Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “I go, but I shall preserve my gratitude. It is rare to find such honest people as in Patsuneli. Are you always afraid of this Kmita?”

  “Of course. Mothers frighten their children with him as with a werewolf.”

  “He will not come back, and even if he should he will not have with him those wild fellows, who, judging from what people say, were worse than he. It is a pity indeed that such a good soldier stained his reputation and lost his property.”

  “And the lady.”

  “And the lady. They say much good in her favor.”

  “Poor thing! for whole days she just cries and cries.”

  “H’m!” said Volodyovski; “but is she not crying for Kmita?”

  “Who knows?” replied Marysia.

  “So much the worse for her, for he will not come back. The hetman sent home a part of the Lauda men, and those forces are here now. We wanted to cut him down at once without the court. He must know that the Lauda men have returned, and he will not show even his nose.”

  “Likely our men must march again,” said Terka, “for they received only leave to come home for a short time.”

  “Eh!” said Volodyovski, “the hetman let them come, for there is no money in the treasury. It is pure despair! When people are most needed they have to be sent away. But good-night! it is time to sleep, and let none of you dream of Pan Kmita with a fiery sword.”

  Volodyovski rose from the bench and prepared to leave the room, but had barely made a step toward the closet when suddenly there was a noise in the entrance and a shrill voice began to cry outside the door —

  “Hei there! For God’s mercy! open quickly, quickly!”

  The girls were terribly frightened. Volodyovski sprang for his sabre to the closet, but had not been able to get it when Terka opened the door. An unknown man burst into the room and threw himself at the feet of the knight.

  “Rescue, serene Colonel! — The lady is carried away!”

  “What lady?”

  “In Vodokty.”

  “Kmita!” cried Volodyovski.

  “Kmita!” screamed the girls.

  “Kmita!” repeated the messenger.

  “Who art thou?” asked Volodyovski.

  “The manager in Vodokty.”

  “We know him,” said Terka; “he brought herbs for you.”

  Meanwhile the drowsy old Gashtovt came forth from behind the stove, and in the door appeared two attendants of Pan Volodyovski whom the uproar had drawn to the room.

  “Saddle the horses!” cried Volodyovski. “Let one of you hurry to the Butryms, the other give a horse to me!”

  “I have been already at the Butryms,” said the manager, “for they are nearer to us; they sent me to your grace.”

  “When was the lady carried away?” asked Volodyovski.

  “Just now — the servants are fighting yet — I rushed for a horse.”

  Old Gashtovt rubbed his eyes. “What’s that? The lady carried off?”

  “Yes; Kmita carried her off,” answered Volodyovski. “Let us go to the rescue!” Then he turned to the messenger: “Hurry to the Domasheviches; let them come with muskets.”

  “Now, my kids,” cried the old man suddenly to his daughters, “hurry to the village, wake up the nobles, let them take their sabres! Kmita has carried off the lady — is it possible — God forgive him, the murderer, the ruffian! Is it possible?”

  “Let us go to rouse them,” said Volodyovski; “that will be quicker! Come; the horses are ready, I hear them.”

  In a moment they mounted, as did also the two attendants, Ogarek and Syruts. All pushed on their way between the cottages of the village, striking the doors and windows, and crying with sky-piercing voices: “To your sabres, to your sabres! The lady of Vodokty is carried away! Kmita is in the neighborhood!”

  Hearing these cries, this or that man rushed forth from his cottage, looked to see what was happening, and when he had learned what the matter was, fell to shouting himself, “Kmita is in the neighborhood; the lady is carried away!” And shouting in this fashion, he rushed headlong to the out-buildings to saddle his horse, or to his cottage to feel in the dark for his sabre on the wall. Every moment more voices cried, “Kmita is in the neighborhood!” There was a stir in the village, lights began to shine, the cry of women was heard, the barking of dogs. At last the nobles came out on the road, — some mounted, some on foot. Above the multitude of heads glittered in the night sabres, pikes, darts, and even iron forks.

  Volodyovski surveyed the company, sent some of them immediately in different directions, and moved forward himself with the rest.

  The mounted men rode in front, those on foot followed, and they marched toward Volmontovichi to join the Butryms. The hour was ten in the evening, and the night clear, though the moon had not risen. Those of the nobles whom the grand hetman had sent recently from the war dropped into ranks at once; the others, namely the infantry, advanced with less regularity, making a clatter with their weapons, talking and yawning aloud, at times cursing that devil of a Kmita who had robbed them of pleasant rest. In this fashion they reached Volmontovichi, at the edge of which an armed band pushed out to meet them.

  “Halt! who goes?” called voices from that band.

  “The Gashtovts!”

  “We are the Butryms. The Domasheviches have come already.”

  “Who is leading you?” asked Volodyovski.

  “Yuzva the Footless at the service of the colonel.”

  “Have you news?”

  “He took her to Lyubich. They went through the swamp to avoid Volmontovichi.”

  “To Lyubich?” asked Volodyovski, in wonder. “Can he think of defending himself there? Lyubich is not a fortress, is it?”

  “It seems he trusts in his strength. There are two hundred with him. No doubt he wants to take the property from Lyubich; they have wagons and a band of led horses. It must be that he did not know of our return from the army, for he acts very boldly.”

  “That is good for us!” said Volodyovski. “He will not escape this time. How many guns have you?”

  “We, the Butryms, have thirty; the Domasheviches twice as many.”

  “Very good. Let fifty men with muskets go with you to defend the passage in the swamps, quickly; the rest will come with me. Remember the axes.”

  “According to command.”

  There was a movement; the little division under Yuzva the Footless went forward at a trot to the swamp. A number of tens of Butryms who had been sent for other nobles now came up.

  “Are the Gostsyeviches to be seen?” asked Volodyovski.

  “Yes, Colonel. Praise be to God!” cried the newly arrived. “The Gostsyeviches are coming; they can be heard through the woods. You know that they carried her to Lyubich?”

  “I know. He will not go far with her.”

  There was indeed one danger to his insolent venture on which Kmita had not reckoned; he knew not that a considerable force of the nobles had just returned home. He judged that the villages were as empty as at the time of his first stay in Lyubich; while on the present occasion counting the Gostsyeviches, without the Stakyans, who could not come up in season, Volodyovski was able to lead against him about three hundred sabres held by men accustomed to battle and trained.

  In fact, more and more nobles joined Volodyovski as he advanced. At last came the Gostsyeviches, who had been expected till that moment. Volodyovski drew up the division, and his heart expanded at sight of the order and ease with which the men stood in ranks. At the first glance it was clear that they were soldiers, not ordinary untrained nobles. Volodyovski rejoiced for another reason; he thought to himself that soon he would lead them to more distant places.

  They moved then on a swift march toward Lyubich by the pine-woods through which Kmita had rushed the winter before. It was well after midnight. The moon sailed out at last in the sky, and lighting the woods, the road, and the marching warriors, broke its pale rays on the points of the pikes, and was reflected on the gleaming sabre
s. The nobles talked in a low voice of the unusual event which had dragged them from their beds.

  “Various people have been going around here,” said one of the Domasheviches; “we thought they were deserters, but they were surely his spies.”

  “Of course. Every day strange minstrels used to visit Vodokty as if for alms,” said others.

  “And what kind of soldiers has Kmita?”

  “The servants in Vodokty say they are Cossacks. It is certain that Kmita has made friends with Hovanski or Zolotarenko. Hitherto he was a murderer, now he is an evident traitor.”

  “How could he bring Cossacks thus far?”

  “With such a great band it is not easy to pass. Our first good company would have stopped him on the road.”

  “Well, they might go through the forests. Besides, are there few lords travelling with domestic Cossacks? Who can tell them from the enemy? If these men are asked they will say that they are domestic Cossacks.”

  “He will defend himself,” said one of the Gostsyeviches, “for he is a brave and resolute man; but our colonel will be a match for him.”

  “The Butryms too have vowed that even if they have to fall one on the other, he will not leave there alive. They are the most bitter against him.”

  “But if we kill him, from whom will they recover their losses? Better take him alive and give him to justice.”

  “What is the use in thinking of courts now when all have lost their heads? Do you know that people say war may come from the Swedes?”

  “May God preserve us from that! The Moscow power and Hmelnitski at present; only the Swedes are wanting, and then the last day of the Commonwealth.”

  At this moment Volodyovski riding in advance turned and said, “Quiet there, gentlemen!”

  The nobles grew silent, for Lyubich was in sight. In a quarter of an hour they had come within less than forty rods of the building. All the windows were illuminated; the light shone into the yard, which was full of armed men and horses. Nowhere sentries, no precautions, — it was evident that Kmita trusted too much in his strength. When he had drawn still nearer, Pan Volodyovski with one glance recognized the Cossacks against whom he had warred so much during the life of the great Yeremi, and later under Radzivill.

  “If those are strange Cossacks, then that ruffian has passed the limit.”

  He looked farther; brought his whole party to a halt. There was a terrible bustle in the court. Some Cossacks were giving light with torches; others were running in every direction, coming out of the house and going in again, bringing out things, packing bags into the wagons; others were leading horses from the stable, driving cattle from the stalls. Cries, shouts, commands, crossed one another in every direction. The gleam of torches lighted as it were the moving of a tenant to a new estate on St. John’s Eve.

  Kryshtof, the oldest among the Domasheviches, pushed up to Volodyovski and said, “They want to pack all Lyubich into wagons.”

  “They will take away,” answered Volodyovski, “neither Lyubich nor their own skins. I do not recognize Kmita, who is an experienced soldier. There is not a single sentry.”

  “Because he has great force, — it seems to me more than three hundred strong. If we had not returned he might have passed with the wagons through all the villages.”

  “Is this the only road to the house?” asked Volodyovski.

  “The only one, for in the rear are ponds and swamps.”

  “That is well. Dismount!”

  Obedient to this command, the nobles sprang from their saddles. The rear ranks of infantry deployed in a long line, and began to surround the house and the buildings. Volodyovski with the main division advanced directly on the gate.

  “Wait the command!” said he, in a low voice. “Fire not before the order.”

  A few tens of steps only separated the nobles from the gate when they were seen at last from the yard. Men sprang at once to the fence, bent forward, and peering carefully into the darkness, called threateningly, “Hei! Who are there?”

  “Halt!” cried Volodyovski; “fire!”

  Shots from all the guns which the nobles carried thundered together; but the echo had not come back from the building when the voice of Volodyovski was heard again: “On the run!”

  “Kill! slay!” cried the Lauda men, rushing forward like a torrent.

  The Cossacks answered with shots, but they had not time to reload. The throng of nobles rushed against the gate, which soon fell before the pressure of armed men. A struggle began to rage in the yard, among the wagons, horses, and bags. The powerful Butryms, the fiercest in hand-to-hand conflict and the most envenomed against Kmita, advanced in line. They went like a herd of stags bursting through a growth of young trees, breaking, trampling, destroying, and cutting wildly. Alter them rolled the Domasheviches and the Gostsyeviches.

  Kmita’s Cossacks defended themselves manfully from behind the wagons and packs; they began to fire too from all the windows of the house and from the roof, — but rarely, for the trampled torches were quenched, and it was difficult to distinguish their own from the enemy. After a while the Cossacks were pushed from the yard and the house to the stables; cries for quarter were heard. The nobles had triumphed.

  But when they were alone in the yard, fire from the house increased at once. All the windows were bristling with muskets, and a storm of bullets began to fall on the yard. The greater part of the Cossacks had taken refuge in the house.

  “To the doors!” cried Volodyovski.

  In fact, the discharges from the windows and from the roof could not injure those at the very walls. The position, however, of the besiegers was difficult. They could not think of storming the windows, for fire would greet them straight in the face. Volodyovski therefore commanded to hew down the doors. But that was not easy, for they were bolts rather than doors, made of oak pieces fixed crosswise and fastened with many gigantic nails, on the strong heads of which axes were dented without breaking the doors. The most powerful men pushed then from time to time with their shoulders, but in vain. Behind the doors wore iron bars, and besides they were supported inside by props. But the Butryms hewed with rage. At the doors of the kitchen leading also to the storehouse the Domasheviches and Gashtovts were storming.

  After vain efforts of an hour the men at the axes were relieved. Some cross-pieces had fallen, but in place of them appeared gun-barrels. Shots sounded again. Two Butryms fell to the ground with pierced breasts. The others, instead of being put to disorder, hewed still more savagely.

  By command of Volodyovski the openings were stopped with bundles of coats. Now in the direction of the road new shouts were heard from the Stakyans, who had come to the aid of their brethren; and following them were armed peasants from Vodokty.

  The arrival of these reinforcements had evidently disturbed the besieged, for straightway a voice behind the door called loudly: “Stop there! do not hew! listen! Stop, a hundred devils take you! let us talk.”

  Volodyovski gave orders to stop the work and asked; “Who is speaking?”

  “The banneret of Orsha, Kmita; and with whom am I speaking?”

  “Col. Michael Volodyovski.”

  “With the forehead!” answered the voice from behind the door.

  “There is no time for greetings. What is your wish?”

  “It would be more proper for me to ask what you want. You do not know me, nor I you; why attack me?”

  “Traitor!” cried Volodyovski. “With me are the men of Lauda who have returned from the war, and they have accounts with you for robbery, for blood shed without cause and for the lady whom you have carried away. But do you know what raptus puellæ means? You must yield your life.”

  A moment of silence followed.

  “You would not call me traitor a second time,” said Kmita, “were it not for the door between us.”

  “Open it, then! I do not hinder.”

  “More than one dog from Lauda will cover himself with his legs before it is open. You will not take me alive.”
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  “Then we will drag you out dead, by the hair. All one to us!”

  “Listen with care, note what I tell you! If you do not let us go, I have a barrel of powder here, and the match is burning already. I’ll blow up the house and all who are in it with myself, so help me God! Come now and take me!”

  This time a still longer silence followed. Volodyovski sought an answer in vain. The nobles began to look at one another in fear. There was so much wild energy in the words of Kmita that all believed his threat. The whole victory might be turned into dust by one spark, and Panna Billevich lost forever.

  “For God’s sake!” muttered one of the Butryms, “he is a madman. He is ready to do what he says.”

  Suddenly a happy thought came to Volodyovski, as it seemed to him. “There is another way!” cried he. “Meet me, traitor, with a sabre. If you put me down, you will go away in freedom.”

  For a time there was no answer. The hearts of the Lauda men beat unquietly.

  “With a sabre?” asked Kmita, at length. “Can that be?”

  “If you are not afraid, it will be.”

  “The word of a cavalier that I shall go away in freedom?”

  “The word—”

  “Impossible!” cried a number of voices among the Butryms.

  “Quiet, a hundred devils!” roared Volodyovski; “if not, then let him blow you up with himself.”

  The Butryms were silent; after a while one of them said, “Let it be as you wish.”

  “Well, what is the matter there?” asked Kmita, derisively. “Do the gray coats agree?”

  “Yes, and they will take oath on their swords, if you wish.”

  “Let them take oath.”

  “Come together, gentlemen, come together!” cried Volodyovski to the nobles who were standing under the walls and surrounding the whole house.

  After a while all collected at the main door, and soon the news that Kmita wanted to blow himself up with powder spread on every side. They were as if petrified with terror. Meanwhile Volodyovski raised his voice and said amid silence like that of the grave, —

  “I take you all present here to witness that I have challenged Pan Kmita, the banneret of Orsha, to a duel, and I have promised that if he puts me down he shall go hence in freedom, without obstacle from you; to this you must swear on your sword-hilts, in the name of God and the holy cross—”