Fire in the Steppe (67 page)

"They have two hundred cannon," said Pan Michael; "and if they bring over two heavy guns, this castle will not hold out one day. I too wished to shut myself up in it, but now I know that to be useless."

Others agreed with the little knight. Pan Lantskoronski, as if to show courage, insisted for a time yet on staying in Jvanyets; but he was too experienced a soldier not to see that Volodyovski was right. At last he was interrupted by Pan Vasilkovski, who, coming from the field, rushed in quickly.

"Gracious gentlemen," said he, "the river is not to be seen; the whole Dneister is covered with rafts."

"Are they crossing?" inquired all at once.

"They are, as true as life! The Turks are on the rafts, and the chambuls in the ford, the men holding the horses' tails."

Pan Lantskoronski hesitated no longer; he gave orders at once to sink the old howitzer, and either to hide the other things, or take them to Kamenyets. Pan Michael sprang to his horse, and went with his men to a distant height to look at the crossing.

Halil Pasha and Murad Pasha were crossing indeed. As far as the eye reached, it saw scows and rafts, pushed forward by oars, with measured movement, in the clear water. Janissaries and spahis were moving together in great numbers; vessels for crossing had been prepared at Hotin a long time. Besides, great masses of troops were standing on the shore at a distance. Pan Michael supposed that they would build a bridge; but the Sultan had not moved his main force yet. Meanwhile Pan Lantskoronski came up with his men, and they marched toward Kamenyets with the little knight. Pan Pototski was waiting in the town for them. His quarters were filled with higher officers; and before his quarters both sexes were assembled, unquiet, careworn, curious.

"The enemy is crossing, and Jvanyets is occupied!" said the little knight.

"The works are finished, and we are waiting," answered Pan Pototski.

The news went to the crowd, who began to roar like a river.

"To the gates! to the gates!" was heard through the town. "The enemy is in Jvanyets!" Men and women ran to the bastions, expecting to see the enemy; but the soldiers would not let them go to the places appointed for service.

"Go to your houses!" cried they to the crowds; "you will hinder the defence. Soon will your wives see the Turks near at hand."

Moreover, there was no alarm in the town, for already news had gone around of the victory of that day, and news naturally exaggerated. The soldiers told wonders of the meeting.

"Pan Volodyovski defeated the janissaries, the Sultan's own guard," repeated all mouths. "It is not for Pagans to measure strength with Pan Volodyovski. He cut down the pasha himself. The Devil is not so terrible as he is painted! And they did not withstand our troops. Good for you, dog-brothers! Destruction to you and your Sultan!"

The women showed themselves again at the intrenchments and bastions, but laden with flasks of gorailka, wine, and mead. This time they were received willingly; and gladness began among the soldiers. Pan Pototski did not oppose this; wishing to sustain courage in the men and cheerfulness, because there was an inexhaustible abundance of ammunition in the town and the castle, he permitted them to fire salvos, hoping that these sounds of joy would confuse the enemy not a little, should they hear them.

Pan Michael remained at the quarters of the starosta till nightfall, when he mounted his horse and was escaping in secret with his servant to the cloister, wishing to be with his wife as soon as possible. But his attempts came to nothing, for he was recognized, and dense crowds surrounded his horse. Shouts and vivats began. Mothers raised their children to him. "There he is! look at him, remember him!" repeated many voices. They admired him immensely; but people unacquainted with war were astonished at his diminutive stature. It could not find place in the heads of the towns-people that a man so small, and with such a pleasant face, could be the most terrible soldier of the Commonwealth,—a soldier whom none could resist. But he rode among the crowds, and smiled from time to time, for he was pleased. When he came to the cloister, he fell into the open arms of Basia.

She knew already of his deeds done that day and all his masterly blows; the chamberlain of Podolia had just left the cloister, and, as an eye-witness, had given her a detailed report. Basia, at the beginning of the narrative, called the women present in the cloister hence,—the abbess and the wives of Makovetski, Humyetski, Ketling, Hotsimirski; and as the chamberlain went on, she began to plume herself immensely before them. Pan Michael came just after the women had gone.

When greetings were finished, the wearied knight sat down to supper. Basia sat at his side, placed food on his plate, and poured mead into his goblet. He ate and drank willingly, for he had put almost nothing in his mouth the whole day. In the intervals he related something too; and Basia, listening with gleaming eyes, shook her head, according to custom, asking,—

"Ah, ha! Well? and what?"

"There are strong men among them, and very fierce; but it is hard to find a Turk who's a swordsman," said the little knight.

"Then I could meet any of them?"

"You might, only you will not, for I will not take you."

"Even once in my life! You know, Michael, when you go outside the walls, I am not even alarmed; I know that no one can reach you."

"But can't they shoot me?"

"Be quiet! Isn't there a Lord God? You will not let them cut you down,—that is the main thing."

"I will not let one or two slay me."

"Nor three, Michael, nor four."

"Nor four thousand," said Zagloba, mimicking her. "If you knew, Michael, what she did when the chamberlain was telling his story. I thought I should burst from laughter. As God is dear to me! she snorted just like a goat, and looked into the face of each woman in turn to see if she was delighted in a fitting manner. In the end I was afraid that the goat would go to butting,—no very polite spectacle."

The little knight stretched himself after eating, for he was considerably tired; then suddenly he drew Basia to him and said,—

"My quarters in the castle are ready, but I do not wish to return. I might stay here to-night, I suppose."

"As you like, Michael," said she, dropping her eyes.

"Ha!" said Zagloba, "they look on me here as a mushroom, not a man, for the abbess invites me to live in the nunnery. But I'll pay her, my head on that point! Have you seen how Pani Hotsimirski is ogling me? She is a widow—very well—I won't tell you any more."

"I think I shall stay," said the little knight.

"If you will only rest well," said Basia.

"Why shouldn't he rest?" asked Zagloba.

"Because we shall talk, and talk, and talk."

Zagloba wishing to go to his own room, turned to look for his cap; at last, when he had found it, he put it on his head and said, "You will not talk, and talk, and talk." Then he went out.

Next morning, at daybreak, the little knight went to Knyahin and captured Buluk Pasha,—a notable warrior among the Turks. The whole day passed for him in labor on the field, a part of the night in counsel with Pan Pototski, and only at first cock-crow did he lay down his wearied head to sleep a little. But he was barely slumbering sweetly and deeply when the thunder of cannon roused him. The man Pyentka, from Jmud, a faithful servant of Pan Michael, almost a friend, came into the room.

"Your grace," said he, "the enemy is before the town."

"What guns are those?" asked the little knight.

"Our guns, frightening the Pagans. There is a considerable party driving off cattle from the field."

"Janissaries or cavalry?"

"Cavalry. Very black. Our side is frightening them with the Holy Cross; for who knows but they are devils?"

"Devils or no devils, we must be at them," said the little knight. "Go to the lady, and tell her that I am in the field. If she wishes to come to the castle to look out, she may, if she comes with Pan Zagloba, for I count most on his discretion."

Half an hour later Pan Michael rushed into the field at the head of dragoons and volunteer nobles, who calculated that it would be possible to exhibit themselves in skirmishing. From the old castle the cavalry were to be seen perfectly, in number about two thousand, composed in part of spahis, but mainly of the Egyptian guard of the Sultan. In this last served wealthy and generous mamelukes from the Nile. Their mail in gleaming scales, their bright kefis, woven with gold, on their heads, their white burnooses and their weapons set with diamonds, made them the most brilliant cavalry in the world. They were armed with darts, set on jointed staffs, and with swords and knives greatly curved. Sitting on horses as swift as the wind, they swept over the field like a rainbow-colored cloud, shouting, whirling, and winding between their fingers the deadly darts. The Poles in the castle could not look at them long enough.

Pan Michael pushed toward them with his cavalry. It was difficult, however, for both sides to meet with cold weapons, since the cannon of the castle restrained the Turks, and they were too numerous for the little knight to go to them, and have a trial beyond the reach of Polish cannon. For a time, however, both sides circled around at a distance, shaking their weapons and shouting loudly. But at last this empty threatening became clearly disagreeable to the fiery sons of the desert, for all at once single horsemen began to separate from the mass and advance, calling loudly on their opponents. Soon they scattered over the field, and glittered on it like flowers which the wind drives in various directions. Pan Michael looked at his own men.

"Gracious gentlemen," said he, "they are inviting us. Who will go to the skirmish?"

The fiery cavalier, Pan Vasilkovski, sprang out first; after him Pan Mushalski, the infallible bowman, but also in hand-to-hand conflict an excellent skirmisher; after these went Pan Myazga of the escutcheon Prus, who during the full speed of his horse could carry off a finger-ring on his lance; after Pan Myazga galloped Pan Teodor Paderevski, Pan Ozevich, Pan Shmlud-Plotski, Prince Ovsyani, and Pan Murkos-Sheluta, with a number of good cavaliers; and of the dragoons there went also a group, for the hope of rich plunder incited them, but more than all the peerless horses of the Arabs. At the head of the dragoons went the stern Lusnia; and gnawing his yellow mustache, he was choosing at a distance the wealthiest enemy.

The day was beautiful. They were perfectly visible; the cannon on the walls became silent one after another, till at last all firing had ceased, for the gunners were fearful of injuring some of their own men; they preferred also to look at the battle rather than fire at scattered skirmishers. The two sides rode toward each other at a walk, without hastening, then at a trot, not in a line, but irregularly, as suited each man. At length, when they had ridden near to each other, they reined in their horses, and fell to abusing each other, so as to rouse anger and daring.

"You'll not grow fat with us, Pagan dogs!" cried the Poles. "Your vile Prophet will not protect you!"

The others cried in Turkish and Arabic. Many Poles knew both languages, for, like the celebrated bowman, many had gone through grievous captivity; therefore when Pagans blasphemed the Most Holy Lady with special insolence, anger raised the hair on the servants of Mary, and they urged on their horses, wishing to take revenge for the insult to her name.

Who struck the first blow and deprived a man of dear life?

Pan Mushalski pierced first with an arrow a young bey, with a purple kefi on his head, and dressed in a silver scaled armor, clear as moonlight. The painful shaft went under his left eye, and entered his head half the length of its shaft; he, throwing back his beautiful face and spreading his arms, flew from the saddle. The archer, putting his bow under his thigh, sprang forward and cut him yet with the sabre; then taking the bey's excellent weapons, and driving his horse with the flat of his sword toward the castle, he called loudly in Arabic,—

"I would that he were the Sultan's own son. He would rot here before you would play the last kindya."

When the Turks and Egyptians heard this they were terribly grieved, and two beys sprang at once toward Mushalski; but from one side Lusnia, who was wolf-like in fierceness, intercepted their way, and in the twinkle of an eye bit to death one of them. First he cut him in the hand; and when the bey stooped for his sabre, which had fallen, Lusnia almost severed his head with a terrible blow on the neck. Seeing which, the other turned his horse swift as wind to escape, but that moment Pan Mushalski took the bow again from under his thigh, and sent after the fugitive an arrow; it reached him in his flight, and sank almost to the feathers between his shoulders.

Pan Shmlud-Plotski was the third to finish his enemy, striking him with a sharp hammer on the helmet. He drove in with the blow the silver and velvet lining of the steel; and the bent point of the hammer stuck so tightly in the skull that Pan Plotski could not draw it forth for a time. Others fought with varied fortune; still, victory was mainly with the nobles, who were more skilled in fencing. But two dragoons fell from the powerful hand of Hamdi Bey, who slashed then Prince Ovsyani with a curved sword through the face, and stretched him on the field. Ovsyani moistened his native earth with his princely blood. Hamdi turned then to Pan Sheluta, whose horse had thrust his foot into the burrow of a hamster. Sheluta, seeing death inevitable, chose to meet the terrible horseman on foot, and sprang to the ground. But Hamdi, with the breast of his horse, overturned the Pole, and reached the arm of the falling man with the very end of his blade. The arm dropped; that instant Hamdi rushed farther through the field in search of opponents.

But in many there was not courage to measure with him, so greatly and evidently did he surpass all in strength. The wind raised his white burnoose on his shoulders, and bore it apart like the wings of a bird of prey; his gilt worked armor threw an ominous gleam on his almost black face, with its wild and Hashing eyes; a curved sabre glittered above his head, like the sickle of the moon on a clear night.