Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  At the end of Mass, the bishop turned to the people with the monstrance; then the little knight rose, and kneeling on the steps of the altar, said with a moved but calm voice,—

  "Feeling deep gratitude for the special benefactions and particular protection which I have received from the Lord God the Most High, and from His only Son, I vow and take oath that as He and His Son have aided me, so will I to my last breath defend the Holy Cross. And since command of the old castle is confided to me, while I am alive and can move hands and feet, I will not admit to the castle the Pagan enemy, who live in vileness, nor will I leave the wall, nor will I raise a white rag, even should it come to me to be buried there under ruins. So help me God and the Holy Cross! Amen!"

  A solemn silence reigned in the church; then the voice of Ketling was heard.

  "I promise," said he, "for the particular benefactions which I have experienced in this fatherland, to defend the castle to the last drop of my blood, and to bury myself under its ruins, rather than let a foot of the enemy enter its walls. And as I take this oath with a clean heart and out of pure gratitude, so help me God and the Holy Cross! Amen!"

  Here the bishop held down the monstrance, and gave it to Volodyovski to kiss, then to Ketling. At sight of this the numerous knights in the church raised a buzz. Voices were heard: "We will all swear!" "We will lie one upon another!" "This fortress will not fall!" "We will swear!" "Amen, amen, amen!" Sabres and rapiers came out with a gritting from the scabbard, and the church became bright from the steel. That gleam shone on threatening faces and glittering eyes; a great, indescribable enthusiasm seized the nobles, soldiers, and people. Then all the bells were sounded; the organ roared; the bishop intoned, "Sub Tuum præsidium;" a hundred voices thundered in answer; and thus they prayed for that fortress which was the watchtower of Christendom and the key of the Commonwealth.

  At the conclusion of the service Ketling and Pan Michael went out of the church hand in hand. Blessings and praise were given them on the way, for no one doubted that they would die rather than surrender the castle. Not death, however, but victory and glory seemed to float over them; and it is likely that among all those people they alone knew how terrible the oath was with which they had bound themselves. Perhaps also two loving hearts had a presentiment of the destruction which was hanging over their heads, for neither Basia nor Krysia could gain self-composure; and when at last Pan Michael found himself in the cloister with his wife, she, choking from tears, and sobbing like a little child, nestled up to his breast, and said in a broken voice,—

  "Remember—Michael—God keep misfortune from you—I—I—know not what—will become of me!"

  And she began to tremble from emotion; the little knight was moved greatly too. After a time he said,—

  "But, Basia, it was necessary."

  "I would rather die!" said Basia.

  Hearing this, the little knight's mustaches quivered more and more quickly, and he repeated a number of times,—

  "Quiet, Basia, quiet." Then at last he said, to calm the woman loved above all,—

  "And do you remember that when the Lord God brought you back to me, I said thus, 'Whatever return is proper, O Lord God, I promise Thee. After the war, if I am alive, I will build a chapel; but during the war I must do something noteworthy, so as not to feed Thee with ingratitude'? What is a castle? It is little for such a benefaction. The time has come. Is it proper that the Saviour should say to Himself, 'His promise is a plaything'? May the stones of the castle crush me before I break my word of a cavalier, given to God. It is necessary, Basia; and that is the whole thing. Let us trust in God, Basia."

  CHAPTER LII.

  That day Pan Michael went out with squadrons to assist Pan Vasilkovski, who had hastened on toward Hrynchuk, for news came that the Tartars had made an attack there, binding people, taking cattle, but not burning villages, so as not to rouse attention. Pan Vasilkovski soon scattered them, rescued the captives, and took prisoners. Pan Michael led these prisoners to Jvanyets, commissioning Pan Makovetski to torture them, and write down in order their confessions, so as to forward them to the hetman and the king. The Tartars confessed that, at command of the perkulab, they had crossed the boundary with Captain Styngan and Wallachians; but though burnt, they could not tell how far away the Sultan was at that time with all his forces, for, advancing in irregular bands, they did not maintain connection with the main army.

  All, however, were at one in the statement that the Sultan had moved in force, that he was marching to the Commonwealth, and would be at Kamenyets soon. For the future defenders of Kamenyets there was nothing new in these confessions; but since in the king's palace they did not believe that there would be war, the chamberlain determined to send these prisoners, together with their statements, to Warsaw.

  The scouting parties returned in good spirits from their first expedition. In the evening came the secretary of Habareskul, Pan Michael's Tartar brother, and the senior perkulab of Hotin. He brought no letters, for the perkulab was afraid to write; but he gave command to tell his brother Volodyovski, "the sight of his eye and the love of his heart," to be on his guard, and if Kamenyets had not troops enough for defence, to leave the town under some pretext, for the Sultan had been expected for two days with his whole force in Hotin.

  Pan Michael sent his thanks to the perkulab, and rewarding the secretary, sent him home; he informed the commandants immediately of the approaching danger. Activity on works in the town was redoubled; Pan Hieronim Lantskoronski moved without a moment's delay to his Jvanyets, to have an eye on Hotin.

  Some time passed in waiting; at last, on the second day of August, the Sultan halted at Hotin. His regiments spread out like a sea without shores; and at sight of the last town lying within the Padishah's dominions, Allah! Allah! was wrested from hundreds of thousands of throats. On the other side of the Dniester lay the defenceless Commonwealth, which those countless armies were to cover like a deluge, or devour like a flame. Throngs of warriors, unable to find places in the town, disposed themselves on the fields,—on those same fields, where some tens of years earlier, Polish sabres had scattered an equally numerous army of the Prophet. It seemed now that the hour of revenge had come; and no one in those wild legions, from the Sultan to the camp servant, had a feeling that for the Crescent those fields would be ill-omened a second time. Hope, nay, even certainty of victory rejoiced every heart. Janissaries and spahis, crowds of general militia from the Balkans, from the mountains of Rhodope, from Rumelia, from Pelion and Ossa, from Carmel and Lebanon, from the deserts of Arabia, from the banks of the Tigris, from the plains of the Nile, and the burning sands of Africa, giving out wild shouts, prayed to be led at once to the "infidel bank." But muezzins began to call from the minarets of Hotin to prayer; therefore all were silent. A sea of heads in turbans, caps, fezes, burnooses, kefis, and steel helmets inclined toward the earth; and through the fields went the deep murmur of prayer, like the sound of countless swarms of bees, and borne by the wind, it flew forward over the Dniester toward the Commonwealth.

  Then drums, trumpets, and pipes were heard, giving notice of rest. Though the armies had marched slowly and comfortably, the Padishah wished to give them, after the long journey from Adrianople, a rest at the river. He performed ablutions himself in a clear spring flowing not far from the town, and rode thence to the konak of Hotin; but on the fields they began to pitch tents which soon covered, as with snow, the immeasurable extent of the country about.

  The day was beautiful, and ended serenely. After the last evening prayers, the camp went to rest. Thousands and hundreds of thousands of fires were gleaming. From the small castle opposite, in Jvanyets, men looked on the light of these fires with alarm, for they were so wide-spread that the soldiers who went to reconnoitre said in their account, "It seemed to us that all Moldavia was under the fires." But as the bright moon rose higher in the starry sky, all died out save the watch-fires, the camp became quiet, and amid the silence of the night were heard only the neighing of hor
ses and the bellowing of buffaloes, feeding on the meadows of Taraban.

  But next morning, at daybreak, the Sultan commanded the janissaries and Tartars to cross the Dniester, and occupy Jvanyets, the town as well as the castle. The manful Pan Hieronim Lantskoronski did not wait behind the walls for them, but having at his side forty Tartars, eighty men of Kieff, and one squadron of his own, struck on the janissaries at the crossing; and in spite of a rattling fire from their muskets, he broke that splendid infantry, and they began to withdraw toward the river in disorder. But meanwhile, the chambul, reinforced by Lithuanian Tartars, who had crossed at the flank, broke into the town. Smoke and cries warned the brave chamberlain that the place was in the hands of the enemy. He gave command, therefore, to withdraw from the crossing, and succor the hapless inhabitants. The janissaries, being infantry, could not pursue, and he went at full speed to the rescue. He was just coming up, when, on a sudden, his own Tartars threw down their flag, and went over to the enemy. A moment of great peril followed. The chambul, aided by the traitors, and thinking that treason would bring confusion, struck hand to hand, with great force, on the chamberlain. Fortunately, the men of Kieff, roused by the example of their leader, gave violent resistance. The squadron broke the enemy, who were not in condition to meet regular Polish cavalry. The ground before the bridge was soon covered with corpses, especially of Lithuanian Tartars, who, more enduring than ordinary men of the horde, kept the field. Many of them were cut down in the streets later on. Lantskoronski, seeing that the janissaries were approaching from the water, sent to Kamenyets for succor, and withdrew behind the walls.

  The Sultan had not thought of taking the castle of Jvanyets that day, thinking justly that he could crush it in the twinkle of an eye, at the general crossing of the armies. He wished only to occupy that point; and supposing the detachments which he sent to be amply sufficient, he sent no more, either of the janissaries or the horde. Those who were on the other bank of the river occupied the place a second time after the squadron had withdrawn behind the walls. They did not burn the town, so that it might serve in future as a refuge for their own, or for other detachments, and began to work in it with sabres and daggers. The janissaries seized young women in soldier fashion; the husbands and children they cut down with axes; the Tartars were occupied in taking plunder.

  At that time the Poles saw from the bastion of the castle that cavalry was approaching from the direction of Kamenyets. Hearing this, Lantskoronski went out on the bastion himself, with a field-glass, and looked long and carefully. At last he said,—

  "That is light cavalry from the Hreptyoff garrison; the same cavalry with which Vasilkovski went to Hrynchuk. Clearly they have sent him out this time. I see volunteers. It must be Humyetski!

  "Praise be to God!" cried he, after a while. "Volodyovski himself is there, for I see dragoons. Gracious gentlemen, let us rush out again from behind the walls, and with God's help, we will drive the enemy, not only from the town, but from this side of the river."

  Then he ran down with what breath he had, to draw up his men of Kieff and the squadron. Meanwhile the Tartars first in the town saw the approaching squadron, and shouting shrilly, "Allah!" began to gather in a chambul. Drums and whistles were heard in all the streets. The janissaries stood in order with that quickness in which few infantry on earth could compare with them.

  The chambul flew out of the place as if blown by a whirlwind, and struck the light squadron. The chambul itself, not counting the Lithuanian Tartars, whom Lantskoronski had injured considerably, was three times more numerous than the garrison of Jvanyets and the approaching squadrons of reinforcement, hence it did not hesitate to spring on Pan Vasilkovski; but Pan Vasilkovski, a young, irrepressible man, who hurled himself against every danger with as much eagerness as blindness, commanded his soldiers to go at the highest speed, and flew on like a column of wind, not even observing the number of the enemy. Such daring troubled the Tartars, who had no liking whatever for hand-to-hand combat. Notwithstanding the shouting of murzas riding in the rear, the shrill whistle of pipes, and the roaring sound of drums calling to "kesim,"—that is, to hewing heads from unbelievers,—they began to rein in, and hold back their horses. Evidently the hearts grew faint in them every moment, as did also their eagerness. Finally, at the distance of a bow-shot from the squadron, they opened on two sides, and sent a shower of arrows at the on-rushing cavalry.

  Pan Vasilkovski, knowing nothing of the janissaries, who had formed beyond the houses toward the river, rushed with undiminished speed behind the Tartars, or rather behind one half the chambul. He came up, closed, and fell to slashing down those who, having inferior horses, could not flee quickly. The second half of the chambul turned then, wishing to surround him; but at that moment the volunteers rushed up, and the chamberlain came with his men of Kieff. The Tartars, pressed on so many sides, scattered like sand, and then began a rushing about,—that is, the pursuit of a group by a group, of a man by a man,—in which many of the horde fell, especially by the hand of Pan Vasilkovski, who struck blindly at whole crowds, just as a lark-falcon strikes sparrows or bunting.

  But Pan Michael, a cool and keen soldier, did not let the dragoons out of his hand. Like a hunter who holds trained, eager dogs in strong leashes, not letting them go at a common beast, but only when he sees the flashing eyes and white teeth of a savage old boar, so the little knight, despising the fickle horde, was watching to see if spahis, janissaries, or some other chosen cavalry were not behind them.

  Pan Lantskoronski rushed to him with his men of Kieff.

  "My benefactor," cried he, "the janissaries are moving toward the river; let us press them!"

  Pan Michael drew his rapier and commanded, "Forward!"

  Each dragoon drew in his reins, so as to have his horse in hand; then the rank bent a little, and moved forward as regularly as if on parade. They went first at a trot, then at a gallop, but did not let their horses go yet at highest speed. Only when they had passed the houses built toward the water, east of the castle, did they see the white felt caps of the janissaries, and know that they had to do not with volunteer, but with regular janissaries.

  "Strike!" cried Volodyovski.

  The horses stretched themselves, almost rubbing the ground with their bellies, and hurled back lumps of hard earth with their hoofs.

  The janissaries, not knowing what power was approaching to the succor of Jvanyets, were really withdrawing toward the river. One detachment, numbering two hundred and some tens of men, was already at the bank, and its first ranks were stepping onto scows; another detachment of equal force was going quickly, but in perfect order. When they saw the approaching cavalry they halted, and in one instant turned their faces to the enemy. Their muskets were lowered in a line, and a salvo thundered as at a review. What is more, these hardened warriors, considering that their comrades at the shore would support them with musketry, not only did not retreat after the volley, but shouted, and following their own smoke, struck in fury with their sabres on the cavalry. That was daring of which the janissaries alone were capable, but for which they paid dearly, because the riders, unable to restrain the horses, even had they the wish, struck them as a hammer strikes, and breaking them in a moment, scattered destruction and terror. The first rank fell under the force of the blow, as grain under a whirlwind. It is true that many fell only from the impetus, and these, springing up, ran in disorder to the river, from which the second detachment gave fire repeatedly, aiming high, so as to strike the dragoons over the heads of their comrades.

  After a while there was evident hesitation among the janissaries at the scows, and also uncertainty whether to embark or follow the example of the other detachment, and engage hand to hand with the cavalry. But they were restrained from the last step by the sight of fleeing groups, which the cavalry pushed with the breasts of horses, and slashed so terribly that its fury could only be compared with its skill. At times such a group, when too much pressed, turned in desperation and began to bite, as a beast
at bay bites when it sees that there is no escape for it. But just then those who were standing at the bank could see as on their palms that it was impossible to meet that cavalry with cold weapons, so far superior were they in the use of them. The defenders were cut with such regularity and swiftness that the eye could not follow the motion of the sabres. As when men of a good household, shelling peas well dried, strike industriously and quickly on the threshing-floor, so that the whole barn is thundering with the noise of the blows and the kernels are jumping toward every side, so did the whole river-bank thunder with sabre-blows, and the groups of janissaries, slashed without mercy, sprang hither and thither in every direction.

  Pan Vasilkovski hurled himself forward at the head of this cavalry, caring nothing for his own life. But as a trained reaper surpasses a young fellow much stronger than he, but less skilled at the sickle,—for when the young man is toiling, and streams of sweat cover him, the other goes forward constantly, cutting down the grain evenly before him,—so did Pan Michael surpass the wild youth Vasilkovski. Before striking the janissaries he let the dragoons go ahead, and remained himself in the rear somewhat, to watch the whole battle. Standing thus at a distance, he looked carefully, but every little while he rushed into the conflict, struck, directed, then again let the battle push away from him; again he looked, again he struck. As usual in a battle with infantry, so it happened then, that the cavalry in rushing on passed the fugitives. A number of these, not having before them a road to the river, returned in flight to the town, so as to hide in the sunflowers growing in front of the houses; but Pan Michael saw them. He came up with the first two, and distributed two light blows between them; they fell at once, and digging the earth with their heels, sent forth their souls with their blood through the open wounds. Seeing this, a third fired at the little knight from a janissary musket, and missed; but the little knight struck him with his sword-edge between nose and mouth, and this deprived him of precious life. Then, without loitering. Pan Michael sprang after the others; and not so quickly does a village youth gather mushrooms growing in a bunch, as he gathered those men before they ran to the sunflowers. Only the last two did soldiers of Jvanyets seize; the little knight gave command to keep these two alive.