 Book 4, Chapter 4 of With Fire and Sword. It became necessary to build new ramparts and to concentrate the camp in order to render the entrenchments of the Cossacks useless and to make defense easier for their own reduced forces. They worked therefore all through the night after the storm. But meantime the Cossacks did not remain idle. On the night between Tuesday and Wednesday they approached silently and threw up a second and much higher wall around the camp, from which at early dawn they opened fire amid loud shouts. For four days and four nights they continued an uninterrupted fire. Great destruction was wrought on both sides, for the best gunners of both armies were pitted against each other. From time to time crowds of Cossacks and of detached hordes rushed to the assault, but they did not reach the ramparts for the fire was too hot. The enemy possessing strong forces changed the divisions in action, allowing some to rest and sending others to the fight. In the opposite camp, however, there were no reserve troops. The same men had to keep firing, rushed to the defense at any moment whenever assaults threatened, bury the dead, dig wells, and raise the ramparts higher for better protection. They slept or rather dozed on the ramparts under fire, while balls were flying so thickly that every morning they could be swept from the square. For four days no one removed his clothing, which when wet from rain was dried by the sun. During the day the bodies of the men were scorched, at night they were chilled. For four long days no one had a warm mouthful of food. They drank gorzalka, mixing powder with it to give it more substance. They munched biscuits and tore with their teeth dried up bits of smoked meat. And all this in the midst of continued firing, smoke, of the whizzing of bullets and the thunder of cannon. To be struck on the head or about the body was nothing. The soldier tied a dirty rag about his bloody head and fought on. They were wonderful men. In ragged coats with rusty weapons shattered muskets in their hands and eyes red with sleeplessness. They were ever watchful and ever ready, and eager day and night in rain or in sunshine to do battle. The soldiers loved their leader in danger, in storms, in wounds, and in death. Their souls were the exalted souls of heroes. Their hearts became hard as steel. Their senses were dulled. Horror became a delight to them. Different squadrons vied with each other in enduring hunger, sleeplessness, toil, and in bravery and fury. It came to such a point that it was difficult to keep the soldiers on the ramparts. Mere defense was not enough. They delighted in rushing upon the enemy like ravenous wolves upon a flock of sheep. In all the regiments a wild joy reigned. Had anyone hinted at surrender he would have been torn to pieces on the spot. Here we shall die, repeated every mouth. Every command of the leader was executed with lightning-like rapidity. Once it happened that the prince, as he went at evening around the ramparts, noticing that the fire of the quarter regiment of Leshninsky was growing weaker, rode up to the soldiers and asked, Why are you not firing? We are out of powder. We have sensed to the castle for some. There is some much nearer, said the prince, pointing to the enemy's entrenchment. Hardly had he spoken when the entire regiment rushed from the ramparts, threw itself upon the enemy, and broke like a cyclone upon the entrenchments. With muskets clubbed, with swords and pikes they slaughtered the Cossacks. Before cannon were spiked, after half an hour they returned decimated, but victorious, and laden with stores of powder. Day followed day. The Cossack entrenchments formed an ever closer ring around the Polish barricade and pushed into it as a wedge into wood. The firing was now at such close range that not counting the assaults about ten men a day fell in each squadron. The priests could not come to them with the sacrament. The besieged sheltered themselves with wagons, tents, skins, and suspended garments. The dead were buried at night on the spot on which they fell, but the living fought all the more fiercely over the graves of their comrades. Kim Ilnitski let the blood of his men flow without stint, but every assault brought upon him greater losses. He was astounded at the resistance. He counted upon time to shatter the courage and strength of the besieged, but time passed, and they only showed an increasing contempt for death. The leaders sat an example to the soldiers. Prince Yermy slept on the bare ground on the ramparts, drank Gorzalka, ate smoked horsemeat, and endured the greatest hardships. The royal standard-bearer, Konyac Polsky, and the starosta of Krasnitowsk led divisions to the attack in person. During the assaults they exposed themselves without armor in the densest rain of bullets. Even leaders like Osterog, who possessed no military knowledge and upon whom the soldiers looked with suspicion, seemed now to be changed into new men by Yermy. Old Furly and Lanshtransky slept also on the ramparts, and Pan Pyshniemensky pointed cannon during the daytime, and at night dug underground like a mole, putting countermines beneath the mines of the Cossacks and blowing them into the air, where he built underground tunnels through which the soldiers stole late ghosts and surprised the Cossacks in their sleep. Kymolnitsky finally decided to enter into negotiations, with the idea of accomplishing something by strategy. On the twenty-fourth of July, towards the evening, the Cossacks began to cry out to the Polish soldiers to cease firing. As a Poroszyn envoy announced that the Hetman wished to see Old Zasfilovsky. After a short consultation, the commanders accepted the proposition, and the old man left the entrenchment. The knights saw from the distance the respect with which Zasfilovsky was being treated by the Cossacks. For during the short time he was a commissioner, he had gained the regard of the wild Zaporizans, and Kymolnitsky himself held him in high respect. The firing ceased. The Cossacks came from their entrenchments close to the ramparts, and the knights went down to meet them. Both sides were on their guard, but there was nothing unfriendly in this meeting. The nobles had always liked the Cossacks more than the blacks because of their valor and endurance in battle. Now they met them on equal terms, as knights with knights. The Cossacks looked with wonder upon that impregnable den of lions which held in check their might and that of the Khan. They mangled more freely and began to deplore that so much Christian blood was being shed. Finally, they treated one another to Tobacco and Gorzalka. Ha! Noble knights, said some of the veteran Zaporizans. If you had always fought in this way there would have been a different outcome at Zoltavoda, Corsun, and Piliavets. Why you are devils and not men. We never have seen the like of you. Come to-morrow, and the day afterwards you will always find us the same. Yes, we shall come, but thank God now for a brief rest. Much Christian blood is being shed, but hunger will conquer you in the end. The king will come before hunger. We have just risen from a hardy meal. And should provisions become scarce, we will look for them in your wagon-trains, said Zagloba with his arms akimbo. God grant that our brother, Zastvilikovsky, is successful in making terms with our Hetman. If not, we shall attack again this evening. We are waiting for you. The Khan has promised that you shall all die. And our prince has resolved to honor the Khan by dragging him by the beard at his horse's tail. He is a wizard, but he cannot accomplish that. It were better for you to fight with our prince against the heathens than to rise in arms against your sovereign. With your prince, huh, that would be nice. Why do you rebel? The king is coming. Fear the king. Prince Yermy was also a father to you. He is a father as death is a mother. The plague has not swept away so many warriors as he. He will do worse. You don't know him yet. Nor do we wish to know him. Our chiefs say that the cost of whom he looks upon is lost. It will be so with Kemolnyetsky. God knows what will happen. This is certain that both cannot live together on this earth. Our father says that if you will surrender Yermy to him, he will let you all go free, and that he, with all of us, will do homage to the king. At this the soldiers begin to gasp and grind their teeth. Keep quiet, or we will draw our swords. You poles are faithful, said the Cossacks, but you shall die. And thus they conversed, sometimes in a friendly manner, sometimes angrily threatening each other. In the afternoon Zestfilikovsky had returned to the camp. Negotiations had not been agreed upon, and a truce had not been obtained. Kemolnyetsky demanded the surrender of the prince and of the royal standard-bearer, Konyetspilsky. Finally, he enumerated the wrongs that had been inflicted upon the Zaporizans, and sought to persuade Zestfilikovsky to remain with him. This had angered the old knight, and he sprang up and rode away. In the evening an assault took place which was repulsed with great slaughter. The whole camp was a fire for two hours. Not only were the Cossacks repulsed from the ramparts, but the infantry captured the first entrenchment, destroyed the embrasures, and burned fourteen moving towers. Kemolnyetsky had vowed to the Khan that on this night he would not withdraw as long as a man remained alive within the entrenchments. At early dawn the firing and the undermining of the ramparts was begun afresh. The whole day long the battle raged, and flails, scythes, swords, stones, and clods of earth were used in the combat. The friendly feeling of the day before that regretted shedding Christian blood had given place to a wild exasperation. Rain fell off and on in the morning. The soldiers received only half-rations on this day, at which Panzaglaba grumbled greatly, but empty stomachs doubled the rage of the knights. They swore that they would not surrender, but would fight to the last breath. In the evening the Cossacks, disguised as turks, made a fresh assault, but this lasted but a short time. A noisy and restless night followed. The firing did not cease for a moment. The combatants challenged each other, and they fought singly and in groups. Panlongin rushed out on a sally, but no one dared to oppose him. They only shot at him from a distance. But Sketsetusky and Volodyovsky gained great glory, and the latter in single combat killed the famous warrior Dudar. Panzaglaba sallied out, but only to indulge his tongue. Since I defeated Berle, said he, I cannot fight any common rascal. In a battle of words he found not his equal among the Cossacks, when in safety behind an embankment he drove them desperate by shouting out in a stentorian voice which seemed to issue from the depths of the earth. You sit here, you peasants, before Jabarj, but the Lithuanian army is marching up from the lowlands of the Deneper. They are enjoying themselves with your wives and daughters. Next spring you beat soup-swillers will find in your homes provided you find any homes. Whole crowds of little beat soup-swillers. This was true. The Lithuanian army under Radzeville was really traversing the lowlands of the Deneper, burning and destroying everything, leaving only land and water behind them. The Cossacks, knowing this, became enraged, and rained bullets on Zaglaba, which fell about like pears from a tree that has been shaken. He dusts his head, however, behind the embankment, and called out again. You dog-souls have missed me, but I did not miss Berle. Come on, I will fight you in single combat. You know me, come on. Pepper away, you peasants, as long as you can. Next winter you will be nursing young tartars in the Crimea, laboring along the Deneper. Come on! I'll give you a mite for the head of your Kimmelnitsky. Give him a slap on the snout from me, from Zaglaba. Do you hear? You dirt! Is there not enough of your carrion lying about on the field smelling like dead dogs? The plague sends her regards to you. To your plows and scows and pitchforks? You dirty scoundrels! You should be rowing loads of salt and cherries against the scheme, instead of disgusting us with your presence here. The Cossacks laughed in their turn at the gentlemen who shared a single biscuit among three. They asked why the gentlemen did not make their vassals pay their rents and tithes. But Zaglaba always got the best of this kind of badinage. These interchanges of compliments, interrupted by curses and wild laughter, lasted through whole nights while firing and great and small combat raged. The Denepernitsky ran off to negotiate with the Khan, but the latter only repeated that they must die, whereupon the envoy, growing impatient, said, You prophesied this long ago, but nothing has happened to us yet. He who comes for our heads brings his own. The Khan asked that Padnirami should confer with his Grand Vizier on the field, but this was discovered to be a treacherous trap and the negotiations were broken off. The fighting went on unceasingly. In the evening assaults, during the day, canonating and musketry fire, flying shells and grenades, attacks, skirmishes, desperate sallies by the cavalry, defeats and ever-increasing bloodshed. A wild desire for danger and bloodshed possessed the soldiers. They went into battle with songs and laughter as if to a wedding. They had become so accustomed to the thunder of canon that the divisions that were detailed to sleep slept peacefully under fire amid showers of bullets. Provisions grew scarcer. The commanders had not stocked the camp sufficiently before the arrival of the prince. The price of food rose very high, but those who had money for bread and ghorzalka gladly shared their purchases with the others. No one took thought of the morrow, for everyone knew that one of two things was inevitable—either relief by the king or death. They were prepared for either, but more ready for battle. Ten resisted thousands with a valor unequaled in history, and with a fury that rendered every assault a defeat for the Cossacks. Besides not a day passed without several sallies being made and attacks upon the enemy's own entrenchments. On the evenings when Kemolnitsky thought that fatigue had overcome the besieged and he was preparing for an assault, joyful songs would reach his ears. He was lost in amazement and admiration, and the thought came to him that Yeremi was a mightier wizard than all the Cossacks put together. Then he would become furious with rage and throw himself into the battle. He shed oceans of blood, for he comprehended that his star was beginning to pale before that of the terrible prince. In the camp of the Cossacks they sang songs about Yeremi and told stories about him, at which the hair of the warriors stood on end. They said that at times when he appeared by night on the ramparts he would visibly grow until he was taller by a head than the towers of Zabarj, that his eyes then looked like two moons, and that the sword in his hand shone like the star of ill omen that God sets at times in the sky for the destruction of men. They also related that at his call dead heroes arose with a clank of armor to join his living warriors. Yeremi was in the mouth of all, beggar minstrels sang of him, the old Zaporizans, blacks, and tartars spoke of him. And in these stories, and in the superstitious terror, there was evidenced a certain wild love which these children of the steppes bore for their bloody destroyer. So it was. Kimonitsky paled before him, not only in the eyes of the Khan and the tartars, but even in the eyes of his own men. He saw that he must take Zabarj, or his authority would vanish like mist before the dawn. He must trample this lion underfoot or die. But the lion not only defended himself, but every day rushed with greater rage and fury from his lair. Under superior force, nor treachery, nor stratagem, prevailed against him. The Cossacks and the blacks began to murmur. It was difficult for the latter to stand the smoke, fire, shower of bullets, smell of corpses, rain and heat in the face of death. But the brave Cossacks did not fear battle, labor, storms, fire, blood, death. They feared Yeremi. End of Book 4, Chapter 4, Book 4, Chapter 5 of With Fire and Sword. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kay Hand. With Fire and Sword by Heinrich Schenkevitz, translated by Samuel A. Binion. Book 4, Chapter 5. In this memorable siege of Zabaraj, many an obscure knight made himself a name of undying fame. But the greatest praise was due to Pan Longin Pad Bibienta, whose great merits were only surpassed by his modesty. The night was dreary and dark and wet. The soldiers weary from watching at the ramparts dozed, leaning upon their weapons. After ten days of continuous battle this was the first moment of peace and rest. In the new trench of the enemy scarce thirty paces distant one could hear no shouts nor curses nor the usual tumult. It appeared as if the enemy, who had desired to tire out the besieged, were themselves tired out. Here and there gleamed the faint light of a fire behind a mound. From somewhere there arose sweet soft notes of alute, played by some cossack. In the distance the Tartar horses nade, and on the embankments from time to time one could hear the calls of the sentinels. The Prince's cuirassiers were that night on infantry service in the camp. Skeztuski, Pad Bibienta, the little knight in Zagloba, conversed in low tones upon the ramparts and in the intervals of their discourse they listened to the splashing of the rain in the trench. Skeztuski remarked, This quiet seems strange to me. My ears are so accustomed to noise and uproar that they ring in the stillness. But I hope no treachery lies hidden in all this silence. Since I receive behalf rations it is all the same to me, Zagloba, murmured sadly. My courage requires three things. Sufficient to eat, plenty to drink, and plenty of sleep. The best strap dries and cracks if it is not oiled and especially if it be soaked in water like hemp. The rain soaks us, the Cossacks hack us up. Is it any wonder if we fall to pieces in strips? It is a pretty mess all round. The price of a loaf has risen to a florin and a quart of gorzolka to five. The water is not fit for a dog, for the wells are infected by the corpses, and I am as thirsty as my boots which open their mouths like a fish. But your boots drink water without making any fuss over it, said Volodyevsky. Keep quiet, pen-Michael, why you are no larger than a tit-mouse, a grain of millet is sufficient for you and you can't drink more than a thimbleful. But I, thank God, am not so delicate, and was not scratched up by a hen, but was born of a woman, therefore I need food and drink adequate for a man, and not for a bug. As I have had nothing in my mouth but saliva since noon time, I can't relish your jokes. Zagloba snorted with anger, and pen-Michael, feeling with his hand, said, I have in one of my pockets a flask that I snatched from a cossack today. But since I was scratched up by a hen, I think the gorzolka of such an insignificant creature would not be to your relish, either. Here's to you, yawned, he said, addressing Schetztusky. Give it to me, for I feel cold, said Schetztusky. Coming to the health of Pen-Longine. You are a rascal, Pen-Michael, said Zagloba. Blessed be the hens that could scratch up warriors like you. Unfortunately, such hens do not exist. I did not have you in mind when I made the remark. Take it from Pen-Pad-Bepienta, said Pen-Michael. I do not wish to offend you. What are you doing, man? Leave some for me, cried Zagloba in an alarm, as he watched the Lithuanian drinking. You throw your head too far back. I wish to God it would remain so. The trouble with you is that your inside is too big. You don't fill up soon enough. Just look at him pouring the gorzolka down, as if into a decayed tree-trunk. May you be killed. What's the matter? I drank but a few drops, said Longine, passing the flask. Zagloba put it to his lips and drained the contents. Then puffed and said. The only consolation is that when our misery is over and God allows us to carry our heads out of these dangers, we will make up for it all. I think some feasts will surely be prepared for us. The Bernadine Jabkovsky is a fine feeder, but I can drive him away even with a goat's horn. And what news did you and the priest Jabkovsky hear today from Mox Hovetsky? Said Pen-Michael. Hush, said Skets-Tutsky. They all grew dumb and a dark figure appeared and asked in a low voice. Are you watching? We are, your highness, said Skets-Tutsky, rising. Be on your guard. This quiet threatens evil. The prince then passed on to see if sleep had overcome the tired soldiers anywhere. Pan-Longine clasped his hands. What a leader! What a warrior! He rests less than we do, said Skets-Tutsky. He examines all the ramparts from here to the second lake in this manner every night. God give him health. Amen. Silence followed. All looked with straining eyes into the darkness, but they could see nothing. Silence reigned over the Cossack entrenchments. Every fire was extinguished. We could devour them now like Suslicks, murmured Volodyevsky. Who could tell? replied Skets-Tutsky. I am so sleepy, muttered Zagloba, that I could scarcely keep my eyes open, and yet sleep is forbidden. I should like to know when it will be allowed. Whether there is firing going on or not, one must remain under arms and keep watch, nodding from weariness like a Jew on his Sabbath. It is fit service for dogs. I don't know what excites me so, whether it is the Gorzalka or the confusion that overtook the priest Jabkovsky and myself this morning on account of an undeserved lecture that we got. How did that happen? asked Panlongin. You began to tell us, but did not finish. Then I'll tell you now. It may help to keep us awake. Well, I went with Father Jabkovsky to the castle, hoping to find something to munch there. We looked about everywhere, but could find nothing, and we came back in a bad humor. In the court we met a Calvinist priest who had been giving the last consolation to Captain Schoenbeck of Furley Squadron, who was wounded yesterday. I asked him, why are you prowling about here in angering God? You will bring a curse upon us yet. Then he, evidently relying upon the protection of the Castilian of Belsk, replied, Our faith is as good as yours, and better, perhaps. When he said this, we were petrified with horror. But I held my tongue. I thought to myself, Father Jabkovsky is here, let him carry on the argument. Jabkovsky immediately came out with a great argument, for he punched him under his ribs. The Calvinist made no reply, but tottered till he fell against the wall. At this moment the Prince and Mukhovetsky passed by, and then we caught it. We should not argue, nor make an uproar, for this was neither the time nor the place for it. They scolded us as if we were two school boys. And hardly with right, for unless I am a false prophet, these ministers of Pan-Fearly will bring misfortune upon us. And what about Captain Schenberg? Was he converted? Asked Pan-Michael. No, he died in error, as he had lived. Oh, that men should renounce their salvation rather than their stubbornness, sighed Pan-Longin. God protects us in the face of the overwhelming forces of the Cossacks, Zagloba continued, and yet men continue to insult him. Is it known to you, gentlemen, that balls of thread were shot into the square from yonder trench, and the soldiers say that where the balls fell the ground was covered with leprosy? It is known that devils are employed by Kemolnyetsky to do such things, said the Lithuanian, crossing himself. I saw the witches myself at its getstousky, and I tell you, gentlemen, he was interrupted by Volodyovsky, who suddenly pressed his arm and whispered, Silence. Then he sprang to the edge of the ramparts and listened attentively. I don't hear anything, said Zagloba. Shhh! The rain drowns everything, said Sketstousky. Pan-Michael waved with his hand for silence, and continued to listen carefully for some time. At last he approached his comrades. They are coming, he whispered, in form of the prince. He has gone towards Ostrog's quarters, said Sketstousky softly. Meantime, we will warn the soldiers. Instantly they hurried along the ramparts, stopping every moment it was spring to the sentinels. They are coming, they are coming. The words flew from mouth to mouth like lightning. About a quarter of an hour later the prince arrived on horseback and gave instructions to the officers. Since the enemy evidently purposed to surprise the camp while asleep, and the prince wished him to remain in this illusion, the soldiers were to keep as quiet as possible, and to let the assailants come right up to the ramparts, and then, when a cannon was fired as a signal, they were to attack them at once and take them by surprise. The soldiers were ready. Their muskets in their hands they waited in silence. Sketstousky, Volodyevsky, and Longin stood next to each other. Zagloba remained near them also, for he knew from experience that most of the balls fell on the square, and that he was safest on the rampart near these three warriors. He posted himself a little behind the knights, so as to escape the first onset. Longin knelt a little to one side, and Volodyevsky pressed close to Sketstousky and whispered in his ear. They are coming, surely. With measured tread, these are no blacks nor tartars. Zaporizhion infantry? Or Janissaries, for they march well. We could attack them best with cavalry. It is too dark for cavalry tonight. Do you hear them now? Sh. The camp seemed sunk in sleep. The deepest silence prevailed, broken only by the pattern of the rain. Another sound, like a pattering, might be heard, ever increasing and growing, more and more distinct. At last a long, dense mass, but a few steps from the trench made itself visible, in as much as it was darker and blacker than the darkest of knights. The soldiers held their breath, and the little knight jogged Sketstousky's elbow as if thus to express his satisfaction. The assailants reached the fossa, and lowering ladders into it, they descended, and then leaned them against the ramparts on the opposite side. The rampart was wrapped in assailants, as if all were dead upon and behind it. In spite of all the caution of the assailants, a step creaked and shook on the ladder rounds now and then. You'll get your dish of horse beans all right, said Zagloba to himself. Volodyovsky had ceased jogging Sketstousky. Panlongin grasped firmly his cowl-cutter, and prepared to give the first blow, for he was nearest to the edge of the rampart. Three pairs of hands showed on the edge of the rampart, then three helmets, crests, gradually and cautiously mounted higher and higher. These are turks, thought Panlongin. In an instant a terrible roar of thousands of muskets resounded. It became as light as day. ere the light vanished, Longin swung his arm and landed such a mighty stroke with his terrible sword that the air whistled about it. Three bodies fell into the trench. Three helmeted heads rolled before the kneeling night. Though hell was raging upon earth, heaven opened before Panlongin. Wings seemed to sprout from his shoulders, choirs of angels sang in his breast as if he were rising up to heaven. He fought as in a dream, and every blow of his sword was like a prayer of thanks. All his ancestors, from Stovetko down, were rejoicing in heaven at this last holder of the Podbipienta Cowl-cutter, was such a man. This assault, in which on the enemy's side the auxiliary forces of the Rumalian and Celestrian turks, together with the Khans guards, took the main part, was repulsed with more bloodshed than any preceding attack, and drew down a terrible tempest of wrath upon the head of Kamilnitsky. He had assured the Khan that the Poles would fight with less rage against the turks, and that if these troops were given to him he would certainly capture the camp. He was therefore now obliged to mollify the Khan and the enraged Mersus and to win them with presence. He presented the Khan with ten thousand dollars and Cours-Adz, Zabgazi, Nuvardin, Galzi, with two thousand each. In the meantime the camp followers dragged the bodies from the trench. The soldiers rested until morning for they were convinced that the assault would not be repeated. All slept soundly, except Longin Podbipienta, who lay in the form of a cross all night upon his sword, and thanked God that he had permitted him to accomplish his vow and have gained such glory that his name was repeated from mouth to mouth in camp and in town. Next morning he was summoned to the presence of Prince Vishnavyatsky, who praised him highly, while the soldiers came in crowds all day to congratulate him and to look at the three heads which had been placed by a servant before his tent and which were already blackening the air. There was no little amazement and envy, and some could scarce believe their own eyes. For the heads and linked cowls were cut off from the helmets as evenly as if they had been done with shears. You are a terrible cutter, exclaimed the nobles. We knew well enough that you were an excellent knight, but the heroes of the ancient times might well envy you such a stroke. For the best executioner could not land a better. The wind does not take off caps from heads as easily as these heads were taken off, said others. All shook hands with long gene. He stood with downcast eyes, gentle and bashful as a bride at her wedding, and modestly said as though explaining it. They were conveniently situated. The crowd then examined the sword, but since it had extraordinary width and length none could handle it freely, not even Father Jebkovsky, though he could break a horseshoe like a reed. Around the tent, the babble of voices increased. Volodyevsky and Zagrebansketsuzsky received the visitors and entertained them with stories. For the last biscuit in the camp had been consumed, and for a long time they had eaten no other meat but horse flesh. Wit, however, made up for food and drink. At length, when the others had commenced to disperse, Marek Sobiesky, the starosta of Krestnatovsky, and his Lieutenant Stempovsky approached. Penlongin hurried out to welcome him. Sobiesky greeted him warmly and said, So you are having a holiday today? It is indeed a holiday, said Zagrebansketsuzsky, for our friend has accomplished his vow. Praise be to God! answered the Chief, but it will not be long before we congratulate you, little brother, on your marriage. Have you any one in view? Longin blushed with shame and confusion, but the Chief continued, I see by your embarrassment that it is so, it is your sacred duty to keep in mind that such a stock should not die out. God grant that on stones should be borne such soldiers as are you for gentlemen. Then he shook hands with Longin, Sketsuzky, Zagrebansketsuzky, and the little knight. They were rejoiced to hear praise from such lips. For Pan-Krestnostovsky was a model of bravery, honor, and all-nightly virtues. He was a personified Mars. All the gifts of God had been showered upon him, and in beauty he surpassed even his younger brother, who later became king. In nobility of birth and in fortune he was equal to the first in the land, and his military acquirements were even praised by the great Yeremey himself. In him would have arisen a star of the first magnitude in the firmament of the Commonwealth, but that by God's decree the younger brother Yon absorbed the glory, while he himself was dimmed before his time in a day of disaster. The knights therefore were greatly delighted at being praised by this hero. But he had not ended yet, and continued, Prince Vishnavetsky has spoken much of you to me, for he loves you beyond all the others, and hence I do not wonder that you serve him without seeking promotion, which comes more readily in the service of the king. Sketsuzky replied to this. We are all enrolled in the Hussar Regiment of the king, with the exception of Zagrebansketsuzky, who from natural valor serves as a volunteer. But we serve under the princes due to our love for his person, and our desire to participate in as many battles as possible. If you love fighting, then you have done well. Penlongin would hardly have found his three heads under any other command, said the chief. But as far as war is concerned, we all have had enough of it. More than of anything else, retorted Zagleba. From early morning the soldiers had been coming hither with praises, but if anyone had brought us a bit of bread and a drink of gorzolka he would have pleased us best. Then Zagleba looked meaningly into the eyes of the chief and blinked at him. The chief smiled and said, since yesterday noon nothing has passed my lips, but a swallow of gorzolka could, I think, be procured somewhere. Will you gentlemen come with me? But Sketsuzky, Longin, and the little knight protested and began to scold Zagleba, who excused himself as well as he was able. I did not intend to drop a hand, he said, for I prefer to give away something of my own than to accept from another, but when such an exalted person gives an invitation it would be boorish to refuse. Come with me, said the chief, for I like to be in pleasant company, and as no firing is going on we can seize the occasion. I cannot invite you to lunch, for even horse-meat is scarce now, but I still have two bottles of gorzolka, which I do not intend to keep for myself. The others still hesitated, but after being repeatedly urged they consented and went along. Pen Stempovsky hurried before them and managed to find a few biscuits and some bits of horse-meat. Zagleba cheered up wonderfully and said, May it please God that His Majesty the King may come to our aid, then we will at once make an attack upon the wagon-loads of provisions that his militia bring with them. They always carry a great number of delicacies and all of them care more for their stomachs than for the commonwealth. I would rather eat with them than have their assistance in battle, but perhaps they may show greater valor under the eyes of the King. The chief grew serious. We have vowed, said he, to fall one after the other, rather than to surrender, and so it must be. We must prepare for still harder times. The provisions are giving out, and what is still worse the powder is also. I would not say this to others, but to you I can speak freely. Soon nothing will be left to us but grim determination in our hearts, swords in our hands, and the readiness to die. May it please God to send us the King soon, for this is our last hope. The King is a soldier, and to deliver us he would spare neither comfort nor life, but his army is small, and you gentlemen know how slowly the general militia move. And how should the King know in what straits we are and that we are living upon crumbs? We have resolved to sacrifice ourselves, said Schetztusky. But cannot we send word to the King, asked Aglaba. If we could find a man of such virtue as to undertake to make his way to the King by stealing through the enemy's camp, said the chief, he would achieve immortal fame. He would become the savior of the whole army and would avert grave disaster from our country. Even if all the forces have not assembled yet, the mere knowledge that the King was near might disperse the rebels. But who will go? Who will undertake it in face of the fact that Kimelnitsky has every road so well guarded that not the smallest mouse could slip through? An undertaking of this sort means certain death. But what have we wits for, said Aglaba? A good idea strikes me already. What is it? What is it? asked the chief. Every day we are taking a number of prisoners. What about bribing one of them? He could say that he had escaped from us, and he could hurry on to the King. I will bring the idea before the Prince, said the chief. Longin was deep in thought. His forehead was covered with wrinkles. He sat silent. Suddenly he raised his head and said, in his usual mild tone, I will undertake to steal through the Cossacks. The knights sprang up in astonishment as they heard this. Zaglaba stood with his mouth open. Volodyevsky twirled his little mustache. Schetztusky grew pale, and Krasnistov, striking his velvet vest, exclaimed, You will undertake this? Have you considered well what you say? asked Schetztusky. I have thought it over for some time, replied the Lithuanian, for this is not the first time that the knights have said, if only the King knew of our condition. In hearing this I said to myself, if God permits me to fulfill my vow I will go at once. I am but of small worth anyway. What would it signify, even should I perish on the way? But you will certainly perish, said Zaglaba. Do you hear that the chief says it is sure death? What does that matter, little brother? said Longin. If it please God, he will guide me through in safety. If not, he will reward me in heaven. Man alive, have you lost your senses? said Zaglaba. First they will torture you, and then put you to a horrible death. Even so I will go, little brother. Repeted the Lithuanian, gently. A bird could not fly through without being pierced by an arrow. They have surrounded us like a badger in a hole. Nevertheless I will go, repeated the Lithuanian. I owe God thanks for allowing me to fulfill my vow. Look at him. Examine him closely, Zaglaba cried in desperation. You might as well have your head cut off at once and have it shot from a cannon over the camp, for this is the only way you can get past them. Permit me, my friends, I pray you. said the Lithuanian, clasping his hands. Oh no, you shall not go by yourself, for I will go with you, said Sketsutusky. An I too, added Volodievsky, striking his sword. The bullets strike you, cried Zaglaba, placing his hands to his head. May the bullets strike you, for your I too, I too, for your audacity. They haven't seen enough blood yet, nor of destruction, nor bullets. Is it not enough what is happening here? No, they want to be more certain of losing their heads. Go to the deuce and let me alone. May the enemy kill you. Then he rushed around the tent as if mad. God is punishing me, he cried, for associating with whirlwinds instead of living in the company of sensible men. Well, it serves me right. He paced the tent for some time in feverish excitement. Finally he stopped near Sketsutusky, clasped his hands, and looking into his eyes, began to snort with anger. Have I done you any wrong that you are planning my ruin? God forbid, answered the knight, what do you mean? I am not surprised that Longin gets such notions. He has always had his wit in his fist instead of his head, and since he chopped off the heads of three of the biggest fools among the Turks, he has become the fourth one. That is not a nice thing to say, interrupted the Lithuanian. And I am not surprised that that fellow, either, said Zagloba, pointing at Volodyovsky. He can jump on a Cossack's boot, or cling to his breeches like a burr to a dog's tail. He can get through easier than any of us. Neither of them have been enlightened by the Holy Spirit. But that you, instead of restraining their madness, spur them on by being willing to go yourself? That you should desire to deliver all four of us over to certain martyrdom? That is the worst blow of all. If I, the deuce, take it, I did not expect such madness from an officer whom the prince himself esteems as a sensible cavalier. How was that? All four? asked Schetstusky, astonished. Will you go, too? Yes, cried Zagloba, thumbing himself on his chest. If one of you go, or all go together, I will go, too. My blood be on your heads next time I shall know with whom to associate. This knowledge I have paid dearly for. Oh, that you would, said Schetstusky. The three knights embraced him, but he was really angry and pushed them from him with his elbows, saying, Go to the devil, I don't want your Judas kisses. The thunder of cannons and muskets resounded from the ramparts. Zagloba started and cried, There you have it! There you have it! Now go! It is only ordinary firing. The testing of guns, remarked Schetstusky. Ordinary firing, repeated Zagloba, mimicking him. Pray, is this not enough for you? Half the army has melted away under this ordinary firing, and these fellows now turn up their noses at it. Be calm, said Langeen. Keep quiet, beat soup, swiller, roared Zagloba. You are the most guilty. You concocted the whole scheme. If no one is mad, I am mad. But I shall go, nevertheless, little brother, answered Langeen. You'll go, you'll go, and I know why. Don't pretend to be a hero. You are too well-known for that. You are tired of virtue, and you want to take it outside the ramparts and sell it. You are nothing but a wench who takes her virtue to the market. Fie on you. That's what you are. You do not really desire to hasten to the king. You desire to roam through the villages like a horse through the pasture. Behold, a nice knight who offers his virtue for sale. Sheer bitterness, sheer bitterness, as I love God. It is shameful to listen to him, cried Langeen, clapping his hand over his ears. Stop this quarreling, said Schetztooski, earnestly. Let us speak about the business. In God's name, said the chief, who had listened in astonishment to Zagloba. This is a matter of great importance, but without the prince you cannot decide anything. There is no need of further discussion. You gentlemen are in service and obliged to obey orders. The prince is, I presume, in his quarters. Let us see what he thinks of your offer. Exactly what I think, remarked Zagloba, and hope brightened his face. Let us make haste. They went on and passed through the square where the enemy's bullets were falling. The soldiers were on the ramparts, which from a distance looked like boots at a fair. Over them hung clothes of various colors and sheepskins, and they were packed with wagons, portions of tents, and all sorts of other articles that might serve as a protection against the continuous volleys, which for weeks had ceased neither by night nor by day. Above these odds and ends appeared a bluish line of smoke, and behind them rows of soldiers in red and yellow uniforms, working hard against the nearest entrenchments of the enemy. The square looked like a heap of ruins. The level space had been dug up with spades trampled by horses, and not a green blade of grass was showing. Here and there were mounds of earth freshly turned over about newly made wells, remains of broken wagons, cannon, barrels, or heaps of bones whitening in the sun. No dead horses could be seen, for these were immediately removed, to service food for the soldiers. But everywhere were heaps of rusty iron balls, which fell every day upon this small bit of ground. At every step the horror and misery of war was betrayed. On their way the knights met small groups of soldiers. Some carrying wounded or dead, others hurrying to the ramparts to relieve their weary comrades. The faces of all were blackened, sunken, unshaven. Their eyes were red and inflamed, their uniforms faded and torn, their heads were covered with dirty rags instead of helmets and caps, their weapons were broken. The thought forced itself upon one, when one or two weeks have passed what will become of this little handful of victims. You see, gentlemen, said the chief, it is high time that the king should know our condition. Famine is showing its teeth already like a dog, said the little knight. What will happen when we have eaten up the horses, asked Skets Tewski. Conversing thus they reached the tent of the prince on the right side of the ramparts, in front of which stood a few aids on horseback, whose duty it was to take the prince's orders through the camp. The poor beasts, fed on dried and chopped up horse flesh, and tortured by an incessant internal burning, reared continually and were unable to remain on one spot. This was the case with the horses of the entire cavalry, which, when they went out against the enemy, looked like a herd of griffons or hippocentres, seeming to be more in the air than chasing along the ground. Is the prince withen, asked the chief of one of the orderlies? He is closeted with Pen Pyshemsky, answered the orderly. The chief entered without announcing himself, but the four knights remained outside. After a while the flap of the tent was pushed aside, and Pen Pyshemsky stuck his head through the opening. The prince wishes to see you at once, he said. Zagoba entered the tent in good spirits, for he hoped that the prince would not consent to let his best knights go to certain destruction. But he was mistaken, for ere they could bow to him, he said. Pen Kraschnostovsk has told me of your readiness to go from the camp, and I accept your service. There is no sacrifice too great for the country. We merely came to ask for your permission, said Zagoba, for your highness is master of our lives. I understand that all four of you wish to go. Your highness, said Zagoba, they want to go but not I. God is my witness that I have not come here to praise myself or to recall my services, and if I do so it is merely to save me from the suspicion of being thought a coward. Sketsketsky, Volodyevsky, and Panlongin Mishkysky are great knights, but Berlay, who fell beneath my hand, not to mention other deeds, was also a great warrior, equal to Bertabat, Bohun, and the three hens of the Genocerys. Therefore as regards Valar I do not stand behind the others, but Valar and Madness are not to be confounded. We have no wings and we can't get through on land, that is certain. You will not go then, asked the prince. I said that I did not wish to go, not that I will not go. Since God has punished me by making me their comrade, I must remain with them while I live. If things go badly, the sword of Zagoba will be of some service. But I fail to comprehend how the death of the four of us can be of any benefit, and I confide in your highness to save us from it by refusing to allow this insane expedition. You are a good comrade, replied the prince, and it proves your faithfulness that you do not wish to part with your friends, but your confidence in me is misplaced, for I accept the offer. The dog is dead, muttered Zagoba, letting his hands drop. Fearfully the Castilian of Belsk now entered the tent. Your highness, said he, my men have just captured a Cossack who says that there will be an assault tonight. I have already been informed of it, replied the prince, everything is ready, but let the work be hastened on the ramparts. They are nearly finished. Very well said the prince, before evening we will occupy them. Then he turned to the four knights. After the assault, if the night is dark, we will be the best time to start out. Why? said the Castilian of Belsk, is your grace preparing a Sally? The Sally is another matter, said the prince, I myself shall lead it, but now we are speaking of something else. These gentlemen undertake to steal their way through the enemy's camp, and to notify the king about the condition of affairs. The Castilian was dumbfounded. He opened wide his eyes and stared at the knights in turn. The prince smiled with pleasure. It was his weakness, he liked to have his soldiers admired. In God's name, said the Castilian, are there such brave hearts in the world? God knows, gentlemen, I shall not attempt to dissuade you from so brave a deed. Zagalba grew purple with rage, but he said nothing. He merely growled like a bear. The prince thought for a while and said, however, I do not want to waste your blood in vain, and I will not consent to have all four of you go together. First one shall go. Should he be killed, the enemy will not be backward in boasting about it, as they had boasted about the death of my servant, whom they caught near Lemberg. Should the first one be killed, the second shall go, and then in case of necessity, the third and fourth. It may be that the first one will be fortunate enough to get through. In such a case I do not wish to risk the lives of the others. Your Highness, interrupted, skits Tewski. This is my will and my command, said Jeremy, with emphasis. And that there may be no disagreement, I declare, that he shall go first, who offered himself first. It was I, subpanel Eugene, with a face beaming with happiness. Then to-night, after the assault, if the night be dark, added the prince, I shall send no letters to the king. Tell what you have seen, take my signet ring as a credential. Adbipienta took the signet and bowed low before the prince, who, placing his hands upon his head, kissed him repeatedly upon the forehead, saying in a voice broken with emotion, You are as close to my heart as a brother. May the God of hosts and our Queen of Angels guide and protect you through the enemy's lines, soldiers of God. Amen. Amen. Repeated this derosta of Kresnasovsk, Pan Piskemski, and the Castilian of Belsk. The prince's eyes were swimming in tears, for he was a true father to the knights. The others wept and Papibienta shivered as of a fever, and a flame passed through his bones. This pure, humble, heroic soul was greatly rejoiced by the hope of the coming sacrifice. You will go down in history, cried the Castilian of Belsk. Not to us, not to us, but to thy name, O Lord, let the glory be given. Repeated the prince. The knights left the tent. Phew! Something seized me by the throat and chokes me, and in my mouth is a taste as bitter as warm wood, said Zaglaba. And over there, pointing to the smoking earthworks of the Cossacks, they still keep on firing. Oh, that the lightning might strike you. Oh, it is a hard life in this world. Longin must you really go? May the holy angels protect you. Oh, that a plague might choke those peasants. I must leave you now, said Longin. Why? Where are you going? asked Zaglaba. To the priest, Mukhovsky, to confession, my dear friend, I must cleanse my sinful soul. Then Pad Bipienta hurried to the castle. The others turned toward the ramparts. Schetztusky and Pam Michael were silent, but Zaglaba said, something holds me by the throat. I did not think that I should feel such sorrow for him, but he is the most virtuous man in the world. If anyone ever disputes this, I'll slap his snout for him. My God, my God, I thought that Castilian of Belsk would advise against this folly, but no. He assisted the prince with his drum. The devil brought us that heretic. You will go down in history, he said. History will ride of you. Let it ride of him, but not on the skin of Longin. Why in the world does he not go himself? He has six toes on his feet like every Calvinist, and therefore can run all the better. I tell you, gentlemen, that it is getting worse and worse in this world, and no doubt the priest Jebdkovsky prophesies correctly when he says that the end of the world is near. Let us sit down a while at the ramparts and then go to the castle in order to enjoy the company of our friend, at least until evening. But Logine spent the whole time after confession and communion in prayer. He did not make his appearance until evening when the assault had begun. This was a terrible assault for the Cossacks attacked just when the troops were transporting their artillery and wagons to the newly made ramparts. It seemed for a time that the little Polish army must succumb before the fierce onset of two hundred thousand of the enemy. The Polish forces had become so mixed up with their foes that they could not distinguish their own and three times they closed in. Kimonetsky put forth all his power for the Khan and his own captains had told him that this must be the last assault and that hence forward they would content themselves with starving the besieged. But within three hours all attacks were repulsed with such losses that later a report spread that forty thousand of the enemy had fallen. So much is certain that after the battle a great bundle of flags were brought to the Prince and that this in reality was the last assault. But harder times followed for the besieged, continuous firing, undermining of their ramparts, loss of their wagons, suffering, and famine. Immediately after the assault the untiring army led his weary troops to a sally which completed the defeat of the enemy. Quiet now reigned in the Tabor and the camp. The night was warm but cloudy. In the darkness four men made their way carefully and quietly to the eastern end of the ramparts. They were Longin, Zagloba, Schetztuski, and Pan-Michael. Take good care of the pistols, whispered Schetztuski, lest they should get wet. Two squadrons will be in readiness all night. If you fire we shall rush to the rescue. His confoundedly dark nothing can be seen even by straining the eyes, whispered Zagloba. So much the better, answered Longin. Keep still. Enter up to Pan-Michael. I hear something. It is nothing, the rattle of a dying man. I would you were already near the oaks. Oh God, my God! sighed Zagloba, trembling as if in a fever. Within three hours it will begin to dawn. Then it is time now, said Longin. Yes, the time has come, repeated Schetztuski, with a choking voice. God be with you. God be with you. God be with you. Farewell, brothers, and forgive me if I have offended any of you. You offend, oh God, exclaimed Zagloba, throwing himself into his arms. Then Schetztuski and Pan-Michael embraced him. For a moment suppressed sobs shook the breasts of the knights. Only Longin was calm, although he was deeply affected. Farewell, he repeated once more, and going to the edge of the rampart he dropped into the ditch, and after a while appeared on the opposite bank. Once more he waved farewell to his friends and disappeared into the darkness. Between the road to Zaloschitz, and the highway leading from Vishnovietz, there was an oak grove, interspersed by narrow meadows. Nearby was an old and dense pine forest which extended beyond Zaloschitz. It was towards this that Longin attempted to make his way. The way was very dangerous, for in order to reach the grove he was obliged to pass all along the Cossack entrenchments. Longin, however, had purposely chosen this way, for it was just around the camp, where people were continually passing to and fro throughout the night, that the guards paid least attention to the passers-by. All other roads, ravines, thickets, and paths were beset with guards who were patrolled continually by sergeants, setniks, colonels, and even by Kemolnitsky himself. A passage across the meadows, along the Ganesa, could not be thought of, for there the tartar herders kept guard over the horses from evening until dawn. It was a cloudy night, and so dark that nothing, neither man nor tree, could be seen at a distance of ten steps. This circumstance was favorable to Longin, though on the other hand he was obliged to walk very slowly and carefully, lest he should fall into one of the ditches or pits that covered the entire battlefield, and had been dug by Polish and Cossack hands. In this manner he reached the second Polish ramparts that had been evacuated just before evening, and after he had crossed the ditch he crawled towards the entrenchments of the Cossacks. He stopped and listened, the entrenchments were empty. The sword he made by Yurimi had driven the enemy out, and they had either fallen or had fled to the wagon-train. A number of corpses lay upon the slopes and tops of the mountains. Longin stumbled every moment over bodies as he picked his way over them. From time to time a groan or a sigh indicated that life in some of them was not extinct. Beyond the ramparts was a spacious tract extending to the second trench, and this was also full of bodies. Here there were still more holes and ditches, besides at a small distance from each other, were earth-shelters looking like hay-ricks in the darkness. These were also deserted, and everywhere the most profound silence reigned. Nowhere a fire or a man were visible. No one on the entire plain except the fallen. Panlogin started to pray for the souls of the deceased and continued his journey. The sounds of the Polish camp, which followed him to the second rampart, grew fainter and fainter until they were lost in the darkness. Panlogin stopped and looked back for the last time. He could scarcely see anything, for no light was burning in the camp. Only one little window of the castle twinkled faintly like a star, or like a glow-warm which gleams out and darkens in turn. �My brethren, shall I see you again in this life?� thought Longin. Sadness pressed upon him like a heavy stone. He could hardly breathe. There were that little light was shining. There were his friends. His brother-hearts. Prince Jeremy. Schetztuski. Pan Michael. Zagloba. The priest. Mokovvetski. He was loved. There he would be gladly defended. But here, night, desolation, darkness, corpses about his feet, looming apparitions, before him the entrenchments of the blood-thirsty accursed and pitiless enemy. The weight of sadness pressed so heavily upon the shoulders of this giant that his courage began to fail. Dreadful alarm haunted him, and whispered in his ear, �You can't get through. It isn't possible. Return now while there is still time. Discharge your pistol. An entire squadron will hasten to your aid. Through those defenses, through those savages, nothing can pass.� That starving camp hourly sprinkled with balls, filled with death, and the stench of corpses, appeared to Longine now as a quiet, safe retreat. His friends there would not upbrade him if he returned. He would tell him that the deed was beyond human power. They themselves should not go, nor should they send another. They would await further for the mercy of God and the coming of the King. But if Schetztuski should go nevertheless and perish? In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, these are temptations of the devil, thought Longine. I am prepared to die, and nothing worse can happen to me. Thus Satan frightens the weak soul with desolation, darkness, and corpses, for he makes use of everything. Should a knight heap shame upon himself, lose his fame, disgrace his name, not save the army, renounce a celestial crown? Never. And he went on with his hands extended forward. Now he again heard a noise, but not from the Polish camp, but from the opposite side. It was still indistinct, but deep and threatening like the growling of a bear who suddenly awakens in a dark forest. But unrest had now left the soul of the knight. Sadness had ceased to oppress him, and was transformed into a sweet remembrance of his dearest friends. At length, as if in answer to the threatening murmur that came from the entrenchments, he repeated once more to himself, but still I will go. After some time he reached that part of the battlefield, where on the day of the first assault the Prince's cavalry had put the Cossacks and Janissaries to flight. Here the way was more even, there being fewer ditches, earth shelters, and but few corpses, for the Cossacks had removed the dead that had fallen in earlier struggles. It was clearer here, too. The ground was not so covered with obstacles. The land sloped towards the south, but Longin at once turned towards the flank, in order to creep through between the western lake and the wagon-train. He could get over the ground now much faster, for there were less impediments, and he had almost reached the line of the wagon-train when a new noise attracted his attention. He halted at once, and after waiting for a quarter of an hour he could distinguish the tramp and the breathing of horses. Cossack patrolled, thought he. Now the voices of men reached his ear. He sprang aside, and as soon as he felt a depression in the ground with his foot, he threw himself upon the earth and lay there motionless, holding his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. The horseman came still nearer, and soon were right upon him. It was so dark he could not count them, but he could hear every word of their conversation. It is hard for them, but it is hard for us also, said one in a sleepy voice, and how many good warriors have bitten the dust. Queen of Heaven, said another voice. They say the king is not far away. What will happen to us then? The Khan is angered at our leader, and the Tartars are threatening to put chains upon us. On the pastures they fight with our men. Our father has forbidden us to enter the horse enclosures, for whoever enters is lost. They say that among the market men are disguised as Poles. I wish that this war had never broken out. We are worse off now than before. The king is in the vicinity with the Polish army. That is the worst of it. Hey, in sich you would be sleeping at this hour, but here you have to knock about in the darkness like a vampire. There must be vampires about, for the horses are snorting. The voices grew fainter and fainter in the distance, until they could be heard no more. Longine rose and went on. A drizzling rain, fine as mist, came on. It grew still darker. To the left of Longine, at some distance off, there gleamed a small light, then a second, a third, a tenth, and so on. Now he was sure that he was on the line of the wagon train. The little lights were set far apart and emitted but a feeble glimmer. Probably everybody was asleep, or perhaps here and there some might be drinking or preparing food for the morrow. Thank God I came out after the assault and the sally. They are no doubt tired unto death, said Longine to himself. Scarcely had he said this when he heard and knew the trampling of horses. It was another patrol. The ground about had been torn up a good deal, so that it offered good hiding places. The patrol passed by Sonia that he was almost run over. Fortunately, the horses were used to prostrate to bodies and did not become frightened. Longine went on. Within a distance of about a thousand steps he met two more patrols. Evidently, the whole entire circle about was guarded like the apple of the eye, but Longine was only glad that he did not meet any of the infantry sentries who are generally stationed before the wagon trains in order to give notice to the patrols. His joy, however, was of short duration. He had hardly gone ahead one furlong when scarce ten steps in front of him a dark figure emerged. Longine, though of undaunted courage, felt a slight chill pass through his body. It was too late to retreat and to skirt around the sentinel. The figure approached. He must have been noticed. A moment of hesitation followed, then a husky voice asked. Vassil, is that you? It is I, replied Longine. Have you the Gursalka? Yes, I have it. Give it to me. Longine approached him. Why are you so big? asked the voice, in terror-stricken tones. Something staggered in the darkness. A cry of God instantly smothered, issued from the mouth of the guard, that a crunching was heard like that of breaking bones, a rattling from the throat, and a figure fell noiselessly to the ground. Longine went on. But he skirted about, as he had evidently struck a line of patrol. He approached closer to the wagon train in order to pass between the pickets and the line of wagons. If there was no line of pickets here, Longine could meet none but pickets going out to relieve others, for there were no mounted patrols here. It was soon apparent that there was not a second line. The line of wagons, however, was not further away than a couple of bow shots. Strangely, he seemed to be getting nearer to it, although he attempted always to remain at an equal distance. It was evident also that all were not asleep about here. He could see groups sitting around, smoldering fires. In one place the fire was brighter, so bright, that its gleam almost discovered Longine, and he was obliged to retreat back towards the pickets, so as not to get into the belt of light. From a distance he could distinguish oxen suspended from posts near the fire, which were being skinned by butchers. Groups of men watched this proceeding. Some were playing upon pipes. It was evident that this was part of the camp occupied by the drovers. The other rows of wagons were hidden by the darkness. The line of the bulwark, which was faintly illuminated again, appeared to get nearer to him. At first he had only had it on its right. Now he suddenly found it to be just in front of him. He stopped and considered what was best to be done. The bulwark and the camps of the Tartars and the blacks surrounded the Zavaraj, like a ring. Within this ring centuries were posted and patrols were moving about to see to it that no one should pass. Longine was in a terrible position. He would either have to creep through between the wagons or seek another way between the Cossacks and the Tartars. Otherwise he would have to roam about the outer circle until dawn or return to the Zavaraj. But even in the latter case he might fall into the hands of the enemies. He understood, however, that one wagon could not be crowded up closely to another because of the nature of the ground. There ought to be considerable openings. Besides such openings were necessary for intercourse and exit. Longine determined to look for such a passage and so again approached the row of wagons. The light of fires burning here and there might betray him, but on the other hand they were useful, for without them he could see neither the wagons nor the passageways between them. After searching carefully for about a quarter of an hour he found such a passageway and readily recognized it, for it looked like a black belt. There were no fires on it and there could be no Cossacks, for this was a road that must be left for the horseman. Longine got on all fours and commenced to creep along that dark opening like a snake into its hole. A quarter of an hour, a half an hour passed, and he was still creeping, praying, and commending his body and soul to the protection of heaven. He called to mind that the fate of Zavarj depended on his passing through this gully. He prayed not only for himself, but also for those who at the moment were praying within the ramparts for him. All was quiet on both sides of him. No one stirred, not a horse snorted, not a dog barked, and Longine luckily crept through. Before him he already saw dark bushes, behind which was the oak grove, and beyond that the forest continued as far as to Porava. Beyond the forest was the king, safety, glory, and merit, in the eyes of God and man. What was the stroke by which he cut off three heads in comparison to this deed which required something else than an iron hand? Longine felt the difference, but his clean heart was not swallowed by pride, like that of a child, and melted in tears of thankfulness. Then he arose from the ground and walked on, beyond the wagons, where were but few pickets, if any of those could be easily avoided. It began to rain harder, and the rain pattering upon the bushes drowned his footsteps. He let his long legs out and went on like a giant, trampling everything in his way. Each step was equal to five of an ordinary man. The wagons were left further in the distance, the oak grove drew ever nearer, and in it was salvation. The oaks were at hand. With them it was as dark as under the earth, but so much the better. A light breeze sprang up. The oaks rustled as if breathing a prayer. Almighty God, gracious God, preserve this night, for he is thy servant and a faithful son of the land on which we have grown with thy glory. One mile and a half separated Longine from the Polish camp. Perspiration covered his brow, for the air was peculiarly sultry, as if a storm were gathering, but he hurried on regardless of the storm, for the angels were singing in his heart. The grove became thinner, and this meant the first meadow was close by. The oaks rustled louder. As if they wished to say, wait a while yet. You are safe with us. But the night has no time, and steps out into the open meadow. A solitary oak, taller than the rest, stands in the center. Towards this, Longine moves. Suddenly, when he was butt a few steps away from the giant oak, about twenty dark figures rushed out from beneath its branches, and sped like wolves toward the night. Who are you? Who are you? Their language was unintelligible. The covering of their heads were pointed. These were Tartar herders, who had sought shelter here from the rain. At that moment, red lightning illuminated the field, revealing the oak, the wild figures, and the gigantic night. A terrible cry rent the air. In a moment the battle began. The Tartars threw themselves at Longine like wolves at a deer, and clutched him with their sinewy hands, but he only shook himself free, and his assailants fell from him as ripe fruit from a tree. Then his terrible sword, Cowell Cutter, flew from its sheath and soon resounded groans, howls, shouts for help, the whistling of the sword, the cries of the wounded, the naing of horses, and the crash of broken Tartar sabers. The quiet field echoed with all the wild sounds that can be uttered by the human throat. The Tartars hurled themselves in packs at the night, but he leaned his back against the oak, defended himself in front with his whirling sword, which cut and slashed in a terrible manner. These lay stretched at the feet of the night. The others fell back, panic-stricken. A-deave, a-deave, they howled out in terror. The howling was not in vain. Scares a half hour passed before the whole meadow was filled with people afoot, and on horseback. Cossacks and Tartars flocked with scythes, clubs, bows, poles, and burning pitch pine. Excited questions began to fly from mouth to mouth. What is the matter? What has happened? A-deave, answered the hurders. A-deave, repeated the crowd. A pole, a monster, beat him, take him alive, alive. Longin fired two shots from his pistol, but the distance was too great for them to be heard from the Polish camp. Now the crowd approached him in a semi-circle. He stood in the shadow of the tree, looming like a giant, with his back against its trunk, and waited, his sword in hand. The crowd came nearer and nearer. Finally a voice of command called out, seize him. All who had not bitten the dust rushed at him. The shouting ceased. Those who could not get at him held lights for the assailants. A confused crowd of men struggled beneath the tree. Growns arose, and for a time it was impossible to distinguish anything. Finally a cry of terror arose from the assailants. The crowd dispersed in a moment. Beneath the tree stood Panlongin alone, and at his feet a crowd of bodies quivering in their death throws. Ropes, ropes, shouted a voice. Several horsemen flew away, and in a moment brought back ropes. Then a number of strongmen seized a long rope by both ends and tried to tie Longin to the tree. But he slashed with his sword, and the men on both sides fell to the ground. A second attempt was followed by the same result. Perceiving that too many men in a crowd only get in each other's way, a number of the boldest no-guy tried again to capture the giant alive, but he rent them like a wild boar rents the attacking dogs. The oak, which consisted of two mighty trees that had grown together, protected the night in its central depression. Whoever in front got within range of his sword died without uttering a groan. The superhuman strength of Longin seemed to increase with each moment. Seeing this the madden hordes drove away the Cossacks, and all round resounded with a wild cry. Boes, boes. When he saw the boes and the arrows poured out from their quivers at the feet of his assailants, Longin recognized that the hour of his death had arrived, and he began to say the litany of the most holy version. Silence fell. The crowd held its breath in expectation of what would happen. The first arrow whizzed forth just as Longin repeated, mother of the Redeemer, and it grazed his temple. Another arrow flew forth as Longin said, oh, blessed virgin, and it stuck fast in his shoulder. The words of the litany mingled with the whizzing of the arrows, and when Longin had said star of the morning, arrows were sticking in his shoulders and his sides and legs. Blood oozing from a wound in his temple float over his eyes, he saw as through a mist the meadow and the tartars. Presently he heard no longer the whizzing of the arrows. He felt that his strength was forsaking him, that his legs were bending beneath him, his head dropped on his breast. For the last time he fell on his knees. Then he said in half-grown, Queen of the Angels, and these were his last words on earth. The host in heaven received his soul and placed it as a translucent pearl at the feet of the Queen of the Angels. End of book four, chapter five.