With Fire and Sword Page 45

  From the time of the victory at Makhnovka worse and worse tidings were brought to the camp,—first news of negotiations sent through Pan Kisel; then news that Volynian Polesia was covered with the waves of insurrection; then the refusal of the colonels, showing clearly how far the commander-in-chief, Prince Dominik Zaslavski-Ostrogski, was hostile. During Skshetuski’s absence Pan Korsh Zenkovich came to camp with information that all Ovruch was on fire. The people had been quiet, and not anxious for rebellion; but the Cossacks, coming under Krechovski and Polksenjits, forced the mob to enter their ranks. Castles and villages were burned; the nobles who did not escape were cut to pieces, and among others old Pan Yelets, a former servant and friend of the Vishnyevetskis. In view of this, the prince had decided after a juncture with Osinski and Koritski to overwhelm Krívonos, and then move north toward Ovruch, and after an agreement with the hetman of Lithuania, to seize the rebels between two fires. But all these plans had fallen through now on account of the refusal of both colonels caused by Prince Dominik. For Yeremi, after all the marches, battles, and labors, was not strong enough to meet Krívonos, especially when not sure of the voevoda of Kieff, who belonged heart and soul to the peace party. Pan Yanush yielded before the importance and power of Yeremi, and had to go with him; but the more he saw his authority broken the more inclined was he to oppose the warlike wishes of the prince, as was shown at once.

  Skshetuski gave his account, and the prince listened to it in silence. All the officers were present; their faces were gloomy at the news of the refusal. All eyes turned to the prince when he said,—

  “Prince Dominik, of course, sent them the order.”

  “Yes, they showed it to me in writing.”

  Yeremi rested his arms on the table and covered his face with his hands; after a while he said,—

  “This indeed is more than a man can bear. Am I to labor alone, and instead of assistance meet only obstructions? Could I not have gone to my estates in Sandomir and lived quietly? And what prevented me from doing so, except love of country? This is my reward for toil, for loss of fortune and blood.”

  The prince spoke quietly, but such bitterness and pain trembled in his voice that all present were straitened with sorrow. Old colonels—veterans from Putívl, Starets, Kuméiki,—and young men victorious in the last conflicts, looked at him with unspeakable sorrow in their eyes; for they knew what a heavy struggle that iron man was having with himself, how terribly his pride must suffer from the humiliation put upon him. He, a prince, “by the grace of God;” he, a voevoda in Russia, senator of the Commonwealth,—must yield to some Hmelnitski or Krívonos. He, almost a monarch, who recently had received ambassadors from foreign rulers, must withdraw from the field of glory, and confine himself in some little castle, waiting for the outcome of a war directed by others or for humiliating negotiations. He, predestined for great things, conscious of ability to direct them, had to confess that he was without power.

  This suffering, together with his labors, was marked on his figure. He had become greatly emaciated; his eyes had sunk; his hair, black as the wing of a raven, had begun to grow gray. But a certain grand tragic calm was spread over his countenance, for pride guarded him from betraying his suffering.

  “Well, let it be so,” said he; “we will show this unthankful country that we are able not only to fight, but to die for it. Indeed I should prefer a more glorious death,—to fall in some other war than in a domestic squabble with serfs—”

  “Do not speak of death,” interrupted the voevoda of Kieff; “for though it is unknown what God has predestined to any man, still death may be far away. I do homage to your military genius and your knightly spirit; but I cannot take it ill, either of the viceroy, the chancellor, or the commanders, if they try to stem civil war by negotiations, for in it the blood of brothers is flowing, and who, unless a foreign enemy, can reap advantage from the stubbornness of both sides?”

  The prince looked long into the eyes of the voevoda, and said emphatically,—

  “Show favor to the conquered, and they will accept it with thanks and will remember it, but you will be only despised by conquerors. Would that no one had ever done injustice to these people! But when once insurrection has flamed up, we must quench it with blood, not negotiations; if we do not, disgrace and destruction to us!”

  “Speedy ruin will come if we wage war each on his own account,” answered the voevoda.

  “Does that mean that you will not go on with me?”

  “I call God to witness that this is out of no ill-will to you; but my conscience tells me not to expose my men to evident destruction, for their blood is precious, and will be of value to the Commonwealth yet.”

  The prince was silent awhile; then turning to his colonels, he said,—

  “You, my old comrades, will not leave me now!”

  At these words the colonels, as if impelled by one power and one will, rushed to the prince. Some kissed his garments; some embraced his knees; others, raising their hands to heaven, cried,—

  “We are with you to the last breath, to the last drop of blood! Lead us, lead us! we will serve without pay.”

  “And let me die with you,” cried young Pan Aksak, blushing like a girl.

  At sight of this the voevoda of Kieff was moved; but the prince went from one to another, pressed the head of each one, and thanked him. A mighty enthusiasm seized on young and old. From the eyes of the warriors sparks flashed; they grasped their sabres from moment to moment.

  “I will live with you, die with you!” said the prince.

  “We will conquer!” cried the officers. “Against Krívonos! On Polónnoe! Whoever wishes to leave us, let him leave. We will do without aid. We wish to share neither glory nor death.”

  “It is my will,” said the prince, “that before moving on Krívonos we take even a short rest to restore our strength. It is now the third month that we are on horseback, scarcely ever dismounting. The flesh is leaving our bones from excessive toil and change of climate. We have no horses; the infantry are barefoot. Let us go then to Zbaraj; there we will recruit and rest. Perhaps too some soldiers will join us, and we will move into the fire with new forces.”

  “When do you wish to start?” asked old Zatsvilikhovski.

  “Without delay, old soldier, without delay!” Here the prince turned to the voevoda: “And where do you wish to go?”

  “To Gliniani, for I hear that forces are collecting there.”

  “Then we will conduct you to a safe place, so that no harm may happen to you.”

  The voevoda said nothing, for he felt rather ill at ease. He was leaving, and the prince still showed care for him and intended to conduct him. Was there irony in the words of the prince? The voevoda did not know. Still the voevoda did not abandon his design; for the colonels of the prince looked on him more inimically every moment, and it was clear that in any other less disciplined army there would have been an outbreak against him.

  He bowed and went out; and the colonels went, each to his own regiment to make ready for the march. Skshetuski alone remained with the prince.

  “What kind of soldiers are in those regiments?” asked the prince.

  “So good that you cannot find better. Dragoons drilled in German fashion, and with infantry of the guard, veterans of the Thirty Years’ War. When I saw them I thought they were Roman legionaries.”

  “Many of them?”

  “Two regiments with the dragoons,—just three thousand men.”

  “Oh, it is a pity, it is a pity! Great things might be done with their assistance.”

  Suffering was already depicted on the face of the prince. After a while he said as if to himself,—

  “It is unfortunate that such commanders were chosen in times of defeat! Ostrorog would be the right man if war could be put down with eloquence and Latin; Konyetspolski is my brother-in-law and a warrior by nature; but he is young, with
out experience. Zaslavski is worst of all. I know him of old. He is a man of small heart and narrow mind. His business is to slumber over the cup, not to manage an army. I do not speak of this in public, lest it might be thought that malice moves me, but I foresee terrible disaster, especially now, at this time, when such people have the helm in their hands! Oh, God, God, remove this cup from me! What will happen to this country? When I think of it I would prefer death, for I am greatly wearied, and I tell you that I shall not last long. My spirit is rushing to the war, but my body lacks strength.”

  “You should care more for your health, in which the whole country is deeply concerned, and which is already greatly injured by toil.”

  “The country thinks differently, it is evident, when it avoids me and drags the sabre out of my hand.”

  “God grant when Prince Karl changes his cap for a crown, he will see whom to elevate and whom to punish; but you are powerful enough to care for no one at present.”

  “I will go my own way.”

  The prince did not notice perhaps that, like the other “kinglets,” he was carrying on a policy of his own; but if he had noticed it, he would not have abandoned it, for he felt clearly that that was the only one that could save the honor of the Commonwealth.

  Again followed a moment of silence, soon broken by the neighing of horses and the sound of trumpets. The regiments were mustering for the march. These sounds roused the prince from meditation. He shook his head as if wishing to shake off suffering and evil thoughts; then he said,—

  “You had a quiet journey?”

  “I met, in the forest, a large body of peasants, a couple of hundred men whom I destroyed.”

  “Well done! And you took prisoners, for that is an important thing now?”

  “I did, but—”

  “But you have commanded them to be executed already? Is that true?”

  “No, I set them free.”

  Yeremi looked with wonderment at Skshetuski; then his brows contracted suddenly. “What was that for? Do you too belong to the peace party?”

  “Your Highness, I brought an informant; for among the peasants was a disguised noble who remained alive. I freed the others, for God showed mercy to me and comfort. I will bear the punishment. That noble was Pan Zagloba, who brought me tidings of the princess.”

  The prince approached Pan Yan quickly. “She is alive and well?”

  “Praise be to God on high, she is.”

  “And where is she?”

  “In Bar.”

  “That is a strong fortress, my boy!” Here the prince raised his hands, and taking Skshetuski’s head, kissed him a number of times on the forehead. “I rejoice in your gladness, for I love you as a son.”

  Pan Yan kissed the prince’s hand with emotion, and though for many a day he would have willingly shed his blood for him, he felt again that at his command he would spring into rolling flames. To such a degree did that terrible and cruel Yeremi know how to win the hearts of the knights.

  “Well, I do not wonder that you let those men go free. You will go unpunished. But he’s a sharp fellow, that noble! Then he took her from the Trans-Dnieper to Bar, praise be to God! In these grievous times this is a real delight to me also. He must be a fox of no common kind. But let’s have a look at this Zagloba.”

  Skshetuski moved quickly toward the door; but at that moment it was opened suddenly, and there appeared in it the flaming head of Vershul, who had been on a distant expedition with the Tartars of the guard.

  “Your Highness,” cried he, panting, “Krívonos has taken Polónnoe, cut down ten thousand people, among them women and children.”

  The colonels began to assemble again, and crowd around Vershul. The voevoda of Kieff hurried up also. The prince was astonished, for he had not expected such news.

  “But Russians were shut up in there! It cannot be!”

  “Not a living soul escaped.”

  “Do you hear?” said the prince, turning to the voevoda. “Negotiate with an enemy like that, who does not spare even his own!”

  The voevoda snorted and said: “Oh, the curs! If that is the case, then may the devils take it all! I will go with you.”

  “Then you are a brother to me,” said the prince.

  “Long live the voevoda of Kieff!” said Zatsvilikhovski.

  “Success to concord!”

  The prince turned again to Vershul. “Where did they go after Polónnoe? Unknown?”

  “To Konstantinoff, probably.”

  “Oh, God save us! Then the regiments of Osinski and Koritski are lost, for they cannot escape with infantry. We must forget our wrongs and hurry to their aid. To horse! to horse!”

  The face of the prince brightened with joy, and a glow enlivened his emaciated cheeks, for the path of glory was open before him again.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  The army passed Konstantinoff and halted at Rosolovtsi; for the prince calculated that when Koritski and Osinski would receive news of the taking of Polónnoe, they would retreat to Rosolovtsi, and if the enemy should pursue them he would fall in among all the forces of the prince as into a trap, and thus meet with sure defeat. That forecast was justified in great part. The troops occupied their positions, and remained in silent readiness for the fight. Smaller and larger scouting-parties were sent in every direction from the camp. The prince, with a number of regiments, took his position in the village and waited. Toward evening Vershul’s Tartars brought news that infantry was approaching from the direction of Konstantinoff. Hearing this, the prince went out before the door of his quarters, surrounded by officers, and with them a number of the principal attendants, to look upon the arrival. Meanwhile the regiments, announcing themselves by sound of trumpet, halted before the village; and two colonels hastened, panting and with all speed, to the prince to offer him their service. These were Osinski and Koritski. When they saw Vishnyevetski with a magnificent suite of knights, they were greatly confused, uncertain of their reception, and bowing profoundly, they waited in silence for what he would say.

  “The wheel of fortune turns and brings down the haughty,” said the prince. “You did not wish to come at our request, but now you come at your own desire.”

  “Your Highness,” said Osinski, with firmness, “we wished with all our souls to serve with you, but the order was definite. Let him who issued it answer for it. We beg pardon; though we are innocent, for as soldiers we were obliged to obey and be silent.”

  “Then Prince Dominik has withdrawn the order?” asked the prince.

  “The order is not withdrawn,” said Osinski, “but it is no longer binding, since the only salvation and refuge for our forces is with you, under whose command we wish henceforth to live and serve and die.”

  These words, full of manly power, and the form of Osinski produced the very best impression on the prince and the officers; for he was a famous soldier, and though still young, not more than forty years of age, was full of warlike experience which he had acquired in foreign armies. Every military eye rested on him with pleasure. Tall, straight as a reed, with yellow mustaches brushed upward and a Swedish beard, he recalled completely by his uniform and stature the colonels of the Thirty Years’ War. Koritski, a Tartar by origin, resembled him in nothing. Low in stature and dumpy, he had a gloomy look, and his appearance was strange in a foreign uniform, not befitting his Oriental features. He led a picked German regiment, and had a reputation for bravery as well as moroseness, and the iron rigor with which he held his soldiers.

  “We wait the commands of your Highness,” said Osinski.

  “I thank you for your decision, and I accept your services. I know that a soldier must obey; and if I sent for you, it was because I was unaware of the order. Not only shall we pass henceforth good and evil times together, but I hope that you will be pleased with your new service.”

  “If you are pleased with us and with our
officers.”

  “Very good!” said the prince. “Is the enemy far behind you?”

  “Scouting-parties are near, but the main force may arrive here to-morrow.”

  “Very well, we have time then. Order your regiments to march across the square; let me look at them, so I may know what kind of soldiers you bring me, and if much can be done with them.”