“And he loves feasting!” interrupted Charnyetski.
“I am not with him; there is no one to incline him to temperance,” put in Zagloba.
“Maybe you will be with him sooner than you think; then you can both begin to be temperate,” retorted Charnyetski. Then he turned to Kharlamp: “Speak on!”
“Babinich reported, and the voevoda answered: ‘They are only pretending to attack; they will undertake nothing! First,’ said he, ‘they will try to cross the Vistula; but I have an eye on them, and I will attack myself. At present,’ said he, ‘we will not spoil our pleasure, so that we may have a joyous time! We will eat and drink.’ The music began to tear away, and the voevoda invited those present to the dance.”
“I’ll give him dancing!” interrupted Zagloba.
“Silence, if you please!” said Charnyetski.
“Again men rush in from the bank saying that there is a terrible uproar. ‘That’s nothing!’ the voevoda whispered to the page; ‘do not interrupt me!’ We danced till daylight, we slept till midday. At midday we see that the intrenchments are bristling, forty-eight pound guns on them; and the Swedes fire from time to time. When a ball falls it is the size of a bucket; it is nothing for such a one to fill the eyes with dust.”
“Give no embellishments!” interrupted Charnyetski; “you are not with the hetman.”
Kharlamp was greatly confused, and continued: “At midday the voevoda himself went out. The Swedes under cover of these trenches began to build a bridge. They worked till evening, to our great astonishment; for we thought that as to building they would build, but as to crossing they would not be able to do that. Next day they built on. The voevoda put the troops in order, for he expected a battle.”
“All this time the bridge was a pretext, and they crossed lower down over another bridge, and turned your flank?” interrupted Charnyetski.
Kharlamp stared and opened his mouth, he was silent in amazement; but at last said,—
“Then your worthiness has had an account already?”
“No need of that!” said Zagloba; “our grandfather guesses everything concerning war on the wing, as if he had seen it in fact.”
“Speak on!” said Charnyetski.
“Evening came. The troops were in readiness, but with the first star there was a feast again. This time the Swedes passed over the second bridge lower down, and attacked us at once. The squadron of Pan Koshyts, a good soldier, was at the edge. He rushed on them. The general militia which was next to him sprang to his aid; but when the Swedes spat at them from the guns, they took to their heels. Pan Koshyts was killed, and his men terribly cut up. Now the general militia, rushing back in a crowd on the camp, put everything in disorder. All the squadrons that were ready advanced; but we effected nothing, lost cannon besides. If the king had had more cannon and infantry, our defeat would have been severe; but fortunately the greater number of the infantry regiments with the cannon had sailed away in boats during the night. Of this no one of us knew.”
“Sapyo has blundered! I knew it beforehand!” cried Zagloba.
“We got the correspondence of the king,” added Kharlamp, “which the Swedes dropped. The soldiers read in it that the king is to go to Prussia to return with the elector’s forces, for, he writes, that with Swedish troops alone he cannot succeed.”
“I know of that,” said Charnyetski. “Pan Sapyeha sent me that letter.” Then he muttered quietly, as if speaking to himself: “We must follow him to Prussia.”
“That is what I have been saying this long time,” put in Zagloba.
Charnyetski looked at him for a while in thoughtfulness. “It is unfortunate,” said he, aloud; “for if I had returned to Sandomir the hetman and I should not have let a foot of them out alive. Well! it has passed and will not return. The war will be longer; but death is fated to this invasion and to these invaders.”
“It cannot be otherwise!” cried the knights in chorus; and great consolation entered their hearts, though a short time before they had doubted.
Meanwhile Zagloba whispered something in Jendzian’s ear; he vanished through the door, and soon returned with a decanter. Seeing this, Volodyovski inclined to the knee of the castellan.
“It would be an uncommon favor for a simple soldier,” he began.
“I will drink with you willingly,” said Charnyetski; “and do you know why?—because we must part.”
“How is that?” cried the astonished Pan Michael.
“Sapyeha writes that the Lauda squadron belongs to the Lithuanian army, and that he sent it only to assist the forces of the kingdom; that now he will need it himself, especially the officers, of whom he has a great lack. My Volodyovski, you know how much I love you; it is hard for me to part with you, but here is the order. It is true Pan Sapyeha as a courteous man leaves the order in my power and discretion. I might not show it to you.—Well, it is as pleasant to me as if the hetman had broken my best sabre. I give you the order precisely because it is left to my discretion, and do your duty. To your health, my dear soldier!”
Volodyovski bowed again to the castellan’s knees; but he was so distressed that he could not utter a word, and when Charnyetski embraced him tears ran in a stream over his yellow mustaches.
“I would rather die!” cried he, pitifully. “I have grown accustomed to toil under you, revered leader, and there I know not how it will be.”
“Pan Michael, do not mind the order,” cried Zagloba, with emotion. “I will write to Sapyo myself, and rub his ears for him fittingly.”
But Pan Michael first of all was a soldier; therefore he flew into a passion,—
“But the old volunteer is ever sitting in you. You would better be silent when you know not the question. Service!”
“That is it,” said Charnyetski.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Zagloba when he stood before the hetman did not answer his joyous greeting, but put his hands behind his back, pouted his lips, and looked on him like a just but stern judge. Sapyeha was pleased when he saw that mien, for he expected some pleasantry and said,—
“How are you, old rogue? Why twist your nose as if you had found some unvirtuous odor?”
“In the whole camp of Sapyeha it smells of hashed meat and cabbage.”
“Why? Tell me.”
“Because the Swedes have cut up a great many cabbage-heads!”
“There you are! You are already criticising us. It is a pity they did not cut you up too.”
“I was with a leader under whom we are the cutters, not the cut.”
“The hangman take you! if they had even clipped your tongue!”
“Then I should have nothing to proclaim Sapyeha’s victory with.”
“Ah, lord brother, spare me! The majority already forget my service to the country, and belittle me altogether. I know too that there are many who make a great outcry against my person; still, had it not been for that rabble of a general militia, affairs might have gone differently. They say that I have neglected the enemy for night feasting; but the whole Commonwealth has not been able to resist that enemy.”
Zagloba was somewhat moved at the words of the hetman, and answered,—
“Such is the custom with us, always to put the blame on the leader. I am not the man to speak evil of feasting, for the longer the day, the more needful the feast. Pan Charnyetski is a great warrior; still, according to my head, he has this defect,—that he gives his troops for breakfast, for dinner, and for supper nothing but Swedes’ flesh. He is a better leader than cook; but he acts ill, for from such food war may soon become disgusting to the best cavaliers.”
“Was Charnyetski very much enraged at me?”
“No, not very! In the beginning he showed a great change; but when he discovered that the army was unbroken, he said at once: ‘The will of God, not the might of men! That is nothing! any general may lose a battle. If we
had Sapyehas only in the land, we should have a country in which every man would be an Aristides.’”
“For Pan Charnyetski I would not spare my blood!” answered Sapyeha. “Every other would have lowered me, so as to exalt himself and his own glory, especially after a fresh victory; but he is not that kind of man.”
“I will say nothing against him but this,—that I am too old for such service as he expects of soldiers, and especially for those baths which he gives the army.”
“Then are you glad to return to me?”
“Glad and not glad, for I hear of feasting for an hour, but somehow I don’t see it.”
“We will sit down to the table this minute. But what is Charnyetski undertaking now?”
“He is going to Great Poland to help those poor people; from there he will march against Steinbock and to Prussia, hoping to get cannon and infantry from Dantzig.”
“The citizens of Dantzig are worthy people, and give a shining example to the whole Commonwealth. We shall meet Charnyetski at Warsaw, for I shall march there, but will stop a little first around Lublin.”
“Then have the Swedes besieged Lublin again?”
“Unhappy place! I know not how many times it has been in the hands of the enemy. There is a deputation here now from Lubelsk, and they will appear with a petition asking me to save them. But as I have letters to despatch to the king and the hetmans, they must wait awhile.”
“I will go gladly to Lublin, for there the fair heads are comely beyond measure, and sprightly. When a woman of that place is cutting bread, and puts the loaf against herself, the crust on the lifeless bread blushes from delight.”
“Oh, Turk!”
“Your worthiness, as a man advanced in years, cannot understand this; but I, like May, must let my blood out yet.”
“But you are older than I.”
“Only in experience, not in years. I have been able conservare juventutem meam (to preserve my youth), and more than one man has envied me that power. Permit me, your worthiness, to receive the Lubelsk deputation. I will promise to aid them at once; let the poor men comfort themselves before we comfort the poor women.”
“That is well,” said the hetman; “then I will write the letters.” And he went out.
Immediately after were admitted the deputies from Lubelsk, whom Zagloba received with uncommon dignity and seriousness. He promised assistance on condition that they would furnish the army with provisions, especially with every kind of drink. When the conditions were settled, he invited them in the name of the voevoda to supper. They were glad, for the army marched that night toward Lublin. The hetman himself was active beyond measure, for it was a question with him of effacing the memory of the Sandomir defeat by some military success.
The siege began, but advanced rather slowly. During this time Kmita was learning from Volodyovski to work with the sabre, and made uncommon progress. Pan Michael, knowing that his art was to be used against Boguslav’s neck, held back no secret. Often too they had better practice; for, approaching the castle, they challenged to single combat the Swedes, many of whom they slew. Soon Kmita had made such advance that he could meet Pan Yan on equal terms; no one in the whole army of Sapyeha could stand before him. Then such a desire to try Boguslav seized his soul that he was barely able to remain at Lublin, especially since the spring brought back to him strength and health. His wounds had healed, he ceased to spit blood, life played in him as of old, and fire gleamed in his eyes. At first the Lauda men looked at him frowningly; but they dared in not attack, for Volodyovski held them with iron hand; and later, when they considered his acts and his deeds, they were reconciled completely, and his most inveterate enemy, Yuzva Butrym, said,—
“Kmita is dead; Babinich is living, let him live.”
The Lubelsk garrison surrendered at last, to the great delight of the army; then Sapyeha moved his squadrons toward Warsaw. On the road they received tidings that Yan Kazimir himself, with the hetmans and a fresh army, was advancing to aid them. News came too from Charnyetski, who was marching to the capital from Great Poland. The war, scattered through the whole country, was gathering at Warsaw, as a cloud scattered in the sky gathers and thickens to give birth to a storm with thunders and lightnings.
Sapyeha marched through Jelehi, Garvolin, and Minsk to the Syedlets highway, to join the general militia of Podlyasye. Pan Yan took command of this multitude; for though living in Lubelsk, he was near the boundary of Podlyasye, and was known to all the nobles, and greatly esteemed by them as one of the most famous knights in the Commonwealth. In fact, he soon changed that nobility, gallant by nature, into a squadron second in no way to regular troops.
Meanwhile they moved from Minsk forward to Warsaw very hastily, so as to stop at Praga one day. Fair weather favored the march. From time to time May showers sped past, cooling the ground and settling the dust; but on the whole the weather was marvellously fair,—not too hot, not too cold. The eye saw far through the transparent air. From Minsk they went mounted; the wagons and cannon were to follow next day. An immense eagerness reigned in the regiments; the dense forests on both sides of the whole road were ringing with echoes of military songs, the horses nodded as a good omen. The squadrons regularly and in order flowed on, one after the other, like a river shining and mighty; for Sapyeha led twelve thousand men, besides the general militia. The captains leading the regiments were gleaming in their polished cuirasses; the red flags waved like gigantic flowers above the heads of the knights.
The sun was well toward its setting when the first squadron, that of Lauda, marching in advance, beheld the towers of the capital. At sight of this, a joyful shout tore from the breasts of the soldiers.
“Warsaw! Warsaw!”
That shout flew like thunder through all the squadrons, and for some time was to be heard over two miles of road the word, “Warsaw! Warsaw!”
Many of Sapyeha’s knights had never been in the capital; many of them had never seen it; therefore the sight made an uncommon impression on them. Involuntarily all reined in their horses; some removed their caps, others made the sign of the cross; tears streamed from the eyes of others, and they stood in silent emotion. All at once Sapyeha came out from the rear ranks on a white horse, and began to fly along the squadrons.
“Gentlemen!” cried he, in a piercing voice, “we are here first! To us luck, to us honor! We will drive the Swedes out of the capital!”
“We’ll drive them! We’ll drive them! We’ll drive them!”
And there rose a sound and a thunder. Some shouted continually, “We’ll drive them!” Others cried, “Strike, whoso has manhood!” Others, “Against them, the dog-brothers!” The rattle of sabres was mingled with the shouts of the knights. Eyes flashed lightning, and from under fierce mustaches teeth were gleaming. Sapyeha himself was sputtering like a pine torch. All at once he raised his baton, and cried,—
“Follow me!”
Near Praga the voevoda restrained the squadron and commanded a slow march. The capital rose more and more clearly out of the bluish distance. Towers were outlined in a long line on the azure of the sky. The red many-storied roofs of the Old City were gleaming in the evening light. The Lithuanians had never seen anything more imposing in their lives than those white lofty walls pierced with multitudes of narrow windows; those walls standing like lofty swamp-reeds over the water. The houses seemed to grow some out of others, high and still higher; but above that dense and close mass of walls with windows and roofs, pointed towers pierced the sky. Those of the soldiers who had been in the capital previously, either at an election or on private affairs, explained to the others what each pile meant and what name it bore. Zagloba especially, as a person of experience, told all to the Lauda men, and they listened to him eagerly, wondering at his words and the city itself.
“Look at that tower in the very centre of Warsaw! That is the citadel of the king. Oh that I could live as many years as I hav
e eaten dinners at the king’s table! I would twist Methuselah into a ram’s horn. The king had no nearer confidant than me; I could choose among starostaships as among nuts, and give them away as easily as hob-nails. I have given promotion to multitudes of men, and when I came in senators used to bow to me to the girdle, in Cossack fashion. I fought duels also in presence of the king, for he loved to see me at work; the marshal of the palace had to close his eyes.”
“That is a tremendous building!” said Roh Kovalski: “and to think that these dogs have it all in hand!”
The Deluge- Volume 2 Page 55