Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  There were warriors inferior to these, not in bravery, but in prominence. There was Pan Lujetski, whose brother the Turks had slain in Bodzanoff; for this deed he had sworn undying vengeance. There was Pan Stefan Charnyetski, nephew of the great Stefan, and field secretary of the kingdom. He, in time of the siege of Kamenyets, had been at the head of a whole band of nobles at Golemb, as a partisan of the king, and had almost roused civil war; now he desired to distinguish himself with bravery. There was Gabriel Silnitski, who had passed all his life in war, and age had already whitened his head; there were other voevodas and castellans, less acquainted with previous wars, less famous, but therefore more greedy of glory.

  Among the knighthood not clothed with senatorial dignity, illustrious above others, was Pan Yan, the famous hero of Zbaraj, a soldier held up as a model to the knighthood. He had taken part in every war fought by the Commonwealth during thirty years. His hair was gray; but six sons surrounded him, in strength like six wild boars. Of these, four knew war already, but the two younger had to pass their novitiate; hence they were burning with such eagerness for battle that their father was forced to restrain them with words of advice.

  The officers looked with great respect on this father and his sons; but still greater admiration was roused by Pan Yarotski, who, blind of both eyes, like the Bohemian king[31] Yan, joined the campaign. He had neither children nor relatives; attendants led him by the arms; he hoped for no more than to lay down his life in battle, benefit his country, and win glory. There too was Pan Rechytski, whose father and brother fell during that year.

  There also was Pan Motovidlo, who had escaped not long before from Tartar bondage, and gone to the field with Pan Myslishevski. The first wished to avenge his captivity; the second, the injustice which he had suffered at Kamenyets, where, in spite of the treaty and his dignity of noble, he had been beaten with sticks by the janissaries. There were knights of long experience from the stanitsas of the Dniester,—the wild Pan Rushchyts and the incomparable bowman, Mushalski, who had brought a sound head out of Kamenyets, because the little knight had sent him to Basia with a message; there was Pan Snitko and Pan Nyenashinyets and Pan Hromyka, and the most unhappy of all, young Pan Adam. Even his friends and relatives wished death to this man, for there remained no consolation for him. When he had regained his health, Pan Adam exterminated chambuls for a whole year, pursuing Lithuanian Tartars with special animosity. After the defeat of Pan Motovidlo by Krychinski, he hunted Krychinski through all Podolia, gave him no rest, and troubled him beyond measure. During those expeditions he caught Adurovich and flayed him alive; he spared no prisoners, but found no relief for his suffering. A month before the battle he joined Yablonovski's hussars.

  This was the knighthood with which Pan Sobieski took his position at Hotin. Those soldiers were eager to wreak vengeance for the wrongs of the Commonwealth in the first instance, but also for their own. In continual battles with the Pagans in that land soaked in blood, almost every man had lost some dear one, and bore within him the memory of some terrible misfortune. The grand hetman hastened to battle then, for he saw that rage in the hearts of his soldiers might be compared to the rage of a lioness whose whelps reckless hunters have stolen from the thicket.

  On Nov. 9, 1674, the affair was begun by skirmishes. Crowds of Turks issued from behind the walls in the morning; crowds of Polish knights hastened to meet them with eagerness. Men fell on both sides, but with greater loss to the Turks. Only a few Turks of note or Poles fell, however. Pan May, in the very beginning of the skirmish, was pierced by the curved sabre of a gigantic spahi; but the youngest son of Pan Yan with one blow almost severed the head from that spahi. By this deed he earned the praise of his prudent father, and notable glory.

  They fought in groups or singly. Those who were looking at the struggle gained courage; greater eagerness rose in them each moment. Meanwhile, detachments of the army were disposed around the Turkish camp, each in the place pointed out by the hetman. Pan Sobieski, taking his position on the old Yassy road, behind the infantry of Korytski, embraced with his eyes the whole camp of Hussein; and on his face he had the serene calmness which a master certain of his art has before he commences his labor. From time to time he sent adjutants with commands; then with thoughtful glance he looked at the struggle of the skirmishers. Toward evening Pan Yablonovski, voevoda of Rus, came to him.

  "The intrenchments are so extensive," said he, "that it is impossible to attack from all sides simultaneously."

  "To-morrow we shall be in the intrenchments; and after to-morrow we shall cut down those men in three quarters of an hour," said Sobieski, calmly.

  Night came in the mean while. Skirmishers left the field. The hetman commanded all divisions to approach the intrenchments in the darkness; this Hussein hindered as much as he could with guns of large calibre, but without result. Toward morning the Polish divisions moved forward again somewhat. The infantry began to throw up breastworks. Some regiments had pushed on to within a good musket-shot. The janissaries opened a brisk fire from muskets. At command of the hetman almost no answer was given to these volleys, but the infantry prepared for an attack hand to hand. The soldiers were waiting only for the signal to rush forward passionately. Over their extended line flew grapeshot with whistling and noise like flocks of birds. Pan Kantski's artillery, beginning the conflict at daybreak, did not cease for one moment. Only when the battle was over did it appear what great destruction its missiles had wrought falling in places covered most thickly with the tents of janissaries and spahis.

  Thus passed the time until mid-day; but since the day was short, as the month was November, there was need of haste. On a sudden all the trumpets were heard, and drums, great and small. Tens of thousands of throats shouted in one voice; the infantry, supported by light cavalry advancing near them, rushed in a dense throng to the onset.

  They attacked the Turks at five points simultaneously. Yan Dennemark and Christopher de Bohan, warriors of experience, led the foreign regiments. The first, fiery by nature, hurried forward so eagerly that he reached the intrenchment before others, and came near destroying his regiment, for he had to meet a salvo from several thousand muskets. He fell himself. His soldiers began to waver; but at that moment De Bohan came to the rescue and prevented a panic. With a step as steady as if on parade, and keeping time to the music, he passed the whole distance to the Turkish intrenchment, answered salvo with salvo, and when the fosse was filled with fascines passed it first, under a storm of bullets, inclined his cap to the janissaries, and pierced the first banneret with a sabre. The soldiers, carried away by the example of such a colonel, sprang forward, and then began dreadful struggles in which discipline and training vied with the wild valor of the janissaries.

  But dragoons were led quickly from the direction of Taraban by Tetwin and Doenhoff; another regiment was led by Aswer Greben and Haydepol, all distinguished soldiers who, except Haydepol, had covered themselves with great glory under Charnyetski in Denmark. The troops of their command were large and sturdy, selected from men on the royal domains, well trained to fighting on foot and on horseback. The gate was defended against them by irregular janissaries, who, though their number was great, were thrown into confusion quickly and began to retreat; when they came to hand-to-hand conflict they defended themselves only when they could not find a place of escape. That gate was captured first, and through it cavalry went first to the interior of the camp.

  At the head of the Polish land infantry Kobyletski, Jebrovski, Pyotrkovchyk, and Galetski struck the intrenchments in three other places. The most tremendous struggle raged at the main gate, on the Yassy road, where the Mazovians closed with the guard of Hussein Pasha. The vizir was concerned mainly with that gate, for through it the Polish cavalry might rush to the camp; hence he resolved to defend it most stubbornly, and urged forward unceasingly detachments of janissaries. The land infantry took the gate at a blow, and then strained all their strength to retain it. Cannon-balls and a storm of bullets from small a
rms pushed them back; from clouds of smoke new bands of Turkish warriors sprang forth to the attack every moment. Pan Kobyletski, not waiting till they came, rushed at them like a raging bear; and two walls of men pressed each other, swaying backward and forward in close quarters, in confusion, in a whirl, in torrents of blood, and on piles of human bodies. They fought with every manner of weapon,—with sabres, with knives, with gunstocks, with shovels, with clubs, with stones; the crush became at moments so great, so terrible, that men grappled and fought with fists and with teeth. Hussein tried twice to break the infantry with the impact of cavalry; but the infantry fell upon him each time with such "extraordinary resolution" that the cavalry had to withdraw in disorder. Pan Sobieski took pity at last on his men, and sent all the camp servants to help them.

  At the head of these was Pan Motovidlo. This rabble, not employed usually in battle and armed with weapons of any kind, rushed forward with such desire that they roused admiration even in the hetman. It may be that greed of plunder inspired them; perhaps the fire seized them which enlivened the whole army that day. It is enough that they struck the janissaries as if they had been smoke, and overpowered them so savagely that in the first onset they forced them back a musket-shot's length from the gate. Hussein threw new regiments into the whirl of battle; and the struggle, renewed in the twinkle of an eye, lasted whole hours. At last Korytski, at the head of chosen regiments, beset the gate in force; the hussars from a distance moved like a great bird raising itself lazily to flight, and pushed toward the gate also.

  At this time an adjutant rushed to the hetman from the Eastern side of the camp.

  "The voevoda of Belsk is on the ramparts!" cried he, with panting breast.

  After him came a second,—

  "The hetmans of Lithuania are on the ramparts!"

  After him came others, always with similar news. It had grown dark in the world, but light was beaming from the face of the hetman. He turned to Pan Bidzinski, who at that moment was near him, and said,—

  "Next comes the turn of the cavalry; but that will be in the morning."

  No one in the Polish or the Turkish army knew or imagined that the hetman intended to defer the general attack till the following morning. Nay, adjutants sprang to the captains with the command to be ready at any instant. The infantry stood in closed ranks; sabres and lances were burning the hands of the cavalry. All were awaiting the order impatiently, for the men were chilled and hungry.

  But no order came; meanwhile hours passed. The night became as black as mourning. Drizzling rain had set in at one o'clock in the day; but about midnight a strong wind with frozen rain and snow followed. Gusts of it froze the marrow in men's bones; the horses were barely able to stand in their places; men were benumbed. The sharpest frost, if dry, could not be so bitter as that wind and snow, which cut like a scourge. In constant expectation of the signal, it was not possible to think of eating and drinking or of kindling fires. The weather became more terrible each hour. That was a memorable night,—"a night of torture and gnashing of teeth." The voices of the captains—"Stand! stand!"—were heard every moment; and the soldiers, trained to obedience, stood in the greatest readiness without movement, and patiently.

  But in front of them, in rain, storm, and darkness, stood in equal readiness the stiffened regiments of the Turks. Among them, too, no one kindled a fire, no one ate, no one drank. The attack of all the Polish forces might come at any moment, therefore the spahis could not drop their sabres from their hands; the janissaries stood like a wall, with their muskets ready to fire. The hardy Polish soldiers, accustomed to the sternness of winter, could pass such a night; but those men reared in the mild climate of Rumelia, or amid the palms of Asia Minor, were suffering more than their powers could endure. At last Hussein discovered why Sobieski did not begin the attack. It was because that frozen rain was the best ally of the Poles. Clearly, if the spahis and janissaries were to stand through twelve hours like those, the cold would lay them down on the morrow as grain sheaves are laid. They would not even try to defend themselves,—at least till the heat of the battle should warm them.

  Both Poles and Tartars understood this. About four o'clock in the morning two pashas came to Hussein,—Yanish Pasha and Kiaya Pasha, the leader of the janissaries, an old warrior of renown and experience. The faces of both were full of anxiety and care.

  "Lord!" said Kiaya, first, "if my 'lambs' stand in this way till daylight, neither bullets nor swords will be needed against them."

  "Lord!" said Yanish Pasha, "my spahis will freeze, and will not fight in the morning."

  Hussein twisted his beard, foreseeing defeat for his army and destruction to himself. But what was he to do? Were he to let his men break ranks for even a minute, or let them kindle fires to warm themselves with hot food, the attack would begin immediately. As it was, the trumpets were sounded at intervals near the ramparts, as if the cavalry were just ready to move.

  Kiaya and Yanish Pasha saw only one escape from disaster,—that was, not to wait for the attack, but to strike with all force on the enemy. It was nothing that he was in readiness; for though ready to attack, he did not expect attack himself. Perhaps they might drive him out of the intrenchments; in the worst event defeat was likely in a night battle, in the battle of the morrow it was certain.

  But Hussein did not venture to follow the advice of the old warriors.

  "How!" said he; "you have furrowed the camp-ground with ditches, seeing in them the one safeguard against that hellish cavalry,—that was your advice and your precaution; now you say something different."

  He did not give that order. He merely gave an order to fire from cannon, to which Pan Kantski answered with great effect instantly. The rain became colder and colder, and cut more and more cruelly; the wind roared, howled, went through clothing and skin, and froze the blood in men's veins. So passed that long November night, in which the strength of the warriors of Islam was failing, and despair, with a foreboding of defeat, seized hold of their hearts.

  At the very dawn Yanish Pasha went once more to Hussein with advice to withdraw in order of battle to the bridge on the Dniester and begin there the game of war cautiously. "For," said he, "if the troops do not withstand the onrush of the cavalry, they will withdraw to the opposite bank, and the river will give them protection." Kiaya, the leader of the janissaries, was of another opinion, however. He thought it too late for Yanish's advice, and moreover he feared lest a panic might seize the whole army immediately, if the order were given to withdraw. "The spahis with the aid of the irregular janissaries must sustain the first shock of the enemy's cavalry, even if all are to perish in doing so. By that time the janissaries will come to their aid, and when the first impetus of the unbelievers is stopped, perhaps God may send victory."

  Thus advised, Kiaya and Hussein followed. Mounted multitudes of Turks pushed forward; the janissaries, regular and irregular, were disposed behind them, around the tents of Hussein. Their deep ranks presented a splendid and fear-inspiring spectacle. The white-bearded Kiaya, "Lion of God," who till that time had led only to victory, flew past their close ranks, strengthening them, raising their courage, reminding them of past battles and their own unbroken preponderance. To them also, battle was sweeter than that idle waiting in storm and in rain, in wind which was piercing them to the bone; hence, though they could barely grasp the muskets and spears in their stiffened hands, they were still cheered by the thought that they would warm them in battle. With far less desire did the spahis await the attack, because on them was to fall its first fury, because among them were many inhabitants of Asia Minor and of Egypt, who, exceedingly sensitive to cold, were only half living after that night. The horses also suffered not a little, and though covered with splendid caparisons, they stood with heads toward the earth, puffing rolls of steam from their nostrils. The men with blue faces and dull eyes did not even think of victory. They were thinking only that death would be better than torment like that in which the last night had been passed by them, but
best of all would be flight to their distant homes, beneath the hot rays of the sun.

  Among the Polish troops a number of men without sufficient clothing had died before day on the ramparts; in general, however, they endured the cold far better than the Turks, for the hope of victory strengthened them, and a faith, almost blind, that since the hetman had decided that they were to stiffen in the rain, the torment must come out infallibly for their good, and for the evil and destruction of the Turks. Still, even they greeted the first gleams of that morning with gladness.

  At this same time Sobieski appeared at the battlements.

  There was no brightness in the sky, but there was brightness on his face; for when he saw that the enemy intended to give battle in the camp he was certain that that day would bring dreadful defeat to Mohammed. Hence he went from regiment to regiment, repeating: "For the desecration of churches! for blasphemy against the Most Holy Lady in Kamenyets! for injury to Christendom and the Commonwealth! for Kamenyets!" The soldiers had a terrible look on their faces, as if wishing to say: "We can barely restrain ourselves! Let us go, grand hetman, and you will see!"

  The gray light of morning grew clearer and clearer; out of the fog rows of horses' heads, forms of men, lances, banners, finally regiments of infantry, emerged more distinctly each moment. First they began to move and advance in the fog toward the enemy, like two rivers, at the flanks of the cavalry; then the light horse moved, leaving only a broad road in the middle, over which the hussars were to rush when the right moment came.

  Every leader of a regiment in the infantry, every captain, had instructions and knew what to do. Pan Kantski's artillery began to speak more profoundly, calling out from the Turkish side also strong answers. Then musketry fire thundered, a mighty shout was heard throughout the whole camp,—the attack had begun.

  The misty air veiled the view, but sounds of the struggle reached the place where the hussars were in waiting. The rattle of arms could be heard, and the shouting of men. The hetman, who till then had remained with the hussars, and was conversing with Pan Yablonovski, stopped on a sudden and listened.