Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Pan Commandant, where shall we stop to feed?” asked the sergeant, approaching him.

  Pan Roh gave no word in reply, but moving forward passed slowly those riding in front and vanished in the darkness. Soon there came to the ears of the dragoons the quick tramp of a horse.

  “The commandant has gone at a gallop!” said they to one another. “Surely he wants to look around to see if there is some public house near by. It is time to feed the horses, — time.”

  A half-hour passed, an hour, two hours, and Pan Kovalski seemed to be ahead all the time, for somehow he was not visible. The horses grew very tired, especially those drawing the wagon, and began to drag on slowly. The stars were leaving the sky.

  “Gallop to the commandant,” said the sergeant; “tell him the horses are barely able to drag along, and the wagon horses are tired.”

  One of the soldiers moved ahead, but after an hour returned alone.

  “There is neither trace nor ashes of the commandant,” said the soldier; “he must have ridden five miles ahead.”

  The soldiers began to grumble.

  “It is well for him he slept through the day, and just now on the wagon; but do thou, soldier, pound through the night with the last breath of thy horse and thyself!”

  “There is an inn eighty rods distant,” said the soldier who had ridden ahead. “I thought to find him there, but no! I listened, trying to hear the horse — Nothing to be heard. The devil knows where he is!”

  “We will stop at the inn anyhow,” said the sergeant. “We must let the horses rest.”

  In fact they halted before the inn. The soldiers dismounted. Some went to knock at the door; others untied bundles of hay, hanging at the saddles, to feed the horses even from their hands.

  The prisoners woke when the movement of the wagon ceased.

  “But where are we going?” asked old Stankyevich.

  “I cannot tell in the night,” answered Volodyovski, “especially as we are not going to Upita.”

  “But does not the load from Kyedani to Birji lie through Upita?” asked Pan Yan.

  “It does. But in Upita is my squadron, which clearly the prince fears may resist, therefore he ordered Kovalski to take another road. Just outside Kyedani we turned to Dalnovo and Kroki; from the second place we shall go surely through Beysagoli and Shavli. It is a little out of the way, but Upita and Ponyevyej will remain at the right. On this road there are no squadrons, for all that were there were brought to Kyedani, so as to have them at hand.”

  “But Pan Zagloba,” said Stankyevich, “instead of thinking of stratagems, as he promised, is sleeping sweetly, and snoring.”

  “Let him sleep. It is clear that he was wearied from talk with that stupid commandant, relationship with whom he confessed. It is evident that he wanted to capture him, but with no result. Whoso would not leave Radzivill for his country, will surely not leave him for a distant relative.”

  “Are they really relatives?” asked Oskyerko.

  “They? They are as much relatives as you and I,” answered Volodyovski. “When Zagloba spoke of their common escutcheon, I knew it was not true, for I know well that his is called wczele (in the forehead).”

  “And where is Pan Kovalski?”

  “He must be with the soldiers or in the inn.”

  “I should like to ask him to let me sit on some soldier’s horse,” said Mirski, “for my bones are benumbed.”

  “He will not grant that,” said Stankyevich; “for the night is dark, you could easily put spurs to the horse, and be off. Who could overtake?”

  “I will give him my word of honor not to attempt escape; besides, dawn will begin directly.”

  “Soldier, where is the commandant?” asked Volodyovski of a dragoon standing near.

  “Who knows?”

  “How, who knows? When I ask thee to call him, call him.”

  “We know not ourselves, Colonel, where he is,” said the dragoon. “Since he crawled out of the wagon and rode ahead, he has not come back.”

  “Tell him when he comes that we would speak with him.”

  “As the Colonel wishes,” answered the soldier.

  The prisoners were silent. From time to time only loud yawning was heard on the wagon; the horses were chewing hay at one side. The soldiers around the wagon, resting on the saddles, were dozing; others talked in a low voice, or refreshed themselves each with what he had, for it turned out that the inn was deserted and tenantless.

  The night had begun to grow pale. On its eastern side the dark background of the sky was becoming slightly gray; the stars, going out gradually, twinkled with an uncertain, failing light. Then the roof of the inn became hoary; the trees growing near it were edged with silver. The horses and men seemed to rise out of the shade. After a while it was possible to distinguish faces, and the yellow color of the cloaks. The helmets began to reflect the morning gleam.

  Volodyovski opened his arms and stretched himself, yawning from ear to ear; then he looked at the sleeping Zagloba. All at once he threw back his arms and shouted, —

  “May the bullets strike him! In God’s name! Gracious gentlemen, look here!”

  “What has happened?” asked the colonels, opening their eyes.

  “Look here, look here!” said Volodyovski, pointing at the sleeping form.

  The prisoners turned their glances in the direction indicated, and amazement was reflected on every face. Under the burka, and in the cap of Zagloba, slept, with the sleep of the just, Pan Roh Kovalski; but Zagloba was not in the wagon.

  “He has escaped, as God is dear to me!” said the astonished Mirski, looking around on every side, as if he did not yet believe his own eyes.

  “Oh, he is a finished rogue! May the hangman—” cried Stankyevich.

  “He took the helmet and yellow cloak of that fool, and escaped on his horse.”

  “Vanished as if he had dropped into water.”

  “He said he would get away by stratagem.”

  “They will never see him again!”

  “Gentlemen,” said Volodyovski, with delight, “you know not that man; and I swear to you to-day that he will rescue us yet, — I know not how, when, with what means, — but I swear that he will.”

  “God grant it! One cannot believe his eyesight,” said Pan Stanislav.

  The soldiers now saw what had happened. An uproar rose among them. One crowded ahead of the other to the wagon, stared at their commandant, dressed in a camel’s hair burka and lynx-skin cap, and sleeping soundly.

  The sergeant began to shake him without ceremony. “Commandant! commandant!”

  “I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski,” muttered Roh.

  “Commandant, a prisoner has fled.”

  Kovalski sat up in the wagon and opened his eyes. “What?”

  “A prisoner has fled, — that bulky noble who was talking with the commandant.”

  The officer came to his senses. “Impossible!” cried he, with terrified voice. “How was it? What happened? How did he escape?”

  “In the helmet and cloak of the commandant; the soldiers did not know him, the night was dark.”

  “Where is my horse?” cried Kovalski.

  “The horse is gone. The noble fled on him.”

  “On my horse?”

  “Yes.”

  Kovalski seized himself by the head. “Jesus of Nazareth! King of the Jews!”

  After a while he shouted, “Give here that dog-faith, that son of a such a one who gave him the horse!”

  “Pan Commandant, the soldier is not to blame. The night was dark, you might have struck a man in the face, and he took your helmet and cloak; rode near me, and I did not know him. If your grace had not sat in the wagon, he could not have done it.”

  “Kill me, kill me!” cried the unfortunate officer.

  “What is to be done?”

  “Kill him, catch him!”

  “That cannot be done in any way. He is on your horse, — the best horse; ours are terribly road-weary. He fled
at the first cock-crow; we cannot overtake him.”

  “Hunt for a wind in the field!” said Stankyevich.

  Kovalski, in a rage, turned to the prisoners. “You helped him to escape! I will—”

  Here he balled his gigantic fist, and began to approach them. Then Mirski said threateningly, “Shout not, and remember that you are speaking to superiors.”

  Kovalski quivered, and straightened himself involuntarily; for really his dignity in presence of such a Mirski was nothing, and all his prisoners were a head above him in rank and significance.

  Stankyevich added: “If you have been commanded to take us, take us; but raise no voice, for to-morrow you may be under the command of any one of us.”

  Kovalski stared and was silent.

  “There is no doubt you have fooled away your head, Pan Roh,” said Oskyerko. “To say, as you do, that we helped him is nonsense; for, to begin with, we were sleeping, just as you were, and secondly, each one would have helped himself rather than another. But you have fooled away your head. There is no one to blame here but you. I would be the first to order you shot, since being an officer you fell asleep like a badger, and allowed a prisoner to escape in your own helmet and cloak, nay, on your own horse, — an unheard of thing, such as has not happened since the beginning of the world.”

  “An old fox has fooled the young man!” said Mirski. “Jesus, Mary! I have not even the sabre!” cried Kovalski.

  “Will not the sabre be of use to him?” asked Stankyevich, laughing. “Pan Oskyerko has said well, — you have fooled away your head. You must have had pistols in the holsters too?”

  “I had!” said Kovalski, as if out of his mind.

  Suddenly he seized his head with both hands: “And the letter of the prince to the commandant of Birji! What shall I, unfortunate man, do now? I am lost for the ages! God give me a bullet in the head!”

  “That will not miss you,” said Mirski, seriously. “How will you take us to Birji now? What will happen if you say that you have brought us as prisoners, and we, superior in rank, say that you are to be thrown into the dungeon? Whom will they believe? Do you think that the Swedish commandant will detain us for the reason simply that Pan Kovalski will beg him to do so? He will rather believe us, and confine you under ground.”

  “I am lost!” groaned Kovalski.

  “Nonsense!” said Volodyovski.

  “What is to be done, Pan Commandant?” asked the sergeant.

  “Go to all the devils!” roared Kovalski. “Do I know what to do, where to go? God give thunderbolts to slay thee!”

  “Go on, go on to Birji; you will see!” said Mirski.

  “Turn back to Kyedani,” cried Kovalski.

  “If they will not plant you at the wall there and shoot you, may bristles cover me!” said Oskyerko. “How will you appear before the hetman’s face? Tfu! Infamy awaits you, and a bullet in the head, — nothing more.”

  “For I deserve nothing more!” cried the unfortunate man.

  “Nonsense, Pan Roh! We alone can save you,” said Oskyerko. “You know that we were ready to go to the end of the world with the hetman, and perish. We have shed our blood more than once for the country, and always shed it willingly; but the hetman betrayed the country, — he gave this land to the enemy; he joined with them against our gracious lord, to whom we swore allegiance. Do you think that it came easy to soldiers like us to refuse obedience to a superior, to act against discipline, to resist our own hetman? But whoso to-day is with the hetman is against the king. Whoso to-day is with the hetman is a traitor to the king and the Commonwealth. Therefore we cast down our batons at the feet of the hetman; for virtue, duty, faith, and honor so commanded. And who did it? Was it I alone? No! Pan Mirski, Pan Stankyevich, the best soldiers, the worthiest men. Who remained with the hetman? Disturbers. But why do you not follow men better, wiser, and older than yourself? Do you wish to bring infamy on your name, and be trumpeted forth as a traitor? Enter into yourself; ask your conscience what you should do, — remain a traitor with Radzivill, the traitor, or go with us, who wish to give our last breath for the country, shed the last drop of our blood for it. Would the ground had swallowed us before we refused obedience to the hetman; but would that our souls never escaped hell, if we were to betray the king and the country for the profit of Radzivill!”

  This discourse seemed to make a great impression on Kovalski. He stared, opened his mouth, and after a while said, “What do you wish of me, gentlemen?”

  “To go with us to the voevoda of Vityebsk, who will fight for the country.”

  “But when I have an order to take you to Birji?”

  “Talk with him,” said Mirski.

  “We want you to disobey the command, — to leave the hetman, and go with us; do you understand?” said Oskyerko, impatiently.

  “Say what you like, but nothing will come of that. I am a soldier; what would I deserve if I left the hetman? It is not my mind, but his; not my will, but his. When he sins he will answer for himself and for me, and it is my dog-duty to obey him. I am a simple man; what I do not effect with my hand, I cannot with my head. But I know this, — it is my duty to obey, and that is the end of it.”

  “Do what you like!” cried Mirski.

  “It is my fault,” continued Roh, “that I commanded to return to Kyedani, for I was ordered to go to Birji; but I became a fool through that noble, who, though a relative, did to me what a stranger would not have done. I wish he were not a relative, but he is. He had not God in his heart to take my horse, deprive me of the favor of the prince, and bring punishment on my shoulders. That is the kind of relative he is! But, gentlemen, you will go to Birji, let come what may afterward.”

  “A pity to lose time, Pan Oskyerko,” said Volodyovski.

  “Turn again toward Birji!” cried Kovalski to the dragoons.

  They turned toward Birji a second time. Pan Roh ordered one of the dragoons to sit in the wagon; then he mounted that man’s horse, and rode by the side of the prisoners, repeating for a time, “A relative, and to do such a thing!”

  The prisoners, hearing this, though not certain of their fate and seriously troubled, could not refrain from laughter; at last Volodyovski said, “Comfort yourself, Pan Kovalski, for that man has hung on a hook persons not such as you. He surpassed Hmelnitski himself in cunning, and in stratagems no one can equal him.”

  Kovalski said nothing, but fell away a little from the wagon, fearing ridicule. He was shamefaced in presence of the prisoners and of his own soldiers, and was so troubled that he was pitiful to look at.

  Meanwhile the colonels were talking of Zagloba, and of his marvellous escape.

  “In truth, ’tis astonishing,” said Volodyovski, “that there are not in the world straits, out of which that man could not save himself. When strength and bravery are of no avail, he escapes through stratagem. Other men lose courage when death is hanging over their heads, or they commit themselves to God, waiting for what will happen; but he begins straightway to work with his head, and always thinks out something. He is as brave in need as Achilles, but he prefers to follow Ulysses.”

  “I would not be his guard, though he were bound with chains,” said Stankyevich; “for it is nothing that he will escape, but besides, he will expose a man to ridicule.”

  “Of course!” said Pan Michael. “Now he will laugh at Kovalski to the end of his life; and God guard a man from coming under his tongue, for there is not a sharper in the Commonwealth. And when he begins, as is his custom, to color his speech, then people are bursting from laughter.”

  “But you say that in need he can use his sabre?” asked Stankyevich.

  “Of course! He slew Burlei at Zbaraj, in view of the whole army.”

  “Well, God save us!” cried Stankyevich, “I have never seen such a man.”

  “He has rendered us a great service by his escape,” said Oskyerko, “for he took the letters of the hetman, and who knows what was written in them against us? I do not think that the Swedish commandan
t at Birji will give ear to us, and not to Kovalski. That will not be, for we come as prisoners, and he as commanding the convoy. But certainly they will not know what to do with us. In every case they will not cut off our heads, and that is the main thing.”

  “I spoke as I did merely to confuse Kovalski completely,” said Mirski; “but that they will not cut off our heads, as you say, is no great consolation, God knows. Everything so combines that it would be better not to live; now another war, a civil war, will break out, that will be final ruin. What reason have I, old man, to look on these things?”

  “Or I, who remember other times?” said Stankyevich.

  “You should not say that, gentlemen; for the mercy of God is greater than the rage of men, and his almighty hand may snatch us from the whirlpool precisely when we least expect.”

  “Holy are these words,” said Pan Yan. “And to us, men from under the standard of the late Prince Yeremi, it is grievous to live now, for we were accustomed to victory; and still one likes to serve the country, if the Lord God would give at last a leader who is not a traitor, but one whom a man might trust with his whole heart and soul.”

  “Oi! true, true!” said Pan Michael. “A man would fight night and day.”

  “But I tell you, gentlemen, that this is the greatest despair,” said Mirski; “for every one wanders as in darkness, and asks himself what to do, and uncertainty stifles him, like a nightmare. I know not how it is with you, but mental disquiet is rending me. And when I think that I cast my baton at the feet of the hetman, that I was the cause of resistance and mutiny, the remnants of my gray hair stand on my head from terror. So it is! But what is to be done in presence of open treason? Happy are they who do not need to give themselves such questions, and seek for answers in their souls.”

  “A leader, a leader; may the merciful Lord give a leader!” said Stankyevich, raising his eyes toward heaven.

  “Do not men say that the voevoda of Vityebsk is a wonderfully honest man?” asked Pan Stanislav.

  “They do,” replied Mirski; “but he has not the baton of grand or full hetman, and before the king clothes him with the office of hetman, he can act only on his own account. He will not go to the Swedes, or anywhere else; that is certain.”