With Fire and Sword

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “But your boots drink water without extravagant talk.”

  “You might keep your mouth shut, Pan Michael! You are no bigger than a titmouse; you can live on a grain of millet and drink out of a thimble. But I thank God that I am not so delicate, and that a hen did not scratch me out of the sand with her hind legs, but a woman gave me birth; therefore I must live by eating and drinking, like a man, not like a May-bug; and as I have had nothing in my mouth but spittle since yesterday noon, your jokes are not at all to my taste.”

  Here Zagloba began to puff with anger, and Pan Michael put his hand on his side and said,—

  “I have in my pocket a flask, which I got of a Cossack to-day; but if a hen scratched me out of the sand, I think gorailka from such an insignificant person would not be to your taste. Here’s to you, Yan!” said he, turning to Skshetuski. “Give it here,” said Skshetuski, “for the air is cold.”

  “Drink to Pan Longin.”

  “You are a rogue, Pan Michael,” said Zagloba, “but you are one in a hundred; you take from yourself and give to others. A blessing on hens that scratch such soldiers from the sand! But there are none such, and I was not thinking of you.”

  “Then take it after Podbipienta. I have no wish to offend you.”

  “What are you doing? Leave some to me!” cried Zagloba in alarm, when he saw the Lithuanian drinking. “Why do you throw your head back so far? God grant it to remain in its usual place. You are too long; it is no small task to moisten you. May you burst!”

  “I’ve barely touched it,” said Podbipienta, handing him the flask.

  Zagloba turned over the flask completely, and drank to the bottom; then he snorted, and said,—

  “The only consolation is that if our miseries come to an end, and God lets us take our heads out of these dangers in safety, we’ll reward ourselves for all. They will be sure to prepare some loaves for us. The priest Jabkovski has fine skill in eating, but I’ll make a ram’s-horn of him.”

  “And what word of truth have you and Jabkovski heard to-day from Mukhovetski?”

  “Silence!” said Skshetuski; “there is some one coming in the square.”

  They were silent; and soon a dark figure stood near them, and asked in a hushed voice: “Are you watching?”

  “We are,” answered Skshetuski, straightening himself.

  “Give careful attention; this calm is of evil augury.”

  The prince passed on to see if sleep had overcome the wearied soldiers anywhere. Pan Longin clasped his hands: “What a leader! what a warrior!”

  “He takes less rest than we do,” said Skshetuski. “He examines the whole rampart in this way every night as far as the second pond.”

  “God grant him health!”

  “Amen!”

  Silence followed. All looked with strained eyes into the darkness, but nothing could be seen. The Cossack trenches were quiet, the last light in them quenched.

  “They might be caught napping now, like susliks,” muttered Volodyovski.

  “Who knows?” answered Skshetuski.

  “Sleep torments me,” said Zagloba, “so that my eyes are coming out, and sleep is not permitted. I am curious to know when it will be permitted. Whether there is firing or not, one must stand under arms and nod from weariness, like a Jew on the Sabbath. It’s a dog’s service! I don’t know myself what has got hold of me,—whether it’s the gorailka, or the irritation from that blow which I with the priest Jabkovski was forced to endure without reason.”

  “How was that?” asked Podbipienta; “you began to tell us, and didn’t finish.”

  “I’ll tell you now. Maybe we’ll shake off sleep somehow. I went this morning with Jabkovski to the castle, hoping to come upon something to gnaw. We search and search, look everywhere, find nothing; we return in bad humor. In the yard we meet a Calvinist minister who had been giving the last consolation to Captain Shenberk, of Firlei’s battalion, who was shot yesterday. I opened on him: ‘Haven’t you,’ said I, ‘strolled around about long enough, and displeased the Lord sufficiently? You will draw a curse on us.’ But he, relying evidently on the protection of the castellan of Belsk, answered: ‘Our faith is as good as yours, if not better!’ And he spoke in such a way that we were petrified from horror. But we kept silent. I thought to myself: ‘Jabkovski is here; let him do the arguing.’ But my Jabkovski snorted, and whacked him under the ribs with arguments. He made no answer to this strongest of reasons, for he went spinning around till he was brought up standing against the wall. That moment the prince came in with Mukhovetski and fell upon us; said that we were making an uproar and disturbance; that it was neither the time nor the place, nor were ours the arguments. They washed our heads for us, as if we had been a couple of boys. I wish they were right; for unless I am a false prophet, these ministers of Firlei will bring misfortune to us yet.”

  “And did not that Captain Shenberk renounce his errors?” asked Volodyovski.

  “What, renounce! He died, as he had lived, in abomination!”

  “Oh that men should yield up their salvation rather than their stubbornness!” sighed Pan Longin.

  “God is defending us against Cossack predominance and witchcraft,” continued Zagloba; “but these heretics are offending him. It is known to you, gentlemen, that yesterday, from this very intrenchment before us, they shot balls of thread into the square; and the soldiers say that immediately on the place where the balls fell the ground was covered with a leprosy.”

  “It’s a known fact that devils wait on Hmelnitski,” said the Lithuanian, making the sign of the cross.

  “I saw the witches myself,” added Skshetuski, “and I’ll tell you—”

  Further conversation was stopped by Volodyovski, who pressed Skshetuski’s arm suddenly, and whispered: “Silence!” Then he sprang to the very edge of the rampart, and listened attentively.

  “I hear nothing,” said Zagloba.

  “Ts! the rain drowns it,” answered Skshetuski.

  Pan Michael began to beckon with his hand not to interrupt him, and he listened carefully for some time. At last he approached his comrades. “They are marching!” whispered he.

  “Let the prince know; he has gone to Ostrorog’s quarters,” whispered Pan Yan. “We will run to warn the soldiers.”

  Straightway they hurried along the ramparts, stopping from moment to moment and whispering everywhere to the soldiers on guard: “They are coming! they are coming!”

  The words flew like silent lightning from mouth to mouth. In a quarter of an hour the prince, already on horseback, was present, and issuing orders to the officers. Since the enemy wished, evidently, to spring into the camp while the Poles were asleep and off guard, the prince enjoined on all to maintain this error. The soldiers were to remain in immovable stillness and let the assaulters come to the very rampart, and when cannon-shot was given as a signal, to strike unexpectedly.

  The soldiers were ready. They dropped the muzzles of their guns, bent forward noiselessly, and deep silence followed. Skshetuski, Pan Longin, and Volodyovski drew long breaths, side by side. Zagloba stayed near them, for he knew by experience that most balls fell on the square, and that it was safest on the ramparts near three such sabres. They merely drew back a little, that the first onrush might not strike them. Podbipienta knelt somewhat to one side with his double-handed sword; Volodyovski crouched near Skshetuski, and whispered in his very ear,—

  “They are coming, surely.”

  “With measured tread.”

  “That’s not the mob, nor the Tartars.”

  “Zaporojian infantry.”

  “Or janissaries; they march well. We could strike them better with cavalry.”

  “It is too dark for cavalry to-night.”

  “Do you hear them now?”

  “Ts! Ts!”

  The camp seemed sunk in deepest sleep. In no place movement, in
no place life; everywhere the most profound silence, broken only by the rustle of rain fine as if scattered from a sieve. Gradually, however, there rose in this another rustle, low, but more easily caught by the ear, for it was measured, drawing nearer, growing clearer; at last, a few steps from the ditch, appeared a sort of prolonged dense mass, visible in so far that it was blacker than the darkness, and halted.

  The soldiers held their breaths; but the little knight punched Skshetuski in the side, as if wishing in this way to show his delight. The assailants reached the ditch, let down their ladders into it, descended on them, and moved toward the rampart. The rampart was as silent as if on it and behind it everything had expired; a silence of the grave succeeded. Here and there, in spite of all the care of the assailants, the ladder-rounds squeaked and trembled.

  “You’ll get beans!” thought Zagloba.0

  Volodyovski stopped punching Skshetuski, Pan Longin pressed the hilt of his double-handed sword, and distended his eyes, for he was nearest the edge of the rampart and expected to give the first blow.

  Three pairs of hands appeared on the outer rim, and grasped it firmly; after them began to rise slowly and carefully three helmet points, higher and higher.

  “Those are Turks!” thought Pan Longin.

  At that moment was heard the awful roar of several thousand muskets; it was clear as day. Before the light had gone out Pan Longin had drawn his weapon and cut terribly, so that the air whined under his sword-edge. Three bodies fell into the ditch, three heads in helmets rolled to the knees of the kneeling knight. Then, though hell was raging on earth, heaven opened before Pan Longin; wings grew from his shoulders; choirs of angels were singing in his breast, and he was as if caught up to heaven; he fought as in a dream, and the blows of his sword were like thanks giving prayers. All the Podbipientas, long since dead, beginning with Stoveiko, the founder of the line, were rejoicing in heaven that the last surviving, Zervikaptur Podbipienta, was such a man.

  This assault, in which auxiliary forces of Rumelian and Silistrian Turks, with guards from the janissaries of the Khan, took a preponderant part, received a more terrible repulse than others, and drew a fearful storm on Hmelnitski’s head. He had guaranteed in advance that the Poles would fight with less rage against the Turks, and if those companies were given him he would capture the camp. He was obliged therefore to mollify the Khan and the enraged murzas, and at the same time win them with presents. He gave the Khan ten thousand thalers; Tugai Bey, Korz Aga, Subahazi, Nureddin, and Galga, two thousand each.

  Meanwhile the camp-servants drew the bodies out of the ditch. In this they were not hindered by firing from the intrenchment. The soldiers rested till morning, for it was certain that the assault would not be repeated. All slept uninterruptedly, except the troops on guard and Podbipienta, who lay, in the form of a cross, all night on his sword, thanking God, who had permitted him to accomplish his vow and cover himself with such renown that his name had gone from mouth to mouth in the camp and the town. Next morning the prince summoned him, and praised him greatly, and the soldiers came in crowds all day to congratulate him and look at the three heads which the attendants had brought before his tent, and which were already blackening in the air. There was wonder and envy not a little, and some would not believe their eyes, for the heads and the capes of the helmets were cut off as evenly as if some one had cut them with shears.

  “You are an awful tailor!” said the nobles. “We knew that you were a good knight; but the ancients might envy such a blow, for the best executioner could not give a better.”

  “The wind does not take off caps as those heads were taken!” said another.

  All pressed the palms of Pan Longin; but he stood with downcast eyes, sunshiny, sweet, timid as a maiden before marriage, and said as if in explanation: “They were in good position.”

  Then they tested the sword; but since it was the double-handed sword of a crusader, no man could move it freely, not excepting even the priest Jabkovski, though he could break a horse-shoe like a reed.

  Around the tent it grew noisier; and Zagloba, Skshetuski, and Volodyovski did the honors to the visitors, treating them with stories, for they had nothing else to give them since the last biscuits in the camp had been eaten; they had long had no other meat than dried horse-flesh. But valor gave them meat and drink. Toward the end, when the others began to disperse, Marek Sobieski appeared with his lieutenant, Stempovski. Pan Longin ran out to meet him; the starosta greeted him with thanks, and said,—

  “It is a holiday with you?”

  “In truth it is a holiday,” answered Zagloba, “for our friend has fulfilled a vow.”

  “Praise be to the Lord God!” answered the starosta. “Then it is not long, brother, till we may congratulate you on your marriage. And have you any one in mind?”

  Pan Longin was extremely confused, grew red to his ears; and the starosta continued,—

  “I see by your confusion that you have. It is your sacred duty to remember that such a stock should not perish.”

  Then he pressed the hands of Pan Longin, Skshetuski, Zagloba, and the little knight; and they were rejoiced in their hearts to hear praise from such lips, for the starosta of Krasnostav was the mirror of bravery, honor, and every knightly virtue,—he was an incarnate Mars. All the gifts of God were richly united in him, for in remarkable beauty he surpassed even his younger brother Yan, who was afterward king. He was equal in fortune and name to the very first, and the great Yeremi himself exalted his military gifts to the skies. He would have been a wonderful star in the heaven of the Commonwealth, but that by the disposition of God, the younger, Yan, took his glory to himself, and Marek vanished before his time in a day of disaster.

  Hitherto our knights had rejoiced greatly at the praises of this hero; but he did not stop at that, and continued,—

  “I have heard much of you from the prince himself, who loves you beyond others. I do not wonder that you serve him without reference to promotion, which comes more readily in the regiments of the king.”

  “We are all,” answered Skshetuski, “really enrolled in the hussar regiment of the king, except Pan Zagloba, who is a volunteer from native valor. We serve under the prince, first, out of love for his person, and, secondly, because we wish to have as much as we can of the war.”

  “If such be your wish, you have chosen well. Surely Pan Podbipienta could not have found his heads under any other command so easily. But as to war in these times, we all have enough of it.”

  “More than of anything else,” said Zagloba. “Men have been coming here from early morning with praises; but if any one would ask us to a bite of food and a drink of gorailka, he would honor us best.”

  Having said this, Zagloba looked diligently into Sobieki’s eyes, and muttered unquietly; but the starosta sighed, and said,—

  “Since yesterday noon I have taken nothing into my mouth. A gulp of gorailka, however, I think can be found somewhere. I am at your service, gentlemen, for that.”

  Skshetuski, Pan Longin, and Volodyovski began to draw back and scold Zagloba, who extricated himself as he could and explained matters as he was able.

  “I did not press myself,” said he, “for it is my ambition rather to give away my own than touch what belongs to another; but when such a distinguished person invites, it would be churlish to refuse.”

  “Well, come on!” said the starosta. “I like to sit in good company, and while there is no firing we have time. I do ask you to eat, for it is difficult to get horse-flesh,—for each horse killed on the square a hundred hands are stretched forth; but there are two flasks of gorailka which certainly I shall not keep for myself.”

  The others were unwilling, and refused; but when he insisted urgently, they went. Pan Stempovski hurried on in advance, and exerted himself so that a few biscuits and some bits of horse-flesh were found as a bite after the gorailka. Zagloba was in better spirits immediately, an
d said,—

  “God grant the king, to liberate us from this siege, then we will go at once to the wagons of the general militia. They always carry a world of good things with them, and care more for their stomachs than they do for the Commonwealth. I’d rather eat with them than fight in their company; but being under the eye of the king, perhaps they will fight fairly well.”

  The starosta grew serious. “Since we have sworn,” said he, “to fall one after another without surrender, we shall do so. We must be ready for still harder times. We have scarcely any provisions, and what is worse, our powder is coming to an end. I should not say this to others, but to you I can speak. Soon we shall have nothing but desperate determination in our hearts and sabres in our hands, readiness for death, and nothing more. God grant the king to come at the earliest moment, for this is our last hope! He is a military man, and is sure not to spare life, health, or comfort in rescuing us; but his forces are too few, and he must wait,—you know how slowly the general militia muster. Besides, how is the king to know the conditions in which we are defending ourselves, and that we are eating the last fragments?”