 Book 4 Chapter 6 On the next morning, Pan Volodyavsky and Zagloba were standing on the ramparts among the soldiers, looking attentively toward the hostile camp from whence a dense mass was approaching. Skets Tutsky was in consultation with the Prince, but they took advantage of this moment of peace to speak about the events of the preceding day and about the present movements in the enemy's camp. "'That is not a good omen,' said Zagloba, pointing at the black mass that moved along like a gigantic cloud. They surely come to the assault again, and here the hands are stiff. They will scarce think of making an assault in broad daylight and at this time,' said the little knight. "'All they will do will be to take possession of our ramparts of yesterday, undermine the new one, and fire upon us from morning until evening.' We could easily decimate them with the cannon.' Pan Michael lowered his voice and answered, "'The powder is getting scarce. I have heard it will not suffice for six days if we use as much as we have lately, but the King will surely be here before that. I care not what happens if only our poor longine gets through all right. I could not sleep all night for thinking of him, and whenever I fell into a doze I saw him in danger, and was so alarmed that I perspired all over. He is the best man that can be found in the Commonwealth, even if you looked all over the land with a lantern for three years and six Sundays. But why did you always turn to him in ridicule? Because my mouth is dirtier than my heart. Don't make my heart bleed with recollections, dear Michael, for I have reproached myself enough already, and God forbid that any disaster befall Pan Longine, for I would find no peace till the day of my death. You must not grieve so long. He never was angered at you, and I often heard him say, an evil mouth but a golden heart. God give health to this good friend. He never knew how to talk, but his great virtue made up a hundredfold for this deficiency. What do you think, Pan Michael, will he get through all right? The night was dark, and the peasants were tired and worn out after the defeat. Our sentinels were not in good condition, theirs must have been less so. Praise be to God! I asked Longine to find out whether our poor princess had been seen anywhere, for I think Zhenzian must have escaped with her to the royal army. Longine will hardly take a rest, and will surely come here with the king. In that case we shall soon hear of her. I put faith in the wit of that fellow Zhenzian, and I trust that in some manner he has saved her. Should she have perished, I could never be happy again in this life. I only knew her for a short time, but had I won I could not love a sister more. She was a sister to you, but to me a daughter. These cares will doubtless make my beard as white as snow, and break my heart. Hardly do you learn to love anybody when one, two, three, and that one is gone. And all that is left for you is to sit and worry and grieve and torment yourself and brood, going about with an empty stomach and a cap full of holes, through which the water falls upon your bald-pate as through a poorly-fatched roof. Dogs are better off in the Commonwealth nowadays than the nobles, and we four are the worst off of all. It is time to go to a better world, Pan Michael. What do you think? More than once I have wondered whether it would not be better to tell Schetztusky everything. But I am restrained from doing so because he never mentions her name, and if anyone happens to mention it he starts as if his heart had been pierced. Tell him all about it now, open the wounds that have healed in this fire of war, leaving but a scar behind, while now, perhaps, some tartar is dragging her by the hair over the pericop. I see wax tapers, funeral, when I think of such an end. It is about time to die, it cannot to be otherwise, for there is nothing on earth but affliction, if only Pan Longine has a happy escape. One must favor him more than others, for he is virtuous. But look, what is the rabble doing over Yonder? The sun is so dazzling today that I can't see. They are digging under our newly made rampart of yesterday. I said that there would be an assault. Let us depart, Pan Michael, we have stood here long enough. They are not digging in order to make an assault at all events. They must make an open road for retreat, and they will probably bring up their engines on which their gunners are stationed. Let us see how their spades are flying. Already they have leveled the ground for about forty paces. Now I see, though the glare is dazzling today. Zagloba covered his eyes with his hand, and looked attentively. The blacks rushed through the cut dug into the rampart, and immediately spread over the bare space between the ramparts. Some began to fire at once, others digging up the ground began to heap up a new rampart to enclose the Polish camp with a third ring. Oh ho! exclaimed Pan Michael, did I not say so? They are rolling up the engines already. Well then, the assault will be very lively. Let us go! said Zagloba. No, these are another kind of engines, said the little knight. Indeed, the machines that had appeared in the opening were built upon a different plan from the usual kind. Their walls consisted of ladders fastened with hasps and covered with cloths and skins, behind these from the middle of the machine up to the top. The best marksmen were ensconced. Let us go! Let those dogs worry on! exclaimed Zagloba. Wait awhile! replied Volodyovsky. He began to count the engines in order, noting each new one as it appeared in the opening. One. Two. Three. It is evident that they have quite a number. Four. Five. Six. They are still coming. Seven. Eight. They will kill every dog on the square, for those must be their best marksmen. Nine. Ten. Each one stands out distinctly, for the sun shines upon them. Eleven. Suddenly Pan Michael ceased counting. What is that? he asked in a voice of astonishment. Where? There, upon the highest one? A man is hanging. Zagloba strained his eyes. Indeed the sun was shining upon the body of a man dangling by a rope from the highest engine, and swaying to and fro with its motion. True! said Zagloba. Pan Michael suddenly became as pale as linen and cried out in accents of terror. Oh, mighty God! It is pod bibienta! A murmur rose on the ramparts as when a wind blows through a forest. Zagloba bent his head, covered his eyes with his hands, and with blue lips groaned out. Jesus Maria! Jesus Maria! Now the murmur changed into a battle of confused words, and then into a roar like storming waves. The soldiers on the ramparts saw that on the rope of infamy was hanging Pan Longin pod bibienta. The sharer of their misfortune, the spotless knight, and anger, terrible anger caused the hair of the soldiers to stand on end. Zagloba at last took his hand from his eyes. He was fearful to look upon. His face was blue, his eyes were protruding, and he foamed at the mouth. Blood, blood, he roared, was so terrible a voice that a shiver passed through the bystanders. He sprang into the ditch. Everything alive upon the ramparts plunged after him. No power on earth, not even the command of the prince could have restrained this outburst of fury. They climbed out of the ditch, scrambling over each other, seizing with their hands and teeth the bank of the ditch, and when one was over he rushed off blindly, not looking to see if others followed. The infernal engines were smoking like pitch ovens and shook with the thunder of discharges, but this did not deter the assailants. Zagloba rushed ahead, swinging his sword over his head and raging like a mad bull. The Cossacks sprang against the assailants with flails and scythes. It seemed as if two walls were tumbling over each other with a tremendous crash. But the well-fed pack of hounds could not defend themselves long against the hungry and maddened wolves. Thrust from their places, cut with swords, torn with teeth, crushed and beaten, the Cossacks could not withstand the furious onslaught. Confusion set in, and they fled to the openings. Zagloba, raging, rushed into the densest crowd like a lioness whose cubs have been stolen. He was snorting with rage as he struck down and trampled upon those that opposed him. He cleared a way about himself, and nearby like another destroying flame came Volodyovsky, wild as a wounded leopard. The marksmen, entrenched in the engines, were cut to pieces. The others were driven to the opening in the ramparts. Then the soldiers mounted the engine and, untying the body of Panlongin, they lowered it carefully to the ground. Zagloba threw himself upon the corpse. Volodyovsky's heart was also bleeding, and he wept bitterly at the sight of his dead friend. It was easy to see in what manner Panlongin had perished, for his whole body was covered with little holes made by the points of arrows. But the face was not disfigured, save for the wound on the temple that an arrow had made. The few drops of blood had dried up on his cheeks, his eyes were closed, and on his pale face was a peaceful smile. Had it not been for the bluish tint on his face and the rigor of death upon his features, it might have seemed that Panlongin was sleeping peacefully. His comrades bore him to the ramparts, and thence into the chapel of the castle. By evening a coffin was made, and the funeral took place at night in the churchyard of Zabarge. All the clergy of Zabarge were present except the priest Jebkovsky, who had been shot in the back during the last assault and was at the point of death. The prince came also, having for the time being transferred the command to the chief of Krasnitovsk. There were present also the commanders, the crowned Ensign, the Ensign of Novogorod, Pishminsky, Sketschtsky, Boladiovsky, Zagloba, and all the companions in arms of the squadron in which the dead man had served. The coffin was placed by the newly made grave, and the ceremony began. The night was calm and starlit. The torches threw their light upon the yellow boards of the hastily made coffin, upon the figure of the priest, and upon the set faces of the knights standing about. The smoke rising from the censors filled the air with the odor of myrrh and juniper. The silence was broken only by the stifled sobs of Zagloba. The deep sighs that issued from the strong breasts of the knights and the distant thunder of cannon on the ramparts. Now the priest Mochovetsky raised his hand to indicate his desire to speak. The knights therefore held their breath. He was silent for a moment, then he fixed his eyes upon the star studded fermentant, and spoke as follows. What knocking do I hear at night on the gate of heaven? Asks the hoary warden of Christ's kingdom, awakened from sweet slumber. Open, Holy Peter, open it is I, Pahd Bibyenta. By what rank, what deeds, what merits, can O Pahd Bibyenta beholden thee to trouble the venerable doorkeeper? By what right dost thou wish to enter there when neither birth, though even at the royal offices, nor majesty, nor ever royal purple, is allowed free entrance, where one cannot drive on the broad road in a chariot in six surrounded by high-dukes, but must clamor by the narrow and thorny path of virtue? Ah, open, Holy Peter, open quickly, for by just such a narrow path wondered our messmate and dear brother Pahd Pahd Bibyenta, till he at last appeared before you, came naked, like Lazarus, pierced by pagan arrows like the holy Sebastian, poor like Job, pure as a virgin who has never known a man, pure as a lamb, patient and silent, without a blemish of sin, with the sacrifice of his blood shed gladly for his earthly fatherland. Admit him, Holy Peter, for if not him then whom wilt thou admit in these times of corruption and godlessness? Admit him, Holy Peter, admit this innocent lamb and let him graze on the heavenly pasture, let him crop its grass, for he has come hungry from Zabarge. In this manner the priest Mukhovyetsky commenced his discourse, and then he depicted the whole life of Longine with such eloquence that everyone felt wicked in the presence of the silent coffin that bore the spotless night, who had surpassed the lowliest in modesty and the greatest in virtue. All struck their breasts, and a constantly growing sorrow oppressed them, as they recognized more clearly what a paroxysm had seized the fatherland and how irretrievably Zabarge had lost. The priest continued in inspired words, and when he described how Longine had left the camp and died the death of a martyr, he forgot his rhetoric and quotations, and when he addressed farewell words to the remains of the hero, in the name of the clergy, the commanders and the army, he burst into tears, and sobbing like Zagloba continued, Farewell, brother, farewell, comrade, not to an earthly but a celestial king, to the surest tribunal, dost thou bear our lamentations, our hunger, our misery, our suffering and oppression. Thou wilt there more surely affect our deliverance, but thou wilt return no more, therefore do we weep, therefore do we wet thy coffin with tears, for we loved thee, dearest brother. All shed tears with the worthy priest, the prince, the commanders, the soldiers, and most of all the friends of the deceased. But when the priest began to intone, requiem, aeternum, dona, a domini, there arose a general chorus of sobs, though all were strong and accustomed to the sight of death. When the coffin was placed upon the ropes it was hard to tear Zagloba away. He clung to it as if a brother or his father lay dead within it. At last Sketsutsky and Volodyovsky succeeded in dragging him away. The prince stepped up to the coffin and took up a handful of earth. The priest began to say, Anima, ae, juice. The ropes were let down, the earth began to fall upon the coffin, being thrown down from the hands and helmets of the bystanders. Soon above the remains of Pan Longinas Podbibienta there arose a high mound upon which the moon shed its pale, sad light. The three friends returned from the town to the square. From whence came the incessant noise of battle. They walked in silence, which none of them wished to break. Other groups discussed the dead hero and gave him unstinted praise. Even the funeral of Sierakovsky was not more imposing than this, said an officer passing near Sketsutsky. Well, he deserved it, answered another officer, who else would have undertaken to get through to the king. I heard that among the soldiers of Vishnovvetsky some volunteers offered their services, added a third officer, but after such an awful example they will probably change their minds. The thing is impossible. A snake could hardly creep through. As true as I live it would be sheer madness. The officers passed on. Silence reigned again, and suddenly Pan Michael spoke. Did you hear what they said, dear Jan? I did, answered Sketsutsky. It is my turn to-day. Jan, said Pan Michael earnestly, you have known me for a long time and know that danger does not frighten me, but danger is one thing and suicide quite another. And you say this, Michael? I do, for I am your friend. And I am your friend also. Give me your word of honor that you will not go as a third if I should fall. No, I cannot do that, exclaimed Pan Volodyovsky. See then, Michael, how can you ask something of me that you would not do yourself? God's will be done. Then let me go with you. The Prince has prohibited that, not I. You are a soldier, and therefore must obey. Pan Michael was silenced, for in fact he was above everything a soldier. He twisted his mustaches excitedly. Finally he said, the night is very bright, don't go to-night. I wish that it was darker, answered Sketsutsky, but delay cannot be thought of. You see, the weather has become clear, and is liable to remain so. We are in the direst need of powder and provisions. The soldiers are digging in the square for roots, the gums of some of them are already rotting from the rubbish they are eating. I go to-night at once. I have already been farewell to the Prince. You are a desperate man, I see. Sketsutsky smiled sadly. Enough of this, Pan Michael, I pray. I am not indeed swimming in delight, but I shall not seek death voluntarily for that is a sin. Anyway, it is not a question of dying, but of getting to the King and saving the camp. A violent desire suddenly seized Volodyovsky to tell Sketsutsky all about the Princess. He had already opened his lips when he thought. The news would turn his head and he would fall an easier prey to the enemy. He therefore bit his tongue and checked himself, and said instead, which way are you going to choose? I told the Prince that I should go over the pond and then along the river until I got beyond the enemy's camp. The Prince thought also that this was the best way. I see that there is nothing to be done, Pan Michael replied. We can only die once, and it is more honourable to die on the battlefield than in bed. God guide you. God guide you, Yanni, if we do not meet again in this world we shall meet above, and I shall always keep my friendship for you. So shall I mine for you. May God reward you for all your good deeds. And listen, Michael, if I perish they will hardly exhibit me as they did Longine, where they received too severe a lesson, but they will be sure to make it known, and in that case let old Zat-Vilkovsky go to Kemelnitsky for my body, for why would not have it dragged by dogs about the enemy's camp? Rest assured of that, answered Pan Michael. Zagloba, who had at first not listened attentively to the conversation, now realised what it was about, but he did not have the strength to dissuade Skets-Tutsky from the hazardous enterprise, but only groaned in sorrow. I won, to-day another, my God, my God. Trust in God, said Volodyovsky. Yanni began Zagloba, but he could say nothing further. He merely leaned his horny, care-worn head upon the breast of the night and clung to him like a helpless child. An hour later Skets-Tutsky entered the water of the Western pond. The night was very bright, and the middle of the lake gleamed like a silver shield. Skets-Tutsky was soon lost to sight, owing to a dense growth of bullrushes and reeds upon the shore. Further in, where the reeds were scarcer, there was a luxuriant growth of pond lilies and other water-plants. This mixture of wide and narrow leaves, slimy stalks, and snake-like stems, winding themselves about Skets-Tutsky's leg and body to the waist, made it exceedingly difficult for him to advance, but nevertheless it concealed him from the sentries. To swim across the pond's bright centre could not be thought of, for any dark object would have been easily seen. Skets-Tutsky therefore determined to skirt around the shore of the pond to the swamp at the other side, through which the river flowed into the pond. Centuries of the Cossacks and Tartars were likely to be there, but on the other hand a whole forest of weeds grew there, only the edge of which had been cut down to make cuts for the blacks. It was possible to creep through the marsh even in daytime unless some places should be too shallow. But it was a dreadful way. Beneath the stagnant water, not more than a yard from the shore the mud was deep, and with every step that Skets-Tutsky took, bubbles rose to the surface of the water, the noise of which could be distinctly heard in the stillness. Besides, in spite of the slowness of his movements, ripples formed about him and spread to the open water where the moonlight was reflected. Had it been raining, Skets-Tutsky could have swam straight across the pond, and reached the swamp within half an hour at the utmost, but there was not a cloud in the sky. Broad streams of greenish light fell upon the pond, forming the leaves of the water-plants into shields of silver, and the tufts of the reeds to silvery spears. No breeze was stirring. Fortunately, the gurgling of the bubbles was drowned by the uproar of the guns. Skets-Tutsky, observing this, moved forward only when the discharges on the ramparts and in the trenches were at their liveliest. But this calm, clear night had another difficulty in store. Swarms of mosquitoes rose from the reeds, formed a cloud about his head, lighting on his face and eyes, stinging him, buzzing about him, and humming their melancholy vespers. Skets-Tutsky was not unaware of the difficulties of his way when he selected this road, but he had not foreseen all of them. He did not foresee its terrors. Any depth of water, however familiar, has at night something mysterious and terrifying about it, and invites the unwelcome question, what is concealed at the bottom? This pond of Zabarge was positively terrible. The water in it seemed thicker than ordinary water. The stench of corpses emanated from it, which came from the hundreds of Cossacks and Tartars whose bodies were decomposing in the water. Though on both sides dead bodies had been pulled ashore, yet who could tell how many had been left hidden among the reeds and thick bullrushes? Those Skets-Tutsky was embraced by the cool water, perspiration rolled down his forehead. What if suddenly a pair of slippery wet arms should embrace him, or a pair of greenish eyes should gaze at him from under the water-plants? The long stalks of the water lilies wound about his knees and his hair stood on end, for he thought that he felt the embrace of a drowned man who grasped him so as not to let him lose again. Jesus Maria! Jesus Maria! he murmured continually, pushing himself forward. From time to time he lifted his eyes heavenward and felt comforted at the sight of the moon, the stars, and the serene sky. There is a God, he repeated to himself, in an undertone, so that he could hear himself. At times he looked at the shore, and then it seemed to him as if he were looking out from some cursed, infernal world full of mud, swamps, black depths, pale moonlight, ghosts, corpses, and night upon God's earth. A yearning seized him to flee at once from that network of reeds to the shore. But he pushed on further and further along the shore, and was already so far away from the camp, that upon God's world several paces from the shore he saw a tartar on horseback. He stopped and looked at him observingly, and judging from the way that the figure nodded with a uniform motion toward the neck of the horse, he presumed that he was asleep. It was a strange sight, the tartar nodding continually as if silently bowing to Skets Tewski who kept his eyes glued upon him. There was something awful in this, but Skets Tewski breathed more freely, for in the presence of this manifest danger, imaginary ones that were a hundred times harder to bear disappeared. The world of ghosts vanished, the night at once regained his sang-froid, and such thoughts as these crowded into his head. Is he asleep, or not, shall I go on, or shall I wait? Finally he went on, making his way even more carefully than at the beginning of his journey. He had gone halfway to the swamp in the river, when the first breath of a light wind arose. Soon the reeds were swaying and striking against one another, and giving forth a rustling sound. Skets Tewski was relieved, for in spite of all precaution, in spite of the fact that sometimes he spent several minutes in advancing a single step, and in voluntary movement a stumble or a splash might betray him. Now aided by the loud rustling of the leaves, which swept over all the pond, he pushed ahead more boldly. Everything seemed to be getting to stir, the rocking waves of water began to splash on the shore. This movement was not confined to the reeds along the shore, for suddenly a dark object appeared before Skets Tewski, and began to move towards him as if preparing for a spring. At the first moment Skets Tewski almost cried aloud, but the fear and a feeling of nausea restrained his voice, and at the same time a horrible stench almost suffocated him. After a time when the first fancy of having his way barred by a drowned man was gone, only the feeling of nausea remained and the night pushed on. The rustling of the reeds continued and grew louder. Through the waving tops Skets Tewski saw a second and a third tartar sentry. He passed these and a fourth one also. I must have gone round half the pond already, thought he, and he rose slightly to ascertain his position. He struck his legs and he looked down at his knees and saw a human face. This is the second one, thought he. This time he was not frightened, for this second corpse lay on its back, still and motionless, and gave no suggestion of life or action. Skets Tewski made haste lest his head should turn. The reeds were getting denser and denser. This on the one hand afforded more cover, but on the other it made his progress more difficult. Another half hour, another hour passed, he pushed right on, but grew more and more fatigued. In some places the water was so shallow that it hardly came above his ankles. In other places again he went in almost to his belt. Dragging his feet out of the bog, slow and tedious labor, fatigued him more than anything else. His forehead was covered with perspiration, and from time to time cold shivers passed from head to foot. What is the matter, he anxiously thought, am I getting delirious? The swamp has not appeared yet. Suppose I do not recognize the place amid the thick reeds and pass it by. It was a fearful danger, for in that way he might circle around the pond all night and find himself in the morning in the same place once he started, or fall into the hands of the Cossacks. I have chosen a bad way, thought he, and became dispirited. I cannot get through the lake, I will return, and tomorrow I will go the way Longine did, till tomorrow I could rest. But he went on, for he realized that he was tempting himself by letting his thoughts run on going back to rest. It also occurred to him that as he was going so slowly and had stopped every moment he could not yet have reached the swamp. But thoughts of rest tempted him more and more. He fought against his thoughts and prayed at the same time. The cold chills passed through him more often. He drew his feet out of the mud with ever-increasing weakness. The sight of the tartar centuries had stirred him, but he felt that his mind was growing numb as well as his body, and that the flush of fever was coming upon him. Another half hour passed, but the swamp was not yet in sight. But more often now he stumbled against the corpses of drowned men. Weight, dread, the rustling of the reeds, labor and sleeplessness confused his senses. He began to have visions. He sees, as from afar, Helena in a kudak, and he with Genzian is sailing down the stream of the denipper. The reeds rustle. He hears the song. Do you hear the thunderstorms and tempest yonder? The priest Macchovietzky is waiting in his stole, and see, Krzysztof Grodicki takes the place of the father. The girl is looking day after day down from the walls upon the river. Suddenly she claps her hands and exclaims he is coming, he is coming. My lord, says Genzian, pulling him by the coat-sleeve. The lady is here. Sketsuski awakens. The tangled reeds stop him. The vision disappears. Consciousness returns. Now he does not feel such weariness any longer, for the fever gives him strength. Oh, is not this the swamp yet? But around him were the same reeds as if he had not advanced at all. Near the river there must be open water. This consequently cannot be the swamp. The night goes on, but his thoughts obstinately return to the beautiful vision. Sketsuski resisted in vain. In vain begins to pray, O blessed virgin. In vain struggles to regain full consciousness. Again he beholds the denipper, the boats, kudak, sitch. But now the vision is more confused. There are a number of persons. Besides Helena are the prince and Kemelnytsky, Longin, Zagloba, Bohan, Volodyovsky, all in festival attire for his wedding. But where is the wedding? They are in some strange place. It is not Lubny, nor Rosloga, nor sick, nor kudak. Water is all about in which corpses are floating. Sketsuski awakens a second time, or rather he is aroused by a noise coming from the direction in which he desires to go. He stops, therefore, and listens. The noise is coming nearer. Rustling and splashing can be heard. It is a boat. Now it is clearly visible through the reeds. Two Cossacks are sitting in it. One of them is rowing. The other holds in his hand a long pole which gleams like silver in the distance, and with it he pushes the water plants aside. Sketsuski sank into the water up to his neck, so that only his head stuck out above the rushes and watched. Is it an ordinary patrol, or are they upon my track? Wondered he. But soon he concluded by the quiet, careless movements of the Cossacks, that it must be an ordinary patrol. There must be more than one boat on the pond, and if the Cossacks were on his track, doubtless several boats would have been together and a crowd of men besides. Meantime the boat passed by. The rustling of the reeds had drowned their words, but Sketsuski distinguished this fragment of their conversation. The devil take them for ordering us to guard this foul water. The boat disappeared in the thickest of reeds. But the Cossack at the front of the boat struck with regular strokes at the water plants as if he wished to frighten the fish. Sketsuski pushed on. After a while he saw another tartar picket close to the bank. The moonlight fell upon the face of the no-guy which resembled a dog's snout, but Sketsuski feared these pickets less than the loss of consciousness. He therefore exerted all his willpower in order to call to mind clearly where he was and where he was going to. But the struggle only increased his fatigue, and soon he noticed that everything appeared double and three-fold. And that at moments the lake seemed to him to be a camp, and the bunches of reeds tense. Then he wished to call Volodyovsky to go with him, but he had sufficient consciousness to restrain himself. Don't call, don't call, he repeated to himself incessantly. That would mean ruin. But the struggle with himself grew harder and harder. He had left Zabarj weak with hunger and loss of sleep, from which soldiers there were already dying. This nocturnal wandering, the cold bath, the stench of corpses, the roaming about in the mud, and the tearing apart of the roots of the water-plants had greatly weakened him. Added to this was the excitement, the fear, and the pain of mosquito bites that had covered his face with blood. He felt that unless he soon reached the swamp he would have to go ashore and let come what would, or he would collapse among the reeds and drown. The swamp in the mouth of the river seemed to him a harbor of salvation, though new difficulties and dangers were in store there for him. He fought against the fever and proceeded, disregarding caution more and more. In the heat of the fever Schetsuzki heard human voices. Conversation. As if the pond were talking about him. Would he reach the swamp or not? Would he work himself through or not? The mosquitoes about him, with their thin voices, hummed a more melancholy tune every moment. The water was getting deeper. Now it reached his belt, now his breast. He thought if he should have to swim he would get tangled in this muddle of plants and drown. An irresistible and unconquerable desire to call Pan Michael seized him. He already had put his hands to his mouth to cry, Michael, Michael. But fortunately a merciful reed struck him in the face with its wet brush. He regained his senses and saw before him, somewhat to the right, a feeble glimmer. He kept the light steadily in view and advanced towards it for some time. Suddenly he stopped. He saw a sheet of clear water before him. He breathed more freely. It was the river with a swamp along either bank. Now I shall stop circling along the shore and enter that wedge. On either side of the wedge a narrow fringe of reeds extended. The night proceeded along the one which he had reached and soon realized that he was upon the right track. He looked about. The pond was already behind him. He passed along by the narrow strip of water which could be nothing else but the river. The water here was colder, too. After a while a dreadful weariness oppressed him. His knees shook beneath him and before his eyes the black cloud hovered. I can stand it no longer, thought he. I must go ashore and lie down. I can go no further. I must rest. He fell upon his knees. His hands grasped a dry tuft covered with moss, like a little island among the rushes. He sat down upon it and began to wipe his bleeding face with his hands and to draw deep breaths. After a time the smell of smoke came to his nostrils and when he looked toward the shore he saw about a hundred paces away, a fire, and rounded a small group of men. He was exactly in line with the fire and when the wind bent the reeds apart he could see everything plainly. At the first glance he recognized Tartar herders who were sitting about the fire engaged in eating. A ravenous hunger seized him. The past morning he had eaten a bit of horse meat, scarce enough to have satisfied a wolf's cub, two months old. Since then he had eaten nothing. He began to tear up the stalks of the water lilies about him and to suck them greedily. thereby he allayed his hunger and quenched the thirst that was tormenting him. At the same time he did not take his eyes from the fire which was growing paler and fainter. The people around it became enveloped in a fog and seemed to be fading away. Ho, sleep is overcoming me. I shall sleep on this island throughout the night. Suddenly a commotion arose around the fire. The herders rose up. Then a shout, horse, horse, struck Skets Tusky's ears. A short neigh was the response. The fire smoldered away and died. After a time the night heard a whistling and the dull thump of horses hooves from the wet meadow. Skets Tusky could not understand why the herders had scattered. Then he observed that the reeds and the leaves of the lilies were growing paler, and the water took on a different glimmer than that of moonlight, and that the air was veiled with a light fog. He looked around. It was dawning. He had spent the whole night in skirting the pond ere he reached the swamp and the river. He was barely beyond the beginning of the journey. Now he must go along the river and attempt to pass the camp during the day. The air was penetrated more and more with a light of dawn. In the east the horizon was soon a pale green color. Skets Tusky slipped from the island into the swamp again, and pushing towards the bank he bent the reeds apart and looked out. At a distance of about five hundred paces was a Tartar patrol. Otherwise the meadow was empty, only the dying fire spluttered on a dry spot near. The night made up his mind to creep to it through the tall grass which in places was interspersed with rushes. Having reached the fire he looked greedily for some remains of food. He found indeed some freshly picked mutton bones with bits of tendon and fat. Besides, some roasted turnips left in the ashes. He fell upon the food with the greediness of a wild beast until he noticed that the patrols on the road that he had passed were coming towards him across the meadow on their way to camp. He retreated, and in a few minutes disappeared among the reeds. He found his island again and laid down on it noiselessly. The patrol passed by. Skiccetsotsky began to gnaw some bones again which he had brought along with him, and soon they cracked beneath his strong jaws as if between the teeth of a wolf. He gnawed off the tendons and fat, sucked out the meadow, and partly allayed his hunger. Such a breakfast he had not had for a long time ends of arge. Now he felt invigorated. The food as well as the dawning day braced him. It grew brighter and brighter. The eastern horizon was transformed from a greenish into a rose-red and golden color. Although the rawness of the morning chilled the night, he found consolation in the thought that the sun would soon warm his tired body. He carefully examined his surroundings. The island was fairly large, somewhat short, but broad enough to allow two men to lie upon it comfortably. The reeds surrounded it like a wall upon all sides, thus concealing it from sight. They cannot find me here, thought Skiccetsotsky, unless they fish in the reeds. But there are now no fishes, for they have all died on account of decomposition. Here I will rest and think what is best to be done. He turned over in his mind whether he should continue to go on by the river or not. At length he determined to go on if the wind should rise and cause the reeds to sway. Otherwise his movements and the noise would betray him, especially as he probably would have to pass close to the camp. I thank the God that I am still alive, he whispered. He gazed up at the sky, and then his thoughts flew over to the Polish camp. He could see the castle plainly at the moment it was gilded by the first rays of the rising sun. Perhaps someone was looking from the tower at the pond and at the reed through a field-glass. Pen-Michael, Zagleba, and Volodyovsky would no doubt watch all day long from the ramparts to see if he were hanging from some of the war-towers. They will not see me, thought Skiccetsotsky, and his breast swelled with a pleasant feeling of safety. They will not see me, he repeated several times. I have only gone a small part of the way, but it was no trifle. God will aid me further. Now he looked with the eyes of imagination beyond the camp, beyond the forest, behind which was the royal army, the general militia of the country, Hussars, infantry, foreign regiments. The earth groaned beneath the burden of men, horses, and cannon, and in the midst of this crowd of people was the king himself. Then he saw a great battle, broken camps, the prince with all his cavalry rushing over heaps of corpses, the salutations of the armies. His aching and swollen eyes closed upon the dazzling light. His head sank beneath the weight of thoughts. A pleasant weakness overcame him. He stretched himself at full length and fell fast asleep. The reeds rustled. The sun rose high in the sky and warmed with kindly rays the night and dried his clothes. He lay motionless and sound asleep. Had anyone seen him thus, lying on the island with a bloody upturned face, he would surely have thought that this was a corpse that had been washed ashore. Hussars went by, but still he slept. The sun reached at Zenith and began to descend in the vault of heaven, but still he slept. The piercing cries of horses biting at each other, and the loud shouts of the herders that they lashed the stallions awoke him. He rubbed his eyes, looked about, and tried to remember where he was. He looked up in the sky, still red with the last rays of the setting sun. Stars were twinkling. He had slept through the whole day. Schetztusky, however, felt neither rested nor refreshed. On the contrary, all his limbs were aching. But he thought that new toil would brace his body, and putting his feet into the water, he continued his journey. He now proceeded in clear water, skirting the reeds, lest he should by the noise of his steps excite the attention of the herders who were guarding the banks. The last gleam had died away, and it was quite dark, for the moon had not yet risen from behind the woods. The water was so deep that Schetztusky, in some places, found himself over his head, and was obliged to swim. This was difficult on account of his clothes, and because he had to swim against the current. But not the keenest tartar eye could have seen the head which was moving along the dark wall of reeds. He therefore pushed forward rather boldly, sometimes swimming, but mostly wading in water up to his belt or beneath his arms, until he finally reached a spot where his eyes beheld thousands and thousands of lights on either side of the river. Those are the camps, thought he. Now God help me. And he listened. A murmur of many voices reached his ears. Those indeed were the camps. On the left bank of the river, following its bend, lay the Cossack camp with its thousands of tents and wagons. On the right side, the tartar camp, both resounding with noise and tumult, full of the babble of human voices, wild rolling of drums and shrill whistling of fiefs, bellowing of cattle, naing of horses, and shouts. The river divided them and kept them from quarreling and fighting with each other, for the tartars could never exist in peace beside the Cossacks. The river was widest here, perhaps widened purposely. Judging by the fires, the tents and carts were on one side and reed huts upon the other, but a few steps from the river. Close to the water, no doubt, pickets were stationed. The reeds and bullrushes became thinner, evidently the bank along the two camps were bare. Skets Tewski sneaked on for some tens of steps and then stopped. The shadow of a mighty force seemed to fall upon him from those multitudes. He felt, at the moment, as if the entire vigilance, the entire wrath of these thousands of human beings were concentrated upon him, and against them he felt powerless and defenseless. He was all alone. No one could ever pass here, thought he. But he crept on still, for a painful, irresistible curiosity dragged him forward. He wished to have a nearer view of this terrible force. Suddenly he stopped. The thicket of reeds came to an end, as if it had been mowed down with knives. Perhaps the reeds had been cut for the building of huts. Later on the clear water was red from the fires reflected in it. Two great bright fires were burning close to the banks. By one was a tartar on horseback, by the other a cossack with a long lance in his hand. They turned their faces toward each other and the water. In the distance several such pickets were to be seen. The flames cast their light on the river and formed what looked like a bridge of fire. Along the banks were two rows of small boats used by the guard on the lake. It is impossible, murmured Skets Tewski. Sudden despair seized him. He could go neither forward nor backward. A day and a night had passed since he had been roaming through the mud and reeds. And he breathed the foul air and waded the water of the lake, only to realize here, after having reached the camps of the enemy through which he desired to pass, that it was impossible. But to return was also impossible. The knight knew that he might find strength enough to drag himself forward, but not to go backward. A dull rage mingled with his despair. At first it urged him to step out of the water, choke the guard, and then throw himself among the crowd and die. The breeze with a mysterious whisper began to rustle again the reeds, bringing with it sounds of the bells of Zabarj. Skets Tewski began to pray fervently. He beat his breast, and with all the strength and desperate faith of a drowning man he besought heaven to aid him. He prayed, while from the two camps arose ominous noises as if in response to his prayer. The black figures flitted about in the glare of the fire, looking like a herd of devils in hell. The pickets strode motionless. The river flowed on with blood-tinted waves. The fires will burn out when the knight comes on, said Skets Tewski to himself, and waited. An hour passed, and another. The noise decreased. The fires began to smolder, except the two watchfires, which flared up brighter and brighter. The pickets were relieved. It was evident that guard would be kept until morning. It came to Skets Tewski's mind that perhaps he might slip through more easily in the daytime, but he abandoned the thought at once. In the daytime they drew water, brought their cattle down to drink and bathe. The river would be full of people. Suddenly Skets Tewski glanced at the boats. On either side were about 10 boats in a row, and on the side of the Tartar camp the rushes reached to the first one. Skets Tewski sank in the water to his neck and slowly moved towards the boats, at the same time fixing his eyes on the Tartar picket. At the end of a half an hour he was close to the first boat. His plan was simple. The sterns of the boats, which were raised above the water, formed a sort of arch beneath which a man's head might pass with ease. When all the boats lay closely side by side, the Tartar picket could not see a head pushing along under them. There was more danger from the Cossack picket, but he might not see the head either. For in spite of the fire opposite the boats, it was dark beneath them. There was indeed no other way. Skets Tewski hesitated no longer and was soon beneath the sterns of the boats. He crept, or rather dragged himself along, for the water was very shallow. He was so near the Tartar standing on the bank that he could hear the breathing of his horse. For a moment he stopped and listened. Fortunately the boats lay closely side by side. Now he fixed his eyes upon the Cossack picket, whom he could see quite plainly. He was looking at the Tartar camp. The night had passed about 15 boats when he suddenly heard steps on the shore and the voices of men. He dunked at once and listened. During his journeys in the Crimea he had learned the Tartar language. A cold shiver ran through his body as he heard the words of command, embark and put off. Although in the water the night felt fever burning him. If the Tartars should take the boat beneath which he was concealed he would be lost. Should they step into the one in front of him he was lost also, for this would leave an open-lighted space. Every second seemed an hour to him. The steps sounded on the planks. The Tartars took the fifth boat right behind him and put out rowing in the direction of the pond. This proceeding attracted the attention of the Cossack pickets to the boats. Skets Tutsky laid motionless for a good half-hour. Not until the sentry was relieved did he begin to crawl ahead again. In this way he reached the end of the row of boats. Beyond the last one the rushes grew again and a little further on, reeds. When he reached shelter the night fell on his knees, breathless and covered with sweat, and thanked God with all his heart. He went onward more boldly, taking advantage of every faint breeze that stirred the reeds. From time to time he looked backward. The watch fires appeared more and more distant. They twinkled faintly and began to fade away. The lines of reeds and rushes were getting denser and darker, for the banks were more swampy. The pickets could not be posted so closely to each other now. The noise of the camps grew fainter. Supernatural strength seemed to flow into the limbs of the night. He forced his way through the reeds, over the islands, sinking in the mud, falling into deep water, swimming and getting out again. He did not dare to go on shore yet, but he almost felt that he was saved. He did not know how long he thus waited on. But when he again looked back, the watch fires appeared like little points of light in the distance. A few hundred steps more and they disappeared altogether. The moon went down, all about was still. Then arose a stronger, mightier rustling than that of the reeds. This gets Tuske almost cried aloud from joy on both banks of the river. He saw the wood before him. He made for the bank and emerged from the reeds. He breathed the fragrance of pine. The pine forest joined the reeds and rushes and here and there gleamed the silvery leaves of ferns and the black depths. The night fell upon his knees for the second time and kissed the earth as he prayed. He was saved. Then he plunged into the darkness of the forest, asking himself whether should he go. Whether would these forests lead him? Where was the king in the army? His journey was not over yet, nor was it now safe nor easy. But when he considered that he had emerged from Zabarj, that he had stolen through pickets, swamps, mud, camps, and nearly a half million of enemies, then it seemed to him that all danger was over and that this forest was a clear road leading directly to his majesty, the king. And so this hungry and shivering wreck smeared with his own blood and with red and black mud, walked on in gladness and with hope in his heart that he would soon return to Zabarj in different circumstances and in greater power. You shall not remain much longer a prey to hopelessness and starvation, said he, thinking about his friends in Zabarj, for I will bring the king. His heroic heart was rejoiced at the near rescue of the prince, the commanders, Volodyevsky, Zanglova, and all the heroes enclosed within the ramparts of Zabarj. The depth of the forest received him and embraced him with sheltering darkness. End of Book 4, Chapter 6, Book 4, Chapter 7 of With Fire and Sword. In the reception room of the court at Toporov there sat three gentlemen in secret conference. It was evening, several wax candles stood on the table which was covered with maps of the surrounding country. There also lay upon the table a tall hat with a black feather, a field glass, a sword with the hilt set with pearls, a lace handkerchief embroidered with a crown, and a pair of deerskin gloves. At the table in a high arm chair sat a man rather small and slender, but strongly built, and about forty years of age. His face was swarthy and sallow, and bore a weary expression. His eyes were black and so was his Swedish wig, the long locks of which fell over his neck and shoulders. A thin black mustache curled up at the ends adorned his upper lip, but the underlip and beard protruded, imparting to his physiognomy a characteristic mark of lion-like courage, pride, and stubbornness. It was not a handsome face, but there was dignity in it. A sensuous expression betraying inclination to enjoyment of life was strangely blended with a certain sleeply torpor and fragility. The eyes seemed dull, but one could easily imagine that in moments of enthusiasm, rapture, or scorn, they could flash like lightning. They at the same time betrayed both mildness and affability. The black dress composed of a satin caftan with a lace ruff beneath which a gold chain glittered increased the distinction of this remarkable figure. There was something majestic about it, despite the sorrow and care which expressed themselves in the features and attitude. This in truth was the king, Jan Kazimir Vasa, who nearly a year since has succeeded his brother, Vatislav. Seated a little behind him was Hiranam Radziavsky, the chief of Lozma, a short, thick-set, ruddy man with the face of a courtier, and opposite to him a third man, who was leaning upon his elbows, attentively studying the maps before him, and from time to time raising his eyes to the king. His countenance was less majestic, but expressed more official dignity than that of the king. It was a face furrowed by care and thought, cold and intelligent, with a stern look which did not mar its uncommon beauty. His eyes were blue and penetrating, his complexion delicate in spite of his age. His gorgeous polish dress, his beard trimmed in the Swedish style and the tuft of hair on his forehead imparted to his regular classical features, something of senatorial dignity. This was Jerzy Osalinsky, chancellor of the Crown and prince of the Roman nobility, a diplomat and orator who was admired throughout all the courts of Europe, the famous opponent of Yeremi Vishnavetsky. His extraordinary ability had long before attracted the attention of former rulers and had procured for him the most important offices, by virtue of which he guided the ship of state at the present hour so near to ruin. The chancellor was fit to be the pilot of such a ship. Industrious, patient, intelligent, and far-seeing, he would have directed with a steady hand any other state except the Commonwealth to a safe harbor, and could have secured domestic strength and many years of power to any other state, if he could have been the absolute minister of a monarch. For example, such as the king of France or the king of Spain. Educated beyond the boundaries of his own countries following foreign models, in spite of his innate intelligence and quickness, in spite of his long experience, he could not accustom himself to the powerless rule in the Commonwealth and all his life he did not learn to take this circumstance into account. Although this was the rock upon which all his plans and endeavors were shattered, though he now saw the ruin that was pending and later he died with despair in his heart. He was an ingenious theorist who, however, did not understand how to be ingenious in practice, and he fell into a maze of errors from which he could not escape. If he once hit upon an idea that promised to bear good fruit, he clung to it with the stubbornness of a fanatic, not recognizing that this idea, though salutary in theory, might in practice, because of actual circumstances, be followed by terrible disasters. Wishing to strengthen the country and the government, he let loose the terrible Cossack element, not foreseeing that the storm would turn not only against the nobility, the magnates, the greatest states, the abuses and arrogance of the nobles, but also against the most vital interests of the state. Kimmelnitzky rose up in the steppes and had grown to be a giant. The defeats of Zoltovoda, Corsun, and Piliovets fell heavily on the Commonwealth. At the outset this Kimmelnitzky entered into a confederacy with a Crimean power, the enemy of the country. One blow followed another. There remained war and nothing else. This terrible element should have been crushed first of all, so as to make it of use in the future. But the Chancellor, instead of doing this, occupied with his own thoughts, was still negotiating a delay and still trusting even Kimmelnitzky. The force of circumstances shattered all his theories. Every day it became clearer that the results of the Chancellor's efforts were entirely different from what he had expected, till at last the days of Zabarj had sadly confirmed all. The Chancellor was almost crushed by worry, exasperation, and general unpopularity. He did what, in times of misfortune and adversity, all do, whose self-confidence is stronger than all disaster. He looked for people whom he could hold responsible. The entire Commonwealth was to blame in all classes, the past, and the form of government. But he, who in fear lest a rock lying on a slope of a mountain might fall and crush everything in his way, wishes to roll it to the top without considering the strength that is at his command, will only cause the rock to roll down all the sooner. The Chancellor did worse, for he called to his aid the terrible rushing torrent of the Cossacks, and had not taken into consideration that this force was bound to undermine the very ground on which the rock was resting. While therefore he sought for people upon whom to lay the blame, all eyes were turned towards him as the cause of the war, the disasters, and misery. But the King still believed in the judgment of the Chancellor, all the more because public opinion did not spare his majesty and accused him equally with the Chancellor. So they sat, careworn and weary, at Tolparov, not knowing what to do, for the King had only twenty-five thousand men at his command. The conscript summons had been issued too late, and recruits therefore were gathering very slowly. As to who was the cause of this, and whether this delay was not a new blunder of the stubborn policy of the Chancellor, that secret was known only to the King and his minister. It suffices that both felt at that moment helpless against the power of Kemelnitsky. What was more serious still was that they had no accurate information about him. In the camp of the King it was not known whether the Khan with all his forces was with Kemelnitsky, or if only 2K Bay, with a few thousands of his hordes, was accompanying the Cossacks. This was a question of life or death. With Kemelnitsky alone the King might, in case of necessity, try his fortune, though a force ten times greater was under the command of the rebel Hetman. The magic of the royal name had great influence with the Cossacks, greater perhaps than with the crowds of General Militia, and the rude and untrained nobility. If however the Khan were with the Cossacks it was hopeless to battle against them. Widely varying reports were floating about, but no one knew the true state of affairs. The cautious Kemelnitsky held all his forces together and did not let a single party of Cossacks or Tartars go from camp so that the King might not get information. The rebel chieftain had a design to seal up the starving Zarbarrish entirely with a part of his troops. While he, with the rest of his Cossacks and the entire Tartar forces, would surround the King unexpectedly and deliver him over to the Khan. It was not without reason, therefore, that the brow of the King was clouded, for there is no greater pain to majesty than a feeling of helplessness. Yankhezmir lay helpless in his armchair with his hand resting on the table, and pointing to the maps he said, these lead to nothing, nothing, I need informants. That is what I am longing for, too, answered Ossolinsky. Have the scouts come back? They have, but they bring no news. Not even a captive? Only peasants from the neighborhood who know nothing. And is Pampelka back? He is a famous scout. Your Majesty, interrupted the chief of Lomza from behind the armchair, Pampelka is not here, nor while he returned, for he is dead. A deep silence fell. The King gazed upon the flickering candles and drummed with his fingers on the table. Have you no counsel? He asked at length. You must wait, said the Chancellor, earnestly. A frown wrinkled Yankhezmir's forehead. Wait! he repeated, and in zabarish, Vishnoyovetsky and the commanders are dying of hunger. They can hold out for some time yet, remarked Redzyavsky. You would better hold your peace, chief, if you have no good plan to offer. I have a plan, Your Majesty. What? Let us send someone to Kamilnitsky as if going to negotiate. The envoy will discover that the Khan be with him, and will bring us that information. That is not possible, said the King. After having declared Kamilnitsky a rebel, set a price upon his head, and bestowed the baton of the Zaporizhins upon Penzabusky, it would be beneath our dignity to enter into negotiations with Kamilnitsky. Then let us send an envoy to the camp, replied the chief. The King looked inquiringly at the Chancellor, who in turn looked at the King with his severe blue eyes, and after some reflection said, The advice would be good, but Kamilnitsky would no doubt seize the envoy. Therefore it would not work. Yonkazimir waved his hand. I see, he said slowly, that you have no plan, and now I will give you mine. I will go with the whole army to Zaporizh. Let God's will be done. There we shall find out if the Khan be present or not. The Chancellor knew the indomitable courage of the King, and did not doubt that he would do what he said. Besides, he knew from experience that when the King had once made up his mind to do a thing, all persuasion was useless. He did not offer any opposition therefore at once. He even praised the idea, but deprecated to great haste. He explained to the King that a delay of one or two days would make no difference, and in the meantime direct news might arrive. Every day must increase the dissension and insubordination among the mob, because of the constant defeats and the news of the King's proximity. The rebellion might melt before the presence of Majesty as snow beneath sunbeams, but it required time. The King, he went on to say, bears a responsibility before God in posterity of saving the whole Commonwealth. He should not expose himself to danger, especially as in case of misfortune the army in Zaporizh would be hopelessly lost. Do what you please, but I must have an informant to-morrow. Again, silence fell. A golden, full moon shone in through the windows, but in the chamber it grew darker for the candles were flickering. What time is it? Asked the King. It is near midnight, answered Radziavsky. I shall not sleep to-night. I will ride around the camp. And you come with me, where are Ubald and Ardyshevsky. In the camp I will go and order the horses, answered the Chief. He went towards the door. There arose a noise in the hall, a lively conversation was audible, and then the sound of hurried steps. The door was opened, and Tyson House, the King's Chamberlain, rushed in, breathless. Your Majesty, he cried, an officer from Zavaryshe has arrived. The King sprang up. The Chancellor rose also, and both cried out, impossible. It is so. He is standing in the antechamber. Let him come in, exclaimed the King, clapping his hands. Let him allay our anxiety. Show him in at once. Do you hear? Tyson House disappeared, and a moment later there appeared in his stead a tall, strange figure. Step nearer, sir, said the King. Nearer we are glad to see you. The newcomer walked slowly to the table, and at sight of him, the King, the Chancellor, and the Chief of Lomza fell back in astonishment. Before them stood a man, or rather a specter, fearful to look upon. Tattered rags covered his emaciated body. His face was pale, and stained with blood and filth. His eyes glittered feverishly. His black, tangled beard fell over his breast. The stench of corpses emanated from him, and his legs shook so that he had to lean upon the table. The King and the two officials gazed at him with wide, staring eyes. Now the doors opened, and a number of dignitaries, military, and civil entered. Among them, generals Ubald and Ardyshevsky. Sopeha, the Lithuanian Vice Chancellor, the Chief of Jax and Pan Sendomiersky. All took places behind the King and looked at the newcomer. Then the King asked, Who are you? The unfortunate man opened his mouth, attempted to speak, but the words would not come. His beard quivered, and he was barely able to whisper. From Jabarezh. Give him some wine, said a voice from the crowd. In a moment a goblet of wine was brought. The newcomer emptied it with great difficulty. Meanwhile, the Chancellor had thrown off his cloak and covered the stranger's shoulders with it. Can you speak now? Asked the King after a time. I can, replied the night, with a somewhat firmer voice. Who are you? Hans Ketztusky, Lieutenant of Hussars. And who's service? In the service of the Volvada of Russia. A murmur spread through the chamber. What news do you bring with you? asked the King, in a feverish tone. Distress. Famine. One grave. The King covered his eyes with his hands. Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus of Nazareth! he murmured. Then he asked again. Can they hold out for a time yet? Powder is scarce. The enemy is on the ramparts. Is the enemy strong? Kemelnitsky? And the Khan with all his hordes. The Khan is there? He is. Deep silence followed. Those presence looked at one another. Anxiety was expressed on every face. How have you been able to hold out? Asked the Chancellor with a powerful accent. Then Sketschtusky raced his head, as if new strength had come to him. A flash of pride glowed in his face and in a voice unexpectedly strong, he said. Twenty assaults repulsed. Sixteen battles won in the open field. Seventy-five sorties. Silence fell again. Then the King straightened up, shook his wig as a lion his mane, while a flush crimsoned his sallow face and his eyes flashed. By God! he exclaimed. Enough of listening to advice, of this pultering and hesitation. If the Khan be there or not, if the General Militia be gathered or not by God, I have had enough of this. Today we shall march to Zabarj. Two Zabarj, two Zabarj! shouted a number of powerful voices. The face of the newcomer brightened like the dawn. Gracious King and ruler he said, we will live and die with you. These words touched the noble heart of the King regardless of the night's repugnant appearance. He pressed his head with his hands and said, I prefer you to others dressed in satin. By the most holy mother, men who have done less have been rewarded with governorships. But what you have done shall not pass unrewarded. Do not thank me. I am your debtor. Then the others cried in chorus. There has been no greater night. This one is the greatest of those in Zabarj. He has achieved immortal glory. How did you penetrate the castics and tartars? I hid in swamps, crept through reeds, wandered through woods, roamed about, was without food. Give him food, exclaimed the King. Food, repeated the others, give him clothes also. Tomorrow you shall have a horse and clothing, said the King. You shall not want for anything. All following the King's example, rivaled one another in bestowing praises. Again they put questions to him which he answered with the difficulty. For increasing weakness overcame him and he was scarce conscious. Food and drink was brought to him. Then there entered the priest Tetsyavsky, the royal chaplain. The dignitary stepped aside to make room for him, for he was a very learned man and much respected. His word had almost as much weight with the King as the chancellors, and it often happened that he openly spoke from the pulpit about matters that he knew hinted at even in the diet. He was immediately surrounded and they began to tell him that an officer had arrived from Zabarj, that the prince, in spite of the famine and suffering, was still holding out against the Khan, who together with Kimelnitsky was laying siege to Zabarj. That the latter had not lost during the past year so many men as had fallen before Zabarj. And finally the King intended to hasten to the Prince's aid, even though he and his army should perish. The priest listened attentively, moving lips and gazing constantly upon the maciated knight who was refreshing himself, the King having commanded him not to regard his presence and even waiting on him himself, and from time to time pledging him in a little silver goblet. And what is the name of this officer? Asked the priest. Schetztusky. Jan Schetztusky? Yes, father. Lieutenant with a vova dove, Russia. So it is. The priest raised his wrinkled face, murmured a prayer and said, Let us praise the name of the Lord, for through hidden paths he leads man to bliss and peace. Amen. I know this officer. Schetztusky heard these words, and involuntarily his eyes saw the face of the priest, but his face, form, and voice seemed entirely strange to him. So you alone undertook to get through the enemy's camp, asked the priest? A worthy comrade made the attempt to take him to the Prince's aid. A worthy comrade made the attempt before me, but he fell. Schetztusky. So much greater is your service. I see by your appearance that it must have been a terrible undertaking. God beheld your sacrifice, your virtue, your youth, and was with you. Then the priest turned to Jan Kazimir. Gracious king said he, Have you then irrevocably made up your mind to hasten to the rescue of the Vova of Russia? The army and myself. For I know that it is a terrible undertaking, but I cannot allow the Prince to perish before my eyes with such nights as our comrade here, on those unfortunate ramparts. God will give us victory, exclaimed several voices. The priest raised his hands, and a deep silence fell. I bless you in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen, said the king. He settled upon the sorrowing countenance of Jan Kazimir, but in his eyes they're shown an unusual light. A conversation in low tones was carried on by those present concerning the intended expedition. For many doubted yet if the king could really march out at once. He, however, took his sword from the table and made a sign to Tysenhouse to gird it on him. When does your Majesty intend to begin the march? The turning to the dignitaries he added let the signal to mount be given. The commander of the camp immediately disappeared. Chancellor Ossolinsky remarked in a low tone that all were not ready, and that the wagons could not leave before morning, but the king replied, let him remain behind to prefers the wagons to his country and his king. The room Tysenhouse remained. Gracious Lord, said the priest, from this officer you know now what you wish to learn. He must have rest now for he can hardly stand on his feet. Permit me, your Majesty, to take him to my quarters overnight. Very well, father replied the king, your request is granted. Let Tysenhouse and someone else escort him for he could hardly get there I would rather forget myself than forget you. Tysenhouse took Skets tosky by the arm and led him out. In the antechamber they met the chief of Jackets who supported the tottering night on the other side. The priest went ahead and before him a servant with a lantern. But the night was bright, calm, and warm. The golden moon sailed like a boat above Tolparov. A confusion of voices arose from since before the church, illumined by the light of the moon, numbers of soldiers, infantry, and cavalry could be seen. Horses were naying in the village. The creaking of wagons mingled with the rattle of chains and the noise of moving cannon. The den increased every moment. They are marching out already, said the priest. To the barish, to the rescue, whispered Skets tosky. Was it joy or the hardships that he had gone through so many hardships had almost to carry him? On their way to the priest's house they passed through the soldiers assembled before the church. These were the cavalry of Sapieja and the infantry of Art Ciesewski. They were not yet in ranks and stood about without order, massed in places and obstructing the passage. Make way, make way, cried the priest. Who passes here? And they immediately made way, but others crowded round to look upon the hero. They gazed in astonishment upon that emaciated disfigured face bathed in the moon's light and whispered to each other, from the barish, from the barish. With difficulty they arrived at last at the priest's house. There after he had been bathed and washed from the blood and filled he was placed in the bed of the priest who went immediately to join the expedition. He was not aware of where he was or what had happened. He heard only a humming noise, the clatter of hooves, the rumble of wagons, the thundering tread of infantry, shouts and sounds of trumpets. All this was mingled in his ears with one great roar. The army is departing, he murmured tutski as if he were sinking with his bed deeper and deeper into a bottomless abyss. End of Book 4 Chapter 7 Book 4 Chapter 8 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 translated by Samuel A. Binyon. Book 4 Chapter 8 Schetztuski slept for several days, and even when he awoke the fever had not left him, and he was delirious for a long time. He talked of his abarish, the prince, the chief of Krasnatovsk, he conversed with Pan Michael and Zagloba. He shouted to Longine, not that way, but the name of the princess enclosed her memory in his innermost heart did not forsake him even in his state of weakness and sickness. He seemed to see the chubby faiths of Genzian bending over him, just as he saw it when the prince after the battle of Konstantinov had sent him with some squadrons to Zazl to disperse the crowds of rebels, and Genzian had appeared to him unexpectedly in his quarters. Zazl and that nothing had changed since that period. He thought he was again on the Kamora and sleeping in the hut. Then he thought that he awoke and was marching with the troops to Tarnopol, Chizdavos, beaten at Konstantinov and flying to Kemolnyetsky. Genzian had come from Hush and was sitting by him. Schetztovsky since then Barr has been taken. At this he grinds his teeth in pain and his unhappy thoughts are lost in the void that follows. He knows nothing, sees nothing, then out of the chaos there arises Zabarj, the siege. He is not then on the Kamora. Yet Genzian is by him, bending over him. Through an opening in the window shutter there came a ray of daylight lighting the face of the lad full of anxiety and sympathy. Genzian exclaimed Schetztovsky suddenly. Oh, my master, do you at last recognize me? cried the lad and fell upon his knees. I thought that my master would never wake any more. A period of silence followed. Knott could be heard save the sobbing of the lad who embraced the feet of his master. Where am I? asked Schetztovsky. And where is the king? He has gone with the army to rescue the prince. Again silence followed. Tears of joy ran down Genzian's face and after a time he began to repeat, God be praised that I look upon your face again. Then he arose and opened the window in the shutters. The brisk morning air entered the chamber and with it the bright light of day. With the lights Schetztovsky fully regained light. Then I came from Zavarj. Asked the night. You did my master. Nobody else could have done what you have done and it was you that incited the king to go to the rescue. Pan Pab Bib Yenta attempted to get through before me but he perished. For God's sake Pan Pab Bib Yenta dead such a generous they shot him to death with arrows. And Pan Volodyovsky and Pan Zagloba they were well when I came away. Thanks be to God they are my master's dear friends but the priestess forbidden me to talk. Genzian grew dumb and seemed to be turning over something in his mind. His chubby face gave evidence that he was lost in reflection. After a time he said my master. What is it? I wonder what will be done with the fortune of Pan Pab Bib Yenta. He has said to have owned villages and boundless wealth. Did he leave anything to his friends? For I hear that he had no relatives. Get Stucey did not answer. Genzian noticed that the question did not please his master and he began again as follows. But the priestess forbidden me to talk. Oh my master I thought that I should never see them again for the Tartar Horde pressed so closely upon us that we knew not what to do. Then you were with Penvolodievsky and Zagloba? They did not say anything to me about it. For they did not know whether I was saved or not. Then where did the Horde press so closely upon you? Beyond Yampol my master. But the priestess forbidden me to talk. Silence intervened again. God reward you for your goodwill and trouble said Stucey for I know why you went there. I was there before you but in vain. Oh my master if it were not for the priest but this is what he said I must go with the king to his abarge and you to his body. Stucey had so long since given up all hope that these words of Genzians did not excite him in any way. He lay motionless for a while and then he asked how did you come to be here with the priest and the army? The wife of the Castilian of Sandomir Pani Vitavsk sent me from Zamos to inform the Castilian that she would join him at Toborov. Thus I arrived here a day before my master by this time she ought to be here also but this will be useless if the Castilian has gone away with the king. I can't understand how you could be in Zamos if you were beyond Yemple with Volodyevsky and Zaklaba why did you not come with them to Zabarge? You see my master when the Horde pressed so closely upon us there was until I reached Zamos It is lucky that they did not perish for I thought that you were a better man was it right to leave them in such a straight? I my master had we been only three I would surely not have left them my heart cuts me but there were four of us they threw themselves against Yemple but the priest Schetztusky stared at the lad and rubbed his eyes as one who awakens from sleep suddenly he felt as if something had broken within him he grew pale as a corpse sat up in bed and cried in a voice of thunder Sir oh sir exclaimed the lad frightened by the change that had taken place in the face of the night who was with you cried Schetztusky sitting him with a clutch like iron while he himself shook as if taken with a chill I will tell Crygenzian let the priest do what he pleases the lady was with us and she is now with Pani Vitowska Schetztusky grew rigid he closed his eyes and fell back upon the pillows help Crygenzian my master speak but one word for God's sake the priest was right to forbid my master oh my master it's nothing said Schetztusky where is she praise be to God that you have regained your senses my master it is better that I speak no more she is with the wife of the Castilian of Sandomiras you will see them soon any moment thanks be to God only do not die we fled to Zemos there the priest gave her to Pani Vitowska for property for there are insubordinate men in the army Bohun honored her I had much trouble on the way but I told the soldiers that she was a relative of Prince Jeremy and they respected her as such I also had to spend considerable money on the way Schetztusky lay motionless again but his open eyes were directed towards the ceiling his face was very serious and one could see and said give me my clothes and have the horse ready where do you intend to go give me my clothes quickly if my master only knew there are plenty of clothes for him for the king ordered some before he went away and other gentlemen also and there are three fine horses in the stable if I only had one like them but it were better that my master should lay down and rest for a while longer when he ales me I can sit on my horse by the living God make haste I know well that my master's body is of iron let it be as he commands I only ask my master that you will protect me from the priest Tsietzyskowski here are some clothes better ones cannot be procured from the Armenian merchants dress yourself while I get some food for you for I ordered the priest's servant to prepare his tuxki dressed himself hastily in the clothes that the king had ordered for him from time to time he seized the lad and pressed him to his breast and the boy told him everything from the beginning how he had met Bohan in Voldova who was then convalescing from wounds inflicted upon him by Volodyovsky how he had learned from him the whereabouts of the princess and how he had acquired the safe conduct how he had gone with them they had rescued the princess and finally what danger they were in while fleeing before the soldiers of Berle that Berle was killed by Panzagleba interrupted Tsietzysky feverishly he is a brave man I have never seen the like of him for one is brave another eloquent a third frolicsome but Panzagleba unites all these qualities Panzagleba remained behind in order to draw the attack upon themselves and thus delay the pursuers I, however, rode towards Konstantinov avoiding Zabarj for I thought that after they had killed the little gentleman and Panzagleba they would surely pursue us in the direction of Zabarj I can't understand how God saved the two gentlemen I thought that they must have been under whom the Tartars were marching they did not go there immediately for Panzagleba beat them back but speak faster if I had only known that but as I did not know that I pushed on with the princess between the Tartars and Kossaks as through a defile fortunately the region was desolate and nowhere did we find a living being neither in villages nor towns for all had fled but I was alone because Tuzki stopped dressing himself and asked how was that it was this way my master I met a division of Kossaks under Donets the brother of that Horpina with whom the princess was lodged in the retreat fortunately I knew him well for he had seen me with Bohun I brought him messages from his sister showed him the baton from Bohun and told him all how Bohun had sent me for he was Bohun's friend and knew that his sister was guarding the princess I thought that he would let me pass but he said over there the general militia is gathering you will surely fall into the hands of the Poles stay with me we will go to Kemelnitsky the lady will be safest in his camp for Kemelnitsky himself will watch over her for Bohun when he spoke thus I was dumbfounded for what could I answer but I told him that Bohun then he said we will inform Bohun but over there are the Poles I argued with him until he finally said I wonder why you are so afraid to go to the Cossacks are you a traitor then I saw that nothing remained but to flee during the night for he had already begun to suspect me I had everything in readiness for the road when Panpelka with some royal troops fell upon Donetsk that night Panpelka the master he was a great soldier too bad that he has fallen the lord have mercy on his soul I do not know if anyone could lead an attacking party better than he perhaps only Panvolodievsky but Panpelka came and made such a sweep that not a man got away and even Donetsk himself was captured a few weeks ago he was drawn by oxen to the steak and it served him right but even with Panpelka I had plenty of trouble for he was a man feared that the princess who had just been rescued from the Cossacks would meet a worse fate among our own men but when I told him that she was a relative of the prince it checked his designs I must tell you my master that whenever I mentioned the name of our prince he took off his cap and spoke of entering his service therefore he respected the princess and led us to the king and Zamos there the priest Chetsyapsky a very holy man took us under his protection and placed the princess under the guardianship Chetsyapsky took a deep breath and embraced Genzian heartily you shall be my friend my brother and not my servant but now let us get away when ought Penny Vitowski to arrive here she should have come a week after me it is now ten days for eight days my master lay without consciousness let us depart let us depart repeated Chetsyapsky for my heart is bursting with joy but ere he had finished speaking the clatter of horses was heard in the yard and the window was suddenly darkened by the forms of horses and men through the glass Chetsyapsky saw first the old priest Chetsyapsky then beside him the emaciated faces of Zagloba Volodyavsky Kushel and other acquaintances among the red dragoons of the prince a shout of joy resounded and the next moment a number of knights headed by the priest crowded into the room peace has been concluded at Zaborov and the siege has first exclaimed the priest Chetsyapsky had guessed this on seeing his comrades from Zabarj soon he was in the arms of Zagloba and Volodyavsky who embraced him in turn we were informed that you were alive exclaimed Zagloba but our joy is all the greater that we find you looking so well we have come here on purpose to see you Jan you have no idea what glory you have achieved and what reward awaits you the king has still more in store for you I know it already replied Chetsyapsky God reward you for it Genzian has told me all and the joy did not suffocate you that's good long live Chetsyapsky long live the princess cried Zagloba we did not say a word to you Yanni because we did not know whether she lived but the lad has rescued her bravely what a clever fox the prince awaits you both oh we went for her beyond Yehorlik I killed that infernal monster that guarded her those twelve boys ran away but you will overtake them I shall have grandchildren gentlemen Genzian speak what difficulties did you overcome just imagine we too including pan Michael held back the entire horde I was the first to throw myself against the whole force they had in caves but it was of no avail pan Michael too stood by bravely where is my little daughter God give me my little daughter God give you happiness Yanni God give you happiness said the little knight embracing Chetsyapsky once more God reward you for all you have done for me I cannot thank you with words my life and blood could not repay you answered Chetsyapsky that's not worth speaking of exclaimed Zagloba peace is established a miserable peace but what could be done we ought to rejoice that we are out of that pestilence but we are delivered now gentlemen that was our work and mine for if burley were living yet all negotiations would be in vain we shall go to the wedding then Yanni keep your eyes open you cannot guess what a wedding present the prince has prepared for you I'll tell you about it at another time but where is my little daughter the devil give me my little daughter I was just about to mount to go and meet Panisendomiersky said Chetsyapsky let us go let us go or I shall lose my senses hey gentlemen let us ride with him let us lose no time hey panisendomiersky cannot be far away said the priest to horse cried pan Michael but already Chetsyapsky got close to his side he preferred not to be left alone with the priest pan Michael and Zagloba joined them and thus they galloped at the head of a party of nobles and red dragoons who flew along the Toporov road like poppy leaves driven by the wind Haida shouted Zagloba digging his heels into his horse thus they rushed along for about ten furlongs when they beheld at a turn of the road a line was rode ahead when they saw a body of armed men in order to inquire who they were soldiers of the royal army shouted Zagloba and whom do you escort the lady of the Pani Kestelnova Sendomiersky was shouted and replied Chetsyapsky was so overcome by agitation that not knowing what he was doing he slid from his horse and trembled in every limb in sight of his happiness Penn Michael also sprang from his saddle and supported the feeble knight in his arms following their example all stood with bared heads by the roadside while the line of wagons and carriages began to pass by them Pani Votovska was accompanied by a number of ladies who looked with wonder at the row its open window the knights beheld the dignified countenance of an elderly lady and beside her the sweet beautiful face of the princess Krtevich my little daughter cried out Zagloba throwing himself blindly against the carriage my little daughter Sketsyapsky is here little daughter shouts of Halt Halt were heard confusion arose then Kuschel and Volodiapsky were among with ever-increasing weight in their arms his head sank upon his breast he could go no further and collapse by the step of the carriage a moment later the strong and beautiful arms of princess Krtevich raised up the weak emaciated head of the night Zagloba observing the amazement of Pani Sondomierska cried out this Sketsyapsky the hero of Zabarj he stole God bless them both long may they live long may they live shouted the nobles long may they live roared the dragoons in tones of thunder that echoed over the fields of Toporov to Tarnopol to the prince to the wedding cried Zagloba now my little daughter your sorrows are over for Bohun there remains the executioner and the sword the priest had raised his eyes toward the heavens and his lips they that sow in tears shall reap enjoy Sketsyapsky was placed in the carriage beside the princess and the retinue moved on the day was beautiful the oak groves and fields were bathed in sunshine low down on the stubble fields on the fallow lands and higher above them and still higher in the blue air they're waved here and there the silvery threads of spiderwebs which late in fall led a snorting of the horses in the train disturbed the general quiet Pan Michael said Zagloba pushing a stirrup against that of Volodyavsky something has seized me by the throat again and holds me fast as when Pan Podbibienta God grant him eternal rest departed from Zabarge but when I think that these two have found each other at last I feel as light-hearted as if I had drunk water I want to feel light-hearted I have decided to stay present here but sometimes it gets boring and I don't see this scary nature is ideal I'll return in financial sustenance of the spoils Who is decisive battle near Zobarov had made a treaty with the Khan. Not a very favorable one, but which secured peace for a time to the Commonwealth. Khmelnitsky, by virtue of the treaty, remained headman of the Zaporizhans, and had the right to select and organize a standing army of forty thousand men from the mass of common people, after swearing an oath of fealty to the king and state. "'It is beyond doubt,' said Zagloba, that war with Khmelnitsky will break out a new, but if our prince only receives the supreme command, then all will be right. "'Why did you not tell Sketstsutsky the most important news?' said the little knight, bringing his horse nearer. "'That's true,' said Zagloba. I wished to tell him at the outset, but could hardly catch my breath until now. You, of course, know nothing, Yanni, of what happened after your departure. The prince has captured Bohun. Sketstsutsky and Panakhersevich were so much astonished at these words that they could not speak. They only raised their hands. Then, after a few moments, Sketstsutsky asked, "'How? By what means?' "'The finger of God is evidenced,' replied Zagloba. Nothing else but the finger of God. The treaty already had been concluded, and we were just marching out from that pestilent Zaporizh when the priest hastened with the cavalry to the left wing, lest some horde should make an attack. For the Tartars often disregard treaties. Suddenly a band of three hundred horsemen attacked the entire cavalry of the prince. Bohun alone would dare that, exclaimed Sketstsutsky. It was he. But Cossacks cannot cope with the soldiers of Zavorge. Panakhersevich soon completely surrounded them and cut them down to the last man. Bohun was captured after being again wounded. He has no luck with Panakhersevich. He himself must be convinced of that now, for this was the third encounter. Probably he was seeking death. It appeared, interrupted Panakhersevich, that Bohun had hastened from Vladedinka to Zavorge. It was a long journey, however, and when he learned that a treaty had already been concluded, he lost his senses from rage and disregarded everything. "'He who draws the sword will perish by the sword, for such is the nature of things,' said Zagloba. "'He is a mad Cossack, but boldest when most in danger. A quarrel arose between us and that gang of robbers on his account. We thought that war would break out anew, for the Prince cried out that the treaty had been broken.' Kemolnitsky wanted to save Bohun, but the Khan was very much enraged at him. For he, according to the Khan's own words, has brought my word and my oath into contempt. The Khan threatened to make war upon Kemolnitsky and sent a messenger to our Prince saying that Bohun was a common robber and requesting that he be treated accordingly. It is said that it was also the Khan's aim that Tartars should lead away in quiet their captives, of which they had taken so many that they would be sold in stem-bowl for two hobnails a man. What did the Prince do with Bohun? asked Sketststsky impatiently. The Prince had already ordered a stake to be pointed for him when he changed his mind and said, I will present him to Sketststsky. He may do as he pleases with him. Now the Cossack is in a dungeon at Tarnipole. The barber surgeon is bandaging his head. My God, how often his soul tried to run away from him. No dog's ever worried the skin of a wolf as we have his. Pen Michael alone bit him three times. But he's a hard nut to crack and to tell the truth an unfortunate man. May the hangman help him. I bear him no ill will, though he is furiously incensed against me and for no cause. When I drank with him and took his part as if he were my equal, till he raised his hand against you, my little daughter, I could easily have done for him at Razgloga. But there are very few who pay good for good, and there is little gratitude in the world. May the, here, Zagloba, began to nod his head. And what will you do with him, Panyan? he asked. The soldiers say that you will certainly make an outrider of him, for he has a fine appearance, but I cannot believe that you will deal with him in such a fashion. Certainly I shall not answer Sketststsky. He is a soldier and a valiant knight, and because he is unfortunate is no reason for disgracing him with menial service. May God forgive him and everything, said the Princess. Amen, said Zagloba. He prays for death to rescue him, and he could have found it had he not come late to Zabarj. All grew silent and occupied themselves with their own thoughts until in the distance appeared Grabova, where they made their first halt for refreshments. There they found a number of soldiers returning from Zaborov. Panvatovsky, the Castilian Sandomiersky, had also come there with his regiments to meet his wife, and with him was the chief of Krasnatovsk, Pan Pishomiersky. A number of nobles of the General Militia, who were on their way home. The court at Grabova had been burned down as well as all the other buildings, but the day was warm and bright so that no shelter was necessary, so they disposed themselves in an oak grove under the open sky. Ample stores of food and drink had been brought along, and the servants immediately set about preparing supper. Pen Sotomiersky ordered tents to be pitched for the ladies and dignitaries, and soon a regular camp was arranged. The knights crowded before the tents to get a look at Skets Tutsky and the princess. Others discussed the late war. Those who were not at Zabarj, but at Zaborov, asked the princess men for the particulars of the siege. Everyone was joyous and gay, especially as the day was so beautiful. Zagloba, of course, did most of the talking among the nobles, telling for the thousandth time how he killed Berle and Genzian among the servants who were preparing the meal. But the clever lad found a fit opportunity to draw Skets Tutsky aside and humbly embracing his knees he said, My lord, I should like to ask a favour of you. I could hardly refuse you anything, answered Skets Tutsky, since through you I have regained what is dearest to me. I thought at once, said the lad, that your lordship would grant me the favour. Speak, what is your wish? Genzian's shrubby face grew dark and hatred and revenge were reflected in his eyes. I ask but one favour, nothing more, said he, and that is that your lordship give Bohan to me. Bohan, asked Skets Tutsky in great astonishment, what do you want to do with him? It is ever in my mind, my lord, that I get my revenge and that I pay him back with compound interest for the disgrace he inflicted upon me in Chigrin. I knew also that your lordship will put him to death and therefore I wish to settle with him first. Skets Tutsky frowned. It cannot be, he said with the decision. Oh, my god, would that I had died, said Genzian in piteous tones. Have I lived only to be disgraced? Ask anything else, said Skets Tutsky, and I will not refuse it, but I cannot grant this request. Go home and ask your parents if it is not more sinful to fulfill such a vow than to give it up. Do not thrust your own revengeful hand before God's lest it fall also upon you. You should be ashamed of yourself, Genzian. That man is praying for death and is wounded and in bondage. Do you wish to be his executioner, to torment him? Do you wish to put shame upon a prisoner or to butcher a wounded man? Why, are you a tartar or a caucic butcher? As I live I cannot allow this. Don't mention it to me again. So much power and firmness of will was evidenced in Panyan's voice that the lad lost all hope of gaining his request. He only said in a sorrowful voice. Were he well he could vanquish two of my size with ease, and now that he is ill I am not permitted to have my revenge. When can I pay him back? Leave vengeance to God, said Skets Tutsky. The lad opened his mouth. He evidently wanted to say something more, to ask something, but Panyan had already turned towards the tents, before which a numerous company had assembled. Panyvitovska sat in the center with the princess at her side, and around them the knights. In front of them stood Zagloba, bare-headed, and engaged in telling those who had been only at Zoborov all about the siege of Zabarj. All listened to him with breathless attention. A motion was portrayed on their faces, and those who had not been at Zabarj regretted their absence. Panyan took a seat beside the princess, and grasping her hand pressed it to his lips. Then they leaned against each other, arm and arm, and sat quietly. The sun was setting, and gradually evening was coming on. Skets Tutsky listened as attentively as if something new to him was being related. Zagloba mopped his forehead, and his voice grew louder. Memory or imagination pictured those terrible scenes to the knights. They beheld the ramparts surrounded by a turbulent sea of men, and the mad assaults. They heard the tumult, the ghouls, the thunder of cannon, the rattle of musket-tree. They beheld the prince and his silver armor standing upon the ramparts amid a shower of bullets. Then the suffering, the famine, those blood-red knights during which death circled like a huge spectral bird above the camp. The departure of Panyan's sheen, Podbienta, and of Skets Tutsky. All listened with rapt attention, at times raising their eyes to heaven or grasping their swords, and Zagloba ended as follows. It is now but one grave, one great tomb, and that under it do not lie buried the honor of the Commonwealth, the flower of its knighthood. The prince and I, and all of us, whom even the Cossacks called Zabarj Lyons, is due to this man here. Then he pointed at Skets Tutsky. As I live, that is true, exclaimed in one voice, Merrick, Sobiesky, and Pan Pyshemsky. Glory to him, honor and thanks, shouted the assembled knights in thundering tones. Vivat Skets Tutsky. Vivat the young couple. Long live the hero. Each time they shouted more loudly. A wave of enthusiasm spread through the assemblage. Some ran for goblets, others through their caps in the air. These soldiers began to rattle their sabers, and there arose a general shout. Glory, glory, long may he live, long may he live. Skets Tutsky, like a true Christian knight, bowed his head in humility. But the princess rose, shook her tresses, her cheeks aflame, and her eyes gleaming with pride for this night was to become her husband, and the glory of the husband falls upon the wife like the sun's light upon the earth. Late that night the assembly broke up and started away in two directions. The Vitavskys, Pan Pyshemsky and the chief of Krasnitavsk marched with their regiments towards Toporov. While Skets Tutsky, with the princess and Pan Michael's squadron, went on to Tarnopol. The night was as bright as day. Myriads of stars gleamed in the heavens. The moon rose and silvered the cobweb covered fields. The soldiers began to sing. Later light mists arose from the meadows and made the whole region look like a great lake gleaming in the moonlight. On such a night Skets Tutsky had gone forth from Zabarsh, and now on such another night he felt the heart of the princess beating against his own.