Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  The whole plain grew soft, and turned gradually into a great pond. People who had been wet for whole days now fell ill. Some left the colony for Clarksville; but they returned quickly, with news that the river had risen, that the ford was impassable.

  The condition of affairs had grown terrible; a month had passed since the coming of the colonists; supplies might give out, and it was impossible to replenish them from Clarksville. But hunger threatened Vavron and Marysia less than others, for the strong hand of Orlik was over them. Every morning he brought to the wall of the house on which Vavron was lying game, either shot or trapped by him. Orlik put up his own tent to protect the old man and Marysia from rain. They had to accept the assistance which he almost imposed, and be bound by gratitude; he would not take pay, he wanted nothing but Marysia.

  “Am I the only one on earth?” pleaded the girl. “Go seek some one else, since I love another.”

  “Though I should walk the world through,” said Orlik, “I should not find another like thee. For me thou art the only one, and must be mine. What wilt thou do when thy father dies? Thou wilt come to, me thyself, and I will take thee, as a wolf takes a lamb; I will bear thee to the forest, but I will not eat thee. Thou art mine, thou alone! Who will forbid me to take thee? Whom do I fear in this place? Let thy Yasko come, I want him.”

  As to Vavron, Orlik seemed to be right. The old man grew worse and worse; at times he was raving, and spoke of his sins, of Lipintse, and said that God would not let him see it again. Marysia shed tears for him, and for herself. Orlik’s promise that if she would marry him, he would go with her, even to Lipintse, was bitterness, not consolation. To return to Lipintse where Yasko was, and return there another’s, not for anything! — better die under the first tree she came to. She thought that it would end thus.

  A new trial fell on the colony.

  Rain poured down more and more. One dark night, when Orlik had gone to the forest as usual, a shrill, despairing cry was heard in the camp, “Water! water!” When the people rubbed their sleepy eyes, they saw in the darkness, as far as vision extended, one white plain, plashing under the downpour, and moved by the wind. The broken and dimmed light of night showed a steel-like reflection on the wrinkles and ripples of the water. On the side of the forest, where stumps were sticking up, and where, from the burnt forest, was heard the plashing and sound of new waves flowing, as it seemed, with great impetus. A cry rose in the whole camp. Women and children took refuge in the wagons; men ran with all their might to the western side of the plain, where the trees were not cut. The water hardly reached to their knees, but was rising rapidly. The sound from the side of the forest increased, and was blended with shouts of alarm, with the calling of names, and with prayers for rescue. Soon larger animals began to retreat from place to place before the weight of the water. It was evident that the force of the current was increasing. Sheep swam along, and, with plaintive bleating, called for assistance, till they vanished, carried off toward the trees. Rain poured as if from a bucket, and became every moment more terrible. The distant sound changed into one immense thunder and roar of mad waves; wagons trembled under the pressure of them. It was evident that this was no common rainfall, but that the Arkansas River, and all streams running into it, had overflown. That was a deluge, a tearing out of trees by the roots, a rending of forests, a terror, an unchaining of elements, darkness, death.

  One wagon, standing near the burnt forest, turned over. In answer to the piercing screams for help from the women enclosed in it, a few dark figures rushed out of the forest; but the water swept these men away, whirled them around, and bore them toward the trees, to destruction. On other wagons other men climbed to the canvas coverings. The rain roared more and more; greater and greater darkness fell on that gloomy plain. At moments some beam with a human figure clinging to it shot past, hurled up and down; at moments the dark figure of a beast, or a man, emerged; sometimes an arm was thrust up from the deluge and then fell back forever.

  The water roared with increasing rage, and drowned everything, — drowned the bellows of perishing beasts, and the cries “Jesus! Jesus! Mary!” On the plain were formed eddies and whirlpools; the wagons vanished.

  And Vavron and Marysia? That house wall on which the old man lay, under Orlik’s tent, saved them, for it floated on like a raft. The water carried it around the whole field, and bore it toward the forest, there knocked it against one tree and another, and, pushing it finally into the current of the river, bore it farther in the darkness.

  The girl, kneeling near her old father, raised her hands to Heaven, calling for salvation; but only blows of waves driven by the wind gave her answer. The tent was torn away, and the raft itself might be broken any moment, since before and behind were floating uprooted trees, which might crush or upset it.

  At last it stuck in the branches of some tree, only the top of which was visible above water; out of that top at that moment came the voice of a man, —

  “Take my gun and stand on the other side, so the raft will not tip when I jump on it.”

  She and Vavron had barely done what was commanded, when some figure sprang from a limb to the raft.

  It was Orlik.

  “Marysia,” said he, “as I have said, I will not leave thee. God aid me! I will bring thee out of this deep water also.”

  With the hatchet which he had he cut a straight limb from the tree, trimmed it in a twinkle, pushed the raft away, and paddled.

  When he had worked into the regular current, they went on with lightning speed. Whither? — they knew not, but on they went.

  Orlik from time to time pushed away trees, branches, or he turned the raft to avoid a standing tree. His gigantic strength seemed to increase. His eyes, in spite of the darkness, descried every danger. Hour succeeded hour. Every other would have fallen from weariness, but in him toil left no trace. Toward morning they came out of the forest, for no tree-tops were visible. But the whole circle of the world seemed one sea. Immense whirls of yellow, foaming water went around with a roar on that empty flatness.

  Daylight grew clearer. Orlik, seeing no tree in the neighborhood, ceased paddling for a moment and turned to Marysia, —

  “Marysia, thou art mine now, for I snatched thee from death.”

  His head was uncovered, and his face, wet and flushed from heat, warmed by the battle with the flood, it had such an expression of strength that Marysia for the first time dared not answer that she had promised another.

  “Marysia,” said he, softly, “Marysia of my heart!”

  “Where are we floating to?” asked she, wishing to change the conversation.

  “What care I, if with thee, my beloved.”

  “Paddle on, while death is before us.”

  Orlik paddled again.

  Vavron felt worse and worse. At times he had a fever, at times it left him; but he weakened. The suffering was too great for his worn-out, old body. He was approaching the end, eternal relief, and great peace. At midday he woke, and said, —

  “Marysia, I shall not wait till to-morrow. Oi, my daughter, would to the Lord that I had not left Lipintse, and had not brought thee here! But God is merciful! I have suffered not a little; He will forgive me my sins. Bury me, if thou shalt be able, and let Orlik take thee to the old gentleman in New York. He is a good man; he will pity thee and give thee means for the road, and thou wilt return to Lipintse. I shall never return. God, Thou the merciful, let my soul fly there as a bird and even look at the place!”

  Here delirium seized him again, and he began to speak, “To Thy protection I flee, Holy Mother of God!” cried he, on a sudden. “Do not throw me into the water, for I am not a dog!” and then, evidently, it occurred to him that he had wished to drown Marysia because of their misery, for again he cried, “My child, forgive! forgive!”

  She, poor thing, was lying near his head, sobbing; Orlik was paddling, and tears were stopping his throat.

  In the evening it became clear. The sun, at the moment of setting, appeared over
the flooded country, and was reflected in the water with a long, golden streak. The old man was dying. But God took pity on him, and gave him a peaceful death. At first he said, in a sad voice:

  “I went away from Poland, from that land over there,” but afterward, in the wandering of his fever, it seemed to him that he was returning to it. He thought that the old gentleman in New York had given him money for the road, and to buy land, so he and Marysia were going back. They are on the ocean; the steamer is sailing night and day; the sailors are singing. Then he sees the port in Hamburg from which they had sailed; various places appear before his eyes. German speech is heard around him; but the train is flying onward, so Vavron feels that he is nearer and nearer home; a sure joy swells his breast; another atmosphere, beloved, greets him from his native place. What is that? — the boundary! The poor peasant heart is beating like a hammer. He is going on! O God! O God! and here are the fields of the Matseks, and their pear-trees; here are gray cottages and the church. There a villager follows the plough in his sheepskin cap. He stretches his hands to him from the train. O man! O man! — I cannot speak. They go farther. But what is that? That is Pryremble, and beyond Pryremble is Lipintse. He and Marysia are moving along the road, and weeping from joy. It is spring. The wheat is in blossom; the beetles are droning in the air; in Pryremble they are ringing the Angelus. O Jesus! Jesus! why is there so much happiness for him, sinful man? Over that hill, and there a cross and guide-post, and the boundary of Lipintse. They are not walking now, but flying as if on wings; now they are on the hill, at the cross, at the guidepost. The man throws himself on the ground; he bellows from happiness; he kisses the ground, and crawling up to the cross embraces it, — he is in Lipintse. Yes. He is now in Lipintse, for only his dead body is resting on that stray raft on the flood of water; his soul has flown to the place of its rest and its happiness.

  In vain did the girl work over him. “Father, father!” Poor Marysia, he will not return to thee. He is too happy in Lipintse.

  Night came. The stick was dropping out of Orlik’s hand from fatigue; hunger tormented him. Marysia, kneeling over her father’s body, was repeating with broken voice an “Our Father;” all round, to the remotest verges of the horizon, there was nothing but water.

  They had come out above the bed of some large river, for the current was bearing them away again quickly. It was impossible to steer the raft. Perhaps that was merely a current circling about a hollow in the prairie, for frequently it carried them in a circle. Orlik felt that his strength was deserting him. On a sudden he sprang to his feet, and cried, —

  “By the wounds of Christ, there is a light!”

  Marysia looked in the direction in which he had stretched his arm. In fact some light gleamed in the distance; from it a line was reflected on the water.

  “That is a boat from Clarksville!” cried Orlik, “sent out to save people. If only it would not miss us; Marysia, I will save thee. Hoop! hoop!”

  At the same time he paddled with all his might. Indeed the flame increased, and in the red light from it something which looked like a large boat was outlined. It was very far away yet, but they were approaching each other. After a time, however, Orlik saw that the boat was not pushing forward; the raft had floated into a great and broad current, going in a direction opposite to that of the boat.

  All at once the pole broke in Orlik’s hand from pressure. They were without an oar. The current carried them farther and farther; the light decreased.

  Happily a quarter of an hour later the raft struck a lone tree in the prairie, and it stuck in the branches. Both cried for help, but the noise of the current extinguished their voices.

  “I will shoot,” said Orlik; “they will see the light, they will hear the report.”

  He had barely thought of it when he raised the barrel of his musket, but instead of a report came the dull click of the hammer. The powder was wet.

  Orlik threw himself at full length on the raft. There was nothing to be done. He lay as if dead for a while, then he rose, and said, —

  “Marysia, I would have taken another girl long ago, in spite of her, and carried her to the forest. I thought to do so with thee; but I dared not, I loved thee. I went alone about the world like a wolf, and the common herd feared me, but I feared thee. Marysia! Thou must have given me some philter? But thou wilt not marry me: death is better! I will save thee, or perish; but if I perish, do thou of my heart take pity and say an ‘Our Father’ for Orlik. In what have I offended thee? I have done thee no wrong. Ei! Marysia, Marysia, farewell, thou my love and my sun!—”

  And before she had noted what he wished to do, he threw himself into the water and began to swim. For a while she saw his head in the darkness, and his arms breaking the water against the current, for he was a strong swimmer. But soon he disappeared from her eyes He was swimming to the boat to find rescue for her. The swift current hampered his movements, as if some one were dragging him from behind; he pulled himself out, pushed forward. If he could avoid that current, if he could strike another, a favoring one, he would swim to the boat, he would do so most certainly. Meanwhile, in spite of superhuman efforts, he could move only slowly. Thick, yellowish water, often threw foam in his eyes; then he raised his head, took breath, and strained his eyes in the darkness to see where the boat with the light was. Sometimes a stronger wave pushed him back, sometimes it hurled him upward; he breathed with increasing difficulty; he felt that his knees were stiffening. He thought, “I shall not swim there;” then something whispered in his ear, as if it were the beloved voice of Marysia, “Save me!” and again he cut the water with his hands desperately. His cheeks swelled; his mouth threw out water; his eyes were protruding from his head. If he should turn, he could swim back to the raft with the current; but he did not even think of doing so, for the light of the boat was nearer and nearer. In fact the boat was coming toward him, borne by the same current with which he was struggling. All at once he felt that his knees and his legs were stiff altogether. A few more desperate efforts, the boat ever nearer, “Help! Rescue!”

  The last word was drowned by the water which filled his throat. He sank, a wave passed over his head; but he swam out again. The boat was right there, right there. He hears the plash and the noise of the oars in the rowlocks; for the last time he strains his voice and cries for help.

  They hear him, for the plash becomes quicker.

  But Orlik went down again; an immense eddy bore him away. For a moment yet he was black on the wave, then one hand rose above the water, after that the other, and then he vanished.

  Meanwhile Marysia, alone on the raft with the corpse of her father, was looking at the distant light like a person demented.

  But the current bore it toward her. She saw the boat with a number of oars, which in the light moved like the red legs of a giant worm. Marysia began to call desperately.

  “Eh, Smith,” said some voice in English. “Hang me, if I don’t hear cries for help, and if I don’t hear them a second time.”

  After a while strong arms bore Marysia to the boat; but Orlik was not there.

  Two months later Marysia came out of the hospital in Little Rock, and, with money collected by kind people, she went to New York.

  But this money was not enough. She had to make a part of the road on foot; but, speaking a little English now, she was able to beg of conductors to take her free. Many people had pity on the poor, sick, pallid girl, with the great blue eyes, more like a shadow than a person, and begging alms with tears. It was not people who were tormenting her, but life and its conditions. What had that field flower of Lipintse to do in the whirl of America, in that gigantic “business”? How was she to help herself? The car there had to pass over her and crush her frail body, as every car passes over a flower which has fallen in front of it.

  A hand, emaciated, trembling from weakness, pulled a bell on Water Street. That was Marysia, who had come to seek aid of the old gentleman from Poznan.

  Some stranger opened the door to her,
an unknown person.

  “Is Pan Zlotopolski at home?”

  “Who is he?”

  “An old gentleman.” Here she showed his card.

  “He is dead.”

  “He is dead? And his son? — Pan William?”

  “He has gone away.”

  “And Panna Jennie?”

  “She has gone away.”

  The door was closed before her. She sat on the doorstep and rubbed her face. She was in New York again, alone, without assistance, without protection, without money, dependent on the will of God.

  Will she stay there? Never! She will go now to the wharf, to the German docks, to seize the captain’s feet, and beg him to take her; and if they will have kindness, she will go through Germany on begged bread, and return to Lipintse. Her Yasko is there. Besides him she has no one in the broad world now. If he will not take her in, if he has forgotten her, if he will reject her, she can even die near him.

  She went to the wharf and crawled at the feet of the German captains. They would have taken her; for were she to freshen up a little she would be a nice girl. They would be glad but then the rules did not permit — besides, it is a vexation. So let them alone.

  The girl went to sleep on that same place where she had slept once with her father on that night when he wanted to drown her. She nourished herself with what the water threw up, as she had in New York with her father. Happily, the summer was warm.

  Every day, just after dawn, she was at the German docks begging a favor, and every day vainly. She had peasant endurance, but strength was deserting her. She felt that if she could not go back quickly she would die soon, as all had died with whom fate had connected her.