With Fire And Sword Part 65

Yesterday we met a n.o.blewoman who was going around looking at the pines and crying, 'Children! children!' It is evident that the peasants had killed her children. She stared at us and whined so that our legs trembled under us. They say that in all the forests there are many such."

Though Pan Yan was a fearless man, a shudder pa.s.sed over him from head to foot. "Maybe it is the howling of wolves. It is difficult to distinguish."

"What wolves? There are no wolves in the woods now; they have all gone to the villages, where there are plenty of dead men."

"Awful times!" answered the knight, "when wolves live in the villages, and people go howling through the woods! Oh, G.o.d, G.o.d!"

After a while silence came again. There was nothing to be heard but the sounds usual among the tops of the pine-trees. Soon, however, those distant sounds rose and became more distinct.

"Oh!" said one of the foresters, suddenly, "it seems as though some large body of men were over there. You stay here; move on slowly. I will go with my companions to see who they are."

"Go!" said Skshetuski. "We will wait here."

The foresters disappeared. They did not return for about an hour.

Skshetuski was beginning to be impatient, and indeed to think of treason, when suddenly some one sprang out of the darkness.

"They are there!" said he, approaching the lieutenant.

"Who?"

"A peasant band."

"Many of them?"

"About two hundred. It is not clear what is best to do, for they are in a pa.s.s through which our road lies. They have a fire, though the light is not to be seen, for it is below. They have no guards, and can be approached within arrow-shot."

"All right!" said Skshetuski; and turning to the Cossacks, he began to give orders to the two princ.i.p.al ones.

The party moved on briskly, but so quietly that only the cracking of twigs could betray their march. Stirrup did not touch stirrup; there was no clattering of sabres. The horses, accustomed to surprises and attacks, went with a wolfs gait, without snorting or neighing. Arriving at the place where the road made a sudden turn, the Cossacks saw at once, from a distance, fires and the indefinite outlines of people.

Here Skshetuski divided his men into three parties,--one remained on the spot; the second went by the edge along the ravine, so as to close the opposite exit; the third dismounted, and crawling along on hands and feet, placed themselves on the very edge of the precipice above the heads of the peasants.

Skshetuski, who was in the second party, looking down, saw as if on the palm of his hand a whole camp, two or three hundred yards distant.

There were ten fires, but burning not very brightly; over these hung kettles with food. The odor of smoke and of boiling meat came distinctly to the nostrils of Skshetuski and the Cossacks. Around the kettles peasants were standing or lying, drinking and talking. Some had bottles of vudka in their hands; others were leaning on pikes, on the ends of which were empaled as trophies the heads of men, women, and children. The gleam of the fire was reflected in their lifeless eyes and grinning teeth; the same gleam lighted up the faces of the peasants, wild and cruel. There, under the wall of the ravine, a number of them slept, snoring audibly; some talked; some stirred the fire, which then shot up cl.u.s.ters of golden sparks. At the largest fire sat, with his back to the ravine and to Skshetuski, a broad-shouldered old minstrel, who was thrumming on his lyre; in front of him was a half-circle of peasants. To the ears of Skshetuski came the following words:

"Ai! grandfather,--sing about the Cossack Holota!"

"No," cried the others; "sing of Marusia Boguslavka!"

"To the devil with Marusia! About the lord of Potok! About the lord of Potok!" shouted the greatest number of voices.

The "grandfather" struck his lyre with more force, coughed, and began to sing,--

"Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who art master of many!

Since thou wilt be equal to him who is owner of nothing on earth; For he who moves all things is manager now, the mighty, the merciful G.o.d!

And he puts on his scales all our woes, and he weighs them to know.

Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who dost soar, With thy mind seeing wisdom down deep and afar!"

The minstrel was silent, and sighed; and after him the peasants sighed.

Every moment more of them collected around him. But Skshetuski, though he knew that all his men must be ready now, did not give the signal for attack. The calm night, the blazing fires, the wild figures, and the song about Nikolai Pototski, still unfinished, roused in the knight certain wonderful thoughts, certain feelings and yearnings of which he could not himself give account. The uncured wounds of his heart opened; deep sorrow for the near past, for lost happiness, for those hours of quiet and peace, pressed his heart. He fell to thinking, and was sad.

Then the "grandfather" sang on,--

"Halt! look around! stand in amaze, thou who mak'st war With arrows, bows, powder, and ball, with the sharp-cutting sword!

For knights, too, and hors.e.m.e.n, before thee were many, Who fought with such weapons and fell by the sword.

Halt! look around! stand in amaze, forget thou thy pride!

Thou who from Potok to Slavuta farest, turn then this way.

Innocent men thou tak'st by the ears and stripp'st them of will; Thou heedest no king, thou knowest no Diet, art thy own single law; Hei! be amazed, grow not enraged! thou in thy power, With thy baton alone, as thou l.u.s.test, thou turnest the whole Polish land."

The "grandfather" stopped again, and at that time a pebble slipped from under the arm of one of the Cossacks, which had been resting on it, and began to roll down, rattling as it fell. A number of peasants shaded their eyes with their hands, and looked up quickly into the tree; then Skshetuski saw that the time had come, and fired his pistol into the middle of the crowd.

"Kill! slash!" cried he. Thirty Cossacks fired as it were straight into the faces of the crowd, and after the firing slipped like lightning down the steep walls of the ravine, among the terrified and confused peasants.

"Kill! slay!" was thundered at one end of the ravine.

"Kill! slay!" was repeated by furious voices at the other end.

"Yeremi! Yeremi!"

The attack was so unexpected, the terror so great, that the peasants, though armed, offered no resistance. It had been related in the camp of the rebellious mob that Yeremi, by the aid of the evil spirit, was able to be present and to fight at the same time in a number of places.

This time, his name falling upon men who expected nothing and felt safe--really like the name of an evil spirit--s.n.a.t.c.hed the weapons from their hands. Besides, the pikes and scythes could not be used in the narrow place; so that, driven like a flock of sheep to the opposite wall of the ravine, hewn down with sabres through the foreheads and faces, beaten, cut up, trampled under foot, in the madness of fear they stretched out their hands, and seizing the merciless steel, perished.

The still forest was filled with the ominous uproar of the fight. Some tried to escape over the steep wall of the ravine, and wounding their hands with climbing, fell back on the sabre's edge. Some died calmly, others cried for mercy; some covered their faces with their hands, not wishing to see the moment of death; others threw themselves on the ground, face downward; but above the whistling of sabres, the groans of the dying, rose the shout of the a.s.sailants, "Yeremi! Yeremi!"--a shout which made the hair stand erect on the heads of the peasants, and death seem more terrible.

The minstrel gave a blow on the forehead to one of the Cossacks, and knocked him down; seized another by the hand, to stop the blow of the sabre, and bellowed from fear like a buffalo. Others, seeing him, ran up to cut him to pieces; but Skshetuski interfered.

"Take him alive!" shouted he.

"Stop!" roared the minstrel. "I am a n.o.ble. Loquor latine! I am no minstrel. Stop, I tell you! Robbers, bullock-drivers, sons of--"

But the minstrel had not yet finished his litany when Pan Yan looked into his face, and cried, till the walls of the ravine gave back the echo, "Zagloba!" And suddenly rushing upon him like a wild beast, he drove his fingers into the shoulders and thrust his face up to the face of the man, and shaking him as he would a pear-tree, roared: "Where is the princess? where is the princess?"

"Alive, well, safe!" roared back the minstrel; "unhand me! The devil take you, you are shaking the soul out of me!"

Then that knight, whom neither captivity nor wounds nor grief nor the terrible Burdabut could bring down, was brought down by happiness. His hands dropped at his side, great drops of sweat came out on his forehead; he fell on his knees, covered his face with his hands, and leaning his head against the wall of the ravine, remained in silence, evidently thanking G.o.d.

Meanwhile the unfortunate peasants had been slaughtered, and were lying dead on the ground, except a few who were bound for the executioner in the camp so as to torture a confession from them. The struggle was over, the uproar at an end. The Cossacks gathered around their leader, and seeing him kneeling under the rock, looked at him with concern, not knowing but he was wounded. He rose, however, with a face as bright as though the light of morning were shining in his soul.

"Where is she?" asked he of Zagloba.

"In Bar."

"Safe?"

"The castle is a strong one; no attack is feared. She is under the care of Pani Slavoshevska and with the nuns."

"Praise be to G.o.d in the highest!" said the knight; and in his voice there trembled deep emotion. "Give me your hand; I thank you from my very soul."