Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Pan Adam was confident that his expedition would astonish the enemy first of all, and hence do more good than the hetman had hoped; secondly, that it might be destructive to Azya and his men. It was easy for the young lieutenant to divine that they, since they knew the Commonwealth thoroughly, would march in the vanguard, and he placed his main hope in that certainty. To fall unexpectedly on Azya and seize him, to rescue perhaps his sister and Zosia, to snatch them from captivity, accomplish his vengeance, and then perish in war, was all that the distracted soul of Novoveski wished for.

  Under the influence of these thoughts and hopes. Pan Adam freed himself from torpor, and revived. His march along unknown ways, arduous labor, the sweeping wind of the steppes, and the dangers of the bold undertaking increased his health, and brought back his former strength. The warrior began to overcome in him the man of misfortune. Before that, there had been no place in him for anything except memories and suffering; now he had to think whole days of how he was to deceive and attack.

  After they had passed the Dniester the Poles went on a diagonal, and down toward the Pruth. In the day they hid frequently in forests and reeds; in the night they made secret and hurried marches. So far the country was not much inhabited, and, occupied mainly by nomads, was empty for the greater part. Very rarely did they come upon fields of maize, and near them houses.

  Marching secretly, they strove to avoid larger settlements, but often they stopped at smaller ones composed of one, two, three, or even a number of cottages; these they entered boldly, knowing that none of the inhabitants would think of fleeing before them to Budjyak, and forewarning the Tartars. Lusnia, however, took care that this should not happen; but soon he omitted the precaution, for he convinced himself that those few settlements, though subject, as it were, to the Sultan, were looking for his troops with dread; and secondly, that they had no idea what kind of people had come to them, and took the whole detachment for Karalash parties, who were marching after others at command of the Sultan.

  The inhabitants furnished without opposition corn, bread, and dried buffalo-meat. Every cottager had his flock of sheep, his buffaloes and horses, secreted near the rivers, From time to time appeared also very large herds of buffaloes, half wild, and followed by a number of herdsmen. These herdsmen lived in tents on the steppe, and remained in one place only while they found grass in abundance. Frequently they were old Tartars. Pan Adam surrounded them with as much care as if they were a chambul; he did not spare them, lest they might send down toward Budjyak a report of his march. Tartars, especially after he had inquired of them concerning the roads, or rather the roadless country, he slew without mercy, so that not a foot escaped. He took then from the herds as many cattle as he needed, and moved on.

  The detachment went southward; they met now more frequently herds guarded by Tartars almost exclusively, and in rather large parties. During a march of two weeks Pan Adam surrounded and cut down three bands of shepherds, numbering some tens of men. The dragoons always took the sheepskin coats of these men, and cleaning them over fires, put them on, so as to resemble wild herdsmen and shepherds. In another week they were all dressed like Tartars, and looked exactly like a chambul. There remained to them only the uniform weapons of regular cavalry; but they kept their jackets in the saddle-straps, so as to put them on when returning. They might be recognized near at hand by their yellow Mazovian mustaches and blue eyes; but from a distance a man of the greatest experience might be deceived at sight of them, all the more since they drove before them the cattle which they needed as food.

  Approaching the Pruth, they marched along its left bank. Since the trail of Kuchman was in a region too much stripped, it was easy to foresee that the legions of the Sultan and the horde in the vanguard would march through Falezi, Hush, Kotimore, and only then by the Wallachian trail, and either turn toward the Dniester, or go straight as the east of a sickle through all Bessarabia, to come out on the boundary of the Commonwealth near Ushytsa. Pan Adam was so certain of this that, caring nothing for time, he went more and more slowly, and with increasing care, so as not to come too suddenly on chambuls. Arriving at last at the river forks formed by the Sarata and the Tekich, he stopped there for a long time, first, to give rest to his horses and men, and second, to wait in a well-sheltered place for the vanguard of the horde.

  The place was well sheltered and carefully chosen, for all the inner and outer banks of the two rivers were covered partly with the common cornel-bush, and partly with dog-wood. This thicket extended as far as the eye could reach, covering the ground in places with dense brushwood, in places forming groups of bushes, between which were empty spaces, commodious for camping. At that season the trees and bushes had cast their blossoms, but in the early spring there must have been a sea of white and yellow flowers. The place was uninhabited, but swarming with beasts, such as deer and rabbits, and with birds. Here and there, at the edge of a spring, they found also bear tracks. One man at the arrival of the detachment killed a couple of sheep. In view of this, Lusnia promised himself a sheep hunt; but Pan Adam, wishing to lie concealed, did not permit the use of muskets,—the soldiers went out to plunder with spears and axes.

  Later on they found near the water traces of fires, but old ones, probably of the past year. It was evident that nomads looked in there from time to time with their herds, or perhaps Tartars came to cut cornel-wood for slung staffs. But the most careful search did not discover a living soul. Pan Adam decided not to go farther, but to remain there till the coming of the Turkish troops.

  They laid out a square, built huts, and waited. At the edges of the wood sentries were posted; some of these looked day and night toward Budjyak, others toward the Pruth in the direction of Falezi. Pan Adam knew that he would divine the approach of the Sultan's armies by certain signs; besides, he sent out small detachments, led by himself most frequently. The weather favored excellently the halt in that dry region. The days were warm, but it was easy to avoid heat in the shade of the thicket; the nights were clear, calm, moonlight, and then the groves were quivering from the singing of nightingales. During such nights Pan Adam suffered most, for he could not sleep; he was thinking of his former happiness, and pondering on the present days of disaster. He lived only in the thought that when his heart was sated with vengeance he would be happier and calmer. Meanwhile the time was approaching in which he was to accomplish that vengeance or perish.

  Week followed week spent in finding food in wild places, and in watching. During that time they studied all the trails, ravines, meadows, rivers, and streams, gathered in again a number of herds, cut down some small bands of nomads, and watched continually in that thicket, like a wild beast waiting for prey. At last the expected moment came.

  A certain morning they saw flocks of birds covering the earth and the sky. Bustards, ptarmigans, blue-legged quails, hurried through the grass to the thicket; through the sky flew ravens, crows, and even water-birds, evidently frightened on the banks of the Danube or the swamps of the Dobrudja. At sight of this the dragoons looked at one another; and the phrase, "They are coming! they are coming!" flew from mouth to mouth. Faces grew animated at once, mustaches began to quiver, eyes to gleam, but in that animation there was not the slightest alarm. Those were all men for whom life had passed in "methods;" they only felt what a hunting dog feels when he sniffs game. Fires were quenched in a moment, so that smoke might not betray the presence of people in the thicket; the horses were saddled; and the whole detachment stood ready for action.

  It was necessary so to measure time as to fall on the enemy during a halt. Pan Adam understood well that the Sultan's troops would not march in dense masses, especially in their own country, where danger was altogether unlikely. He knew, too, that it was the custom of vanguards to march five or ten miles before the main army. He hoped, with good reason, that the Lithuanian Tartars would be first in the vanguard.

  For a certain time he hesitated whether to advance to meet them by secret roads, well known to him, or to wait in the w
oods for their coming. He chose the latter, because it was easier to attack from the woods unexpectedly. Another day passed, then a night, during which not only birds came in swarms, but beasts came in droves to the woods. Next morning the enemy was in sight.

  South of the wood stretched a broad though hilly meadow, which was lost in the distant horizon. On that meadow appeared the enemy, and approached the wood rather quickly. The dragoons looked from the trees at that dark mass, which vanished at times, when hidden by hills, and then appeared again in all its extent.

  Lusnia, who had uncommonly sharp eyesight, looked some time with effort at those crowds approaching; then he went to Novoveski, and said,—

  "Pan Commandant, there are not many men; they are only driving herds out to pasture."

  Pan Adam convinced himself soon that Lusnia was right, and his face shone with gladness.

  "That means that their halting-place is five or six miles from this grove," said he.

  "It does," answered Lusnia. "They march in the night, evidently to gain shelter from heat, and rest in the day; they are sending the horses now to pasture till evening."

  "Is there a large guard with the horses?"

  Lusnia pushed out again to the edge of the wood, and did not return for a longer time. At last he came back and said,—

  "There are about fifteen hundred horses and twenty-five men with them. They are in their own country; they fear nothing, and do not put out strong watches."

  "Could you recognize the men?"

  "They are far away yet, but they are Lithuanian Tartars. They are in our hands already."

  "They are," said Pan Adam.

  In fact, he was convinced that not a living foot of those men would escape. For such a leader as he, and such soldiers as he led, that was a very light task.

  Meanwhile the herdsmen had driven the beasts nearer and nearer to the forest. Lusnia thrust himself out once again to the border, and returned a second time. His face was shining with cruelty and gladness.

  "Lithuanian Tartars," whispered he.

  Hearing this, Pan Adam made a noise like a falcon, and straightway a division of dragoons pushed into the depth of the wood. There they separated into two parties, one of which disappeared in a defile, so as to come out behind the herd and the Tartars; the other formed a half-circle, and waited.

  All this was done so quietly that the most trained ear could not have caught a sound; neither sabre nor spur rattled; no horse neighed; the thick grass on the ground dulled the tramp of hoofs; besides, even the horses seemed to understand that the success of the attack depended on silence, for they were performing such service not for the first time. Nothing was heard from the defile and the brushwood but the call of the falcon, lower every little while and less frequent.

  The herd of Tartar horses stopped before the wood, and scattered in greater or smaller groups on the meadow. Pan Adam himself was then near the edge, and followed all the movements of the herdsmen. The day was clear, and the time before noon, but the sun was already high, and cast heat on the earth. The horses rolled; later on, they approached the wood. The herdsmen rode to the edge of the grove, slipped down from their horses, and let them out on lariats; then seeking the shade and cool places, they entered the thicket, and lay down under the largest bushes to rest.

  Soon a fire burst up in a flame; when the dry sticks had turned into coals and were coated with ashes, the herdsmen put half a colt on the coals, and sat at a distance themselves to avoid the heat. Some stretched on the grass; others talked, sitting in groups, Turkish fashion; one began to play on a horn. In the wood perfect silence reigned; the falcon called only at times.

  The odor of singed flesh announced at last that the roast was ready. Two men drew it out of the ashes, and dragged it to a shady tree; there they sat in a circle cutting the meat with their knives, and eating with beastly greed. From the half-raw strips came blood, which settled on their fingers, and flowed down their beards.

  When they had finished eating, and had drunk sour mare's milk out of skins, they felt satisfied. They talked awhile yet; then their heads and limbs became heavy.

  Afternoon came. The heat flew down from heaven more and more. The forest was varied with quivering streaks of light made by the rays of the sun penetrating dense places. Everything was silent; even the falcons ceased to call.

  A number of Tartars stood up and went to look at the horses; others stretched themselves like corpses on a battlefield, and soon sleep overpowered them. But their sleep after meat and drink was rather heavy and uneasy, for at times one groaned deeply, another opened his lids for a moment, and repeated, "Allah, Bismillah!"

  All at once on the edge of the wood was heard some low but terrible sound, like the short rattle of a stifled man who had no time to cry. Whether the ears of the herdsmen were so keen, or some animal instinct had warned them of danger, or finally, whether Death had blown with cold breath on them, it is enough that they sprang up from sleep in one moment.

  "What is that? Where are the men at the horses?" they began to inquire of one another. Then from a thicket some voice said in Polish,—

  "They will not return."

  That moment a hundred and fifty men rushed in a circle at the herdsmen, who were frightened so terribly that the cry died in their breasts. An odd one barely succeeded in grasping his dagger. The circle of attackers covered and hid them completely. The bush quivered from the pressure of human bodies, which struggled in a disorderly group. The whistle of blades, panting, and at times groaning or wheezing were heard, but that lasted one twinkle of an eye; and all was silent.

  "How many are alive?" asked a voice among the attackers.

  "Five, Pan Commandant."

  "Examine the bodies; lest any escape, give each man a knife in the throat, and bring the prisoners to the fire."

  The command was obeyed in one moment. The corpses were pinned to the turf with their own knives; the prisoners, after their feet had been bound to sticks, were brought around the fire, which Lusnia had raked so that coals, hidden under ashes, would be on the top.

  The prisoners looked at this preparation and at Lusnia with wild eyes. Among them were three Tartars of Hreptyoff who knew the sergeant perfectly. He knew them too, and said,—

  "Well, comrades, you must sing now; if not, you will go to the other world on roasted soles. For old acquaintance' sake I will not spare fire on you."

  When he had said this he threw dry limbs on the fire, which burst out at once in a tall blaze.

  Pan Adam came now, and began the examination. From confessions of the prisoners it appeared that what the young lieutenant had divined earlier was true. The Lithuanian Tartars and Cheremis were marching in the vanguard before the horde, and before all the troops of the Sultan. They were led by Azya, son of Tugai Bey, to whom was given command over all the parties. They, as well as the whole army, marched at night because of the heat; in the day they sent their herds out to pasture. They threw out no pickets, for no one supposed that troops could attack them even near the Dniester, much less at the Pruth, right at the dwellings of the horde; they marched comfortably, therefore, with their herds and with camels, which carried the tents of the officers. The tent of Murza Azya was easily known, for it had a bunchuk fixed on its summit, and the banners of the companies were fastened near it in time of halt. The camp was four or five miles distant; there were about two thousand men in it, but some of them had remained with the Belgrod horde, which was marching about five miles behind.

  Pan Adam inquired further touching the road which would lead to the camp best, then how the tents were arranged, and last, of that which concerned him most deeply.

  "Are there women in the tent?"

  The Tartars trembled for their lives. Those of them who had served in Hreptyoff knew perfectly that Pan Adam was the brother of one of those women, and was betrothed to the other; they understood, therefore, what rage would seize him when he knew the whole truth.

  That rage might fall first on them; they hesitat
ed, therefore, but Lusnia said at once,—

  "Pan Commandant, we'll warm their soles for the dog brothers; then they will speak."

  "Thrust their feet in the fire!" said Pan Adam.

  "Have mercy!" cried Eliashevich, an old Tartar from Hreptyoff. "I will tell all that my eyes have seen."

  Lusnia looked at the commandant to learn if he was to carry out the threat notwithstanding this answer; but Pan Adam shook his head, and said to Eliashevich,—

  "Tell what thou hast seen."

  "We are innocent, lord," answered Eliashevich; "we went at command. The murza gave your gracious sister to Pan Adurovich, who had her in his tent. I saw her in Kuchunkaury when she was going for water with pails; and I helped her to carry them, for she was heavy—"

  "Woe!" muttered Pan Adam.

  "But the other lady our murza himself had in his tent. We did not see her so often; but we heard more than once how she screamed, for the murza, though he kept her for his pleasure, beat her with rods, and kicked her."

  Pan Adam's lips began to quiver.

  Eliashevich barely heard the question.

  "Where are they now?"

  "Sold in Stambul."

  "To whom?"

  "The murza himself does not know certainly. A command came from the Padishah to keep no women in camp. All sold their women in the bazaar; the murza sold his."

  The explanation was finished, and at the fire silence set in; but for some time a sultry afternoon wind shook the limbs of the trees, which sounded more and more deeply. The air became stifling; on the edge of the horizon, black clouds appeared, dark in the centre, and shining with a copper-color on the edges.