With Fire and Sword

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Then suddenly some figure rose from the rank of the sleepers and began to pass with slow step through the yard, halting here and there near men and horses, speaking for a moment with the Cossacks who were guarding the prisoners, and at last approached the stable. Zagloba supposed at first that it was Bogun, for he saw that the guards spoke to that figure as subordinates to a superior.

  “Eh!” he muttered, “if I had a musket now, I would show you how to cover yourself with your feet.”

  At this moment the figure raised its head, and on its face fell the gray light of the morning. It was not Bogun, but the sotnik Golody, whom Zagloba recognized at once, for he knew Golody well from the time of his own intimacy with Bogun in Chigirin.

  “Well, boys, you are not asleep?” said Golody.

  “No, father, though we should like to sleep. It is about time to change guard.”

  “It will be changed immediately. And that devil’s imp has not got away?”

  “No, no!—unless the soul has gone out of him, father, for he hasn’t moved.”

  “Ah! he is an old fox. But look, see what he is doing, for he would go through the ground.”

  “This minute!” answered a number of Cossacks, going to the door of the stable.

  “Throw out hay from the mow! Rub the horses! We will start at sunrise.”

  “All right, father!”

  Zagloba, leaving at once his lookout in the opening of the thatch, crawled to the hole in the floor. At the same moment he heard the creak of the wooden hinges and the rustling of the straw under the feet of the Cossacks. His heart beat like a hammer in his breast, and he pressed the hilt of the sabre in his hand, renewing in his soul the oath that he would resign himself to be burned with the stable or be cut to pieces rather than be taken alive. He expected every moment that the Cossacks would raise a fearful uproar, but he was deceived. For a time he heard them walking more and more quickly through the whole stable. At last one said,—

  “What the devil is the matter? I can’t find him. We threw him in here.”

  “He isn’t a werewolf, is he? Strike a light, Vassily; it is as dark here as in a forest.”

  A moment of silence followed. Evidently Vassily was looking for flint and tinder, while the other Cossacks began to call in a low voice: “Where are you?”

  “Kiss the dog’s ear!” muttered Zagloba.

  Steel struck flint, a cluster of sparks flashed forth and lighted the dark interior of the stable and the heads of the Cossacks in their caps, then deeper darkness came down again.

  “He is not here! he is not here!” cried excited voices.

  That moment one sprang to the door. “Father Golody! Father Golody!”

  “What’s the matter?” cried the sotnik, approaching the door.

  “There is no Pole.”

  “How, no Pole?”

  “He has gone into the ground; he isn’t anywhere. O God, have mercy on us! We struck fire; he is not here.”

  “Impossible! Oh, you will catch it from the ataman! Has he escaped, or how is it? You have been asleep.”

  “No, father, we have not slept. He didn’t get out of the stable on our side.”

  “Be quiet! don’t wake the ataman. If he hasn’t gone out, then he must be here. Have you looked everywhere?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “On the loft too?”

  “How could he crawl on the loft when he was bound?”

  “You fool! If he hadn’t unbound himself, he would be here. Look on the loft! Strike a light!”

  Sparks flashed again. The news flew in a moment among all the guards. They began to crowd to the stable with the haste usual on sudden occasions; hurried steps were heard, hurried questions and still more hurried answers. Advices crossed one another like swords in battle.

  “To the loft! to the loft!”

  “But watch outside!”

  “Don’t wake the ataman; if you do, there will be terror.”

  “The ladder is gone!”

  “Bring another!”

  “There is none anywhere.”

  “Run to the cottage; see if there is one there.”

  “Oh, curse the Pole!”

  “Go up the corners to the thatch; get in through the thatch.”

  “Impossible; for the roof projects and is fastened with planks.”

  “Bring the lances; we will go up on the lances. Ah, the dog! he has hauled up the ladder.”

  “Bring the lances!” roared Golody.

  Some ran for the lances, while others stretched their heads up toward the loft. Already scattered light penetrated through the open door into the stable; and with its uncertain gleam was to be seen the square opening in the loft, black and silent. From below were heard single voices.

  “Now, sir noble, let down the ladder and come. You won’t get away, anyhow; why put people to trouble? Come down, oh, come down!”

  Silence.

  “You are a wise man. If it would do you any good, you might stay up there; but since it won’t help you, come down of your own accord, be a good fellow.”

  Silence.

  “Come down! If you don’t, we will skin your head and throw you head-first into the dung-heap.”

  Zagloba was as deaf to threats as to coaxing, sitting in the dark like a badger in his hole, preparing for a stubborn defence. He only grasped his sabre tighter, panted a little, and whispered his prayers.

  Lances were now brought, three of them tied together, and placed with their points to the opening. The thought flashed through Zagloba’s mind to grasp and draw them up; but he thought that the roof might be too low, and he couldn’t draw them up entirely. Besides, others would be brought at once. Meanwhile the stable became crowded with Cossacks. Some held torches, others brought from wagons all kinds of ladders and poles, every one of which turned out to be too short; these they lashed together hurriedly with straps, for it was really difficult to climb on the lances. Still they found volunteers.

  “I’ll go,” called a number of voices.

  “Wait for the ladder!” said Golody.

  “And what harm is it, father, to try on the lances?”

  “Vassily will climb; he goes like a cat.”

  “Let him try.”

  But others began to joke immediately. “Be careful! he has a sabre; he will cut your head off. Look out! he will grab you by the head, drag you in, and treat you as a bear would.”

  But Vassily didn’t allow himself to be frightened. “He knows,” said Vassily, “that if he should lay a finger on me the ataman would give him the devil to eat; and you, brothers.”

  This was a warning to Zagloba, who sat quietly, and did not even mutter.

  But the Cossacks, as is usual among soldiers, got into good humor, for the whole affair began to amuse them; so they kept on teasing Vassily.

  “There will be one blockhead less in the white world.”

  “He won’t think how we shall pay him for your head. He is a bold hero.”

  “Ho, ho! He is a werewolf. The devil knows into what form he has turned already. He is a wizard! Can’t tell, Vassily, whom you will find there behind the opening.”

  Vassily, who had already spat on his palms and was just grasping the lances by the stem, stopped suddenly. “I’ll go against a Pole,” said he, “but not against the devil.”

  But now the ladders were lashed together and placed at the opening. It was difficult to climb them, too, for they bent immediately where they were tied, and the slender round cracked under the feet, which were placed on the lowest one to try. But Golody himself began to ascend; while going, he said,—

  “My dear noble, you see that there is no joking here. If you have made up your mind to stay up there, stay; but don’t fight, for we will get you anyhow, even if we have to pull the stable to pieces. Have sense!”

 
At last his head reached the opening and went through it slowly. All at once the whiz of a sabre was heard. The Cossack screamed fearfully, tottered, and fell, with his head cut in two.

  “Cut! slash!” roared the Cossacks.

  A fearful tumult began in the stable. Shouts and cries were raised, which were overborne by the thundering voice of Zagloba,—

  “Oh, you scoundrels, you man-eaters, you basilisks! I’ll cut you to pieces, you mangy ruffians! You’ll know a knightly hand. Attacking honest people by night, shutting a noble in a stable! Scoundrels! Come to me by ones or by twos, only come! Come along; but you’ll leave your heads on the dung-heap, for I’ll hew them off, as I live.”

  “Cut! cut!” shouted the Cossacks.

  “We will burn the stable.”

  “I’ll burn it myself, you ox-tails, and you with it.”

  “Several,—several at a time!” shouted an old Cossack. “Support the ladder, prop it with lances, take bundles of hay on your heads and go on! We must get him.”

  Then he mounted, and with him two comrades. The rounds began to break, the ladders bent still more; but more than twelve strong hands seized them by the sides propped by the lances, others thrust the points of lances through the opening to ward off the blows of the sabre.

  A few moments later three bodies fell on the heads of those standing below. Zagloba, heated by his triumph, bellowed like a buffalo, and poured out such curses as the world had never heard, and from which the souls of the Cossacks would have died within them, if fury had not begun to possess them. Some thrust their lances into the loft; others hurried on the ladders, though sure death waited them in the opening. Suddenly a shout was heard at the door, and into the stable rushed Bogun himself. He was without a cap, in trousers and shirt; in his hand was a drawn sabre, and in his eyes fire.

  “Through the thatch!” he shouted. “Tear the thatch apart and take him alive!”

  But Zagloba, seeing him, roared: “Ruffian, just come up here! I’ll cut off your nose and ears. I won’t touch your neck, for that belongs to the hangman. Well, are you afraid, my urchin?” Then Zagloba said to the Cossacks: “Tie that scoundrel for me, and you will all be pardoned. Well, gallows-bird! well, Jews’ picture! I am alone here; only show your head on this loft! Come, come! I shall be glad to see you, I’ll give you such a reception that you’ll remember it with your father the devil, and your mother a harlot.”

  The poles of the roof now began to crack. It was evident the Cossacks were up there and tearing through the thatch.

  Zagloba heard, but fear didn’t deprive him of power; he was as if drunk with the battle and with blood. “I’ll spring to the corner and perish there,” thought he.

  But that instant gun-shots were heard in the yard. A number of Cossacks rushed to the stable. “Father! father!” they shouted. “This way!”

  Zagloba at the first moment did not understand what had happened, and was astonished. He looked down through the opening; there was no one there. The rafters were not cracking.

  “What is it? what has happened?” he cried aloud. “Ah! I understand. They want to burn the stable, and fire from pistols at the roof.”

  Then was heard the uproar of people, more terrible every moment, and the tramp of horses. Shouts mixed with howls and the clatter of steel.

  “My God, that must be a battle!” thought Zagloba, springing to the opening in the thatch. He looked, and his legs bent under him with delight.

  In the yard a battle was raging, and soon Zagloba beheld the terrible defeat of Bogun’s Cossacks. Attacked on a sudden, struck with fire from pistols placed at their heads and breasts, pushed to the fences, to the cottage and out-houses, cut with swords, thrown down by the rush of horses, trampled with their hoofs, the Cossacks perished almost without resistance. The ranks of red-uniformed soldiers, cutting furiously and pressing on the fugitives, did not allow them to form, to use their sabres, to draw breath, or to reach their horses. Only detached groups defended themselves. Some, favored by the disturbance, uproar, and smoke, succeeded in reaching their loosened saddle-girths, and perished before they touched the stirrups with a foot; others, throwing away lances and sabres, disappeared under the fences, got stuck between the posts, or jumped over the top, shouting and crying with unearthly voices. It seemed to the unfortunates that Prince Yeremi himself had fallen upon them unexpectedly, and was shivering them with his whole power. They had no time to come to their minds to look around. The shouts of the victors, the whistle of sabres, and the rattle of shots chased them like a storm. The hot breath of horses was on their necks. “Save yourselves, men!” was heard on every side. “Slay! kill!” was the response of the assailants.

  At last Zagloba saw little Volodyovski as, standing near the gate at the head of a number of soldiers, he gave directions with his baton and voice, and sometimes rushed on his gray horse into the whirl, and then the moment he turned or struck, a man fell without uttering a sound. Oh, but he was a master beyond masters, little Volodyovski, and a soldier, blood and bone! He did not lose sight of the battle, but making a correction here and there, returned again, looked and corrected, like the director of an orchestra, who at times plays himself, at times stops, watching carefully over all, so that each man may fill his part.

  When he saw this, Zagloba stamped on the floor of the loft till the dust rose. He clapped his hands and shouted,—

  “Slay the dog-brothers! Kill them! Flay them! Cut, slash, hew, kill! On to them, on! Sabre them to a man!”

  Thus he shouted and jumped till his eyes were inflamed from exertion, and he lost vision for a moment; but when he regained his eyesight he saw a still more beautiful spectacle. There, at the head of a number of Cossacks, was Bogun, rushing away on horseback like lightning, without a cap, in his shirt and trousers, and after him, at the head of his soldiers, little Volodyovski. “Slay!” shouted Zagloba; “that’s Bogun.” But his voice did not reach them. That moment Bogun with his heroes was over the fence, Volodyovski over the fence. Some remained behind; horses fell under others in the leap. Zagloba looked. Bogun is on the plain, Volodyovski is on the plain. Then the Cossacks scatter in their flight, and soldiers in their pursuit; individual pursuit begins. Zagloba’s breath died within his breast, his eyes were almost bursting through his lids; for what does he see? Volodyovski is almost on the neck of Bogun, like a hound on a wild boar. The chief turns his head, raises his sabre; they fight. Zagloba shouts. Still another moment, and Bogun falls with his horse; and Volodyovski, leaving him, hurries after the others.

  But Bogun is alive; he rises from the ground and runs to a pile of rocks surrounded with bushes.

  “Hold him! hold him!” roared Zagloba. “That’s Bogun!”

  Then a new band of Cossacks hurry on, who till that moment had been hiding on the other side of the rocks, but now discovered, seek a new way of escape, pushed by soldiers who are about half a furlong behind. This party comes up to Bogun, bears him away, disappears from sight in the turns of the ravine, and after it disappear the soldiers.

  In the yard it was silent and empty; for the soldiers of Zagloba, rescued by Volodyovski, chased after the Cossacks and pursued with the others the scattered enemy.

  Zagloba let down the ladder, slipped from the loft, and coming out of the stable into the yard, said, “I am free!” Then he began to look around. In the yard lay a number of Zaporojian bodies and some Poles. He walked slowly among them, and examined each carefully. At length he knelt over one of them. Soon he rose with a canteen in his hand. “It is full!” he muttered; and placing it to his mouth he raised his head. “Not bad!” Again he looked round, and again he repeated, but with a much clearer voice, “I am free!”

  He went to the cottage. On the threshold he came upon the body of the old cooper, whom the Cossacks had killed there. He disappeared inside. When he came out, around his hips, over a coat soiled with manure, glittered Bogun’s belt, thickly embroidered with
gold; at the belt a knife with a great ruby in the hilt.

  “God has rewarded bravery,” he muttered, “for the belt is pretty full. Ah, you wretched robber, I have hope that you will not escape! That little hop-of-my-thumb—may the bullets strike him!—is a lively piece, just like a wasp. I knew he was a good soldier; but to drive Bogun as he would a white-faced mare, I did not expect that of him. That there should be such strength and courage in such a little body! Bogun might carry him on a string at his belt. May the bullets strike Volodyovski!—but better, may God give him luck. He couldn’t have known Bogun, or he would have finished him. Phu! how it smells of powder here, enough to pierce the nose! But if I didn’t get out of a scrape this time such as I have never been in before! Praise to God! Well, well, but so to drive Bogun! I must examine this Volodyovski again, for it must be there is a devil sitting inside of him.”