Zagloba sat on the threshold of the stable in meditation, and waited. Presently there appeared at a distance on the plain soldiers returning from the victory, and at their head rode Volodyovski. When he saw Zagloba, Volodyovski galloped up, and springing from his horse, came to him.
“Do I see you once more?” called he, at a distance.
“Me, in my own person,” said Zagloba. “God reward you for coming with reinforcements in time!”
“Thanks be to God that I came in time!” said the little knight, pressing the palm of Zagloba with joy.
“But where did you hear of the straits in which I was?”
“The peasants of this place gave information.”
“Oh, and I thought they betrayed me.”
“Why should they? They are honest. The newly married barely got off with their lives, and what happened to the others they know not.”
“If they are not traitors, then they are killed by the Cossacks. The master of the house lies near the door. But what of that? Tell me, is Bogun alive, did he escape,—he without a cap, in the shirt and trousers, whom you threw with his horse?”
“I hit him on the head; but it is too bad that I didn’t know him. But tell me, my good Zagloba, what is the best you have done.”
“What have I done?” repeated Zagloba. “Come, Pan Michael, and see.” He took him by the hand and led him into the stable. “Look at that!”
Volodyovski saw nothing for a while, for he had come in from the light; but when his eyes had become used to the darkness he saw bodies lying motionless on the dung-heap. “And who cut down these men?” asked he, in astonishment.
“I!” said Zagloba. “You have asked what I did. Here it is before you!”
“But,” said the young officer, “how did you do it?”
“I defended myself up there. They stormed me from below and through the roof. I don’t know how long it was, for in battle a man doesn’t reckon time. It was Bogun, with a strong force and chosen men. He will remember you; he will remember me too. At another time I will tell you how I fell into captivity, what I passed through, and how I settled Bogun; for I had an encounter of tongues with him. But now I am so wearied that I can scarcely stand.”
“Well,” repeated Volodyovski, “it is not to be denied you defended yourself manfully; but I will say this, you are a better swordsman than general.”
“Pan Michael,” said the noble, “it is no time for discussion. Better thank God, who has sent down to us to-day so mighty a victory, the memory of which will not soon vanish from among men.”
Volodyovski looked with astonishment at Zagloba, since it had appeared to him hitherto that he alone had gained that victory which Zagloba evidently wished to share with him. But he only looked, shook his head, and said, “Let it be so.”
An hour later the two friends, at the head of their united parties, moved on to Yarmolintsi.
Almost no one was missing from Zagloba’s men; for sprung upon in their sleep, they offered no resistance. Bogun, being sent specially for informants, had given orders not to kill, but to take prisoners.
CHAPTER XLI.
Bogun, though a brave, clear-sighted leader, had no luck in this expedition against the supposed division of Prince Yeremi. He was merely confirmed in the belief that the prince had really moved his whole force against Krívonos; for this was the information given by the captives from among Zagloba’s men, who believed most sacredly that the prince was marching after them. Nothing remained then for the unfortunate ataman but to withdraw with all speed to Krívonos; but the task was not easy. Scarcely on the third day was a party of two hundred and a few tens of Cossacks collected around him; the others had either fallen in the fight, were lying wounded on the field of struggle, or were wandering yet among the ravines and reeds, not knowing what to do, how to turn, or where to go. Besides, the party left to Bogun was not good for much; for it was beaten, inclined to flee at every alarm, demoralized, frightened. And it was made up too of chosen men; better soldiers it would be difficult to find in the whole Saitch. But the heroes didn’t know with what a small force Pan Volodyovski had struck them, and that, thanks only to the unexpected attack on sleeping and unprepared men, could he inflict such a defeat. They believed most sacredly that they had been fighting, if not with the prince himself, at least with a strong detachment several times more numerous than it was. Bogun raged like fire; cut in the hand, run over, sick, beaten, he had let his inveterate enemy out of his hands, and belittled his own fame. For now those Cossacks who on the eve of the defeat would have followed him blindly to the Crimea, to hell, and against the prince himself, had lost faith and courage, and were thinking only how to carry their lives out of the defeat. Still Bogun had done everything that a leader was bound to do; he had neglected nothing, he had established pickets at a distance from the house, and rested only because the horses which had come from Kamenyets almost at one course were altogether unfit for the road. But Volodyovski, whose youth had been passed in surprising and hunting Tartars, approached the pickets like a fox in the night, seized them before they could shout or fire, and fell upon them in such fashion that Bogun could escape only in his shirt and trousers. When the chief thought of this the light grew dark in his eyes, his head swam, and despair gnawed his soul like a mad dog. He who on the Black Sea had rushed upon Turkish galleys, and galloped on the necks of Tartars to Perekop, and lighted up the eyes of the Khan with the blaze of his villages, and under the hand of the prince near Lubni itself had cut a garrison to pieces at Vassílyevka, had to flee in his shirt, bareheaded and without a sabre,—for he had lost that too in his meeting with the little knight. So at the stopping-places where the horses were fed, when no man was looking, the chief seized himself by the head and cried: “Where is my Cossack glory, where my sabre friend?” When he cried in this way a wild raving carried him away, and then he drank as if he were not a creature of God, and wanted to march against the prince, attack all his forces,—perish and disappear for the ages.
He wished it, but the Cossacks did not. “Though you kill us, father, we will not go!” was their gloomy answer to his outbursts; and vainly in accesses of fury he cut at them with his sabre and singed their faces with his pistol,—they would not, they did not go.
You would have said that the ground was slipping away from the ataman’s feet, for this was not the end of his misfortune. Fearing on account of probable pursuit to go straight to the south, and thinking that perhaps Krívonos had already given up the siege, he rushed straight to the east, and came upon the party of Pan Podbipienta. Pan Longin, wakeful as a stork, did not permit an attack, but falling first on Bogun, defeated him the more easily because his Cossacks were unwilling to fight; when he had defeated him he turned him over to Skshetuski, who beat him worst of all; so that Bogun, after long wanderings in the steppes with a few horses only, without glory, without Cossacks, without booty, without informants, made his way back at last to Krívonos.
But the wild Krívonos, usually so terrible to subordinates whom fortune did not favor, was not angry this time. He knew from his own experience what an affair with Yeremi meant; therefore he even petted Bogun, comforted him, quieted him, pacified him, and when he fell into a violent fever, gave orders to nurse and cure him with all care.
The four officers of the prince, having filled the country with terror and dismay, returned safely to Yarmolintsi, where they remained several days to give rest to the men and horses. There, when they came into the same quarters, they gave to Skshetuski, each in turn, an account of what had happened to them and what they had accomplished; then they sat down by the bottle to relieve their hearts in friendly converse and satisfy their mutual curiosity.
But Zagloba gave little chance to any man to speak. He had no desire to listen, but wished only that others should listen to him,—in truth it came out that he had the most to tell.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I fell into captiv
ity, it is true; but fortune turns around. Bogun has been all his life victorious, but we beat him this time. That is how it is usually in war. To-day you tan people, to-morrow they tan you. But God punished Bogun because he fell upon us, sleeping sweetly the sleep of the just, and roused us in such a dishonorable way. Ho, ho! he thought to terrify me with his filthy tongue; but I tell you here, gentlemen, that I cornered him so that he lost his boldness, became confused, and said what he didn’t want to say. What’s the use of talking long? If I hadn’t got into captivity. Pan Michael and I would not have defeated him. I say both of us, because in this affair magna pars fui, and I shall not cease to insist on it to my death. So God give me health! Hear my reasons further: If I and Volodyovski had not beaten him, then Podbipienta would not have beaten him, and further Skshetuski would not have beaten him; and finally if we hadn’t beaten him he would have beaten us, and who was the cause that this didn’t take place?”
“Ah! it is with you as with a fox,” said Pan Longin; “you wave your tail here, slink away there, and always get out.”
“It’s a foolish hound that runs after his own tail, for he will not catch it and will not smell anything honorable, and besides will lose his wind. How many men have you lost?”
“Twelve in all, and some wounded; they didn’t strike us very hard.”
“And you, Pan Michael?”
“About thirty, for I fell upon them unawares.”
“And you, Lieutenant?”
“As many as Pan Longin.”
“And I lost two. See yourselves who is the best leader! That’s the question. Why did we come here? On the service of the prince, to get news of Krívonos. Well, I tell you, gentlemen, that I first got news of him, and from the best source, because I got it from Bogun; and I know that he is at Kamenyets, but he thinks of raising the siege, for he is afraid. I know this openly; but I know something else which will put joy into your heart, and of which I have not spoken because I wanted that we should counsel about it together. I was sick till now, for weariness overpowered me, and my bowels rose up against that villanous binding on a stick. I thought my blood would boil over.”
“Tell us, for God’s sake!” cried Volodyovski, “have you heard anything of our unfortunate lady?”
“Yes, God bless her,” said Zagloba.
Skshetuski rose to his full height and then sat down. There followed such a silence that the buzzing of the mosquitoes was heard on the windows till Zagloba began again,—
“She lives, I know that certainly; she is in Bogun’s hands. Gentlemen, it is a terrible thing; however, God has not permitted harm or disgrace to meet her. Bogun himself told me this,—he who would rather boast of something else.”
“How can that be? how can that be?” asked Skshetuski, feverishly.
“If I lie, may a thunderbolt strike me!” said Zagloba, with importance, “for this is a sacred thing. Listen to what Bogun said when he wished to jeer at me before I settled him at last. ‘Did you think,’ said he, ‘that you brought her to Bar for a peasant; that I was a peasant to constrain her by force; that I was not to be married in Kieff in the church, and monks sing for me, and three hundred candles burn for me,—me, an ataman, a hetman!’ And he stamped his feet and threatened me with his knife, for he thought he was frightening me; but I told him to frighten the dogs!”
Skshetuski had now recovered himself. His monk’s face lighted up; gladness and uncertainty played on it again. “Where is she now, where is she?” he asked hurriedly. “If you have found that out, then you have come from heaven.”
“He did not tell me that, but two words are enough for a wise head. Remember, gentlemen, he jeered me all the while till I planted him, and then he went in. ‘First I’ll take you,’ said he, ‘to Krívonos, and then I would invite you to the wedding; but now there is war, so it will not come off soon.’ Think of it, gentlemen,—’not come off soon;’ therefore we have plenty of time. Secondly, think,—’first to Krívonos, then to the wedding;’ therefore in no way is she at the camp of Krívonos, but somewhere farther, where the war has not reached.”
“You are a man of gold,” said Volodyovski.
“I thought at first,” said the delightfully flattered Zagloba, “that maybe he had sent her to Kieff; but no, for he said he would go for the wedding to Kieff with her. If they will go, it means that she is not there; and he is too shrewd to take her there now, for if Hmelnitski should push into Red Russia, Kieff could be taken easily by the Lithuanian forces.”
“Surely, surely!” cried Pan Longin. “Now, as God is just to me, no man could change minds with you.”
“But I shouldn’t change with every one, lest I might get soup instead of reason,—a thing which might easily happen among the Lithuanians.”
“Oh, he is beginning again!” said Pan Longin.
“Well, since she is not with Krívonos nor in Kieff, where is she?”
“There’s the difficulty.”
“If you have worked it out, then tell me quickly, for fire is burning me,” said Skshetuski.
“Beyond Yampol,” said Zagloba, and rolled his one sound eye triumphantly.
“How do you know?” inquired Volodyovski.
“How do I know? Here is how: I was sitting in the stable,—for that brigand had me shut up in the stable, may the wild boars rip him!—and the Cossacks were talking among themselves all around. I put my ear to the wall then, and what did I hear? ‘Now maybe the ataman will go beyond Yampol,’ said one; and then the other answered, ‘Be silent, if your young head is dear to you!’ I’ll give my neck that she is beyond Yampol.”
“Oh, as sure as God is in heaven!” cried Volodyovski.
“He did not take her to the Wilderness; therefore, according to my head, he must have hidden her somewhere between Yampol and Yagorlik. I was once in that region when the judges of the king and the Khan met; for in Yagorlik, as you know, cattle questions of the boundary are tried, of which cases there is never a lack. Along the whole Dniester there are ravines, hidden places, and reeds in which living by themselves are people who know no authority, dwell in the wilderness, and see no neighbors. He has hidden her surely among such wild solitaries, for he would be surest of her there.”
“But how can we go there now, when Krívonos bars the way?” asked Pan Longin. “Yampol too, I hear, is a nest of robbers.”
To this Skshetuski replied: “Though I had to risk my life ten times, I should try to save her. I will go disguised and look for her. God will help me, I shall find her.”
“I will go with you, Yan,” said Volodyovski.
“And I as a minstrel with my lute. Believe me, gentlemen, that I have more experience than any of you; but since the lute has disgusted me to the last degree, I’ll take bagpipes.”
“I too shall be good for something,” said Podbipienta.
“Of course,” added Zagloba. “Whenever we need to cross the Dnieper you will carry us over, like Saint Christopher.”
“I thank you from my soul, gentlemen,” said Pan Yan; “and I accept your readiness with a willing heart. There is nothing to be compared with trusty friends, of whom as I see Providence has not deprived me. May the great God grant me to repay you with my health and property!”
“We are all as one man!” shouted Zagloba. “God is pleased with concord, and you will find that we shall soon see the fruit of our labors.”
“Then nothing else remains to me,” said Skshetuski, after a moment’s silence, “but to deliver up the squadron to the prince, and start at once. We will go by the Dniester, along through Yampol to Yagorlik, and look everywhere. But if, as I hope, Hmelnitski is already crushed or will be before we reach the prince, then public service will not be in the way. Certain regiments will go to the Ukraine, to finish the remnant of the rebellion, but they will get on without us.”
“Wait!” said Volodyovski; “doubtless after Hmelnitski, Krívonos’s tur
n will come; maybe we shall go together with the regiments to Yampol.”
“No, we must go there before,” answered Zagloba. “But first of all give up the squadron, so as to have free hand. I hope, too, that the prince will be satisfied with us.”
“Especially with you.”
“That’s true, for I shall bring him the best news. Believe me, I expect a reward.”
“When shall we take the road?”
“We must rest till morning,” said Volodyovski. “Let Skshetuski command, however, for he is chief here; but I forewarn you, if we start to-day my horses will all give out.”
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