Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  When he had warmed himself a little, and saw that the janissaries were hotly pressed at the river, he sprang into the thick of the battle, and coming up with the dragoons, began real labor. Now he struck in front, now he turned to the right or the left, gave a thrust with his blade and looked no farther; each time a white cap fell to the ground. The janissaries began to crowd from before him with an outcry; he redoubled the swiftness of his blows; and though he remained calm himself, no eye could follow the movements of his sabre, and know when he would strike or when he would thrust, for his sabre described one bright circle around him.

  Pan Lantskoronski, who had long heard of him as a master above masters, but had not seen him hitherto in action, stopped fighting and looked on with amazement; unable to believe his own eyes, he could not think that one man, though a master, and famous, could accomplish so much. He seized his head, therefore, and his comrades around only heard him repeating continually, "As God lives, they have told little of him yet!" And others cried, "Look at him, for you will not see that again in this world!" But Pan Michael worked on.

  The janissaries, pushed to the river, began now to crowd in disorder to the scows. Since there were scows enough, and fewer men were returning than had come, they took their places quickly and easily. Then the heavy oars moved, and between the janissaries and the bank was formed an interval of water which widened every instant. But from the scows guns began to thunder, whereupon the dragoons thundered in answer from their muskets; smoke rose over the water in cloudlets, then stretched out in long strips. The scows, and with them the janissaries, receded every moment. The dragoons, who held the field, raised a fierce shout, and threatening with their fists, called,—

  "Ah, thou dog, off with thee! off with thee!"

  Pan Lantskoronski, though the balls were plashing still, seized Pan Michael by the shoulders right at the bank.

  "I did not believe my eyes," said he, "those, my benefactor, are wonders which deserve a golden pen!"

  "Native ability and training," answered Pan Michael, "that's the whole matter! How many wars have I passed through?"

  Then returning Lantskoronski's pressure, he freed himself, and looking at the bank, cried,—

  "Look, your grace; you will see another power."

  The chamberlain turned, and saw an officer drawing a bow on the bank. It was Pan Mushalski.

  Hitherto the famous bowman had been struggling with others in hand-to-hand conflicts with the enemy; but now, when the janissaries had withdrawn to such a distance that bullets and pistol-balls could not reach them, he drew his bow, and standing on the bank at its highest point he tried the string first with his finger, when it twanged sharply; he placed on it the feathered arrow—and aimed.

  At that moment Pan Michael and Lantskoronski looked at him. It was a beautiful picture. The bowman was sitting on his horse; he held his left hand out straight before him, in it the bow, as if in a vice. The right hand he drew with increasing force to the nipple of his breast, till the veins were swelling on his forehead, and he aimed carefully. In the distance were visible, under a cloud of smoke, a number of scows moving on the river, which was very high, from snow melting on the mountains, and was so transparent that the scows and the janissaries sitting on them were reflected in the water. Pistols on the bank were silent; eyes were turned on Pan Mushalski, or looked in the direction in which his murderous arrow was to go.

  Now the string sounded loudly, and the feathered arrow left the bow. No eye could catch its flight; but all saw perfectly how a sturdy janissary, standing at an oar, threw out his arms on a sudden, and turning on the spot, dropped into the river. The transparent surface spurted up from his weight; and Pan Mushalski said,—

  "For thee, Didyuk." Then he sought another arrow. "In honor of the hetman," said he to his comrades. They held their breath; after a while the air whistled again, and a second janissary fell on the scow.

  On all the scows the oars began to move more quickly; they struck the clear river vigorously; but the famous bowman turned with a smile to the little knight,—"In honor of the worthy wife of your grace!" A third time the bow was stretched; a third time he sent out a bitter arrow; and a third time it sank half its shaft's length in the body of a man. A shout of triumph thundered on the bank, a shout of rage from the scows. Then Pan Mushalski withdrew; and after him followed other victors of the day, and went to the town.

  While returning, they looked with pleasure on the harvest of that day. Few of the horde had perished, for they had not fought well even once; and put to flight, they recrossed the river quickly. But the janissaries lay to the number of some tens of men, like bundles of firmly bound grain. A few were struggling yet, but all had been stripped by the servants of the chamberlain. Looking at them, Pan Michael said,—

  "Brave infantry! the men move to the conflict like wild boars; but they do not know beyond half what the Swedes do."

  "They fired as a man would crack nuts," said the chamberlain.

  "That came of itself, not through training, for they have no general training. They were of the Sultan's guard, and they are disciplined in some fashion; besides these there are irregular janissaries, considerably inferior."

  "We have given them a keepsake! God is gracious, that we begin the war with such a noteworthy victory."

  But the experienced Pan Michael had another opinion.

  "This is a small victory, insignificant," said he. "It is good to raise courage in men without training and in townspeople, but will have no result."

  "But do you think courage will not break in the Pagans?"

  "In the Pagans courage will not break," said Pan Michael.

  Thus conversing, they reached Jvanyets, where the people gave them the two captured janissaries who had tried to hide from Pan Michael in the sunflowers.

  One was wounded somewhat, the other perfectly well and full of wild courage. When he reached the castle, the little knight, who understood Turkish well, though he did not speak it fluently, asked Pan Makovetski to question the man. Pan Makovetski asked if the Sultan was in Hotin himself, and if he would come soon to Kamenyets.

  The Turk answered clearly, but insolently,—

  "The Padishah is present himself. They said in the camp that to-morrow Halil Pasha and Murad Pasha would cross, taking engineers with them. To-morrow, or after to-morrow, the hour of destruction will come on you."

  Here the prisoner put his hands on his hips, and, confident in the terror of the Sultan's name, continued,—

  "Mad Poles! how did you dare at the side of the Sultan to fall on his people and strike them? Do you think that hard punishment will miss you? Can that little castle protect you? What will you be in a few days but captives? What are you this day but dogs springing in the face of your master?"

  Pan Makovetski wrote down everything carefully; but Pan Michael, wishing to temper the insolence of the prisoner, struck him on the face at the last words. The Turk was confused, and gained respect for the little knight straightway, and in general began to express himself more decently. When the examination was over, and they brought him to the hall, Pan Michael said,—

  "It is necessary to send these prisoners and their confession on a gallop to Warsaw, for at the king's court they do not believe yet that there will be war."

  "And what do you think, gentlemen, did that prisoner tell the truth, or did he lie altogether?"

  "If it please you, gentlemen," said Volodyovski, "it is possible to scorch his heels. I have a sergeant who executed Azya, the son of Tugai Bey, and who in these matters is exquisitissimus; but, to my thinking, the janissary has told the truth in everything. The crossing will begin soon; we cannot stop it,—no! even if there were a hundred times as many of us. Therefore nothing is left but to assemble, and go to Kamenyets with the news."

  "I have done so well at Jvanyets that I would shut myself up in the castle with pleasure," said the chamberlain, "were I sure that you would come from time to time with succor from Kamenyets. After that, let happen what w
ould!"

  "They have two hundred cannon," said Pan Michael; "and if they bring over two heavy guns, this castle will not hold out one day. I too wished to shut myself up in it, but now I know that to be useless."

  Others agreed with the little knight. Pan Lantskoronski, as if to show courage, insisted for a time yet on staying in Jvanyets; but he was too experienced a soldier not to see that Volodyovski was right. At last he was interrupted by Pan Vasilkovski, who, coming from the field, rushed in quickly.

  "Gracious gentlemen," said he, "the river is not to be seen; the whole Dneister is covered with rafts."

  "Are they crossing?" inquired all at once.

  "They are, as true as life! The Turks are on the rafts, and the chambuls in the ford, the men holding the horses' tails."

  Pan Lantskoronski hesitated no longer; he gave orders at once to sink the old howitzer, and either to hide the other things, or take them to Kamenyets. Pan Michael sprang to his horse, and went with his men to a distant height to look at the crossing.

  Halil Pasha and Murad Pasha were crossing indeed. As far as the eye reached, it saw scows and rafts, pushed forward by oars, with measured movement, in the clear water. Janissaries and spahis were moving together in great numbers; vessels for crossing had been prepared at Hotin a long time. Besides, great masses of troops were standing on the shore at a distance. Pan Michael supposed that they would build a bridge; but the Sultan had not moved his main force yet. Meanwhile Pan Lantskoronski came up with his men, and they marched toward Kamenyets with the little knight. Pan Pototski was waiting in the town for them. His quarters were filled with higher officers; and before his quarters both sexes were assembled, unquiet, careworn, curious.

  "The enemy is crossing, and Jvanyets is occupied!" said the little knight.

  "The works are finished, and we are waiting," answered Pan Pototski.

  The news went to the crowd, who began to roar like a river.

  "To the gates! to the gates!" was heard through the town. "The enemy is in Jvanyets!" Men and women ran to the bastions, expecting to see the enemy; but the soldiers would not let them go to the places appointed for service.

  "Go to your houses!" cried they to the crowds; "you will hinder the defence. Soon will your wives see the Turks near at hand."

  Moreover, there was no alarm in the town, for already news had gone around of the victory of that day, and news naturally exaggerated. The soldiers told wonders of the meeting.

  "Pan Volodyovski defeated the janissaries, the Sultan's own guard," repeated all mouths. "It is not for Pagans to measure strength with Pan Volodyovski. He cut down the pasha himself. The Devil is not so terrible as he is painted! And they did not withstand our troops. Good for you, dog-brothers! Destruction to you and your Sultan!"

  The women showed themselves again at the intrenchments and bastions, but laden with flasks of gorailka, wine, and mead. This time they were received willingly; and gladness began among the soldiers. Pan Pototski did not oppose this; wishing to sustain courage in the men and cheerfulness, because there was an inexhaustible abundance of ammunition in the town and the castle, he permitted them to fire salvos, hoping that these sounds of joy would confuse the enemy not a little, should they hear them.

  Pan Michael remained at the quarters of the starosta till nightfall, when he mounted his horse and was escaping in secret with his servant to the cloister, wishing to be with his wife as soon as possible. But his attempts came to nothing, for he was recognized, and dense crowds surrounded his horse. Shouts and vivats began. Mothers raised their children to him. "There he is! look at him, remember him!" repeated many voices. They admired him immensely; but people unacquainted with war were astonished at his diminutive stature. It could not find place in the heads of the towns-people that a man so small, and with such a pleasant face, could be the most terrible soldier of the Commonwealth,—a soldier whom none could resist. But he rode among the crowds, and smiled from time to time, for he was pleased. When he came to the cloister, he fell into the open arms of Basia.

  She knew already of his deeds done that day and all his masterly blows; the chamberlain of Podolia had just left the cloister, and, as an eye-witness, had given her a detailed report. Basia, at the beginning of the narrative, called the women present in the cloister hence,—the abbess and the wives of Makovetski, Humyetski, Ketling, Hotsimirski; and as the chamberlain went on, she began to plume herself immensely before them. Pan Michael came just after the women had gone.

  When greetings were finished, the wearied knight sat down to supper. Basia sat at his side, placed food on his plate, and poured mead into his goblet. He ate and drank willingly, for he had put almost nothing in his mouth the whole day. In the intervals he related something too; and Basia, listening with gleaming eyes, shook her head, according to custom, asking,—

  "Ah, ha! Well? and what?"

  "There are strong men among them, and very fierce; but it is hard to find a Turk who's a swordsman," said the little knight.

  "Then I could meet any of them?"

  "You might, only you will not, for I will not take you."

  "Even once in my life! You know, Michael, when you go outside the walls, I am not even alarmed; I know that no one can reach you."

  "But can't they shoot me?"

  "Be quiet! Isn't there a Lord God? You will not let them cut you down,—that is the main thing."

  "I will not let one or two slay me."

  "Nor three, Michael, nor four."

  "Nor four thousand," said Zagloba, mimicking her. "If you knew, Michael, what she did when the chamberlain was telling his story. I thought I should burst from laughter. As God is dear to me! she snorted just like a goat, and looked into the face of each woman in turn to see if she was delighted in a fitting manner. In the end I was afraid that the goat would go to butting,—no very polite spectacle."

  The little knight stretched himself after eating, for he was considerably tired; then suddenly he drew Basia to him and said,—

  "My quarters in the castle are ready, but I do not wish to return. I might stay here to-night, I suppose."

  "As you like, Michael," said she, dropping her eyes.

  "Ha!" said Zagloba, "they look on me here as a mushroom, not a man, for the abbess invites me to live in the nunnery. But I'll pay her, my head on that point! Have you seen how Pani Hotsimirski is ogling me? She is a widow—very well—I won't tell you any more."

  "I think I shall stay," said the little knight.

  "If you will only rest well," said Basia.

  "Why shouldn't he rest?" asked Zagloba.

  "Because we shall talk, and talk, and talk."

  Zagloba wishing to go to his own room, turned to look for his cap; at last, when he had found it, he put it on his head and said, "You will not talk, and talk, and talk." Then he went out.

  CHAPTER LIII.

  Next morning, at daybreak, the little knight went to Knyahin and captured Buluk Pasha,—a notable warrior among the Turks. The whole day passed for him in labor on the field, a part of the night in counsel with Pan Pototski, and only at first cock-crow did he lay down his wearied head to sleep a little. But he was barely slumbering sweetly and deeply when the thunder of cannon roused him. The man Pyentka, from Jmud, a faithful servant of Pan Michael, almost a friend, came into the room.

  "Your grace," said he, "the enemy is before the town."

  "What guns are those?" asked the little knight.

  "Our guns, frightening the Pagans. There is a considerable party driving off cattle from the field."

  "Janissaries or cavalry?"

  "Cavalry. Very black. Our side is frightening them with the Holy Cross; for who knows but they are devils?"

  "Devils or no devils, we must be at them," said the little knight. "Go to the lady, and tell her that I am in the field. If she wishes to come to the castle to look out, she may, if she comes with Pan Zagloba, for I count most on his discretion."

  Half an hour later Pan Michael rushed into the field at the head of
dragoons and volunteer nobles, who calculated that it would be possible to exhibit themselves in skirmishing. From the old castle the cavalry were to be seen perfectly, in number about two thousand, composed in part of spahis, but mainly of the Egyptian guard of the Sultan. In this last served wealthy and generous mamelukes from the Nile. Their mail in gleaming scales, their bright kefis, woven with gold, on their heads, their white burnooses and their weapons set with diamonds, made them the most brilliant cavalry in the world. They were armed with darts, set on jointed staffs, and with swords and knives greatly curved. Sitting on horses as swift as the wind, they swept over the field like a rainbow-colored cloud, shouting, whirling, and winding between their fingers the deadly darts. The Poles in the castle could not look at them long enough.

  Pan Michael pushed toward them with his cavalry. It was difficult, however, for both sides to meet with cold weapons, since the cannon of the castle restrained the Turks, and they were too numerous for the little knight to go to them, and have a trial beyond the reach of Polish cannon. For a time, however, both sides circled around at a distance, shaking their weapons and shouting loudly. But at last this empty threatening became clearly disagreeable to the fiery sons of the desert, for all at once single horsemen began to separate from the mass and advance, calling loudly on their opponents. Soon they scattered over the field, and glittered on it like flowers which the wind drives in various directions. Pan Michael looked at his own men.

  "Gracious gentlemen," said he, "they are inviting us. Who will go to the skirmish?"

  The fiery cavalier, Pan Vasilkovski, sprang out first; after him Pan Mushalski, the infallible bowman, but also in hand-to-hand conflict an excellent skirmisher; after these went Pan Myazga of the escutcheon Prus, who during the full speed of his horse could carry off a finger-ring on his lance; after Pan Myazga galloped Pan Teodor Paderevski, Pan Ozevich, Pan Shmlud-Plotski, Prince Ovsyani, and Pan Murkos-Sheluta, with a number of good cavaliers; and of the dragoons there went also a group, for the hope of rich plunder incited them, but more than all the peerless horses of the Arabs. At the head of the dragoons went the stern Lusnia; and gnawing his yellow mustache, he was choosing at a distance the wealthiest enemy.