from one end of the line to the other. Forward! Forward! shouted the Cossack kernels. The dark mass rushed at full speed towards the ramparts beneath which was sheltered from the bombs. But they had not made half the distance when the Prince, who was clearly visible, turned towards the west and again waved his baton. At the signal the cavalry moved forward from beside the pond out of the gap between it and the ramparts and immediately poured out on the plane. By the light of the bombs could be recognized the great banners of Skatooski and Zatz Vilkovski's Hussars the dragoons of Kuchel and Volodyovskiy and the Tartars of the Prince under Rostvorovskiy. They were followed by fresh regiments of Seminovs and Wallachians under Bykov. Not only Kemelnitsky but even the last camp follower of the Cossacks recognized in a flash that the audacious Prince was going to hurl his entire cavalry upon the enemy's flank. At once trumpets on the lines of the assailants sounded a retreat. Front faced to the cavalry front faced to the cavalry voices of command exclaimed in alarm. Simultaneously Kemelnitsky endeavored to change his front and to place cavalry against cavalry but it was too late. Air he was able to form his cavalry the squadrons of the Prince came rushing as if on wings shouting their battle cry strike! kill! Banners rustled plumes waved and iron weapons clashed. The Hussars with their lances hurled themselves upon the wall of the enemy like a hurricane and bore everything before them. No human power, no command no leader could hold the infantry against which the first attack was directed. Wild panic seized the picked guard of the Hetman. The soldiers of Bialo Serkiev threw away their muskets spears, swords, daggers and scythes and shielding their heads with their hands they rushed in terror and roaring like beasts against the Tartars in the rear. The Tartars however received them with a rain of bullets and arrows so they threw themselves upon the flank and ran along the wagon train under the constant fire of the infantry in the cannons of Verstel leaving behind them such a great crowd of corpses that they lay one on top of the other. Now the wild 2K bay together with Zubatsky and Urmurzas pressed like mad upon the advancing Hussars. He did not hope to break their power but simply wished to delay them in order to win time for the Silistrian and Rumalian genoceries to form into squares and to protect the Bialo Serkiev men from the first panic. As if he were a common Tartar and not a chief he rushed at the enemy in the van of his troops and fought desperately exposing himself to dangers with the rest. The curved swords of the Nogais clashed upon armor and breastplates and the howl of the warriors drowned out all other sounds. But they could not hold their ground forced from their position by the terrible attacks of the iron horsemen against whom they were unaccustomed to stand with open front. They were driven back towards the genoceries, thrown from their saddles hacked with long sabers, pierced through beaten and crushed like poisonous reptiles. They still defended themselves with such that they did actually check the onset of the Hussars. 2K Bay raged like a destroying flame and the Nogais kept close at his side like wolves following a she-wolf. Still they had to give way leaving more and more corpses behind them. When thundering cries of Allah announced that the genoceries had formed Skeztusky threw himself upon the raging 2K Bay and struck him upon the head with his sword. But whether the knight had not yet regained his strength after his illness or whether the helmet of Damascus steel withstood the blow, the blade bent on 2K Bay's head and was shattered into fragments. 2K Bay closed his eyes and fell into the arms of his Nogais, who escaped with their chief amid the general uproar like clouds scutting before wind. The entire cavalry of the prince was now fronting the Romalian and Cilistrian genoceries and the Mohammedan Serbians who were the genoceries had formed an immense square and were slowly retreating towards the wagon train with their front to the enemy bristling with muskets, spears, javelins, battle axes and swords. The squadrons of heavy dragoon and the seminars of the prince rushed like a whirlwind upon the square at their head with great noise and rattle of sabers rode Skeztusky's hussars. He himself rushed on in the van and beside him rode Longin upon his Livonian mare, his terrible broadsword Cowell Trencher held aloft. A red band of flame flew from one end of the quadrangle to the other. Bullets whistled about the ears of the riders. Here and there a man groaned or a horse fell but still they chased ahead. Now they neared the enemy and the genoceries can distinctly hear the snorting and blowing breath of the horses. The square is formed more closely and a wall of spears is inclined against the onrushing horses. As many points as there were in that cloud so many nights were threatened. Just then a gigantic hussar rushes with tremendous speed upon the wall of the square. For a moment the forefeet of the frantic horse rise in the air. Then steed and rider fall upon the crowded mass, overturning men, splintering spears and spreading destruction. As an eagle swoops upon a flock of white partridges which crowd together in terror and become easy prey and are torn to pieces with beak and talon, so Panlongin, Poedbipienta swooped upon the enemy enraged with his cowl trencher. A cloud burst could not create greater havoc in a young and dense forest than did he among the throng of genoceries. He was terrible. His form assumed superhuman proportions. His horse seemed to transform itself into a dragon snorting flame from its nostrils. A slurbok, a gigantic aga, threw himself upon him but fell cut into. In vain did the strongest men attempt to check him with their spears. They fell as if struck by lightning. He trampled upon them, forced himself into the densest throng, and whenever he wielded his mighty sword it seemed as if corn were falling beneath the scythe. The crowd thinned out about him. One could hear yells, groans, the thunder of blows, the crash of steel upon the helmets, and the snorting of the hellish mare. Adeeve, adeeve, footnote, devil, and footnote, shouted terrified voices. At this moment the iron mass of Hussars with Skatooski at its head rushed through the breach made by the Lithuanian knight. The walls of the square burst like those of a falling house. The throngs of genoceries took to flight in every direction. It was just in the nick of time, for the Nogay under Subagazi were now returning to the battle like bloodthirsty wolves, and on the other side Kemolnytsky had rallied the Bialserkiev men and was hurrying to the aid of the genoceries, but now there was general confusion. Cossacks, Tartars, Musselmen, genoceries, without offering the slightest resistance, fled in wild terror towards the dragon train. The cavalry pursued them, hewing down everything in the way. Those who had not fallen in the first assault perished now. The pursuit was so hot that the squadrons rushed ahead of the rear ranks of the fugitives and their hands grew weary from cutting and slashing. The flying men threw away their weapons, flags, caps, and even their coats. The white caps of the genoceries covered the field like snowflakes. The entire picked force of Kemolnytsky's infantry, the cavalry and artillery, as well as the Tartar and Turkish auxiliary forces formed one disorderly mass senseless, wild, and blind with fright. Entire companies fled before single officers. The Hussars, having scattered the infantry and cavalry, had done their work. Now the dragoons and light squadrons rushed in, and Volodyovsky and Kushel did incredible mischief. The battlefield became a great sea of blood which flashed like water beneath the hooves of the horses and bespringled the armor and faces of the knights. The fleeing crowds only drew breath when they reached the center of the wagon train and the trumpets of the Prince's cavalry sounded a retreat. The knights returned singing and shouting in triumph and counting on their way with bloody swords the corpses of the enemy. But who could estimate at a glance the extent of the defeat? Who could count all that had perished when in the trench alone the bodies were heaped of a man? The soldiers were almost overcome by the smell of blood and sweat. Fortunately quite a strong breeze blew from the lakes and carried the odors to the enemy's tents. Thus ended the first encounter between the terrible Yermy and Kemolnyetsky. But the end of the storm was not yet. For while Vishnyavetsky repulsed the attacks directed at the right wing of the camp, Berle had almost made himself master of the entrenchments. He had surrounded the town and castle with his warriors from the region beyond the Dnieper and had pushed on to the eastern lake and fiercely attacked Firle's quarters. The Hungarian Infantry Division stationed there were unable to withstand the attack for the entrenchments at the pond were not yet finished. The first company fled from the banner and was soon followed by the entire regiment. Berle rode at full speed to the center followed by his men like an enemy. The shouts of victory were heard at the opposite end of the camp. The Cossacks who pursued the fleeing Hungarians crushed a small division of cavalry, took several cannon, and had almost reached the quarters of the Castilian of Belsk when Vishnyansky at the head of several German companies rushed to the rescue. Striking down the flag bearer with a single thrust he seized the flag and threw himself with it upon the enemy. The Germans closed with the Cossacks in a terrible hand-to-hand combat in which on one side fought with fury the crushing numbers of Berle's forces and on the other the courage of the old lions of the Thirty Years War. In vain did Berle, like a wounded bore, charge into the densest ranks of the combatants. Neither the scorn of death nor the fierceness with which the Cossacks fought could check the Germans, who pressed upon the Zaporizans with such force that they swept them from their places, scattered them, and after half-hours struggle drove them beyond the borders. Vishnyansky, covered with blood, planted the flag upon the half-finished rampart. Berle was now placed in a terrible position. He was forced to retreat by the same road on which he had come and since Prince Jeremy had already crushed those who had attacked the right wing he could now with great ease cut off the retreat of Berle's division. And though Myrosovitsky at the head of the Corsa and Cossack cavalry came to his aid, Konyetspolsky's Hussars, supported by those of Sketsutsky, returning from the attack upon the Janissaries, fell upon Berle who had been retreating in order. One shock scattered Berle's forces in all directions and a terrible slaughter ensued. Cut off from retreat to the wagon train, death alone remained for the Cossacks. Some without asking for quarter defended themselves singly or in small groups with a fury of despair. Others in vain stretched employing hands toward the cavalry that was thundering like a tempest over the field. Then began pursuit and a search for enemies who had hidden themselves in holes or in uneven pelaces in the ground. In order to light the battlefield, burning barrels of tar were rolled down from the entrenchments, resembling blazing meteors with fiery tails as they fell. By their red light the remainder of the trans-Genepper horde was destroyed. Subagazi who had on that day performed marvels of valor, flew to the aid, but the valent Marek Sobiesky, the chief of Krasnostavsk, stopped him as a lion stops a wild buffalo. Berle saw now that all was lost. But he loved his Cossack honor more than life and did not attempt to escape. Others fled in the darkness, hidden in the clefts, crept away between the feet of forces. He alone still sought the enemy. He struck down Pan-Domka, Pan-Rustyetsky, and the young hero Pan-Assak, who had one undying fame at Konstantinov. Then his sword cleft Pan-Savetsky and struck down two winged Hussars together. Finally, like a flame of fire, he rushed toward a huge nobleman whom he had noticed rushing over the battlefield bellowing like a bull. Zagloba, for it was he, bellowed still louder from terror and spurred his horse to flight. His few remaining locks stood up like hooks with fright, but he did not lose his presence of mind. On the contrary, he was meditating strategums which flashed like lightning through his mind. He spurred onwards towards a dense throng of horsemen and cried out gentlemen, whoever believes in God. Then he spurred like a tempest toward the thick mass of cavalry. But Berle rushed at him from one side to head him off. Zagloba closed his eyes and said to himself, I shall perish now, my fleas. He heard the snorning of the horse behind him, saw that no one was coming to his help, that escape was impossible, and that no hand but his own could save him from Berle. In this moment of agony his terror suddenly turned into rage, he bellowed more fearfully than a wild oryx, and wheeling his horse he turned against his pursuer. I am Zagloba, he cried, flourishing his sword in the air. Just then a fresh lot of tar-barrels were rolled from their ramparts. In a bright gleam Berle gazed upon Zagloba and was astounded. Not at hearing his name, however, for that he had never heard before, but that he recognized him as the man whom he had entertained in Yample as Bowen's friend. But that unfortunate start of surprise was the ruin of the brave chief of the Zaporizans. For air he could collect himself, Zagloba landed such a blow upon his temple that he was lifeless to the earth. This happened in view of the entire army. Shouts of joy from the Hussars were answered by shouts of terror from the Cossacks, who when they beheld the death of this old lion of the Black Sea, completely lost spirit and attempted no further resistance. Those whom Sumbagazi could not rescue perished to the last man, for no prisoners were taken on that terrible night. Sumbagazi fled towards the rag and train pursued the starosta of Krasnovstek and the light cavalry. The attack all along the line of entrenchments was repulsed. No opposition was met on the way, and only about the wagon-train did the pursuing cavalry find work to do. Shouts of triumph and joy resounded over the entire camp of the besieged and mighty cries filled the air and ascended towards heaven. The blood spattered, perspiring, dusty, powder-blackened soldiers stood leaning upon their weapons. The forces were lowering, the brows still frowning, their eyes still flashing, panting, but ready to fight again if necessary. Slowly the cavalry also returned from its bloody harvest at the train. Then the prince himself appeared upon the battlefield and with him the commanders, the royal standard-bearer Marek, Sobieski and Pishmianski. The brilliant procession moved slowly along the trenches. Long live Yeremi, cried the army. Long live our father. The prince bowed with uncovered head and waved his field marshals' baton on every side. I thank you, gentlemen, I thank you," he exclaimed in his clear bell-like voice. Then he turned to pan Pishmianski. This trench is too big, said he. Pishmianski nodded his head in sign of affirmation. Thus the victorious leaders rode along the entire line from the western lake, inspecting the battlefield and the damages done to the ramparts by the enemy. Behind the prince's retinue enthusiastic soldiers bore Zagloba on their shoulders to the camp as the hero of the day. Twenty strong arms lifted the portly figure of the warrior on high, while he, greatly excited, read, perspiring and waving his arms lest he should lose his balance, cried out with all his force. Ha! I peppered him. Purposely I feigned flight to draw him on. This dog-brother will bark at us no more. Gentlemen, I had to give an example to the younger men. For God's sake be careful or you will let me fall. Hold me tight, do you hear? Believe me, I had my hands full with him. All sorts of rascals fought with noblemen today, but they got their deserts. Be careful, let me down, the devil. Long life to him! Long life to him! shouted the nobles. Take him to the prince, cried others. Long life to him! Long life to him! Meantime, the Zaborsian hetmen rushed into his camp roaring like a wounded beast, tore his coat from his breast and tore his own face. The chiefs who had escaped from the battle surrounded him in gloomy silence and spoke no word of consolation. He was almost bereft of his senses. He foamed at the mouth and tore his hair with both hands. From my regiments, my warriors, he repeated in a hoarse voice. What will the Khan say? What will Touke be? Give me up to Yermy, let him impale me on the stake. The chiefs maintained silence. Why did the soothsayers predict victory? roared the hetmen, off with their heads. Why did they say that I should take Yermy captive? Here to fore, when the roaring of this lion had terrorized the entire camp, the captains had preserved a respectful silence. But now that he was defeated, trampled upon and forsaken by fortune, his plight made the officers insolent. You can never conquer Yermy, muttered Stepka. You are the cause of your own ruin and of ours, added Morozovitsky. The hetmen rushed at him like a tiger and who was the conqueror at Zoltovoda, who at Corsim and who at Piliovets. You, answered Voronchenko harshly, but Viznyavvysky was not there. Kulnetsky began to tear his hair. I promised the Khan that he should sleep in the castle tonight. How would he in despair? Then Kulak spoke. But you have promised the Khan concerned your own head. Keep it. Beware lest you lose it. But do not drive us again to the assault. Do not destroy soldiers of God. Put up ramparts against the poles, trenches before the cannons, or woe unto you. Woe unto you! repeated gloomy voices. Woe unto you! answered Kemolnyetsky. Thus they murmured and rumbled like thunderclouds. At length Kemolnyetsky staggered and fell upon a divan covered with sheepskins in a corner of the tent. The captains surrounded him with gloomy brows and in deep silence. At length the hitmen called out hoarsely, Gorzalka you shall not drink, shouted Vyhovsky. The Khan will send for you. The Khan was about a mile distant from the battlefield and knew nothing of what had transpired. The night was still and warm and he sat by his tent among the augas and servants eating dates from a silver dish and awaiting news. At times he gazed up at the starlit sky and murmured Rasul Allah. Muhammad, the messenger of God. At this moment Subhagazi came riding up at full speed on a foaming horse, breathless and covered with blood. Leaping from his saddle he hurried up to the Khan and bowed low. Speak, said the Khan with a mouth full of dates. The words burned like flames in the mouth of Subhagazi but he dared not speak without first repeating the customary titles. He began therefore making constant promises to speak in the following manner. Almighty Khan of all the Horts, grandson of Muhammad, absolute sovereign, all wise monarch, fortunate lord, lord of the tree they give shade from sunrise to sunset, lord of the blooming tree. The Khan waved his hand to check the flow of words. He noticed that there was blood on the face of Subhagazi and that pain and despair were in his eyes. He spat the half chewed dates into his hands and one of his mullahs who accepted them as a mark of extraordinary honor and began to eat them. Then the Khan said, Speak quickly, Subhagazi, has the camp of the infidels been taken. God has not granted it. The Poles are victors. Kimonitsky defeated and Tukbe wounded. There is but one God, said the Khan, how many true believers have gone to paradise? Subhagazi raised his eyes and pointed with his bloodstained hand to the sky. As many as there are lights on Allah's heaven, he answered solemnly. The Khan's fat face grew purple. He almost burst with rage. Where is that dog, said he, who promised me that I should sleep tonight in the castle? Where is that venomous serpent whom God is beneath my feet? Let him come here and give an account of the splendid promises he made. Several murses at once departed to find Kimonitsky. By degrees, the Khan grew calmer and finally he said, There is but one God. Then he turned to Subhagazi. Subhagazi, said he, there is blood upon your face. It is the blood of unbelievers, replied the warrior. Tell how you have shed it. Rejoice our ears by telling of the bravery of the faithful. Then, Subhagazi began to describe the battle in detail, praising especially the bravery of Tukbe, of Golgi, of Nur-ed-Ed-Din. Nor did he fail to mention Kimonitsky likewise, praising him as he did the others, and describing the disaster only to the will of God and to the fury of the infidels. One circumstance in the narrative impressed itself upon the Khan, and that was at the beginning of the battle no shots were fired upon the Tartars, and that the Prince's cavalry had only charged upon them when the Tartars stood directly in their way. Allah! They did not want to fight with me, said the Khan, but now it is too late. And this indeed was the case. Prince Jeremy at the beginning of the battle had forbidden his soldiers to fire upon the Tartars in order to instill in them that negotiations were going on with the Khan, and that his hordes were standing beside the rebels for the sake of appearances. Later circumstances had forced an encounter with the Tartars. The Khan nodded his head and deliberated within himself whether it would not be better to turn his arms against Kimonitsky, but suddenly the Hetman stood before him. Kimonitsky was now calm and approached the Khan with head held high and a bold look. Craft and daring were expressed in his face. Approach, you traitor! The Hetman of the Cossacks approaches you and no traitor but your faithful ally to whom you pledged your aid under any circumstances, said Kimonitsky. Go! Pass the night in the castle. Drag the Poles from the trenches by their hair, as you promised. Great Khan of all the hordes answered Kimonitsky in a solemn voice. You are mighty, and except the Sultan, the mightiest on earth. You are wise and powerful, but can you shoot an arrow up to the stars, or fathom the depth of the sea? The Khan gazed at him in astonishment. You cannot, continued Kimonitsky, in a voice growing in volume. And so I could not fathom the unfathomable pride and daring of Jeremy. How could I divine that your mere name would not terrify him into subjection, that the sight of you would not humble him to submissiveness and that he would dare to raise an insolent hand against you, and to shed the blood of your warriors and to insult you, mighty monarch, as well as the least of your mercies? Had I ventured to harbor such a thought, I should have dishonored you whom I love and reverence. Hala! said the Khan, more and more astonished. But this much I wish to tell you, continued Kimonitsky, with increasing assurance in his voice and manner. You are great and mighty, from you as nations and monarchs do homage to you and call you the lion. Jeremy alone does not bow his head to the dust before your beard. If you therefore do not destroy him, if you do not bend his neck and ride on his back, where is your glory and your honor? Men will say that a simply, Polish prince has dishonored the czar of the Crimea and has escaped punishment, and that he is greater and mightier than you. A profound silence followed. The chiefs and the agas looked upon the face of the Khan as upon the sun and held their breath. The latter had his eyes closed and was lost in thought. Kimonitsky leaned upon his baton and waited confidently. You have said it, exclaimed the Khan at last. I will humble Yurimi and will ride on his back so that no one from the east to the west can say that an infidel dog has disgraced me. God is great! Kimonitsky's eyes shone with joy. With one stroke he had warded off the destruction hanging over his head and from a doubtful ally he had formed one who could be implicitly trusted. In case of emergency the lion knew how to transform itself into a serpent. Both camps until late at night were active as a swarm of beasts while on the battlefield the torn and mangled warriors slept the sleep that knows no waking. The moon rose and started on her course over the immense graveyard and was reflected in the pools of congealed blood revealing at every moment new heaps of slain looking into their open, glassy eyes lighted their bluish faces the fragments of shattered weapons and the corpses of horses. Her rays grew fainter as if pailing at the sight. Here and there ominous groups appeared upon the field. These were servants and camp followers Superstitious fear drove them finally from the field. A dread mystery hung about that field strewn with corpses about the silence and stillness of those motionless figures not long before human beings and in the still peacefulness with which the dead Poles, Turks, Tartars, and Cossacks lay side by side. At times the wind rustled in the bushes that grew in spots over the field and it seemed to the sentinels as if this rustle was caused by the souls of the fallen circling above their corpses. It was even rumored that when the clock struck midnight hour from Zabrash on a sudden over the whole field there were sounds as if great flocks of birds were rising in the air. Whaling voices, deep sighs, and hollow groans were also heard making the hairs stand upon the head. Those who were yet to perish in this struggle and whose ears were more sensitive to supernatural voices distinctly heard the heavenward rising souls of the Poles making supplications. Before thine eyes, O Lord, we lay down our sins while the souls of the Cossacks groaned, Christ, Christ, be merciful. For those that had fallen in this fatricidal war could not hastened at once to the eternal life. It was their fate to remain in the outer darkness and to hover in the wind over this veil of tears to weep and lament by night until they should obtain of God peace and pardon for their sins at the feet of Christ. But in those days men harden their hearts and no angel of peace flew over the battlefield. 4. Chapter 3. On the following morning ere the sun had flashed its golden rays over the sky, new entrenchments surrounded the Polish camp. The former had covered too much space, it was difficult to defend them and to render mutual assistance. The Prince and Pan Pyshiemski had decided therefore to enclose the troops within narrower entrenchments. All night long they had worked steadily, the Hussars as well as the other divisions. It was not until three o'clock in the morning that sleep closed the eyes of the tired knights and all except the sentries slept. For the enemy also was working all through the night and attempted to make no assault after yesterday's defeat. It was not expected to be made upon this day. Skestewski, Pan Longin and Zagloba sat in their tent drinking beer in small mugs thickened with crumbs of cheese and diverted themselves in talking over the battle with that satisfaction with which every soldier talks over a recent victory. I am in the habit of going to sleep at milking time in the evening and of rising when they are milking in the morning the way the ancients did, said Zagloba. There was no time that would not do. Sleep when you have a chance and rise when you are awakened. It angers me to think that we are being disturbed on account of such a mob of rascals but it can't be helped in such times as these. Anyhow we paid them out yesterday. If we give them a couple more such receptions they will take care not to wake us. Do you know how many of our men have fallen? Asked Longin. Oh, not many. And, more fall of the assailants than of the besieged. You don't understand such matters as well as I do because you have not been in so many wars. But we old veterans don't have to count to the dead. We can estimate by watching the course of the battle. I shall attempt to learn all this from you gentlemen, said Longin mildly. Certainly you can if you have sufficient wit, but I doubt this fact. Oh, let him alone! interrupted Sketsutski. Longin has seen war before and God grants that our best knights performed such deeds as his of yesterday. I did as well as I could, said the Lithuanian, but not as much as I wanted to. You did pretty well, said Zagloba, assuming a patronizing heir. And that others surpassed you. Here he twisted his mustaches. It's not your fault. The Lithuanian listened with downcast eyes inside, thinking of his ancestor, Sovekyo, and the three heads. At that moment the curtain of the tent was raised and Pan Michael entered as lively and cheerful as a goldfinch on a bright morning. Well, we are all here, exclaimed Zagloba. Let him have some beer. The little knight grasped the hands of his three comrades and said, You should see how many balls are lying about in the square. It surpasses imagination. You can't step without stumbling. For after rising I took a short stroll about the camp. All the hands of the entire district of Lemberg could not lay so many eggs in two years. Ha! If only they were eggs wouldn't we have a high time eating omelettes. You must know, gentlemen, that I would not exchange omelettes for the greatest delicacy. I have a soldier's disposition, so have you. I enjoy something good, but there must be plenty of it. For this reason I am more valiant in battle than the lazy youths of today who are both full in their stomachs. Well, you showed us yesterday with Berle what you are capable of, said the little knight, to cut Berle down in the way you did it. Ho, ho! I did not expect it of you. Why, he was one of the bravest and most famous knights throughout the Ukraine and Turkey. What? Ha! said Zagloba proudly. That was not my first deed nor my greatest, pan Michael. I see we were all searching in a bushel of poppy seed, and all of us have found each other at the bottom. Such another for you could not find in the whole commonwealth. By God, with you, gentlemen, and our prince at the head, we could make our way on foot to Stenbol. Now, let me tell you, Pans get Stusky killed Bertabot, and yesterday Turkabay. Turkabay is not dead. Interrupted gets Stusky. I felt how the blade rebounded, then at once we were separated. All the same, said Zagloba. Don't interrupt me, Panyan. Pan Michael cut down Bohan at Vorsov as we have said. Better not mention that, said the Lithuanian. What is said is said, replied Zagloba, though I should prefer myself to forget it. But let me proceed. Well, Pan Podbienta from Miskyisky did a pulyan, and I, Berle. I cannot conceal from you gentlemen, however, all these fellows for one Berle, and then I had the greatest work in settling him. That man was a devil, not a Cossack. If I had legitimate sons, I would leave them an illustrious name. I would like to know what his Majesty the King and the Diet will say, and how they will reward us, who live more on Sulfur and Brim Sedone than on anything else. There was a hero who was greater than any of us, said Pan Longin, but his name nobody knows or remembers. I should like to know who he may be, said Zagloba, offended. He must have lived in ancient times. No, not in ancient times, said the Lithuanian. It was that little brother who at Tetsiana upset King Gustavus Adolphus and his horse, and captured him. I heard that this was at Putsack, interrupted Pan Michael. The King, however, tore himself away and fled, said Skets Tewski. So it was. I can tell you something about it, said Zagloba, blinking his eye, for I was then serving under the noble Konyet Spolski, father of the royal standard-bearer. I know something about it. Modesty prevents me from making known the name of the hero, therefore nobody knows it. Believe me, Gustavus Adolphus was a great warrior, as great as Konyet Spolski, but my encounter with Berle was a much more difficult task, let me tell you. Then, as I understand it, it was you who overthrew Gustavus Adolphus, said Volodyavsky. Why have I boasted about it, Pan Michael? Let it remain forgotten. Today I can boast of a deed which will long be remembered. This beer rumbles terribly in the stomach, and the more cheese there is in it, the more it rumbles. For my part I prefer wine, though I thank God for what we have. It may be that we shall lack even this. The priest Jeb Kopsky tells me that provisions are scarce and that worries him a good deal for he has a stomach as big as a barn. He is a huge Bernardine. I have become very fond of him. The blood of a soldier rather than a priest flows in his veins. The man whom he strikes in the snout must order his coffin at once. I have not told you gentlemen yet, remarked the little knight, how well Chaplain Jaskolsky behaved last night. He posted himself in the corner of the tower on the right side of the castle and watched the fight. You must know that he is an excellent shot. He remarked to Jeb Kopsky I won't shoot at the Cossacks for they at any rate are Christians although they displease God. But Tartars said he, I abhor. Then he began to shoot, and I understand that he knocked over a score and a half of them during the battle. I would that all the clergy were like him, sides Aglaba, but our Mukhovetsky merely folds his hands and weeps that so much Christian blood is being shed. Never mind, said Sketsketsky earnestly, Mukhovetsky is a holy friar, and the best proof of this is that although he is younger than the two others, they nevertheless humble themselves before him. Not only do I not deny his holiness, says Aglaba, I even believe that he could convert the Khan himself. O gentlemen, his Majesty the Khan must be in such a rage that the lice upon him are turning somersaults from fright. If he goes to negotiations I shall also go with the commissioners. We are old friends. Once upon a time he used to be very fond of me. Maybe he still remembers me. No doubt that Yanitsky will be elected to conduct the negotiations because he speaks the Tartar language as well as the Polish, said Sketsketsky. And so do I. The Merzes and myself know each other like strict horses. When I was in the Crimea they wanted to give their daughters to me in order to have a beautiful progeny. And as I was young and had may no vow of chastity like his grace pan-parbyempte of Mishkishky, I had some rousing times. That is offensive to the ear, said Longin bashfully. And you always repeat the same thing like a starling. It is apparent that the beet soup-eaters speak. The conversation was interrupted by a murmur of voices outside the tent. The nights went out to see what was the matter. A number of soldiers stood on the entrenchments looking at the region about which had materially changed during the night and was still changing. The Cossacks indeed had not been idle since the last assault. They had made breast-works and placed cannon behind them, longer and more far-reaching than any to be found in the winding and crosswise entrenchments and approaches. From a distance, these heaps of earth looked like thousands of gigantic molehills, and the entire slope of the plain was covered with them. The freshly turned-up earth showed everywhere in dark spots amid the green of the grass, and everywhere men were toiling at the earthworks. On the front ramparts glittered the red caps of the Cossacks. The prints, accompanied by the starosta of Kresnatovsk and Pishmiensky, stood upon the entrenchments. A little lower down, the Castilian of Belsk surveyed through a field-glass, the Cossack works, and said to the royal cup-bearer, the enemy is beginning a regular siege. I see that we shall have to abandon the defense within the entrenchments and take refuge in the castle. Prince Yermy overheard these words and, bending towards the Castilian, said God forbid, for we should be going voluntarily into a trap. Here we must live or die. That's my opinion, too, even though I should have to kill a berlet every day, interposed Zagleba. I protest in the name of the entire army against the opinion of the Castilian of Belsk. This is not your business, said the prince. Keep quiet, whispered Volodyovsky, pulling the nobleman's coat to sleeve. We will dig them out of their hiding-places like moles, said Zagleba, and I beg your highness to let me take the first sally. Now well enough, but they shall know more. A sally, said the prince, contracting his forehead, better wait until the nights are dark. Then, turning to the starosta of Krasnostovsk to Pan Pyshynsky and the commanders, he said, I request you gentlemen to come to a conference. And descending from the ramparts, he was followed by all the superior officers. For heaven's sake, what are you doing, said Volodyovsky to Zagleba? What do you mean? Don't you know that it is against military discipline to interrupt the conversation of your superior officers? The prince is a mild man, but in wartime he will stand no joking. That is nothing, pan Michael, said Zagleba. The old pan Konyetspelsky was as fierce as a lion, and yet he highly valued my advice, and may the wolves eat me if it was not just for the reason that he twice defeated Zagleba's Adolphus. I know how to talk with these gentlemen. Didn't you notice how the prince gave way when I advised a sally? If God grants us a victory, who will get the credit then? What, you? At that moment, Zastvilhovsky approached. Look, said he, they are rooting, rooting like swine, pointing to the field. I would they were swine, answered Zagleba, we would have cheap sausages then. In pan furlies quarters, the soldiers have had to dig a well. You can't see any water in the eastern pond now, on account of the number of bodies. At about dawn, the gallbladders of the curse burst, and they rose to the surface. We shall not be able to eat fish any more on Friday, because they have fed upon flesh. True, said Zastvilhovsky, but I have never seen so many corpses, except perhaps at Kotzen, when the Janissary stormed our camp. You will see more of them yet, I tell you. I think that they will begin to attack us this evening, or before the evening. But I say that they will let us alone until tomorrow. Zagleba had scarcely finished, when white smoke puffed up from the enemy's earthworks, and balls began to fly over the entrenchments. There you are, exclaimed Zastvilhovsky. Bah, they know nothing of the art of war, said Zagleba. Old Zastvilhovsky was right. Yatsky had begun a regular siege. He closed all ways, and exits removed at the pasture, had thrown up entrenchments and approaches, had dug winding ditches about the camp, but he did not neglect to make assaults. He annoyed and frightened them. He had decided to give the besieged no rest, to tire them out, and to harass them until the weapons should drop from their weary hands. Therefore, in the evening, he again attacked Vyshnaya Yatsky's quarters, but with no better result than the previous day, especially as his soldiers did not display the same zeal. On the following day the firing did not stop for a moment. The winding ditches were so near to the camp, that musketary fire reached the ramparts. The earthworks smoked like miniature volcanoes from morning till night. It was not a general battle, but an incessant bombardment. The besieged made occasional swordies, when swords, flails, lances, and sides met in conflict. But whenever some of the Cossacks were swept away, others immediately took their places. The besieged soldiers had no rest all day long, and when the wished for sunset came a general assault was begun. A sally was out of the question. On the night of July 16th two brave colonels, Hudlack and Nabata, attacked the Prince's quarters and were terribly defeated. Three thousand of the most active Cossacks were left upon the field. The rest, pursued by the starosta fled to their wagon-train, throwing away their arms and powder horns. The same ill fate befell Fedorenko, who, under cover of a dense fog in the early morning, almost succeeded in capturing the town. Pan Korf at the head of the Germans repulsed him, and the chief of Krasnitovsk and the standard-bearer of Konyetspolsky almost annihilated the attacking party as they fled. But this was nothing in comparison to the frightful assault which, on July 19th, was made upon the entrenchments. The night previous, the Cossacks had heaped up high embankments right opposite of the quarters of Vishnodysvetsky and from these heavy cannons belched out an incessant fire. At the close of the day, when the first stars were twinkling in the sky, thousands upon thousands pushed forward to the assault. A number of awful-looking machines, resembling towers, appeared in the distance and slowly approached the ramparts. At the sides of these were things that looked like outstretched wings. These were bridges to be thrown over the entrenchments. The tops of the towers were enveloped in smoke from the discharges from small cannon and muskets. They rolled on amid the swarm of heads like gigantic commanders, now blazing with a fire of guns, now disappearing in smoke and darkness. The soldiers pointed them out to each other from the distance, whispering, those are tartar-moving towers. Kimolnyetsky wants to grind us in those windmills. See how they roll with a noise like thunder. Fire at them with cannon, shouted others. The princes artillerymen fired ball after ball, grenade after grenade at the terrible towers. But as they could only be seen when the flashes lighted the darkness, the balls, for the most part, missed their mark. Nearer and nearer drew the dense throng of cossacks like a dark wave rolling along at night on the expanse of the sea. Ugg, exclaimed Zaglebah, who was with Schetztusky's cavalry. I feel hotter than ever before in my life. The night is so close that everything on me is ringing wet. The devil invented those machines. May the earth swallow them up. These rascals stick like a bone in my throat, amen. There is neither time to eat nor sleep. The very dogs live better than we. Ugg, how hot it is! The air was indeed oppressive and sultry, and besides it was with the exhalations of corpses which for days had been putrefying on the battlefield. The sky was shrouded with heavy black clouds. A storm was threatening Zabaraj. Perspiration trickled over the bodies of the soldiers and their breathing was heavy. At that moment drums began to rumble in the darkness. They will open attack at once, said Schetztusky. Do you hear the drums? I hear. I wish the devil were drumming on them. It is sheer desperation. The devil shouted the onward rushing mass. Along the entire length of the rampart the battle raged. Vishnanvetsky, Lentz-Turonsky, Firli, and Ostrovka were attacked simultaneously so that one could not assist the other. The Cossacks, drunk with Gorzolka, attacked more fiercely than ever, but were met also with braver resistance. The heroic spirit of their leader reanimated the soldiers. The fierce infantry composed of mezzovian peasants fought the Cossacks with such fury that they got mixed up with their lines. They clubbed with their muskets and fought also with fists and teeth. Beneath the blows of the terrible mezzovians several hundred of the splendid Zaporosian infantry succumbed, but fresh bodies immediately took their places. Along the whole line the battle grew more furious. The musket's barrels burned the hands of the soldiers. They became short of breath. The men scarcely speak through hoarseness. The starosta of Krasnitovsk and Skietz-Tutsky rushed with the cavalry upon the enemy's flank and bathed in the blood of entire divisions as they trampled them down. Hour after hour passed, but the attack abated not. For the gaps in the ranks of Kimonetsky's Cossacks were instantly filled with fresh men. The Tartars filled the air with shouts and st. clouds of arrows at the defending soldiers. Men from behind urged the blacks on with clubs and scourges. Rage fought with rage, breast struck breast, and man embraced man in the struggle of death. Thus they dashed like breakers upon rocky islands. Suddenly the whole earth trembled beneath the feet of the warriors. The whole sky was enveloped in bluish flames as if God could no longer look upon the atrocious deeds of men. An awful crash drowned the shouting of the men in the thunder of canon. The artillery of heaven began a little more terrible cannonade. From east and west the tempest raged. It seemed as though the vault of heaven burst together with the clouds and was about to fall on the heads of the combatants. At moments all the world seemed like one vast flame and then all were blind in the darkness. And again the red zigzag streaks of lightning rent the black veil. A whirlwind swept away thousands of caps, streamers and flags and scattered them over the battlefield in the twinkling of an eye. A chaos of thunder claps, tempest, lightning, fire and darkness followed. The heavens raged like the men. Over the town and castle the entrenchments in the camp burst the unprecedented tempest. The battle was discontinued. Finally the floodgates of heaven opened and not streams but cataracts poured down upon the earth. The storm enveloped the earth so that one could not see a step in advance. Bodies floated in the ditch. The Cossack regiments abandoned the assault and fled precipitously to their camp. Hurrying along blindly they ran into each other and thinking that the enemy was in pursuit they scattered in the darkness. Right behind them plowed artillery and ammunition wagons, sinking in the mire and overturning. The water washed away the Cossack's earthworks, roared in the winding trenches, flowed over the covered places though provided with the ditches and rushed roaring over the plain in pursuit of the fleeing Cossacks. The downpour grew heavier and heavier. The infantry in the trenches left the ramparts and fled to their tents, but the cavalry of the chief of Krasnatovsk and Sketstysky received no order to retreat. They stood close to each other as if in a sea shaking the water from themselves. Gradually the storm abated. At midnight the rain finally ceased. Between rifts in the clouds here and there a star blown. Another hour passed and the water had fallen a little. Then suddenly the prince himself appeared before Sketstysky's squadron. Gentlemen, he inquired, are your powder pouches dry? They are most serene prints, answered Sketstysky. Good! Dismount waved through the water to those war machines, put powder under them and blast them, but go quietly. The chief of Krasnatovsk will go with you. Your order will be executed, sir, answered Sketstysky. Then the prince caught sight of Zagloba, who was drenched to the skin. You asked to go on a sally, now go with these, he said. The deuce, take it, murmured Zagloba, this completes my misery. A half hour later two divisions of knights, two hundred and fifty men in each, hurried along, wading to their armpits. They held their swords in their hands. They were making for those terrible towers of the Cossacks, which stood about half a furlong from the entrenchments. One division was led by that lion of lions, the chief of Krasnatovsk, Marek Sobiesky, who would not hear of staying within the trenches, the other by Sketstysky. Attendants carried after them pales of tar, drywood for torches and powder. They proceeded without noise, like wolves creeping towards a sheepfold on a dark night. The little knight joined Sketstysky as a volunteer, for Pan Michael loved such undertakings more than life. He trod along in the water with joy in his heart and his sword in his hand. Beside him went Pan Bad Bipienta with his unsheathed cowl-cutter sword, towering above all, for he was two heads taller than the tallest of the others. Among them Zagloba hastened haste, panting, grumbling and mimicking the words of the Prince. You asked to go on a sally, now go with these. A dog wouldn't go to its wedding through water like this. If ever I advise a sally in such weather may I drink nothing but water all my life. Why, I am not a duck, and my belly is not a boat. I have always abominated water, and all the more do I despise this water in which peasant carcasses are soaking. Oh, keep quiet, said Pan Michael. Keep quiet yourself. You are no bigger than a gudgeon and know how to swim, so it is easy for you. I must say that it is ungrateful on the part of the Prince to begrudge my enjoying a rest after my victory over Berlée. Zagloba has done enough. May everybody do as much, but let Zagloba alone, for you will be badly off when he is no more. For God's sake, if I fall into a hole, pull me out by the ears, for I should drown at once. Keep quiet, said Skets Tewski. Behind those dark shadows, Cossacks are lurking. They might hear you. Where? What did you say? Why there, in those mounds in the grass. As though that, too, was wanting. May the bright thunder strike them. But the remaining words were choked off by Pan Michael, who put his hand on Zagloba's mouth, for the earthworks were scarce fifty steps away. The men kept as quiet as possible, rather splashed beneath their feet. Fortunately it began to rain again, and the noise drowned that of their footsteps. There were no sentries stationed at the coverings. Who in the world could have expected a sally in such a tempest, which divided the contending armies as with a lake? Pan Michael and Lungine pushed ahead and reached the earthworks first. The little knight let his saber drop by his side, and putting both hands to his mouth cried out, Hello there! What is it? Answered from within the voices of the Cossacks who evidently thought that someone had come over from the Cossack wagon-camp. God be praised, said Volodyevsky, let us in. Don't you know how to get in? Yes, I know, answered Volodyevsky, and having found the entrance he jumped in. Lungine and the others followed him. Then from the interior of the mound arose terrified cries. At the same time the knight shouted and rushed together into other mounds. And the clash of steel mingled in the darkness. Here and there dark figures rushed past. Others fell to the ground. Now and then shots were heard. All that scrimmage did not last long, not even a quarter of an hour. The Cossacks, for the most part, in deep sleep, were surprised and even offered no resistance, and were killed before they could reach their arms. To the infernal machines cried the voice of the starosta of Krasnatovsky. The knights rushed to the towers. On the left side, for the outside is wet, thundered skits tootsky. But the order was not easy to carry out, for in these towers, built of pine beams, no door or any sort of inlet could be found. The Cossack gunners mounted them on ladders, and the guns of small caliber, as only for such was their room, were drawn up with ropes. The knights for some time ran round to the towers, striking the walls with their swords, and pulling with their hands at the corners. They had access, and they began to hack at the towers. Padmerik Sobiesky ordered casks of powder that had been prepared for the purpose to be laid beneath. The casks of tar and torches were lighted, and the flames began to lick the wet wood. Before it ignited, and the powder had exploded, Longin bent down and lifted up an enormous stone, which the Cossacks had dug from the ground. Four of the strongest men could not move it from its place, but he raised it with his mighty hands, and through the burning tire the blood could be seen rushing to his face. The knights gazed upon him with amazement. It is Hercules himself may bullets strike him, they exclaimed, raising their hands with astonishment. Meanwhile Longin went up to one of the machines under which no fire had been set yet, bent backward, and hurled the stone at the center of the wall. Those present bent their heads. The stone whizzed in its course, and burst open the mortises. The tower opened as if broken in two, then tumbled down with a crash. Tar was poured over the masses of timber, and it was set on fire at once. Shortly afterwards, several tens of the towers were ablaze, like gigantic torches they illuminated the plane. Rain was still falling, but the fire prevailed, and the towers were ablaze to the astonishment of both armies since the night was so wet. From the Cossack camp, Stepka, Kulak, and Morozovitsky, each at the head of some thousands of Cossacks rushed to the rescue. They attempted to extinguish the flames but in vain. The pillars of flame and the red clouds of smoke rose higher and higher towards the sky, and were reflected in the lakes and ponds that had been formed by the tempest on the battlefield. Meanwhile, the night hurried in close lines towards the entrenchments, and were greeted from afar with shouts of joy. Suddenly, Sketsutsky looked about, glanced through the lines, and thundered out, Holt. Longin and the little knight were missing. Probably in their zeal they had remained too long in that last tower, or perhaps they had found the Cossacks in hiding. Anyway, they had not noticed the returning knights. Return, commanded Sketsutsky. The starosta of Krasnatovsk did not know what was the matter. He hurried up to inquire, and just at that moment the two lost men appeared, as if they had emerged from earth halfway between the towers and the knights. Skengine, with his shining cowl-cutter in his hand, took giant strides, and beside him, Pan-Michael trotted along. Both of them had their heads turned towards the Cossacks, who were pursuing them like a pack of unleashed hounds. By the red gleam of the fires the pursuit was clearly visible. It looked as if an enormous elk with its young one was fleeing before a crowd of hunters, ready at any moment to stand at bay against the pursuers. They will be slaughtered, for heaven's sake onward, shouted Zagloba, in a heart-rending voice. They will slay them with arrows or musket shots, for Christ's sake, be quick! Without considering that a new battle might begin the next moment, he rushed, sword in hand, together with Sketsutsky and others to the rescue. He slipped, stumbled, got up again, snorted, shouted, and shaking all over, rushed onward with the last remnant of his legs and breath. But the Cossacks did not shoot. Their guns were as wet as also the strings of their bows. They pressed on, however, and some running ahead had almost overtaken the fugitives when the knights suddenly turned like bears at bay, and giving a great shout they raised their swords on high. Longine with his enormous sword appeared to them like a supernatural being. As two tawny wolves turn about when the hounds pressed too closely upon them and show their white teeth, thus keeping the panting pack at a distance, so these two repeatedly turned the pursuers halted. Once a man, bolder than the rest, ran up to them with a scythe in his hand, but Pan Michael jumped at him like a wild cat and wounded him to death. The rest paused to wait for their comrades who came bounding on in a dense mass. But the lines of the knights also came nearer and nearer, and Zagloba rushed along swinging his sword above his head and roaring out with an unearthly voice. Strike! Kill! Now the ramparts thundered and a bomb, screaming like an owl, described a red arc in the sky and fell amid the dense, cossack crowd. Soon there followed another, a third, and a tenth. It seemed as if the battle was to begin anew. Before the siege of Zabaraj this kind of missile was unknown to the cossacks, and when sober they stood in great terror of them seeing them evidences of Yerimi's sorcery. The pursuers therefore stopped for a moment and scattered in every direction when the bombs burst among them causing terror, death, and destruction. Save yourselves! They yelled in panic, stricken voices. All scattered, and Penelogen and the little knight hurried up to the ranks of the Hussars. Zagloba embraced now one, now the other, kissing them on the cheeks and brows. Joy overpowered him. But he attempted to restrain it lest he should show his soft heart. Therefore he cried, Hey! You blockheads! I won't say that I love you, but I feared for you. Suppose they had killed you. Is that the way you understand military discipline? To lag behind? You deserve to have your feet tied to the tails of horses and to be dragged through the square. I shall be the first to tell the prince to punish you. Let us go to sleep now. Praise be to God for that. Those dog-brothers were in luck that the grenades dispersed them, for I should have cut them up like cabbages. How could I see my friends in danger and not fly to their aid? We must have a drink on this tonight. Praise be to God for that. I almost thought that we should have to sing a requiem to-morrow. Still I am sorry that no encounter took place, for my hand is itching terribly, though I made those fellows in the shelters taste horse-beans and onions. End of Book 4, Chapter 3