“I know that it is impossible to start to-day,” said Skshetuski; “but I think after good oats we can go to-morrow.”
They started on the following day. According to the orders of the prince, they were to return to Zbaraj and wait further orders. They went consequently through Kuzmin, aside from Felstin, to Volochisk, from which the old highway led through Hlebanovka to Zbaraj. The roads were bad; for rain was falling, though quietly. Pan Longin, going ahead with one hundred horses, broke up a few disorderly bands that had gathered around the rear of the forces of the commander-in-chief. At Volochisk they stopped for the night.
But they had barely begun a pleasant sleep after the long road, when they were roused by an alarm, and the guards informed them that cavalry detachments were approaching. Immediately came the news that it was Vershul’s Tartar squadron, therefore their own men. Zagloba, Pan Longin, and Volodyovski met at once in Skshetuski’s room; and right after them rushed in, like a storm, an officer of the light cavalry, breathless and covered with mud. When he had looked at him, Skshetuski cried out: “Vershul!”
“Yes, it is I,” said the newly arrived, unable to catch his breath.
“From the prince?”
“Yes. Oh for breath, breath!”
“What news? All over with Hmelnitski?”
“All—over with—the Commonwealth!”
“By the wounds of Christ, what do you say? Defeat!”
“Defeat, disgrace, shame!—without a battle—a panic—oh! oh!”
Skshetuski could not believe his ears. “But speak! speak, in the name of the living God! The commanders—”
“Ran away.”
“Where is our prince?”
“Retreating—without an army—I am here from the prince—the order to Lvoff—at once—they are pursuing us—”
“Who? Vershul, Vershul, come to your senses, man! Who is pursuing?”
“Hmelnitski and the Tartars.”
“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!” cried Zagloba. “The earth is opening.”
But Skshetuski understood already what the matter was. “Questions later on; now to horse!”
“To horse! to horse!”
The hoofs of the horses under Vershul’s Tartars were clattering by the windows. The townspeople, roused by the arrival of troops, burst from their houses with lanterns and torches in their hands. The news flew through the town like lightning. The alarm was sounded. The town, silent a moment before, was filled with yells, tramping of horses, shouting of orders, and wailing of Jews. The inhabitants wishing to leave with the troops got ready wagons, in which they put their wives and children, with featherbeds. The mayor, at the head of a number of citizens, came to beg Skshetuski not to depart at once, but to convoy the inhabitants even to Tarnopol. Skshetuski would not listen; for the order received was explicit, to go to Lvoff as fast as his breath would let him. They hurried away therefore; and on the road Vershul, recovering breath, told what had happened, and how.
“Since the Commonwealth has been a commonwealth,” said he, “never has it borne such a defeat. Tsetsora, Jóltiya Vodi, Korsún, are nothing in comparison.”
Skshetuski, Volodyovski, and Pan Longin bent down to the necks of their horses, now grasping their own heads, now raising their hands to heaven. “The thing passes human belief,” said they. “But where was the prince?”
“Deserted by all, thrust aside on purpose; he did not command, in fact, his own division.”
“Who had command?”
“No man, and all men. I have been long in service, I have eaten my teeth in war, and yet up to this day I have not seen such armies and such leaders.”
Zagloba, who had no great love for Vershul and knew him but little, began to shake his head and smack his lips; at last he said,—
“My dear sir, either your vision is confused, or you have taken some partial defeat for a general one; for what you relate passes imagination completely.”
“That it passes imagination, I confess; and I’ll say more to you,—that I should gladly give my head to be severed if by some miracle it should appear that I am mistaken.”
“But how did you get to Volochisk first after the defeat? For I don’t wish to admit that you were the first to run away. Where, then, are the forces in flight? In what direction are they fleeing? What has happened to them? Why didn’t the fugitives get ahead of you? To all these questions I seek an answer in vain.”
Vershul at any other time would not have permitted such questions, but at that moment he could think of nothing but the defeat; therefore he merely answered,—
“I came first to Volochisk, for the others are retreating to Ojigovtsi, and the prince hurried me off on purpose toward the place in which he thought you were, so the avalanche might not catch you through hearing the news too late; and secondly, because the five hundred horse which you have are no small comfort to him, for the greater part of his division is killed or in flight.”
“Wonderful things!” said Zagloba.
“It’s a terror to think of! Desperation seizes one, the heart is cut, tears flow,” said Volodyovski, wringing his hands. “The country destroyed; disgrace after death,—such forces dispersed, lost. It cannot be that there is anything but the end of the world and the approach of the last judgment.”
“Don’t interrupt him,” said Skshetuski; “let him tell all.”
Vershul was silent for a time, as if collecting his strength; nothing was heard but the plashing of hoofs in the mud, for rain was falling. It was still the depth of night, and very dark, because cloudy; and in that darkness and rain the words of Vershul, who began thus to speak, had a wonderful sound of ill-omen,—
“If I had not expected to fall in battle, I should have lost my reason. You speak of the last judgment,—and I think it will come soon, for everything is going to pieces; wickedness rises above virtue, and antichrist is walking through the world. You have not seen what took place; but if you are not able to bear even the story of it, how is it with me, who saw with my own eyes the defeat and measureless disgrace? God gave us a happy beginning in this war. Our prince, after getting satisfaction at Cholganski Kamen from Pan Lashch, gave the rest to oblivion, and made peace with Prince Dominik. We were all pleased with this concord,—really a blessing of God. The prince gained a second victory at Konstantinoff, and took the place; for the enemy left it after the first storm. Then we marched to Pilavtsi, though the prince did not advise going there. But immediately on the road various machinations were manifest against him,—ill-will, envy, and evident intrigue. He was not listened to in councils, no attention was paid to his words, and above all, efforts were made to separate our division, so that the prince should not have it all in hand. If he should oppose, the blame of defeat would be thrown on him. He was silent, therefore, suffered and endured. By order of the commander-in-chief the light cavalry, together with Vurtsel and the cannon. Colonel Makhnitski, Osinski, and Koritski, were detached, so that there remained with the prince only the hussars and Zatsvilikhovski, two regiments of dragoons, and I, with a part of my squadron,—altogether not more than two thousand men. And they paid no attention to the prince; he was despised; and I heard how the clients of Prince Dominik said: ‘They won’t say now, after the victory, that it came through Vishnyevetski.’ And they said openly that if such immeasurable glory covered Yeremi, his candidate, Prince Karl, could carry the election, and they want Kazimir. The whole army was infected with factions, so that harangues were held in circles, as if they were sending delegates to the Diets; they were thinking of everything but battle, just as if the enemy had been beaten already. But if I were to tell you of the feasting and the applauding, you would not believe me. The legions of Pyrrhus were nothing in comparison with those armies, all in gold, jewels, and ostrich feathers, with two hundred thousand camp followers. Legions of wagons followed us, horses dropped dead under the weight of gold-tipped
and silken tents; wagons were breaking under provision chests. You would have thought we were going to the conquest of the world. Nobles of the general militia shook their sticks, saying, ‘This is how we will pacify the trash, and not kill them with swords.’ We old soldiers, accustomed to fighting without talking, had a foreboding of evil at the sight of this unheard of pride. Then began tumults against Kisel,—that he was a traitor; and tumults for him,—that he was a worthy senator. They cut one another with sabres when they were drunk; there were no commanders of camps, no one looked after order; there was no general. Each one did what he liked, went where it pleased him best, stopped, took his place where it suited him; and the camp followers raised such an uproar! Oh, merciful God! that was a carnival, not a campaign,—a carnival at which the salvation of the Commonwealth was danced away, drunk away, ridden away, and chaffered away, to the last bit.”
“But we are still alive,” said Volodyovski.
“And God is in heaven,” added Skshetuski.
A moment of silence followed; then Vershul said,—
“We shall perish totally, unless God performs a miracle and ceases to chastise us for our sins and shows us unmerited mercy. At times I do not believe myself what I saw with my own eyes, and it seems to me that a nightmare was choking me in my sleep.”
“Tell further,” said Zagloba; “you came to Pilavtsi, and then what?”
“We stopped. What the commanders counselled I know not. At the last judgment they will answer for that; if they had struck Hmelnitski at once he would have been shattered and swept away, as God is in heaven, in spite of disorder, insubordination, tumult, and want of a leader. On their side was panic among the rabble; they were already taking counsel how to give up Hmelnitski and the elders, and he himself was meditating flight. Our prince rode from tent to tent, begged, implored, threatened. ‘Let us strike,’ said he, ‘before the Tartar comes!’ He tore the hair from his head. Men looked at one another, but did nothing and nothing. They drank, they had meetings. Reports came that the Tartars were marching,—the Khan with two hundred thousand horsemen. The commanders counselled and counselled. The prince shut himself up in his tent, for they had set him aside altogether. In the army they began to say that the chancellor had forbidden Prince Dominik to give battle; that negotiations were going on. Still greater disorder appeared. At last the Tartars came, but God gave us luck the first day. The prince and Pan Osinski fought, and Pan Lashch did very well. They drove the Tartar horde from the field, cut them up considerably; but afterward—” Here Vershul’s voice died in his breast.
“But afterward?” asked Zagloba.
“—came the terrible, inexplicable night which I remember. I was on guard with my men by the river, when on a sudden I heard firing of cannon in the Cossack camp as if in applause, and I heard shouts. Then it occurred to me that yesterday it was said in the camp that the whole Tartar force had not arrived yet,—only Tugai Bey with a part. I thought then: ‘If they are making such uproarious applause, the Khan must have come in his own person.’ Then in our camp rose a tumult. I hurried thither with a few men. ‘What’s the matter?’ They shout to me: ‘The commanders have gone!’ I hasten to Prince Dominik’s quarters,—he is not to be found; to Ostrorog,—he is gone; to Konyetspolski,—he is not there! Jesus of Nazareth! Soldiers are flying over the square; there are shouts, tumult, yells, blazing torches. ‘Where are the commanders? where are the commanders?’ cry some. ‘To horse! to horse!’ cry others. Still others: ‘Save yourselves, brothers! Treason! treason!’ Hands are raised to heaven, faces are pale, eyes wild. They rush, trample, suffocate one another, mount their horses, flee weaponless at random. Others leave helmets, breastplates, arms, tents. The prince rides up at the head of the hussars in his silver armor, with six torches around him. He stands in the stirrups and cries: ‘I am here, gentlemen! Rally around me!’ What can he do? They don’t hear him, don’t see him; they rush on his hussars, break their ranks, overturn horses and men. We were barely able to save the prince himself. Then over the trampled-out fires, in darkness, like a dammed-up torrent, like a river, the whole army in wild panic rush from the camp, flee, scatter, disappear. No more an army, no more leaders, no more a Commonwealth,—nothing but unwashed disgrace and the foot of the Cossack on your neck!”
Here Vershul began to groan and to pull at his horse, for the madness of despair had caught him. This madness he communicated to the others, and they rode on in that rain and night as if bewildered. They rode a long time. Zagloba broke silence first,—
“Without battle. Oh, the rascals! Oh, such sons of— You remember what lordly figures they cut at Zbaraj,—how they promised to eat Hmelnitski without pepper and salt. Oh, the scoundrels!”
“How could they?” shouted Vershul. “They ran away after the first battle gained over the Tartars and the mob,—after a battle in which the general militia fought like lions.”
“The finger of God is in this,” said Skshetuski; “but there is some secret too, which must be explained.”
“If the army had fled, why that sort of thing happens in the world,” said Volodyovski; “but here the leaders left the camp first, as if on purpose to lighten the victory for the enemy and give the army to slaughter.”
“True, true!” said Vershul. “It is said even that they did this on purpose.”
“On purpose? By the wounds of Christ, that cannot be!”
“It is said they did so on purpose; but why? Who can discover, who can guess?”
“May their graves crush them, may their race perish, and only a memory of infamy remain behind them!” said Zagloba.
“Amen!” said Skshetuski.
“Amen!” said Volodyovski.
“Amen!” repeated Pan Longin.
“There is one man who can save the fatherland yet, if they give him the baton and the remaining power of the Commonwealth. There is only one, for neither the army nor the nobles will hear of another.”
“The prince!” said Skshetuski.
“Yes.”
“We will rally to him; we will perish with him. Long live Yeremi Vishnyevetski!” cried Zagloba.
“Long life!” repeated a few uncertain voices. But the cry died away immediately; for when the earth was opening under their feet and the heavens seemed falling on their heads, there was no time for shouts.
Day began to break, and in the distance appeared the walls of Tarnopol.
CHAPTER XLII.
The first wrecks from Pilavtsi reached Lvoff at daybreak, September 26; and with the opening of the gates the news spread like lightning through the city, rousing incredulity in some, panic in others, and in still others a desperate desire for defence. Skshetuski with his party arrived two days later, when the whole city was packed with fugitive soldiers, nobles, and armed citizens. They were thinking of defence, for the Tartars were expected any moment; but it was not known yet who would stand at the head of the defence or how it would begin. For this reason disorder and panic prevailed everywhere. Some fled from the place, taking their families and their property with them; dwellers in the region round about sought refuge in the city. Those departing and arriving crowded the streets, fought for passage; every place was filled with wagons, packs, bags, horses, soldiers from the greatest variety of regiments; on every face was seen either uncertainty, feverish expectation, despair, or resignation. Every little while terror broke out like a sudden whirlwind, and the cries were heard: “They are coming! they are coming!” and the crowd swept like a wave, sometimes running straight ahead infected with the madness of alarm, until it appeared that another one of the fragments of the wreck was coming,—fragments which increased more and more.
But how sad was the sight of these soldiers who a short time before had marched in gold and plumes, with song on their lips and pride in their eyes, to that campaign against peasants! To-day, torn, starved, emaciated, covered with mud, on wasted horses, with shame in their faces, more
like beggars than knights, they could only rouse pity, if there was time for pity in that place against the walls of which the whole power of the enemy might soon hurl itself. And each one of those disgraced knights comforted himself in this alone, that he had so many thousands of companions in shame. All concealed themselves in the first hour, so that afterward when they had recovered they might spread complaints, blame, scatter curses with threats, drag along through the streets, drink in the shops, and only increase disorder and alarm. For each one repeated: “The Tartars are here, right here!” Some saw conflagrations in the rear; others swore by all the saints that they had been forced to defend themselves against scouting-parties. The crowds surrounding the soldiers listened with strained attention. The roofs and steeples of the churches were covered with thousands of curious people; the bells tolled alarm, and crowds of women and children suffocated one another in churches in which amid flaming tapers shone the most holy sacrament.
Skshetuski pushed slowly from the Galitian gate with his party through dense masses of horses, wagons, soldiers, city guilds standing under their banners, and through people who looked with wonder at that squadron entering the town, not in disorder, but in battle-array. Men shouted that succor was coming; and again joy justified by nothing took possession of the throng, which swayed forward in order to seize Skshetuski’s stirrups. Soldiers too ran up, crying: “These are Vishnyevetski men! Long live Yeremi!” The pressure became so great that the squadron was barely able to push forward step by step.
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