Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “The starosta has told me of your readiness to issue from the camp, and I accept your good will. Too much cannot be sacrificed for the country.”

  “We have only come for permission to try,” said Skshetuski, “since your Highness is the steward of our blood.”

  “Then you want to go together?”

  “Your Highness,” said Zagloba, “they want to go, but I do not. God is my witness that I have not come here to praise myself or to make mention of my services; and if I do mention them, I do so lest some one might suppose that I am afraid. Pan Skshetuski, Volodyovski, and Podbipienta of Myshekishki are great knights; but Burlai, who fell by my hand (not to speak of other exploits), was also a famous warrior, equal to Burdabut, Bogun, and the three heads of the janissaries. I mean to say by this that in knightly deeds I am not behind others. But heroism is one thing, and madness another. We have no wings, and we cannot go by land; that is certain.”

  “You will not go then?” said the prince.

  “I have said that I do not wish to go, but I have not said that I will not go. Since God has punished me with their company, I must remain in it till death. If we should be hard pressed, the sabre of Zagloba will be of service yet; but I know not why death should be put upon us four, and I hope that your Highness will avert it from us by not permitting this mad undertaking.”

  “You are a good comrade,” answered the prince, “and it honorable on your part not to wish to leave your friends; you are mistaken in your confidence in me, for I accept your offer.”

  “The dog is dead!” muttered Zagloba, and his hands dropped.

  At that moment Firlei, castellan of Belsk, entered the tent. “Your Highness, my people have seized a Cossack who says that they are preparing an assault for to-night.”

  “I have received information too,” answered the prince. “All is ready, only let our people hurry with the ramparts.”

  “They are nearly finished.”

  “That is well! We will occupy them in the evening.” Then he turned to the four knights. “It is best to try after the storm, if the night is dark.”

  “How is that?” asked Firlei; “are you preparing a sally?”

  “The sally in its own order, — I will lead it myself; but now we are talking about something else. These gentlemen undertake to creep through the enemy and inform the king of our condition.”

  The castellan was astonished, opened his eyes, and looked at the knights in succession. The prince smiled with delight. He had this vanity, — he loved to have his soldiers admired.

  “In God’s name!” said the castellan; “there are such hearts then in the world? As God lives, I will not dissuade you from the daring deed.”

  Zagloba was purple from rage; but he said nothing, he only puffed like a bear. The prince thought awhile, then said, —

  “I do not wish, however, to spend your blood in vain, and I am not willing that all four should go together. One will go first; if the enemy kill him, they will not delay in boasting of it, as they have once already boasted of the death of my servant whom they seized at Lvoff. If they kill the first, the second will go; afterward in case of necessity the third and the fourth. But perhaps the first will pass through; in such an event I do not wish to expose the others to a useless death.”

  “Your Highness,” interrupted Skshetuski.

  “This is my will and command,” said Yeremi, with emphasis. “To bring you to agreement, I say that he shall go first who offered himself first.”

  “It was I!” cried Pan Longin, with a beaming face.

  “To-night, after the storm, if it is dark,” added the prince. “I will give no letters to the king; you will tell what you have seen, — merely take a signet-ring as credential.”

  Podbipienta took the signet-ring and bowed to the prince, who caught him by the temples and held him awhile with his two hands; then he kissed him several times on the forehead, and said in a voice of emotion, —

  “You are as near to my heart as a brother. May the God of Hosts and our Queen of Angels carry you through, warrior of the Lord! Amen!”

  “Amen!” repeated Sobieski, the castellan of Belsk, and Pan Pshiyemski.

  The prince had tears in his eyes, for he was a real father to the knights. Others wept, and a quiver of enthusiasm shook the body of Pan Podbipienta. A flame passed through his bones; and rejoiced to its depth was his soul, pure, obedient, and heroic, with the hope of coming sacrifice.

  “History will write of you!” cried the castellan.

  “Non nobis, non nobis, sed nomini tuo, Domine, da gloriam (Not to us, not to us, but to thy name, Lord, give the glory),” said the prince.

  The knights issued from the tent.

  “Tfu! something has seized me by the throat and holds me,” said Zagloba; “and it is as bitter in my mouth as wormwood, and there they are firing continually. Oh, if the thunders would fire you away!” said he, pointing to the smoking trenches of the Cossacks. “Oh, it is hard to live in this world! Pan Longin, are you really going out? May the angels guard you! If the plague would choke those ruffians!”

  “I must take farewell of you,” said Podbipienta.

  “How is that? Where are you going?” asked Zagloba.

  “To the priest Mukhovetski, — to confess, my brother. I must cleanse my sinful soul.”

  Pan Longin hastened to the castle; the others returned to the ramparts. Skshetuski and Volodyovski were silent, but Zagloba said, —

  “Something holds me by the throat. I did not think to be sorrowful, but that is the worthiest man in the world. If any one contradicts me, I’ll give it to him in the face. Oh, my God, my God! I thought the castellan of Belsk would restrain the prince, but he beat the drums still more. The hangman brought that heretic! ‘History,’ he says, ‘will write of you.’ Let it write of him, but not on the skin of Pan Longin. And why doesn’t he go out himself? He has six toes on his feet, like every Calvinist, and he can walk better. I tell you, gentlemen, that it is getting worse and worse on earth, and Jabkovski is a true prophet when he says that the end of the world is near. Let us sit down awhile at the ramparts, and a go to the castle, so as to console ourselves with the company of our friend till evening at least.”

  But Pan Longin, after confession and communion, spent whole time in prayer. He made his first appearance at the storm in the evening, which was one of the most awful, for the Cossacks had struck just when the troops were transporting their cannon and wagons to the newly raised ramparts. For a time it seemed that the slender forces of the Poles would fall before the onrush of two hundred thousand foes. The Polish battalions had become so intermingled with the enemy that they could not distinguish their own, and three times they closed in this fashion. Hmelnitski exerted all his power; for the Khan and his own colonels had told him that this must be the last storm, and that henceforth they would only harass the besieged with hunger. But after three hours all attacks were repulsed with such terrible losses that according to later reports forty thousand of the enemy had fallen. One thing is certain, — after the battle a whole bundle of flags was thrown at the feet of the prince; and this was really the last great assault, after which followed more difficult times of digging under the ramparts, capturing wagons, continual firing, suffering, and famine.

  Immediately after the storm the soldiers, ready to drop from weariness, were led by the tireless Yeremi in a sally, which ended in a new defeat for the enemy. Quiet then soothed the tabor and the camp.

  The night was warm but cloudy. Four black forms pushed themselves quietly and carefully to the eastern edge of the ramparts. They were Pan Longin, Zagloba, Skshetuski, and Volodyovski.

  “Guard your pistols well, to keep the powder dry,” whispered Pan Yan. “Two battalions will be ready all night. If you fire, we will spring to the rescue.”

  “Nothing to be seen, even if you strain your eyes out!” whispered Zagloba.

  “That is better,” answered Pan Longin.

  “Be quiet!” interrupted Volodyovski, �
��I hear something.”

  “That is only the groan of a dying man, — nothing!”

  “If you can only reach the oak grove.”

  “Oh, my God! my God!” sighed Zagloba, trembling as if in a fever.

  “In three hours it will be daylight.”

  “It is time!” said Pan Longin.

  “Time! time!” repeated Skshetuski, in a stifled voice. “Go with God!”

  “With God, with God!”

  “Farewell, brothers, and forgive me if I have offended any of you in anything.”

  “You offend? O God!” cried Zagloba, throwing himself into his arms.

  Skshetuski and Volodyovski embraced him in turn. The moment came. Suppressed gulping shook the breasts of these knights. One alone, Pan Longin, was calm, though full of emotion. “Farewell!” he repeated once more; and approaching the edge of the rampart, he dropped into the ditch, and soon appeared as a black figure on the opposite bank. Once more he beckoned farewell to his comrades, and vanished in the gloom.

  Between the road to Zalostsitse and the highway from Vishnyovets grew an oak-grove, interspersed with narrow openings. Beyond and joining with it was an old pine-forest, thick and large, extending north of Zalostsitse. Podbipienta had determined to reach that grove. The road is very perilous, for to reach the oaks it was necessary to pass along the entire flank of the Cossack tabor; but Pan Longin selected it on purpose, for it was just around the camp that most people were moving during the whole night, and the guards gave least attention to passers-by. Besides, other roads, valleys, thickets, and narrow places were set by guards who rode around continually, by essauls, sotniks, and even Hmelnitski himself. A passage through the meadows and along the Gnyezna was not to be dreamt for the Cossack horse-herders were watching there from dusk till daylight with their herds.

  The night was gloomy, cloudy, and so dark that at ten paces not only could a man not be seen, but not even a tree. This circumstance was favorable for Pan Longin; though on the other hand he was obliged to go very slowly and carefully, so as not to fall into any of the pits or ditches, occupying the whole expanse of the battle-field and dug by Polish and Cossack hands. In this fashion he made way to the second Polish rampart, which had been abandoned just before evening, and had passed through the ditch. He stopped and listened; the trenches were empty. The sally made by Yeremi after the storm had pushed the Cossacks out, who either fell, or took refuge in the tabor. A multitude of bodies were lying on the slopes and summits of these mounds. Pan Longin stumbled against bodies every moment, stepped over them, and passed on. From time to time a low groan or sigh announced that some one of the prostrate was living yet.

  Beyond the ramparts there was a broad expanse stretching to another trench made before the arrival of Yeremi, also covered with corpses; but some tens of steps farther on were those earth-shelters, like stacks of hay in the darkness. But they were empty. Everywhere the deepest silence reigned, — nowhere a fire or a man; no one on that former square but the prostrate.

  Pan Longin began the prayer for the souls of the dead, and went on. The sounds of the Polish camp, which followed him to the second rampart, grew fainter and fainter, melting in the distance, till at last they ceased altogether. Pan Longin stopped and looked around for the last time. He could see almost nothing, for in the camp there was no light; but one window in the castle glimmered weakly as a star which the clouds now expose and now conceal, or like a glow-worm which shines and darkens in turn.

  “My brothers, shall I see you again in this life?” thought Pan Longin; and sadness pressed him down like a tremendous stone. He was barely able to breathe. There, where that pale light was trembling, are his people; there are brother hearts, — Prince Yeremi, Pan Yan, Volodyovski, Zagloba, the priest Mukhovetski; there they love him and would gladly defend him. But here is night, with desolation, darkness, corpses; under his feet choruses of ghosts; farther on, the blood-devouring tabor of sworn, pitiless enemies. The weight of sadness became so great that it was too heavy even for the shoulders of this giant. His soul began to waver within him.

  In the darkness pale Alarm flew upon him, and began to whisper in his ear: “You will not pass, it is impossible! Return, there is still time! Fire the pistol, and a whole battalion will rush to your aid. Through those tabors, through that savageness nothing will pass.”

  That starving camp, covered every day with balls, full of death and the odor of corpses, appeared at that moment to Pan Longin a calm, peaceful, safe haven. His friends there would not think ill of him if he returned. He would tell them that the deed passed human power; and they would not go themselves, would not send another, — would wait further for the mercy of God and the coming of the king. But if Skshetuski should go and perish! “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! These are temptations of Satan,” thought Pan Longin. “I am ready for death, and nothing worse can meet me. And this is Satan terrifying a weak soul with desolation, corpses, and darkness; for he makes use of all means.” Will the knight return, cover himself with shame, suffer in reputation, disgrace his name, not save the army, renounce the crown of heaven? Never! And he moved on, stretching out his hands before him.

  Now a murmur reached him again, not from the Polish camp, however, but from the opposite side, still indefinite, but as it were deep and terrible, like the growling of a bear giving sudden answer in a dark forest. Disquiet had now left Pan Longin’s soul; sadness had ceased, and changed into a mere sweet remembrance of those near to him. At last, as if answering that menace coming up from the tabor, he repeated once more in spirit: “But still I will go.”

  After a certain time he found himself on that battle-field ere on the first day of the storm the prince’s cavalry had defeated the Cossacks and janissaries. The road here was more even, — fewer pits, ditches, shelters, and no corpses, those who had fallen in the earlier struggles had been buried by the Cossacks. It was also somewhat clearer, for the ground was not covered with various obstacles. The land inclined gradually toward the north. But Pan Longin turned immediately to the flank, wishing to push through between the western pond and the tabor.

  He went quickly now, without hindrance, and it seemed him already that he was reaching the line of the tabor, when some new sound caught his attention. He halted at once, and after waiting a quarter of an hour heard the tramp and breathing of horses. “Cossack patrols!” thought he. The voices of men reached his ears. He sprang aside with speed, and searching with his foot for the first depression in the ground, fell to the earth and stretched out motionless, holding his pistol in one hand and his sword the other.

  The riders approached still nearer, and at last were abreast of him. It was so dark he could not count them; but he heard every word of their conversation.

  “It is hard for them, but hard for us too,” said some sleepy voice. “And how many good men of ours have bitten the dust!”

  “Oh, Lord!” said another voice, “they say the king is far. What will become of us?”

  “The Khan got angry with our father; and the Tartars threaten to take us, if there will be no other prisoners.”

  “And in the pastures they fight with our men. Father has forbidden us to go to the Tartar camp, for whoever goes there is lost.”

  “They say there are disguised Poles among the market-men. I wish this war had never begun.”

  “It is worse this time than before.”

  “The king is not far away, with the Polish forces. That is the worst!”

  “Ha, ha! You would be sleeping in the Saitch at this hour; now you have got to push around in the dark like a vampire.”

  “There must be vampires here, for the horses are snorting.”

  Their voices receded gradually, and at last were silent. Pan Longin rose and went on.

  A rain fine as mist began to fall. It grew still darker. On the left side of Pan Longin gleamed at the distance of two furlongs a small light; after that a second, a third, and a tenth. Then he knew he was on the line of the tabor. The light
s were far apart and weak. It was evident that all were sleeping, and only here and there might they be drinking or preparing food for the morrow.

  “Thank God that I am out after the storm and the sally,” said Pan Longin to himself. “They must be mortally weary.”

  He had scarcely thought this when he heard again in the distance the tramp of horses, — another patrol was coming. But the ground in this place was more broken; therefore it was easier to hide. The patrol passed so near that the guards almost rode over Pan Longin. Fortunately the horses, accustomed to pass among prostrate bodies, were not frightened. Pan Longin went on.

  In the space of a thousand yards he met two more patrols. It was evident that the whole circle occupied by the tabor was guarded like the apple of the eye. But Pan Longin rejoiced in spirit that he was not meeting infantry outposts, who are generally placed before camps to give warning to mounted patrols.

  But his joy was of short duration. Scarcely had he advanced another furlong of the road when some dark figure shifted before him not more than twenty yards distant. Though unterrified, he felt a slight tremor along his spine. It was too late to withdraw and go around. The form moved; evidently it had seen him. A moment of hesitation followed, short as the twinkle of an eye. Then a suppressed voice called, —

  “Vassil, is that you?”

  “I,” said Pan Longin, quietly.

  “Have you gorailka?”

  “I have.”

  “Give me some.”

  Pan Longin approached.

  “Why are you so tall?” asked the voice, in tones of terror.

  Something rustled in the darkness. A scream of “Lor — !” smothered the instant it was begun, came from the mouth the picket; then was heard the crash as it were of broken bones, heavy breathing, and one figure fell quietly to the earth. Pan Longin moved on.

  But he did not pass along the same line, for it was evidently a line of pickets; he turned therefore a little nearer to the tabor, wishing to go between the pickets and the line of wagons. If there was not another line of pickets, Pan Longin could meet in that space only those who went out from camp to relieve those on duty. Mounted patrols had no duty here.