The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 2 (of 2) Read online

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  THE DELUGE.

  Vol. II.

  THE DELUGE.

  An Historical Novel

  OF

  POLAND, SWEDEN, AND RUSSIA.

  A SEQUEL TO

  "WITH FIRE AND SWORD."

  BY

  HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ.

  _AUTHORIZED AND UNABRIDGED TRANSLATION FROM THE POLISH BY_

  JEREMIAH CURTIN.

  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  Vol. II.

  BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1915.

  _Copyright, 1891_, by Jeremiah Curtin.

  * * * * *

  Printers S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A.

  THE DELUGE

  CHAPTER I.

  The war with cannon was no bar to negotiations, which the fathersdetermined to use at every opportunity. They wished to delude the enemyand procrastinate till aid came, or at least severe winter. But Millerdid not cease to believe that the monks wished merely to extort thebest terms.

  In the evening, therefore, after that cannonading, he sent ColonelKuklinovski again with a summons to surrender. The prior showedKuklinovski the safeguard of the king, which closed his mouth at once.But Miller had a later command of the king to occupy Boleslav,Vyelunie, Kjepits, and Chenstohova.

  "Take this order to them," said he to Kuklinovski; "for I think thatthey will lack means of evasion when it is shown them." But he wasdeceived.

  The prior answered: "If the command includes Chenstohova, let thegeneral occupy the place with good fortune. He may be sure that thecloister will make no opposition; but Chenstohova is not Yasna Gora, ofwhich no mention is made in the order."

  When Miller heard this answer he saw that he had to deal with diplomatsmore adroit than himself; reasons were just what he lacked,--and thereremained only cannon.

  A truce lasted through the night. The Swedes worked with vigor atmaking better trenches; and on Yasna Gora they looked for the damagesof the previous day, and saw with astonishment that there were none.Here and there roofs and rafters were broken, here and there plasterhad dropped from the walls,--that was all. Of the men, none had fallen,no one was even maimed. The prior, going around on the walls, said witha smile to the soldiers,--

  "But see, this enemy with his bombarding is not so terrible asreported. After a festival there is often more harm done. God's care isguarding you; God's hand protects you; only let us endure, and we shallsee greater wonders."

  Sunday came, the festival of the offering of the Holy Lady. There wasno hindrance to services, since Miller was waiting for the finalanswer, which the monks had promised to send after midday.

  Mindful meanwhile of the words of Scripture, how Israel bore the ark ofGod around the camp to terrify the Philistines, they went again inprocession with the monstrance.

  The letter was sent about one o'clock, not to surrender; but to repeatthe answer given Kuklinovski, that the church and the cloister arecalled Yasna Gora, and that the town Chenstohova does not belong to thecloister at all. "Therefore we implore earnestly his worthiness," wrotethe prior Kordetski, "to be pleased to leave in peace our Congregationand the church consecrated to God and His Most Holy Mother, so that Godmay be honored therein during future times. In this church also weshall implore the Majesty of God for the health and success of the MostSerene King of Sweden. Meanwhile we, unworthy men, while preferring ourrequest, commend ourselves most earnestly to the kindly considerationof your worthiness, confiding in your goodness, from which we promisemuch to ourselves in the future."

  There were present at the reading of the letter, Sadovski; CountVeyhard; Horn, governor of Kjepitsi; De Fossis, a famous engineer; andthe Prince of Hesse, a man young and very haughty, who thoughsubordinate to Miller, was willing to show his own importance. Helaughed therefore maliciously, and repeated the conclusion of theletter with emphasis,--

  "They promise much to themselves from your kindness; General, that is ahint for a contribution. I put one question, gentlemen: Are the monksbetter beggars or better gunners?"

  "True," said Horn, "during these first days we have lost so many menthat a good battle would not have taken more."

  "As for me," continued the Prince of Hesse, "I do not want money; I amnot seeking for glory, and I shall freeze off my feet in these huts.What a pity that we did not go to Prussia, a rich country, pleasant,one town excelling another."

  Miller, who acted quickly but thought slowly, now first understood thesense of the letter; he grew purple and said,--

  "The monks are jeering at us, gracious gentlemen."

  "They had not the intention of doing so, but it comes out all thesame," answered Horn.

  "To the trenches, then! Yesterday the fire was weak, the balls few."

  The orders given flew swiftly from end to end of the Swedish line. Thetrenches were covered with blue clouds; the cloister answered quicklywith all its energy. But this time the Swedish guns were betterplanted, and began to cause greater damage. Bombs, loaded with powder,were scattered, each drawing behind it a curl of flame. Lighted torcheswere hurled too, and rolls of hemp steeped in rosin.

  As sometimes flocks of passing cranes, tired from long flying, besiegea high cliff, so swarms of these fiery messengers fell on the summit ofthe church and on the wooden roofs of the buildings. Whoso was nottaking part in the struggle, was near a cannon, was sitting on a roof.Some dipped water from wells, others drew up the buckets with ropes,while third parties put out fire with wet cloths. Balls crashingrafters and beams fell into garrets, and soon smoke and the odor ofburning filled all the interior of buildings. But in garrets, too,defenders were watching with buckets of water. The heaviest bombs bursteven through ceilings. In spite of efforts more than human, in spite ofwakefulness, it seemed that, early or late, flames would embrace thewhole cloister. Torches and bundles of hemp pushed with hooks from theroofs formed burning piles at the foot of the walls. Windows werebursting from heat, and women and children confined in rooms werestifling from smoke and exhalations. Hardly were some missilesextinguished, hardly was the water flowing in broken places, when therecame new flocks of burning balls, flaming cloths, sparks, living fire.The whole cloister was seized with it. You would have said that heavenhad opened on the place, and that a shower of thunders was falling;still it burned, but was not consumed; it was flaming, but did not fallinto fragments; what was more, the besieged began to sing like thoseyouths in the fiery furnace; for, as the day previous, a song was nowheard from the tower, accompanied by trumpets. To the men standing onthe walls and working at the guns, who at each moment might think thatall was blazing and falling to ruins behind their shoulders, that songwas like healing balsam, announcing continually that the church wasstanding, that the cloister was st
anding, that so far flames had notvanquished the efforts of men. Hence it became a custom to sweeten withsuch harmony the suffering of the siege, and to keep removed from theears of women the terrible shouts of raging soldiery.

  But in the Swedish camp that singing and music made no smallimpression. The soldiers in the trenches heard it at first with wonder,then with superstitious dread.

  "How is it," said they to one another, "we have cast so much fire andiron at that hen-house that more than one powerful fortress would haveflown away in smoke and ashes, but they are playing joyously? What doesthis mean?"

  "Enchantment!" said others.

  "Balls do not harm those walls. Bombs roll down from the roofs as ifthey were empty kegs! Enchantment, enchantment!" repeated they."Nothing good will meet us in this place."

  The officers in fact were ready to ascribe some mysterious meaning tothose sounds. But others interpreted differently, and Sadovski saidaloud, so that Miller might hear: "They must feel well there, sincethey rejoice; or are they glad because we have spent so much powder fornothing?"

  "Of which we have not too much," added the Prince of Hesse.

  "But we have as leader Poliorcetes," said Sadovski, in such a tone thatit could not be understood whether he was ridiculing or flatteringMiller. But the latter evidently took it as ridicule, for he bit hismustache.

  "We shall see whether they will be playing an hour later," said he,turning to his staff.

  Miller gave orders to double the fire, but these orders were carriedout over-zealously. In their hurry, the gunners pointed the cannons toohigh, and the result was they carried too far. Some of the balls,soaring above the church and the cloister, went to the Swedish trencheson the opposite side, smashing timber works, scattering baskets,killing men.

  An hour passed; then a second. From the church tower came solemn musicunbroken.

  Miller stood with his glass turned on Chenstohova. He looked a longtime. Those present noticed that the hand with which he held the glassto his eyes trembled more and more; at last he turned and cried,--

  "The shots do not injure the church one whit!" And anger, unrestrained,mad, seized the old warrior. He hurled the glass to the earth, and itbroke into pieces. "I shall go wild from this music!" roared he.

  At that moment De Fossis, the engineer, galloped up. "General," saidhe, "it is impossible to make a mine. Under a layer of earth lies rock.There miners are needed."

  Miller used an oath. But he had not finished the imprecation whenanother officer came with a rush from the Chenstohova entrenchment, andsaluting, said,--

  "Our largest gun has burst. Shall we bring others from Lgota?"

  Fire had slackened somewhat; the music was heard with more and moresolemnity. Miller rode off to his quarters without saying a word. Buthe gave no orders to slacken the struggle; he determined to worry thebesieged. They had in the fortress barely two hundred men as garrison;he had continual relays of fresh soldiers.

  Night came, the guns thundered unceasingly; but the cloister gunsanswered actively,--more actively indeed than during the day, for theSwedish camp-fires showed them ready work. More than once it happenedthat soldiers had barely sat around the fire and the kettle hangingover it, when a ball from the cloister flew to them out of thedarkness, like an angel of death. The fire was scattered to splintersand sparks, the soldiers ran apart with unearthly cries, and eithersought refuge with other comrades, or wandered through the night,chilled, hungry, and frightened.

  About midnight the fire from the cloister increased to such force thatwithin reach of a cannon not a stick could be kindled. The besiegedseemed to speak in the language of cannons the following words: "Youwish to wear us out,--try it! We challenge you!"

  One o'clock struck, and two. A fine rain began to fall in the form ofcold mist, but piercing, and in places thickened as if into pillars,columns and bridges seeming red from the light of the fire. Throughthese fantastic arcades and pillars were seen at times the threateningoutlines of the cloister, which changed before the eye; at one time itseemed higher than usual, then again it fell away as if in an abyss.From the trenches to its walls stretched as it were ill-omened archesand corridors formed of darkness and mist, and through those corridorsflew balls bearing death; at times all the air above the cloisterseemed clear as if illumined by a lightning flash; the walls, the loftyworks, and the towers were all outlined in brightness, then again theywere quenched. The soldiers looked before them with superstitious andgloomy dread. Time after time one pushed another and whispered,--

  "Hast seen it? This cloister appears and vanishes in turn. That is apower not human."

  "I saw something better than that," answered the other. "We were aimingwith that gun that burst, when in a moment the whole fortress began tojump and quiver, as if some one were raising and lowering it. Fire atsuch a fortress; hit it!"

  The soldier then threw aside the cannon brush, and after a whileadded,--

  "We can win nothing here! We shall never smell their treasures. Brr, itis cold! Have you the tar-bucket there? Set fire to it; we can evenwarm our hands."

  One of the soldiers started to light the tar by means of a sulphuredthread. He ignited the sulphur first, then began to let it down slowly.

  "Put out that light!" sounded the voice of an officer. But almost thesame instant was heard the noise of a ball; then a short cry, and thelight was put out.

  The night brought the Swedes heavy losses. A multitude of men perishedat the camp-fires; in places regiments fell into such disorder thatthey could not form line before morning. The besieged, as if wishing toshow that they needed no sleep, fired with increasing rapidity.

  The dawn lighted tired faces on the walls, pale, sleepless, butenlivened by feverishness. Kordetski had lain in the form of a cross inthe church all night; with daylight he appeared on the walls, and hispleasant voice was heard at the cannon, in the curtains, and near thegates.

  "God is forming the day, my children," said he. "Blessed be His light.There is no damage in the church, none in the buildings. The fire isput out, no one has lost his life. Pan Mosinski, a fiery ball fellunder the cradle of your little child, and was quenched, causing noharm. Give thanks to the Most Holy Lady; repay her."

  "May Her name be blessed," said Mosinski; "I serve as I can."

  The prior went farther.

  It had become bright day when he stood near Charnyetski and Kmita. Hedid not see Kmita; for he had crawled to the other side to examine thewoodwork, which a Swedish ball had harmed somewhat. The prior askedstraightway,--

  "But where is Babinich? Is he not sleeping?"

  "I, sleep in such a night as this!" answered Pan Andrei, climbing up onthe wall. "I should have no conscience. Better watch as an orderly ofthe Most Holy Lady."

  "Better, better, faithful servant!" answered Kordetski.

  Pan Andrei saw at that moment a faint Swedish light gleaming, andimmediately he cried,--

  "Fire, there, fire! Aim! higher! at the dog-brothers!"

  Kordetski smiled, seeing such zeal, and returned to the cloister tosend to the wearied men a drink made of beer with pieces of cheesebroken in it.

  Half an hour later appeared women, priests, and old men of the church,bringing steaming pots and jugs. The soldiers seized these withalacrity, and soon was heard along all the walls eager drinking. Theypraised the drink, saying,--

  "We are not forgotten in the service of the Most Holy Lady. We havegood food."

  "It is worse for the Swedes," added others. "It was hard for them tocook food the past night; it will be worse the night coming."

  "They have enough, the dog-faiths. They will surely give themselves andus rest during the day. Their poor guns must be hoarse by this timefrom roaring continually."

  But the soldiers were mistaken, for the day was not to bring rest When,in the morning, officers coming with the reports informed Miller thatthe result of the night's cannonading was nothing, that in fact thenight had brought the Swedes a considerable loss in men, the generalwas stubborn and gave com
mand to continue cannonading. "They will growtired at last," said he to the Prince of Hesse.

  "This is an immense outlay of powder," answered that officer.

  "But they burn powder too?"

  "They must have endless supplies of saltpetre and sulphur, and we shallgive them charcoal ourselves, if we are able to burn even one booth. Inthe night I went near the walls, and in spite of the thunder, I heard amill clearly, that must be a powder-mill."

  "I will give orders to cannonade as fiercely as yesterday, till sunset.We will rest for the night. We shall see if an embassy does not comeout."

  "Your worthiness knows that they have sent one to Wittemberg?"

  "I know; I will send too for the largest cannons. If it is impossibleto frighten the monks or to raise a fire inside the fortress, we mustmake a breach."

  "I hope, your worthiness, that the field-marshal will approve thesiege."

  "The field-marshal knows of my intention, and he has said nothing,"replied Miller, dryly. "If failure pursues me still farther, thefield-marshal will give censure instead of approval, and will not failto lay all the blame at my door. The king will say he is right,--I knowthat. I have suffered not a little from the field-marshal's sullenhumor, just as if 'tis my fault that he, as the Italians state, isconsumed by _mal francese_."

  "That they will throw the blame on you I doubt not, especially when itappears that Sadovich is right."

  "How right? Sadovich speaks for those monks as if he were hired bythem. What does he say?"

  "He says that these shots will be heard through the whole country, fromthe Carpathians to the Baltic."

  "Let the king command in such case to tear the skin from Count Veyhardand send it as an offering to the cloister; for he it is who instigatedto this siege."

  Here Miller seized his head.

  "But it is necessary to finish at a blow. It seems to me, somethingtells me, that in the night they will send some one to negotiate;meanwhile fire after fire!"

  The day passed then as the day previous, full of thunder, smoke, andflames. Many such were to pass yet over Yasna Gora. But the defendersquenched the conflagrations and cannonaded no less bravely. One halfthe soldiers went to rest, the other half were on the walls at theguns.

  The people began to grow accustomed to the unbroken roar, especiallywhen convinced that no great damage was done. Faith strengthened theless experienced; but among them were old soldiers, acquainted withwar, who performed their service as a trade. These gave comfort to thevillagers.

  Soroka acquired much consideration among them; for, having spent agreat part of his life in war, he was as indifferent to its uproar asan old innkeeper to the shouts of carousers. In the evening when theguns had grown silent he told his comrades of the siege of Zbaraj. Hehad not been there in person, but he knew of it minutely from soldierswho had gone through that siege and had told him.

  "There rolled on Cossacks, Tartars, and Turks, so many that there weremore under-cooks there than all the Swedes that are here. And still ourpeople did not yield to them. Besides, evil spirits have no power here;but there it was only Friday, Saturday, and Sunday that the devils didnot help the ruffians; the rest of the time they terrified our peoplewhole nights. They sent Death to the breastworks to appear to thesoldiers and take from them courage for battle. I know this from a manwho saw Death himself."

  "Did he see her?" asked with curiosity peasants gathering around thesergeant.

  "With his own eyes. He was going from digging a well; for water waslacking, and what was in the ponds smelt badly. He was going, going,till he saw walking in front of him some kind of figure in a blackmantle."

  "In a black, not in a white one?"

  "In black; in war Death dresses in black. It was growing dark, thesoldier came up. 'Who is here?' inquired he--no answer. Then he pulledthe mantle, looked, and saw a skeleton. 'But what art thou here for?'asked the soldier. 'I am Death,' was the answer; 'and I am coming forthee in a week.' The soldier thought that was bad. 'Why,' asked he, 'ina week, and not sooner? Art thou not free to come sooner?' The othersaid: 'I can do nothing before a week, for such is the order.'"

  "The soldier thought to himself: 'That is hard; but if she can donothing to me now, I'll pay her what I owe.' Winding Death up in themantle, he began to beat her bones on the pebbles; but she cried andbegged: 'I'll come in two weeks!' 'Impossible.' 'In three, four, ten,when the siege is over; a year, two, fifteen--' 'Impossible.' 'I'llcome in fifty years.' The soldier was pleased, for he was then fifty,and thought: 'A hundred years is enough; I'll let her go.' The man isliving this minute, and well; he goes to a battle as to a dance, forwhat does he care?"

  "But if he had been frightened, it would have been all over with him?"

  "The worst is to fear Death," said Soroka, with importance. "Thissoldier did good to others too; for after he had beaten Death, he hurther so that she was fainting for three days, and during that time noone fell in camp, though sorties were made."

  "But we never go out at night against the Swedes."

  "We haven't the head for it," answered Soroka.

  The last question and answer were heard by Kmita, who was standing notfar away, and he struck his head. Then he looked at the Swedishtrenches. It was already night. At the trenches for an hour past deepsilence had reigned. The wearied soldiers were seemingly sleeping atthe guns.

  At two cannon-shots' distance gleamed a number of fires; but at thetrenches themselves was thick darkness.

  "That will not enter their heads, nor the suspicion of it, and theycannot suppose it," whispered Kmita to himself.

  He went straight to Charnyetski, who, sitting at the gun-carriage, wasreading his rosary, and striking one foot against the other, for bothfeet were cold.

  "Cold," said he, seeing Kmita; "and my head is heavy from the thunderof two days and one night. In my ears there is continual ringing."

  "In whose head would it not ring from such uproars? But to-day we shallrest. They have gone to sleep for good. It would be possible tosurprise them like a bear in a den; I know not whether guns would rousethem."

  "Oh," said Charnyetski, raising his head, "of what are you thinking?"

  "I am thinking of Zbaraj, how the besieged inflicted with sorties morethan one great defeat on the ruffians."

  "You are thinking of blood, like a wolf in the night."

  "By the living God and his wounds, let us make a sortie! We will cutdown men, spike guns! They expect no attack."

  Charnyetski sprang to his feet.

  "And in the morning they will go wild. They imagine, perhaps, that theyhave frightened us enough and we are thinking of surrender; they willget their answer. As I love God, 'tis a splendid idea, a real knightlydeed! That should have come to my head too. But it is needful to tellall to Kordetski, for he is commander."

  They went.

  Kordetski was taking counsel in the chamber with Zamoyski. When heheard steps, he raised his voice and pushing a candle to one side,inquired,--

  "Who is coming? Is there anything new?"

  "It is I, Charnyetski," replied Pan Pyotr, "with me is Babinich;neither of us can sleep. We have a terrible odor of the Swedes. ThisBabinich, father, has a restless head and cannot stay in one place. Heis boring me, boring; for he wants terribly to go to the Swedes beyondthe walls to ask them if they will fire to-morrow also, or give us andthemselves time to breathe."

  "How is that?" inquired the prior, not concealing his astonishment"Babinich wants to make a sortie from the fortress?"

  "In company, in company," answered Charnyetski, hurriedly, "with me andsome others. They, it seems, are sleeping like dead men at thetrenches; there is no fire visible, no sentries to be seen. They trustover much in our weakness."

  "We will spike the guns," said Kmita.

  "Give that Babinich this way!" exclaimed Zamoyski; "let me embrace him!The sting is itching, O hornet! thou wouldst gladly sting even atnight. This is a great undertaking, which may have the finest results.God gave us only one Lithuanian, but that one an e
nraged and bitingbeast. I applaud the design; no one here will find fault with it. I amready to go myself."

  Kordetski at first was alarmed, for he feared bloodshed, especiallywhen his own life was not exposed; after he had examined the idea moreclosely, he recognized it as worthy of the defenders.

  "Let me pray," said he. And kneeling before the image of the Mother ofGod, he prayed a while, with outspread arms, and then rose with sereneface.

  "Pray you as well," said he; "and then go."

  A quarter of an hour later the four went out and repaired to the walls.The trenches in the distance were sleeping. The night was very dark.

  "How many men will you take?" asked Kordetski of Kmita.

  "I?" answered Pan Andrei, in surprise. "I am not leader, and I do notknow the place so well as Pan Charnyetski. I will go with my sabre, butlet Charnyetski lead the men, and me with the others; I only wish tohave my Soroka go, for he can hew terribly."

  This answer pleased both Charnyetski and the prior, for they saw in itclear proof of submission. They set about the affair briskly. Men wereselected, the greatest silence was enjoined, and they began to removethe beams, stones, and brick from the passage in the wall.

  This labor lasted about an hour. At length the opening was ready, andthe men began to dive into the narrow jaws. They had sabres, pistols,guns, and some, namely peasants, had scythes with points downward,--aweapon with which they were best acquainted.

  When outside the wall they organized; Charnyetski stood at the head ofthe party, Kmita at the flank; and they moved along the ditch silently,restraining the breath in their breasts, like wolves stealing up to asheepfold.

  Still, at times a scythe struck a scythe, at times a stone grittedunder a foot, and by those noises it was possible to know that theywere pushing forward unceasingly. When they had come down to the plain,Charnyetski halted, and, not far from the enemy's trenches, left someof his men, under command of Yanich, a Hungarian, an old, experiencedsoldier; these men he commanded to lie on the ground. Charnyetskihimself advanced somewhat to the right, and having now under foot softearth which gave out no echo, began to lead forward his party moreswiftly. His plan was to pass around the intrenchment, strike on thesleeping Swedes from the rear, and push them toward the cloisteragainst Yanich's men. This idea was suggested by Kmita, who nowmarching near him with sabre in hand, whispered,--

  "The intrenchment is extended in such fashion that between it and themain camp there is open ground. Sentries, if there are any, are beforethe trenches and not on this side of it, so that we can go behindfreely, and attack them on the side from which they least expectattack."

  "That is well," said Charnyetski; "not a foot of those men shouldescape."

  "If any one speaks when we enter," continued Pan Andrei, "let meanswer; I can speak German as well as Polish; they will think that someone is coming from Miller, from the camp."

  "If only there are no sentries behind the intrenchments."

  "Even if there are, we shall spring on in a moment; before they canunderstand who and what, we shall have them down."

  "It is time to turn, the end of the trench can be seen," saidCharnyetski; and turning he called softly, "To the right, to theright!"

  The silent line began to bend. That moment the moon lighted a bank ofclouds somewhat, and it grew clearer. The advancing men saw an emptyspace in the rear of the trench.

  As Kmita had foreseen, there were no sentries whatever on that space;for why should the Swedes station sentries between their trenches andtheir own army, stationed in the rear of the trenches. The mostsharp-sighted leader could not suspect danger from that side.

  At that moment Charnyetski said in the lowest whisper; "Tents arenow visible. And in two of them are lights. People are still awakethere,--surely officers. Entrance from the rear must be easy."

  "Evidently," answered Kmita. "Over that road they draw cannon, and byit troops enter. The bank is already at hand. Have a care now that armsdo not clatter."

  They had reached the elevation raised carefully with earth dug from somany trenches. A whole line of wagons was standing there, in whichpowder and balls had been brought.

  But at the wagons, no man was watching; passing them, therefore, theybegan to climb the embankment without trouble, as they had justlyforeseen, for it was gradual and well raised.

  In this manner they went right to the tents, and with drawn weaponsstood straight in front of them. In two of the tents lights wereactually burning; therefore Kmita said to Charnyetski,--

  "I will go in advance to those who are not sleeping. Wait for mypistol, and then on the enemy!" When he had said this, he went forward.

  The success of the sortie was already assured; therefore he did not tryto go in very great silence. He passed a few tents buried in darkness;no one woke, no one inquired, "Who is there?"

  The soldiers of Yasna Gora heard the squeak of his daring steps and thebeating of their own hearts. He reached the lighted tent, raised thecurtain and entered, halted at the entrance with pistol in hand andsabre down on its strap.

  He halted because the light dazzled him somewhat, for on the camp tablestood a candlestick with six arms, in which bright lights were burning.

  At the table were sitting three officers, bent over plans. One of them,sitting in the middle, was poring over these plans so intently that hislong hair lay on the white paper. Seeing some one enter, he raised hishead, and asked in a calm voice,--

  "Who is there?"

  "A soldier," answered Kmita.

  That moment the two other officers turned their eyes toward theentrance.

  "What soldier, where from?" asked the first, who was De Fossis, theofficer who chiefly directed the siege.

  "From the cloister," answered Kmita. But there was something terriblein his voice.

  De Fossis rose quickly and shaded his eyes with his hand. Kmita wasstanding erect and motionless as an apparition; only the threateningface, like the head of a predatory bird, announced sudden danger.

  Still the thought, quick as lightning, rushed through the head of DeFossis, that he might be a deserter from Yasna Gora; therefore he askedagain, but excitedly,--

  "What do you want?"

  "I want this!" cried Kmita; and he fired from a pistol into the verybreast of De Fossis.

  With that a terrible shout and a salvo of shots was heard on thetrench. De Fossis fell as falls a pine-tree struck by lightning;another officer rushed at Kmita with his sword, but the latter slashedhim between the eyes with his sabre, which gritted on the bone; thethird officer threw himself on the ground, wishing to slip out underthe side of the tent, but Kmita sprang at him, put his foot on hisshoulder, and nailed him to the earth with a thrust.

  By this time the silence of night had turned into the day of judgment.Wild shouts: "Slay, kill!" were mingled with howls and shrill calls ofSwedish soldiers for aid. Men bewildered from terror rushed out of thetents, not knowing whither to turn, in what direction to flee. Some,without noting at once whence the attack came, ran straight to theenemy, and perished under sabres, scythes, and axes, before they hadtime to cry "Quarter!" Some in the darkness stabbed their own comrades;others unarmed, half-dressed, without caps, with hands raised upward,stood motionless on one spot; some at last dropped on the earth amongthe overturned tents. A small handful wished to defend themselves; buta blinded throng bore them away, threw them down, and trampled them.

  Groans of the dying and heart-rending prayers for quarter increased theconfusion.

  When at last it grew clear from the cries that the attack had come, notfrom the side of the cloister, but from the rear, just from thedirection of the Swedish army, then real desperation seized theattacked. They judged evidently that some squadrons, allies of thecloister, had struck on them suddenly.

  Crowds of infantry began to spring out of the intrenchment and runtoward the cloister, as if they wished to find refuge within its walls.But soon new shouts showed that they had come upon the party of theHungarian, Yanich, who finished them under the v
ery fortress.

  Meanwhile the cloister-men, slashing, thrusting, trampling, advancedtoward the cannons. Men with spikes ready, rushed at them immediately;but others continued the work of death. Peasants, who would not havestood before trained soldiers in the open field, rushed now a handfulat a crowd.

  Valiant Colonel Horn, governor of Kjepitsi, endeavored to rally thefleeing soldiers; springing into a corner of the trench, he shouted inthe darkness and waved his sword. The Swedes recognized him and beganat once to assemble; but in their tracks and with them rushed theattackers, whom it was difficult to distinguish in the darkness.

  At once was heard a terrible whistle of scythes, and the voice of Hornceased in a moment. The crowd of soldiers scattered as if driven apartby a bomb. Kmita and Charnyetski rushed after them with a few people,and cut them to pieces.

  The trench was taken.

  In the main camp of the Swedes trumpets sounded the alarm. Straightwaythe guns of Yasna Gora gave answer, and fiery balls began to fly fromthe cloister to light up the way for the home-coming men. They camepanting, bloody, like wolves who had made a slaughter in a sheepfold;they were retreating before the approaching sound of musketeers.Charnyetski led the van, Kmita brought up the rear.

  In half an hour they reached the party left with Yanich; but he did notanswer their call; he alone had paid for the sortie with his life, forwhen he rushed after some officer, his own soldiers shot him.

  The party entered the cloister amid the thunder of cannon and the gleamof flames. At the entrance the prior was waiting, and he counted themin order as the heads were pushed in through the opening. No one wasmissing save Yanich.

  Two men went out for him at once, and half an hour later they broughthis body; for Kordetski wished to honor him with a fitting burial.

  But the quiet of night, once broken, did not return till white day.From the walls cannon were playing; in the Swedish positions thegreatest confusion continued. The enemy not knowing well their ownlosses, not knowing whence the aggressor might come, fled from thetrenches nearest the cloister. Whole regiments wandered in despairingdisorder till morning, mistaking frequently their own for the enemy,and firing at one another. Even in the main camp were soldiers andofficers who abandoned their tents and remained under the open sky,awaiting the end of that ghastly night. Alarming news flew from mouthto mouth. Some said that succor had come to the fortress, othersasserted that all the nearer intrenchments were captured.

  Miller, Sadovski, the Prince of Hesse, Count Veyhard, and othersuperior officers, made superhuman exertions to bring the terrifiedregiments to order. At the same time the cannonade of the cloister wasanswered by balls of fire, to scatter the darkness and enable fugitivesto assemble. One of the balls struck the roof of the chapel, butstriking only the edge of it, returned with rattling and cracklingtoward the camp, casting a flood of flame through the air.

  At last the night of tumult was ended. The cloister and the Swedishcamp became still. Morning had begun to whiten the summits of thechurch, the roofs took on gradually a ruddy light, and day came.

  In that hour Miller, at the head of his staff, rode to the capturedtrench. They could, it is true, see him from the cloister and openfire; but the old general cared not for that. He wished to see with hisown eyes all the injury, and count the slain. The staff followed him;all were disturbed,--they had sorrow and seriousness in their faces.When they reached the intrenchment, they dismounted and began toascend. Traces of the struggle were visible everywhere; lower down thanthe guns were the overthrown tents; some were still open, empty,silent. There were piles of bodies, especially among the tents;half-naked corpses, mangled, with staring eyes, and with terrorstiffened in their dead eyeballs, presented a dreadful sight. Evidentlyall these men had been surprised in deep sleep; some of them werebarefoot; it was a rare one who grasped his rapier in his dead hand;almost no one wore a helmet or a cap. Some were lying in tents,especially at the side of the entrance; these, it was apparent, hadbarely succeeded in waking; others, at the sides of tents, were caughtby death at the moment when they were seeking safety in flight.Everywhere there were many bodies, and in places such piles that itmight be thought some cataclysm of nature had killed those soldiers;but the deep wounds in their faces and breasts, some faces blackened byshots, so near that all the powder had not been burned, testified buttoo plainly that the hand of man had caused the destruction.

  Miller went higher, to the guns; they were standing dumb, spiked, nomore terrible now than logs of wood; across one of them lay hanging onboth sides the body of a gunner, almost cut in two by the terriblesweep of a scythe. Blood had flowed over the carriage and formed abroad pool beneath it. Miller observed everything minutely, in silenceand with frowning brow. No officer dared break that silence. For howcould they bring consolation to that aged general, who had been beatenlike a novice through his own want of care? That was not only defeat,but shame; for the general himself had called that fortress ahen-house, and promised to crush it between his fingers, for he hadnine thousand soldiers, and there were two hundred men in the garrison;finally, that general was a soldier, blood and bone, and against himwere monks.

  That day had a grievous beginning for Miller.

  Now the infantry came up and began to carry out bodies. Four of them,bearing on a stretcher a corpse, stopped before the general withoutbeing ordered.

  Miller looked at the stretcher and closed his eyes.

  "De Fossis," said he, in a hollow voice.

  Scarcely had they gone aside when others came, this time Sadovski movedtoward them and called from a distance, turning to the staff,--

  "They are carrying Horn!"

  But Horn was alive yet, and had before him long days of atrocioussuffering. A peasant had cut him with the very point of a scythe; butthe blow was so fearful that it opened the whole framework of hisbreast. Still the wounded man retained his presence of mind. SeeingMiller and the staff, he smiled, wished to say something, but insteadof a sound there came through his lips merely rose-colored froth; thenhe began to blink, and fainted.

  "Carry him to my tent," said Miller, "and let my doctor attend to himimmediately."

  Then the officers heard him say to himself,--

  "Horn, Horn,--I saw him last night in a dream,--just in the evening. Aterrible thing, beyond comprehension!"

  And fixing his eyes on the ground, he dropped into deep thought; all atonce he was roused from his revery by the voice of Sadovski, who cried:"General! look there, there--the cloister!"

  Miller looked and was astonished. It was broad day and clear, only fogswere hanging over the earth; but the sky was clear and blushing fromthe light of the morning. A white fog hid the summit itself of YasnaGora, and according to the usual order of things ought to hide thechurch, but by a peculiar phenomenon the church, with the tower,was raised, not only above the cliff, but above the fog, high,high,--precisely as if it had separated from its foundations and washanging in the blue under the dome of the sky. The cries of thesoldiers announced that they too saw the phenomenon.

  "That fog deceives the eye!" said Miller.

  "The fog is lying under the church," answered Sadovski.

  "It is a wonderful thing; but that church is ten times higher than itwas yesterday, and hangs in the air," said the Prince of Hesse.

  "It is going yet! higher, higher!" cried the soldiers. "It will vanishfrom the eye!"

  In fact the fog hanging on the cliff began to rise toward the sky inthe form of an immense pillar of smoke; the church planted, as it were,on the summit of that pillar, seemed to rise higher each instant; atthe same time when it was far up, as high as the clouds themselves, itwas veiled more and more with vapor; you would have said that it wasmelting, liquefying; it became more indistinct, and at last vanishedaltogether.

  Miller turned to the officers, and in his eyes were depictedastonishment and a superstitious dread.

  "I acknowledge, gentlemen," said he, "that I have never seen such athing in my life, altogether opposed to nature: it must be the
enchantment of papists."

  "I have heard," said Sadovski, "soldiers crying out, 'How can you fireat such a fortress?' In truth I know not how."

  "But what is there now?" cried the Prince of Hesse. "Is that church inthe fog, or is it gone?"

  "Though this were an ordinary phenomenon of nature, in any event itforebodes us no good. See, gentlemen, from the time that we came herewe have not advanced one step."

  "If," answered Sadovski, "we had only not advanced; but to tell thetruth, we have suffered defeat after defeat, and last night was theworst. The soldiers losing willingness lose courage, and will begin tobe negligent. You have no idea of what they say in the regiments.Besides, wonderful things take place; for instance, for a certain timeno man can go alone, or even two men, out of the camp; whoever does sois as if he had fallen through the earth, as if wolves were prowlingaround Chenstohova. I sent myself, not long since, a banneret and threemen to Vyelunie for warm clothing, and from that day, no tidings ofthem."

  "It will be worse when winter comes; even now the nights areunendurable," added the Prince of Hesse.

  "The mist is growing thinner!" said Miller, on a sudden.

  In fact a breeze rose and began to blow away the vapors. In the bundlesof fog something began to quiver; finally the sun rose and the air grewtransparent. The walls of the cloister were outlined faintly, then outcame the church and the cloister. Everything was in its old place. Thefortress was quiet and still, as if people were not living in it.

  "General," said the Prince of Hesse, with energy, "try negotiationsagain, it is needful to finish at once."

  "But if negotiations lead to nothing, do you, gentlemen, advise to giveup the siege?" asked Miller, gloomily.

  The officers were silent. After a while Sadovski said,--

  "Your worthiness knows best that it will come to that."

  "I know," answered Miller, haughtily, "and I say this only to you, thatI curse the day and the hour in which I came hither, as well as thecounsellor who persuaded me to this siege [here he pierced CountVeyhard with his glance]. You know, however, after what has happened,that I shall not withdraw until I turn this cursed fortress into a heapof ruins, or fall myself."

  Displeasure was reflected in the face of the Prince of Hesse. He hadnever respected Miller over-much; hence he considered this meremilitary braggadocio ill-timed, in view of the captured trenches, thecorpses, and the spiked cannon. He turned to him then and answered withevident sarcasm,--

  "General, you are not able to promise that; for you would withdraw inview of the first command of the king, or of Marshal Wittemberg.Sometimes also circumstances are able to command not worse than kingsand marshals."

  Miller wrinkled his heavy brows, seeing which Count Veyhard saidhurriedly,--

  "Meanwhile we will try negotiations. They will yield; it cannot beotherwise."

  The rest of his words were drowned by the rejoicing sound of bells,summoning to early Mass in the church of Yasna Gora. The general withhis staff rode away slowly toward Chenstohova; but had not reachedheadquarters when an officer rushed up on a foaming horse.

  "He is from Marshal Wittemberg!" said Miller.

  The officer handed him a letter. The general broke the seal hurriedly,and running over the letter quickly with his eyes, said with confusionin his countenance,--

  "No! This is from Poznan. Evil tidings. In Great Poland the nobles arerising, the people are joining them. At the head of the movement isKrishtof Jegotski, who wants to march to the aid of Chenstohova."

  "I foretold that these shots would be heard from the Carpathians to theBaltic," muttered Sadovski. "With this people change is sudden. You donot know the Poles yet; you will discover them later."

  "Well! we shall know them," answered Miller. "I prefer an open enemy toa false ally. They yielded of their own accord, and now they are takingarms. Well! they will know our weapons."

  "And we theirs," blurted out Sadovski. "General, let us finishnegotiations with Chenstohova; let us agree to any capitulation. It isnot a question of the fortress, but of the rule of his Royal Grace inthis country."

  "The monks will capitulate," said Count Veyhard. "Today or to-morrowthey will yield."

  So they conversed with one another; but in the cloister after earlyMass the joy was unbounded. Those who had not gone out in the sortieasked those who had how everything had happened. Those who had takenpart boasted greatly, glorifying their own bravery and the defeat theyhad given the enemy.

  Among the priests and women curiosity became paramount. White habitsand women's robes covered the wall. It was a beautiful and gladsomeday. The women gathered around Charnyetski, crying "Our deliverer! ourguardian!" He defended himself particularly when they wanted to kisshis hands, and pointing to Kmita, said,--

  "Thank him too. He is Babinich,[1] but no old woman. He will not lethis hands be Kissed, for there is blood on them yet; but if any of theyounger would like to kiss him on the lips, I think that he would notflinch."

  The younger women did in fact cast modest and at the same time enticingglances at Pan Andrei, admiring his splendid beauty; but he did notanswer with his eyes to those dumb questions, for the sight of thesemaidens reminded him of Olenka.

  "Oh, my poor girl!" thought he, "if you only knew that in the serviceof the Most Holy Lady I am opposing those enemies whom formerly Iserved to my sorrow!"

  And he promised himself that the moment the siege was over he wouldwrite to her in Kyedani, and hurry off Soroka with the letter. "And Ishall send her not empty words and promises; for now deeds are behindme, which without empty boasting, but accurately, I shall describe inthe letter. Let her know that she has done this, let her be comforted."

  And he consoled himself with this thought so much that he did not evennotice how the maidens said to one another, in departing,--

  "He is a good warrior; but it is clear that he looks only to battle,and is an unsocial grumbler."