Father Voynovski intoned: “Hail, O Wise Lady! and Mansions dear to God,” to which the four bass voices of the Bukoyemskis and Pan Serafin answered immediately: “Adorned by the golden table and seven columns.” Panna Anulka joined the chorus, after her the attendants, and soon that pious hymn was resounding through the forest. But when they had finished all the “Hours,” and repeated all the “Hail, Marys!” silence set in again. The priest, the brothers, and Pan Serafin conversed for some time yet in lowered voices; then they began to doze, and at last fell asleep soundly.
They did not hear either the “Vio! Vio!” of the drivers, or the snorting of horses, or the explosive sound made when hoofs were drawn out of mud on that long ridge way which lay in the sticky and reed-covered quagmire. The party came to the ridge somewhat before midnight. The shouts of attendants, who were advancing in front, first roused the sleepers.
“Stop! stop!”
All opened their eyes. The Bukoyemskis straightened in their saddles and sprang ahead promptly.
“But what is the matter?”
“The road is barred. There is a ditch across it, and beyond the ditch a breastwork.”
The sabres of the brothers came biting from their scabbards and gleamed in the moonlight.
“To arms! an ambuscade!”
Pan Serafin found himself at the obstruction in one moment, and understood that there was no chance of being mistaken: a broad ditch had been dug across the ridgeway. Beyond the ditch lay whole pine trees which, with their branches sticking up, formed a great breastwork. The men who stopped the road in that fashion had evidently intended to let the party in on the ridge, from which there was no escape on either side, and attack in the rear then.
“To your guns! to muskets!” thundered Father Voynovski. “They are coming!”
In fact about a hundred yards in the rear certain dark, square forms, strange, quite unlike men, appeared on the ridge, and ran toward the wagons very quickly.
“Fire!” commanded the priest.
A report was heard, and brilliant flashes rent the night gloom. Only one form rolled to the earth, but the other men ran the more swiftly toward the wagons, and after them denser groups made their appearance.
Instructed by whole years of war, the priest divined straightway that those men were carrying bundles before them, straw, reeds, or willows, and that was why the first discharge had effected so little.
“Fire! In order! four at a time! — and at their knees!” cried he.
Two attendants held guns charged with slugs. These men took their places with others, and spat at the knees of the attackers. A cry of pain was heard promptly, and this time the whole front rank of bundles tumbled down to the mud on the ridgeway, but the next rank of men sprang over those who were prostrate, and came still nearer the wagons.
“Fire!” was commanded a third time.
Again came a salvo, with more effect this time, for the onrush was stopped, and disorder appeared among the attackers.
The priest acquired courage, for he knew that the attackers had outwitted themselves in the choice of position. It is true that not a living soul would escape in case they should triumph, and the bandits had this in view specially; but, not having men to hem in the party on all sides, they were forced to attack only over the ridgeway, hence in a thin body, which again lightened defence beyond common, so that five or six valiant warriors might ward off attack until daylight.
The attackers, too, began to use muskets, but caused no great damage, clearly because of poor weapons. Their first fire struck only a horse and one attendant. The Bukoyemskis begged to charge the enemy, guaranteeing to sweep right and left into the quagmire any men whom they might not crush in the mud of the roadway. But the priest, who kept their strength for the last, would not send them; he commanded the brothers, however, as excellent marksmen, to roast the attackers from a distance, and Pan Serafin commanded to watch the ditch sharply, and the breastwork.
“If they attack us from that side,” said he, “they may do something, but they will not get us cheaply.”
Then he hastened for a moment to the carriage where the ladies were praying without great fear, though audibly.
“Oh, this is nothing!” said he. “Have no fear!”
“I have no fear,” answered Panna Anulka. “But I should like to be on horseback.”
Shots drowned further words. The attackers, confused for a moment, pressed along the ridge now, with wonderful and simply blind daring, since it was clear that they would not effect much on that side.
“Hm!” thought the priest. “Were it not for the women, we might charge them.”
And he had begun to think of sending the four brothers with four other good warriors, when he looked at both flanks and trembled.
On the two sides of that quagmire appeared crowds of men, who, springing from hillock to hillock, or along sheaves of reeds, which had been fixed in soft places on purpose, were running toward the wagons.
The priest turned to them, in the shortest time possible, two ranks of attendants, but he understood in a flash the extent of his peril. His party was surrounded on three sides. The attendants were, it is true, chosen men, who had been more than once in sharp struggles, but they were insufficient in number, especially as some had to guard extra horses. Hence it was evident that after the first fire, inadequate because of so many attackers, there would be a hand-to-hand struggle before guns could be loaded a second time, and the side which proved weaker would be forced to go down in that trial.
Only one plan remained, to retreat by the ridgeway, that is, leave the wagons, command the Bukoyemskis to sweep all before them, and push on behind the four brothers, keeping the women among the horses in the centre. So when they had fired at both sides again, the priest ordered the women to mount, and arranged all for the onrush. In the first rank were the four brothers, behind them six attendants, then Panna Anulka and Pani Dzvonkovski, at the side the priest and Pan Serafin, behind them eight attendants, four in a rank. After the charge and retreat from the ridgeway he intended to reach the first village, collect all the peasants, return then and rescue the wagons.
Still he stopped for a moment, and only when the attackers were little more than twenty yards distant, and when on a sudden wild sounds were heard beyond the breastwork, did he shout the order, —
“Strike!”
“Strike!” roared the Bukoyemskis, and they moved like a hurricane which destroys all things before it. When they had ridden to the enemy the horses rose on their haunches and plunged into the dense crowd of robbers, trampling some, pushing others to the quagmire, overthrowing whole lines of people. The brothers cut with sabres unsparingly, and without stopping. There was great shouting, and splashing of bodies as men fell into the water near the ridgeway, but the four dreadful horsemen pushed forward; their arms moving like those of a windmill to which a gale gives dreadful impetus. Some attackers sprang willingly into the water to save themselves; others put forks and bill-hooks against the onrushing brothers. Clubs and spears were raised also; but again the horses reared, and, breaking everything before them, swept on like a whirlwind in a young forest.
Had not the road been so narrow, and those who were slashed had all escape barred to them, and those behind not pushed on those in front, the Bukoyemskis would have passed the whole ridgeway. But since more than one of the bandits preferred battle to drowning, resistance continued, and, besides, it became still more stubborn. The hearts of the robbers were raging. They began to fight then not merely for plunder, or seizing some person, but from venom. At moments when shouts ceased, the gritting of teeth became audible and curses rose loudly. The rush of the Bukoyemskis was arrested. It came to their minds at that moment that they would have to die, perhaps. And when, on a sudden, they heard still farther out there the tramping of horses, and loud shouts were raised in all parts of the thicket surrounding the quagmire, they felt sure that the moment of death was approaching. Hence they smashed terribly; they would not sell the
ir lives cheaply in any case.
But now something marvellous happened. Many voices were heard all at once shouting: “Strike!” Sabres gleamed in the moonlight. Certain horsemen fell to cutting and hewing in the rear of the robbers, who, because of this sudden attack, were seized in one instant with terror. Escape in the rear was now closed to them; nothing remained but escape at either side of the roadway. Only some, therefore, offered a desperate resistance. The more numerous sprang like ducks to the turfy quagmire on both sides. The quagmire broke under them; then grasping grass, clumps, and reeds, they clung to hillocks, or lay on their bellies not to sink the first moment.
Only a small company, armed with scythes fixed to poles, defended themselves for some time yet with madness. Because of this many horsemen were wounded. But at last even this handful, seeing that for them there was no rescue whatever, threw down their weapons, fell on their knees, and begged mercy. They were taken alive to be witnesses.
Meanwhile horsemen from both sides stood facing one another, and raised their voices.
“Halt! halt! Who are ye?”
“But who are ye?”
“Tsyprianovitch of Yedlinka.”
“For God’s sake! these are our people!”
And two riders pushed from the ranks quickly. One inclined to Pan Serafin, seized his hand straightway, and covered it with kisses; the other rushed to the priest’s shoulder.
“Stanislav!” cried Pan Serafin.
“Yatsek!” shouted the priest.
The greetings and embraces continued till speech came to Pan Serafin, —
“For God’s sake, whence come ye?”
“Our regiment was marching to Cracow. Yatsek and I had permission to visit you at Yedlinka. Meanwhile we learned at Radom, while halting for food there, that thou, father, and the priest, and the Bukoyemskis had set out an hour earlier by the highroad toward Kieltse.”
“Did the prelate tell thee?”
“No! We did not see him. Radom Jews told us; we did not go then to Yedlinka, but moved on at once lest we might miss you. At midnight we heard firing, so we all rushed to give aid, thinking that bandits had fallen upon travellers. It did not occur to us that ye were the persons. God be thanked, God be thanked, that we came up in season!”
“Not bandits attacked us, but the Krepetskis. It is a question of Panna Anulka, who is with us.”
“As God lives!” exclaimed Stanislav. “Then I think that his soul will leave Yatsek.”
“I wrote to thee about her, but it is evident that my letter did not reach thee.”
“No, for we are marching these three weeks. I have not written of late because I had to come hither.”
Shouts from the Bukoyemskis, the attendants, and the warriors stopped further converse. At that moment also attendants ran up with lighted torches. A supply had been taken by Pan Serafin that he might have wherewith to give light during darkness. It was as clear on the road as in daylight, and in those bright gleams Yatsek saw the gray horse on which Panna Anulka was sitting.
He grew dumb at sight of her.
“Yes, she is with us,” said Father Voynovski, seeing his astonishment.
Then Yatsek urged his horse forward, and halted before her. He uncovered his head, and remained there lost as he looked at her. His face was as white as chalk, his breath had almost left him, and he was speechless.
After a moment the cap fell to the earth from his fingers, his head dropped to the mane of the horse, and his eyes closed.
“But he is wounded!” cried Lukash Bukoyemski.
CHAPTER XXIV
Yatsek was really wounded. One of those robbers, who defended themselves to the utmost, cut him, with a scythe in the left shoulder, and since he and the men marched without mail, the very end of the iron had cut into his arm rather deeply from the shoulder to the elbow. The wound was not over grievous, but it bled quite profusely; because of this the young man had then fainted. The experienced Father Voynovski commanded to put him in a wagon, and, when the wound had been dressed, he left him in care of the women. Yatsek opened his eyes somewhat later, and began again to look, as at a rainbow, into the face of Panna Anulka, which was there bending over him.
Meanwhile the attendants filled the ditch and removed all obstructions. The wagons and the men passed to the dry road beyond, where they halted to bring the train into order, take some rest, and question the prisoners. From Tachevski the priest went to the Bukoyemskis to see if they had suffered. But they had not. The horses were torn and even stabbed with forks, but not seriously; the men themselves were in excellent humor, for all were admiring their valor, since they had crushed before war, more opponents than had many others during years of campaigning.
“Now, gentlemen, ye may join Pan Zbierhovski,” said the hussars here and there. “From of old it is known, and God grant that men will see soon, that our regiment is the first even among hussars. Pan Zbierhovski admits no common men, or any man easily, but he will accept you with gladness, and we shall be charmed from our hearts to find you in our company.”
The Bukoyemskis knew that this might not be, for they could not have the attendants, or the outfit demanded in such a high regiment, but they listened to those speeches with rapture, and when cups went the round, they let no man surpass them.
When that part was ended, the captured bandits were seized by their heads, and led from the mud to Zbierhovski and the priest and Pan Serafin. No bandit had escaped, for with a detachment of twelve hundred there were men to surround the whole quagmire and both ends of the ridgeway. The appearance of the prisoners astonished Pan Serafin. He had thought to find Martsian among them, as he had told Stanislav, and Martsian’s Radom outcasts also; meanwhile he saw before him a ragged rabble reeking with turf and bespattered with mud of the ridgeway, a company made up, like all bodies of that kind, of deserters from the infantry, of runaway servants and serfs, in a word, of all kinds of wicked, wild scoundrels working at robbery in remote places and forests. Many such parties were raging, especially in the wooded region of Sandomir, and since they were strengthened by men who were eager for anything, men who if captured were threatened with terrible punishment, their attacks were uncommonly daring, and they fought savage battles.
The search through the quagmire continued for a time yet, then Pan Serafin turned to Zbierhovski.
“Gracious colonel,” said he. “These are highway robbers. We thought them quite different. This was an attack of common bandits. We thank you, and all your men with grateful hearts for effective assistance, without which, as is possible, we should not have seen the sun rise this morning.”
“These night marches are good,” said Zbierhovski, and he smiled while he was speaking. “The heat does not trouble, and it is possible to serve others. Do you wish to examine these captives immediately?”
“Since I have looked at them closely already, it is not needed. The court in the town will examine them, and the headsman will guide them.”
At this a tall, bony fellow, with a gloomy face, and light hair pushed out from the captives and said, as he bent to Pan Serafin’s stirrup.
“Great mighty lord, spare our lives, and we will tell truth. We are common bandits, but the attack was not common.”
The priest and Pan Serafin, on hearing this, looked at each other with roused curiosity.
“Who art thou?” asked the priest.
“I am a chief. There were two of us, for this party was formed of two bands, but the other man fell. Give me pardon, and I will tell everything.”
Father Voynovski stopped for a moment.
“We cannot save you from justice,” said he, “but for you it is better in every case to tell truth, than be forced to declare it under torture. Besides, if ye confess, God’s judgment and man’s will be more lenient.”
The bandit looked at his companions, uncertain whether to speak or be silent. Meanwhile the priest added, —
“And if ye tell the whole truth, we can intercede with the king, and commend you to his mer
cy. He accepts offenders in the infantry, and recommends mercy now to judges.”
“In that case,” said the man, “I will tell everything. My name is Obuh; the leader of the other band was Kos, and a noble engaged us to fall on your graces.”
“But do ye know the name of that noble?”
“I did not know him, for I am from distant places, but Kos knew him, and said his name was Vysh.”
The priest and Pan Serafin looked at each other with astonishment.
“Vysh, didst thou say?”
“Yes.”
“But was there no one with him?”
“There was another, a lean, thin, young man.”
“Not they,” said Pan Serafin to the priest in a whisper.
“But they may have been Martsian’s company.”
Then he said aloud to the man, —
“What did they tell you to do?”
“This: ‘Do what ye like with the people,’ said they; ‘the wagons and plunder are yours; but in the company there is a young lady whom ye are to take and bring by roundabout ways between Radom and Zvolenie to Polichna. Beyond Polichna a party will attack you and take the lady. Ye will pretend to defend her, but not so as to harm our men. Ye will get a thaler apiece for this, besides what ye find in the wagons.’”
“That is as if on one’s palm,” said the priest.
“Then did only those two talk with Kos and thee?”
“Later, a third person came in the night with them; he gave us a ducat apiece to bind the agreement. Though the place was as dark as in a cellar, one of our men who had been a serf of his recognized that third person as Pan Krepetski.”
“Ha! that is he!” cried Pan Serafin.
“And is that man here, or has he fallen?” inquired Father Voynovski.
“I am here!” called out a voice from some distance.
“Come nearer. Didst thou recognize Pan Krepetski? But how, since it was so dark, that thou couldst hit a man on the snout without knowing it?”
“Because I know him from childhood. I knew him by his bow-legs and his head, which sits, as it were, in a hole between his shoulders, and by his voice.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 577