 EPILOGUE OF WITH FIRE AND SORD This historic tragedy, however, did not end either at Zabarj or Zaborov. Even the first act was not concluded. Two years later the Cossacks rose again in rebellion against the Commonwealth. Kemelnitsky took the field mightier than ever before, and with him marched the Khan with all his hordes, and the same leaders, who before surrounded Zabarj, the Wild 2K Bay, Urum Mirza and Artym, Giri, Nereddin, and Amarad and Subhgazi. Mighty pillars of flame and lamentations of people marked their path. Thousands of warriors covered the fields, filled the forests. From half a million throats there issued war cries, and it seemed to the people that the last hour of the Commonwealth had come. But the Commonwealth too had shaken off its lethargy. The Chancellor's former policy of establishing peace by means of treaties had been abandoned. It was now clear that the sword alone could ensure peace of long duration. So, when the king advanced against the inundating enemy, an army of one hundred thousand soldiers and nobles marched with him, besides swarms of irregular and camp servants. Not one of the characters of our story was missing. There was Prince Viznoyupsky with his entire division, in which, as formerly, served Sketsutsky and Volodyavsky. There were the two Hetmans, Petatsky and Kalinovsky. There was also Colonel Stefan Czarnetsky, subsequently the scourge of King Charles Gustavus of Sweden, and Pyshemsky, commander of the whole artillery, and General Ubald Pan-Art-Syskevsky, and the chief of Krasnitovsk, and his brother the chief of Yavrov. Afterwards, King Yon III and Ludwig Veyhar, the Voveda of Pomerania, and Jacob, Voveda of Marburg, and the standard berry, Konetspolsky, and Prince Dominic Zaslavsky. The bishops and dignitaries of the crown, senators, the whole commonwealth with the chief leader, the king. On the fields of Baritschekka, at last myriads of the hostile armies met, and one of the greatest battles in the history of the world was fought. Throughout Europe its echoes resounded. It lasted for three days. During the first two days, Fortune hung in the balance. On the third, a general engagement decided the battle. Prince Yeremi began that engagement. At the head of the entire left wing, bare-headed and without arms, swept like a cyclone against enormous masses form of mounted Zaporizhans. From all the Crimea, Tartars, Negoes, Baglaroads, and Cilistrian and Romelian Turks, Rambales, Geneserys, Serbs, Wallachians, Perievaves, and other wild warriors gathered from the Ural and Caspian Sea, and the marshes of Miotis as far as the Danube. As the river loses itself in the foaming waves of the sea so the squadrons of the prince were lost in that ocean of enemies, a cloud of dust rolled over the plain like a whirlwind and enveloped the combatants. The rest of the army and the king looked upon this superhuman struggle, and the vice-chancellor Letchnevsky raised aloft the wood of the Holy Cross and blessed with it the vanished squadrons. Meanwhile on the other side the entire Cossack camp, consisting of about two hundred thousand men, moved slowly against the royal army, issuing from the woods like a dragon and vomiting fire from their cannon. But ere the bulk of the enemy had issued from the clouds of dust in which Yermes squadrons had disappeared, horsemen began one by one to drop away from their ranks than hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands, and these all rushed to the hill held by the Khan and his chosen guards. The wild masses fled in mad terror and disorder, the Polish squadrons chasing them. Thousands of Cossacks and Tartars covered the battlefield, among them, pierced through by a double-handled sword lay the mortal enemy of the Poles and the faithful ally of the Cossacks, the wild, brave, 2K bay. The terrible prince had triumphed. The king looked upon the prince's victory with the eye of a leader and determined to crush the hordes before the Cossacks could arrive. The entire army was set in motion, all the cannon roared, spreading death and destruction. Soon the brother of the Khan, the splendid Amorad, fell with a bullet in his breast. The hordes broke out in a howl of terror. The Khan, who had been wounded at the very outset of the battle, looked with dismay upon the field. From the distance amid the thunder of cannon came Pyshemsky and the king himself. The earth groaned beneath the weight of the onrushing cavalry. Islamjiri, stricken with terror, did not await the attack, but fled, and after him all the hordes, the Volosha, the Urombalo, the Zaporizhion, Cossack cavalry, the Cilistrian Turks, and the Turkish converts fled like a cloud before the Tempest. Kimolnitsky in desperation overtook the fugitives and begged and implored the Khan to return to the battle, but the Khan, bellowing with rage at the sight of him, ordered the Tartars to seize him and bind him to a horse, and thus he was born along. The Cossack camp alone was left. The commander of that, Colonel of Kropviansky, Desedal, did not know what had happened to Kimolnitsky. During however the defeat and shameful flight of all the hordes, he stopped the advance and then retreating, he took up a position upon the swampy banks of the Pleshov. A terrible storm arose, immense torrents of water poured down from the heavens. God was washing the land after a just battle. A drizzling rain lasted for several days and the royal army rested after the battle of the previous day. The Cossacks seized the occasion to surround their camp with ramparts and thus transform it into a gigantic movable fortress. When fair weather returned a siege began, the strangest ever seen. One hundred thousand royal troops besieged the army of Desedal, which numbered two hundred thousand men. The king was short of cannon, provisions, and ammunition. Desedal had an exhaustible supply of powder and provisions, besides seventy cannon of heavier and lighter caliber. But at the head of the royal army was the king. The Cossacks had not Kimolnitsky. The royal army was flushed with recent victory. The Cossacks were in despair. Several days passed. All hope of the return of Kimolnitsky and the Khan vanished. Then negotiations were entered into. The Cossack leaders came and bowed their heads humbly before the king, pleaded for mercy, haunted the tents of the senators, clung to their garments, and promised to find Kimolnitsky, wherever he was, even under the ground, and deliver him to the king. The heart of young Kazimierz was not obdurate. He was willing to let the blacks and soldiers return to their homes, provided they would surrender all the chiefs, for these he intended to detain until Kimolnitsky should be given up. But such a compact was not agreeable to the officers, who did not look for forgiveness in view of their many offenses. Hence the struggle continued even while the negotiations were going on. Desperate attacks were made, and Polish and Cossack blood flowed in torrents. The Cossacks fought during the day, bravely and with the courage of despair, but at night swarms of them stood before the royal camp and howled for mercy. Dezedal was inclined to give in to the royal demands, and was willing to sacrifice his own head if he could save the people and soldiers. But dissensions arose in the Cossack camp. Some wished to surrender, others wished to defend themselves to the death, but all of them were planning how to escape from the camp. But this seemed an impossibility even to the boldest. The camp was enclosed by the forks of the river and by great swamps. They might defend themselves for years, but to leave the camp there was only one road, the road through the royal army. But no one thought of that road. The negotiations dragged on, interrupted by battles. The dissensions among the Cossacks grew apace. As the outcome of one of these, Denzil was deposed from his office and the new leader was chosen. His name gave new courage to the despairing Cossacks. The echo of it in the royal camp stirred in the hearts of several knights have forgotten memories of past sufferings and misfortunes. Bohun was the new leader's name. He had previously won high distinction among the Cossacks, both in the council and in battle. The public sentiment had always indicated him as the successor of Kamilnitsky. Bohun was the first of the Cossack commanders to appear with the Tartars on the field of Beretshetka at the head of fifty thousand men. He took part in the three days cavalry combat, and though defeated with the Khan and his hordes by the army, he had managed to keep the greater part of his army together and to bring it safely into camp. Now the party opposed to the negotiations made him commander-in-chief in place of Denzil, hoping that he might be able to save the camp in the army. Indeed, the young commander would not hear of negotiations. He only wanted battle and bloodshed, even though he should drown in the blood. But soon he was convinced that with the troops under him it would be impossible to cut away through the army of the king. He therefore hit upon another plan. History has preserved the memory of his unparalleled efforts, considered by contemporaries worthy of a hero, which might have saved the army and the blacks. Bohun determined to bridge the swamps of Plesov, and thus enable the besieged to retreat over them. Entire forests fell beneath the axes of the Cossacks and sank into the swamp. Wagon's tense skins-coats were thrown into the swamp. The bridge grew longer day by day. Nothing seemed impossible to this commander. The king delayed the assault in order to avoid a bloodshed. But when he saw this gigantic work he recognized that delay was dangerous, and issued an order that the army be in readiness at evening for the final assault. No one in the Cossack camp knew of this intention. The bridge had been pushed onward during the night, and in the morning Bohun with the chiefs rode out to examine the work. It was Monday, July 7th, 1651. The morning was misty. Dawn in the east was blood red, the sun rose looking sickly and bronze-colored. A peculiar bloody glow was in the woods and over the water. From the Polish camp they were driving the horses to pasture. The Cossack camp was a stirrer and resounded with the voices of men. Fires were burning. The morning meal was being prepared. All saw the departure of Bohun with his suite and the cavalry following them, with whom the commander intended to fall upon the Voveda of Bratslav, who harassed the rear of the camp and was injuring the Cossack works with cannon. The blacks viewed this marching forth with calmness and even with confidence. The eyes of thousands followed the young warrior and the lips of thousands sent after him their benediction. God bless you, Falcon. The commander, the suites and the cavalry had reached the edge of the forest. For a moment they gleamed in the morning sun and then began to disappear in the forest. All at once a terrified voice shouted at the entrance to the camp. Met the chiefs are fleeing, shouted others. The chiefs are fleeing, repeated hundreds and thousands of voices. A murmur ran through the crowds as a wind rushes through the woods and suddenly a terrible unearthly cry burst from two hundred thousand throats. Fly, fly, the Poles, the chiefs have fled. Masses of men rushed along like a roaring torrent. Fires were trodden out, wagons upset, tents torn to pieces. All were crowding, pushing, squeezing and trampling. A terrible panic bereft all of their senses. Heaps of corpses soon obstructed the way. These had been trampled to death amid roars and shouts and groans. Crowds rushed towards the bridge and swamp and pushed one another from the bridge. The drowning ones, locked in deadly embraces and howling to heaven for mercy, sank in the cold, slimy mud. On the bridge a battle for place was fought. The waters of the Pleshov were filled with corpses. The nemesis of history now took terrible payment for piliovets and bearish stecha. The fearful clamor reached the ears of the youthful commander and he knew at once what it meant. But in vain did he return at once to the camp. In vain did he confront the crowds with hands raised to heaven. His voice was lost in the roar of thousands. The frightful torrents of the fleeing crowds carried him away with his horse, his suite, and the cavalry to destruction. The royal army was astonished at the commotion which at first was mistaken for a desperate attack. One scarcely could believe the evidence of his own eyes. But when the astonishment had passed a few moments later the squadrons did not even wait for an order to attack but rushed towards the masses of the enemy. In front of all swept the dragoons like a whirlwind and at the head the little colonel swung his saber above him. It was a day of rage, of vengeance, and judgment. Whoever was not crushed to death or drowned perished by the sword. The forks of the river were so filled with blood that one could not tell whether water or blood was flowing. The panic-stricken crowds pushed one another into the water and drowned. The ravages of death in the woods were all the more terrible for some of the rabble commenced to defend themselves furiously. Battles raged in the swamp on the field in the forest. The Vova of Bratslav cut off the retreat of the fugitives. In vain did the king issue orders that the soldiers be restrained. Compassion was dead. The slaughter, the like of which the oldest veterans had not seen, and at the memory of which the hare stood on their heads in later times, lasted into the night. When at last darkness fell upon the earth the victors themselves were shocked by their bloody work. They sang no Te Deum, and no tears of joy, but tears of regret and sorrow flowed from the eyes of the worthy king. Thus ended the first act of the bloody drama, whose author was Kemal Nitsky. But Bohun did not lose his life with others on that dreadful day. Some say that seeing the defeat he saved himself by flight. Others say that a well-known knight protected him, but no one could get at the truth. This much is certain, that in the wars that followed his name was often mentioned among those of the most famous Kossak leaders. A shot fired by some enemy struck him a few years later, but even this did not put an end to his existence. After the death of Prince Irimi Vyshnavetsky, brought on by military hardships, Bohun came to rule over the greater part of Lubny, which fell away from the Commonwealth. It was said that afterwards he would not recognize the authority of Kemal Nitsky. The latter, cursed by his own people and broken, sought for an aid, but the proud Bohun refused all protection was ready to defend his Kossak independence with his sword. It was said that a smile never lightened the countenance of this extraordinary man. He did not live in Lubny, but in a village which he rebuilt from its ashes and was called Rosaliga. There also he is supposed to have died. Civil wars survived him and continued for a long time. There came the plague and the Swedes. The Tartars made constant incursions in the Ukraine and bore numbers of the people into slavery. The Commonwealth was devastated, so also was the Ukraine. Wolves howled about the cinders of former cities and the once blooming land became one vast cemetery. Hatred grew in the men's hearts and poisoned kindred blood. End of the Epilogue End of With Fire and Sword by Heinrich Schenkevitz Translated by Samuel A. Binion