A moment of silence followed; nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire and the snorting of the horses. From the distant reeds came the dismal howling of wolves. Suddenly Abdank repeated still again, as if to himself,—
“The day of judgment is already on the road through the Wilderness, and when it comes all God’s world will be amazed.”
The lieutenant took the ring mechanically, so much was he astonished at the words of this strange man. But the man was looking into the dark distance of the steppe. Then he turned slowly and mounted his horse. His Cossacks were waiting at the foot of the height.
“Forward! forward! Good health to you, my soldier friend!” said he to the lieutenant. “The times are such at present that brother trusts not brother. This is why you know not whom you have saved, for I have not given you my name.”
“You are not Abdank, then?”
“That is my escutcheon.”
“And your name?”
“Bogdan Zenovi Hmelnitski.”
When he had said this, he rode down from the height, and his Cossacks moved after him. Soon they were hidden in the mist and the night. When they had gone about half a furlong, the wind bore back from them the words of the Cossack song,—
“O God, lead us forth, poor captives,
From heavy bonds,
From infidel faith,
To the bright dawn,
To quiet waters,
To a gladsome land,
To a Christian world.
Hear, O God, our prayers,—
The prayers of the hapless,
The prayers of poor captives.”
The voices grew fainter by degrees, and then were melted in the wind sounding through the reeds.
CHAPTER II.
Reaching Chigirin next morning, Pan Skshetuski stopped at the house of Prince Yeremi in the town, where he was to spend some time in giving rest to his men and horses after their long journey from the Crimea, which by reason of the floods and unusually swift currents of the Dnieper had to be made by land, since no boat could make head against the stream that winter. Skshetuski himself rested awhile, and then went to Pan Zatsvilikhovski, former commissioner of the Commonwealth,—a sterling soldier, who, though he did not serve with the prince, was his confidant and friend. The lieutenant wanted to ask him if there were instructions from Lubni; but the prince had sent nothing special. He had ordered Skshetuski, in the event of a favorable answer from the Khan, to journey slowly, so that his men and horses might be in good health. The prince had the following business with the Khan; He desired the punishment of certain Tartar murzas, who had raided his estates beyond the Dnieper, and whom he himself had punished severely. The Khan had in fact given a favorable answer,—had promised to send a special envoy in the following April to punish the disobedient; and wishing to gain the good-will of so famous a warrior as the prince, he had sent him by Skshetuski a horse of noted stock and also a sable cap.
Pan Skshetuski, having acquitted himself of his mission with no small honor, the mission itself being a proof of the high favor of the prince, was greatly rejoiced at the permission to stop in Chigirin without hastening his return. But old Zatsvilikhovski was greatly annoyed by what had been taking place for some time in Chigirin. They went together to the house of Dopula, a Wallachian, who kept an inn and a wine-shop in the place. There they found a crowd of nobles, though the hour was still early; for it was a market-day, and besides there happened to be a halt of cattle driven to the camp of the royal army, which brought a multitude of people together. The nobles generally assembled in the square at Dopula’s, at the so-called Bell-ringers’ Corner. There were assembled tenants of the Konyetspolskis, and Chigirin officials, owners of neighboring lands, settlers on crown lands, nobles on their own soil and dependent on no one, land stewards, some Cossack elders, and a few inferior nobles,—some living on other men’s acres and some on their own.
These groups occupied benches at long oaken tables and conversed in loud voices, all speaking of the flight of Hmelnitski, which was the greatest event of the place. Zatsvilikhovski sat with Skshetuski in a corner apart. The lieutenant began to inquire what manner of phœnix that Hmelnitski was of whom all were speaking.
“Don’t you know?” answered the old soldier. “He is the secretary of the Zaporojian army, the heir of Subotoff,—and my friend,” added he, in a lower voice. “We have been long acquainted, and were together in many expeditions in which he distinguished himself, especially under Tetera. Perhaps there is not a soldier of such military experience in the whole Commonwealth. This is not to be mentioned in public; but he has the brain of a hetman, a heavy hand, and a mighty mind. All the Cossacks obey him more than koshevoi and ataman. He is not without good points, but imperious and unquiet; and when hatred gets the better of him he can be terrible.”
“What made him flee from Chigirin?”
“Quarrels with the Starosta Chaplinski; but that is all nonsense. Usually a nobleman bespatters a nobleman from enmity. Hmelnitski is not the first and only man offended. They say, too, that he turned the head of the starosta’s wife; that the starosta carried off his mistress and married her; that afterward Hmelnitski took her fancy,—and that is a likely matter, for woman is giddy, as a rule. But these are mere pretexts, under which certain intrigues find deeper concealment. This is how the affair stands: In Chigirin lives old Barabash, a Cossack colonel, our friend. He had privileges and letters from the king. Of these it was said that they urged the Cossacks to resist the nobility; but being a humane and kindly man, he kept them to himself and did not make them known. Then Hmelnitski invited Barabash to a dinner in his own house, here in Chigirin, and sent people to Barabash’s country-place, who took the letters and the privileges away from his wife and disappeared. There is danger that out of them such a rebellion as that of Ostranitsa may arise; for, I repeat, he is a terrible man, and has fled, it is unknown whither.”
To this Skshetuski answered: “He is a fox, and has tricked me. He told me he was a Cossack colonel of Prince Dominik Zaslavski. I met him last night in the steppe, and freed him from a lariat.”
Zatsvilikhovski seized himself by the head.
“In God’s name, what do you tell me? It cannot have been.”
“It can, since it has been. He told me he was a colonel in the service of Prince Dominik Zaslavski, on a mission from the Grand Hetman to Pan Grodzitski at Kudák. I did not believe this, since he was not travelling by water, but stealing along over the steppe.”
“He is as cunning as Ulysses! But where did you meet him?”
“On the Omelnik, on the right bank of the Dnieper. It is evident that he was on his way to the Saitch.”
“He wanted to avoid Kudák. I understand now. Had he many men?”
“About forty. But they came to meet him too late. Had it not been for me, the servants of the starosta would have strangled him.”
“But stop a moment! That is an important affair. The servants of the starosta, you say?”
“That is what he told me.”
“How could the starosta know where to look for him, when here in this place all were splitting their heads to know what he had done with himself?”
“I can’t tell that. It may be, too, that Hmelnitski lied, and represented common robbers as servants of the starosta, in order to call more attention to his wrongs.”
“Impossible! But it is a strange affair. Do you know that there is a circular from the hetman, ordering the arrest and detention of Hmelnitski?”
The lieutenant gave no answer, for at that moment some nobleman entered the room with a tremendous uproar. He made the doors rattle a couple of times, and looking insolently through the room cried out,—
“My respects, gentlemen!”
He was a man of forty years of age, of low stature, with peevish face, the irritable appearance of which was increased by quick eyes, protruding
from his face like plums,—evidently a man very rash, stormy, quick to anger.
“My respects, gentlemen!” repeated he more loudly and sharply, since he was not answered at once.
“Respects! respects!” was answered by several voices.
This man was Chaplinski, the under-starosta of Chigirin, the trusted henchman of young Konyetspolski. He was not liked in Chigirin, for he was a terrible blusterer, always involved in lawsuits, always persecuting some one; but for all that he had great influence, consequently people were polite to him.
Zatsvilikhovski, whom all respected for his dignity, virtues, and courage, was the only man he regarded. Seeing him, he approached immediately, and bowing rather haughtily to Skshetuski, sat down near them with his tankard of mead.
“Well,” inquired Zatsvilikhovski, “do you know what has become of Hmelnitski?”
“He is hanging, as sure as I am Chaplinski; and if he is not hanging yet, he will be soon. Now that the hetman’s orders are issued, let me only get him in my hands!”
Saying this, he struck the table with his fist till the liquor was spilled from the glasses.
“Don’t spill the wine, my dear sir!” said Skshetuski.
Zatsvilikhovski interrupted: “But how will you get him, since he has escaped and no one knows where he is?”
“No one knows? I know,—true as I am Chaplinski. You know Hvedko. That Hvedko is in his service, but in mine too. He will be Hmelnitski’s Judas. It’s a long story. He has made friends with Hmelnitski’s Cossacks. A sharp fellow! He knows every step that is taken. He has engaged to bring him to me, living or dead, and has gone to the steppe before Hmelnitski, knowing where to wait for him.”
Having said this, he struck the table again.
“Don’t spill the wine, my dear sir!” repeated with emphasis Skshetuski, who felt an astonishing aversion to the man from the first sight of him.
Chaplinski grew red in the face; his protruding eyes flashed. Thinking that offence was given him, he looked excitedly at Pan Yan; but seeing on him the colors of Vishnyevetski, he softened. Though Konyetspolski had a quarrel with Yeremi at the time, still Chigirin was too near Lubni, and it was dangerous not to respect the colors of the prince. Besides, Vishnyevetski chose such people for his service that any one would think twice before disputing with them.
“Hvedko, then, has undertaken to get Hmelnitski for you?” asked Zatsvilikhovski again.
“He has, and he will get him,—as sure as I am Chaplinski.”
“But I tell you that he will not. Hmelnitski has escaped the ambush, and has gone to the Saitch, which you should have told Pan Pototski to-day. There is no fooling with Hmelnitski. Speaking briefly, he has more brains, a heavier hand, and greater luck than you, who are too hotheaded. Hmelnitski went away safely, I tell you; and if perhaps you don’t believe me, this gentleman, who saw him in good health on the steppe and bade good-by to him yesterday, will repeat what I have said.”
“Impossible, it cannot be!” boiled up Chaplinski, seizing himself by the hair.
“And what is more,” added Zatsvilikhovski, “this knight before you saved him and killed your servants,—for which he is not to blame, in spite of the hetman’s order, since he was returning from a mission to the Crimea and knew nothing of the order. Seeing a man attacked in the steppe by ruffians, as he thought, he went to his assistance. Of this rescue of Hmelnitski I inform you in good season, for he is ready with his Zaporojians, and it is evident that you wouldn’t be very glad to see him, for you have maltreated him over-much. Tfu! to the devil with such tricks!”
Zatsvilikhovski, also, did not like Chaplinski.
Chaplinski sprang from his seat, losing his speech from rage; his face was completely purple, and his eyes kept coming more and more out of his head. Standing before Skshetuski in this condition, he belched forth disconnected words,—
“How!—in spite of the hetman’s orders! I will—I will—”
Skshetuski did not even rise from the bench, but leaned on his elbows and watched Chaplinski, darting like a hawk on a sparrow.
“Why do you fasten to me like a burr to a dog’s tail?”
“I’ll drag you to the court with me!—You in spite of orders!—I with Cossacks!”
He stormed so much that it grew quieter in other parts of the room, and strangers began to turn their faces in the direction of Chaplinski. He was always seeking a quarrel, for such was his nature; he offended every man he met. But all were astonished, then, that he began with Zatsvilikhovski, who was the only person he feared, and with an officer wearing the colors of Prince Yeremi.
“Be silent, sir!” said the old standard-bearer. “This knight is in my company.”
“I’ll take you to the court!—I’ll take you to the court—to the stocks!” roared Chaplinski, paying no attention to anything or any man.
Then Skshetuski rose, straightened himself to his full height, but did not draw his sabre; he had it hanging low, and taking it by the middle raised it till he put the cross hilt under the very nose of Chaplinski.
“Smell that!” said he.
“Strike, whoever believes in God!—Ai! here, my men!” shouted Chaplinski, grasping after his sword-hilt.
But he did not succeed in drawing his sword. The young lieutenant turned him around, caught him by the nape of the neck with one hand, and with the other by the trousers below the belt raised him, squirming like a salmon, and going to the door between the benches called out,—
“Brothers, clear the road for big horns; he’ll hook!”
Saying this, he went to the threshold, struck and opened the door with Chaplinski, and hurled the under-starosta out into the street. Then he resumed his seat quietly at the side of Zatsvilikhovski.
In a moment there was silence in the room. The argument used by Pan Yan made a great impression on the assembled nobles. After a little while, however, the whole place shook with laughter.
“Hurrah for Vislinyevetski’s man!” cried some.
“He has fainted! he has fainted, and is covered with blood!” cried others, who had looked through the door, curious to know what Chaplinski would do. “His servants are carrying him off!”
The partisans of the under-starosta, but few in number, were silent, and not having the courage to take his part, looked sullenly at Skshetuski.
“Spoken truth touches that hound to the quick,” said Zatsvilikhovski.
“He is a cur, not a hound,” said, while drawing near, a bulky nobleman who had a cataract on one eye and a hole in his forehead the size of a thaler, through which the naked skull appeared,—"He is a cur, not a hound! Permit me,” continued he, turning to Pan Yan, “to offer you my respects. I am Yan Zagloba; my escutcheon ‘In the Forehead,’ as every one may easily know by this hole which the bullet of a robber made in my forehead when I was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in penance for the sins of my youth.”
“But leave us in peace,” said Zatsvilikhovski; “you said yourself that that was knocked out of you with a tankard in Radom.”
“As I live, the bullet of a robber! That was another affair in Radom.”
“You made a vow to go to the Holy Land, perhaps; but that you have never been there is certain.”
“I have not been there, for in Galáts I received the palm of martyrdom; and if I lie, I am a supreme dog and not a nobleman.”
“Ah, you never stop your stories!”
“Well, I am a rogue without hearing. To you, Lieutenant!”
In the mean while others came up to make the acquaintance of Skshetuski and express their regard for him. In general Chaplinski was not popular, and they were glad that disgrace had met him. It is strange and difficult to understand at this day that all the nobility in the neighborhood of Chigirin, and the smaller owners of villages, landed proprietors, and agriculturists, even though serving the Konyetspolskis, all knowing in neighbor
fashion the dispute of Chaplinski with Hmelnitski, were on the side of the latter. Hmelnitski had indeed the reputation of a famous soldier who had rendered no mean services in various wars. It was known, also, that the king himself had had communication with him and valued his opinion highly. The whole affair was regarded as an ordinary squabble of one noble with another; such squabbles were counted by thousands, especially in the Russian lands. The part of the man was taken who knew how to incline to his side the majority, who did not foresee what terrible results were to come from this affair. Later on it was that hearts flamed up with hatred against Hmelnitski,—the hearts of nobility and clergy of both churches in equal degree.
Presently men came up to Skshetuski with liquor by the quart, saying,—
“Drink, brother!”
“Have a drink with me too!”
“Long life to Vishnyevetski’s men!”
With Fire and Sword Page 4
