Pan Michael

"It is in the power of God, but it seems to me also that it will not come to that."

"Even if some one has fallen, such as Pan Mushalski. Well, there is no help for it! I am terribly sorry for Mushalski, though he died a hero's death."

"May God grant us no worse one, if only not soon! for I confess to you, Michael, I should be sorry for – Krysia."

"Yes, and I too for Basia; we will work earnestly, and maybe there is mercy above us. I am very glad in soul for some reason. We must do a notable deed to-morrow as well."

"The Turks have made protections of plank. I have thought of a method used in burning ships; the rags are now steeping in tar, so that to-morrow before noon we will burn all those works."

"Ah!" said the little knight, "then I will lead a sortie. During the fire there will be confusion in every case, and it will not enter their heads that there can be a sortie in daylight. To-morrow may be better than to-day, Ketling."

Thus did they converse with swelling hearts, and then went to rest, for they were greatly wearied. But the little knight had not slept three hours when Lusnia roused him.

"Pan Commandant," said the sergeant, "we have news."

"What is it?" cried the watchful soldier, springing up in one moment.

"Pan Mushalski is here."

"For God's sake! what do you tell me?"

"He is here. I was standing at the breach, and heard some one calling from the other side in Polish, 'Do not fire; it is I.' I looked; there was Pan Mushalski coming back dressed as a janissary."

"Praise be to God!" said the little knight; and he sprang up to greet the bowman.

It was dawning already. Pan Mushalski was standing outside the wall in a white cap and armor, so much like a real janissary that one's eyes were slow in belief. Seeing the little knight, he hurried to him, and began to greet him joyously.

"We have mourned over you already!" cried Volodyovski.

With that a number of other officers ran up, among them Ketling. All were amazed beyond description, and interrupted one another asking how he came to be in Turkish disguise.

"I stumbled," said he, "over the body of a janissary when I was returning, and struck my head against a cannon-ball; though I had a cap bound with wire, I lost consciousness at once. My head was tender after that blow which I got from Hamdi Bey. When I came to myself I was lying on a dead janissary, as on a bed. I felt my head; it was a trifle sore, but there was not even a lump on it. I took off my cap; the rain cooled my head, and I thought: 'This is well for us. It would be a good plan to take that janissary's uniform, and stroll among the Turks. I speak their tongue as well as Polish, and no one could discover me by my speech; my face is not different from that of a janissary. I will go and listen to their talk.' Fear seized me at times, for I remembered my former captivity; but I went. The night was dark; there was barely a light here and there. I tell you, gentlemen, I went among them as if they had been my own people. Many of them were lying in trenches under cover; I went to them. This and that one asked, 'Why are you strolling about?' 'Because I cannot sleep,' answered I. Others were talking in crowds about the siege. There is great consternation. I heard with my own ears how they complained of our Hreptyoff commandant here present," at this Pan Mushalski bowed to Volodyovski. "I repeat their ipsissima verba" (very words), "because an enemy's blame is the highest praise. 'While that little dog,' said they, thus did the dog brothers call your grace, – 'while that little dog defends the castle, we shall not capture it.' Others said, 'Bullets and iron do not harm him; but death blows from him as from a pestilence.' Then all in the crowd began to complain: 'We alone fight,' said they, 'and other troops are doing nothing; the volunteers are lying with their bellies to the sky. The Tartars are plundering; the spahis are strolling about the bazaars. The Padishah says to us, "My dear lambs;" but it is clear that we are not over-dear to him, since he sends us here to the shambles. We will hold out,' said they, 'but not long; then we will go back to Hotin, and if they do not let us go, some lofty heads may fall.'"

"Do you hear, gracious gentlemen?" cried Volodyovski. "When the janissaries mutiny, the Sultan will be frightened, and raise the siege."

"As God is dear to me, I tell the pure truth," said Mushalski. "Rebellion is easy among the janissaries, and they are very much dissatisfied. I think that they will try one or two storms more, and then will gnash their teeth at their aga, the kaimakan, or even the Sultan himself."

"So it will be," cried the officers.

"Let them try twelve storms; we are ready," said others.

They rattled their sabres and looked with bloodshot eyes at the trenches, while drawing deep breaths; hearing this, the little knight whispered with enthusiasm to Ketling, "A new Zbaraj! a new Zbaraj!"

But Pan Mushalski began again: "I have told you what I heard. I was sorry to leave them, for I might have heard more; but I was afraid that daylight might catch me. I went then to those trenches from which they were not firing; I did this so as to slip by in the dark. I look; I see no regular sentries, only groups of janissaries strolling, as everywhere. I go to a frowning gun; no one says anything. You know that I took spikes for the cannon. I push a spike into the priming quickly; it won't go in, – it needs a blow from a hammer. But since the Lord God gave some strength to my hand (you have seen my experiments more than once), I pressed the spike; it squeaked a little, but went in to the head. I was terribly glad."

"As God lives! did you do that? Did you spike the great cannon?" asked men on every side.

"I spiked that and another, for the work went so easily that I was sorry to leave it; and I went to another gun. My hand is a little sore, but the spike went in."

"Gracious gentlemen," cried Pan Michael, "no one here has done greater things; no one has covered himself with such glory. Vivat Pan Mushalski!"

"Vivat! vivat!" repeated the officers.

After the officers the soldiers began to shout. The Turks in their trenches heard those shouts, and were alarmed; their courage fell the more. But the bowman, full of joy, bowed to the officers, and showed his mighty palm, which was like a shovel; on it were two blue spots. "True, as God lives! you have the witness here," said he.

"We believe!" cried all. "Praise be to God that you came back in safety!"

"I passed through the planking," continued the bowman. "I wanted to burn that work; but I had nothing to do it with."

"Do you know, Michael," cried Ketling, "my rags are ready. I am beginning to think of that planking. Let them know that we attack first."

"Begin! begin!" cried Pan Michael.

He rushed himself to the arsenal, and sent fresh news to the town: "Pan Mushalski was not killed in the sortie, for he has returned, after spiking two heavy guns. He was among the janissaries, who think of rebelling. In an hour we shall burn their woodworks; and if it be possible to make at the same time a sortie, I will make it."

The messenger had not crossed the bridge when the walls were trembling from the roar of cannon. This time the castle began the thundering dialogue. In the pale light of the morning the flaming rags flew like blazing banners, and fell on the woodwork. The moisture with which the night rain had covered the wood helped nothing. Soon the timbers caught fire, and were burning. After the rags Ketling hurled bombs. The wearied crowds of janissaries left the trenches in the first moments. They did not play the kindya. The vizir himself appeared at the head of new legions; but evidently doubt had crept even into his heart, for the pashas heard how he muttered, —

"Battle is sweeter to those men than sleep. What kind of people live in that castle?"

In the army were heard on all sides alarmed voices repeating, "The little dog is beginning to bite! The little dog is beginning to bite!"

CHAPTER LVII

That happy night, full of omens of victory, was followed by August 26, – the day most important in the history of that war. In the castle they expected some great effort on the part of the Turks. In fact, about sunrise there was heard such a loud and mighty hammering along the left side of the castle as never before. Evidently the Turks were hurrying with a new mine, the largest of all. Strong detachments of troops were guarding that work from a distance. Swarms began to move in the trenches. From the multitude of colored banners with which the field on the side of Dlujek had bloomed as with flowers, it was known that the vizir was coming to direct the storm in person. New cannon were brought to the intrenchments by janissaries, countless throngs of whom covered the new castle, taking refuge in its fosses and ruins, so as to be in readiness for a hand-to-hand struggle.

As has been said, the castle was the first to begin the converse with cannon, and so effectually that a momentary panic rose in the trenches. But the bimbashes rallied the janissaries in the twinkle of an eye; at the same time all the Turkish cannon raised their voices. Bombs, balls, and grapeshot were flying; at the heads of the besieged flew rubbish, bricks, plaster; smoke was mingled with dust, the heat of fire with the heat of the sun. Breath was failing in men's breasts; sight left their eyes. The roar of guns, the bursting of bombs, the biting of cannon-balls on the rocks, the uproar of the Turks, the cries of the defenders, formed one terrible concert which was accompanied by the echoes of the cliffs. The castle was covered with missiles; the town, the gates, all the bastions, were covered. But the castle defended itself with rage; it answered thunders with thunders, shook, flashed, smoked, roared, vomited fire, death, and destruction, as if Jove's anger had borne it away, – as if it had forgotten itself amid flames; as if it wished to drown the Turkish thunders and sink in the earth, or else triumph.

In the castle, among flying balls, fire, dust, and smoke, the little knight rushed from cannon to cannon, from one wall to another, from corner to corner; he was like a destroying flame. He seemed to double and treble himself: he was everywhere. He encouraged; he shouted. When a gunner fell he took his place, and rousing confidence in men, ran again to some other spot. His fire was communicated to the soldiers. They believed that this was the last storm, after which would come peace and glory; faith in victory filled their breasts. Their hearts grew firm and resolute; the madness of battle seized their minds. Shouts and challenges issued every moment from their throats. Such rage seized some that they went over the wall to close outside with the janissaries hand to hand.

The janissaries, under cover of smoke, went twice to the breach in dense masses; and twice they fell back in disorder after they had covered the ground with their bodies. About midday the volunteer and irregular janissaries were sent to aid them; but the less trained crowds, though pushed from behind with darts, only howled with dreadful voices, and did not wish to go against the castle. The kaimakan came; that did no good. Every moment threatened disorder, bordering on panic. At last the men were withdrawn; and the guns alone worked unceasingly as before, hurling thunder after thunder, lightning after lightning.

Whole hours were spent in this manner. The sun had passed the zenith, and rayless, red, and smoky, as if veiled by haze, looked at that struggle.

About three o'clock in the afternoon the roar of guns gained such force that in the castle the loudest words shouted in the ear were not audible. The air in the castle became as hot as in a stove. The water which they poured on the cannon turned into steam, mixing with the smoke and hiding the light; but the guns thundered on.

Just after three o'clock, the largest Turkish culverines were broken. Some "Our Fathers" later, the mortar standing near them burst, struck by a long shot. Gunners perished like flies. Every moment it became more evident that that irrepressible castle was gaining in the struggle, that it would roar down the Turkish thunder, and utter the last word of victory.

The Turkish fire began to weaken gradually.

"The end will come!" shouted Volodyovski, with all his might, in Ketling's ear. He wished his friend to hear those words amid the roar.

"So I think," answered Ketling. "To last till to-morrow, or longer?"

"Perhaps longer. Victory is with us to-day."

"And through us. We must think of that new mine."

The Turkish fire was weakening still more.

"Keep up the cannonade!" cried Volodyovski. And he sprang among the gunners, "Fire, men!" cried he, "till the last Turkish gun is silent! To the glory of God and the Most Holy Lady! To the glory of the Commonwealth!"

The soldiers, seeing that the storm was nearing its end, gave forth a loud shout, and with the greater enthusiasm fired at the Turkish trenches.

"We'll play an evening kindya for you, dog brothers," cried many voices.

Suddenly something wonderful took place. All the Turkish guns ceased at once, as if some one had cut them off with a knife. At the same time, the musketry fire of the janissaries ceased in the new castle. The old castle thundered for a time yet; but at last the officers began to look at one another, and inquire, —

"What is this? What has happened?"

Ketling, alarmed somewhat, ceased firing also.

"Maybe there is a mine under us which will be exploded right away," said one of the officers.

Volodyovski pierced the man with a threatening glance, and said, "The mine is not ready; and even if it were, only the left side of the castle could be blown up by it, and we will defend ourselves in the ruins while there is breath in our nostrils. Do you understand?"

Silence followed, unbroken by a shot from the trenches or the town. After thunders from which the walls and the earth had been quivering, there was something solemn in that silence, but something ominous also. The eyes of each were intent on the trenches; but through the clouds of smoke nothing was visible. Suddenly the measured blows of hammers were heard on the left side.

"I told you that they are only making the mine," said Pan Michael. "Sergeant, take twenty men and examine for me the new castle," commanded he, turning to Lusnia.

Lusnia obeyed quickly, took twenty men, and vanished in a moment beyond the breach. Silence followed again, broken only by groans here and there, or the gasp of the dying, and the pounding of hammers. They waited rather long. At last the sergeant returned.

"Pan Commandant," said he, "there is not a living soul in the new castle."

Volodyovski looked with astonishment at Ketling. "Have they raised the siege already, or what? Nothing can be seen through the smoke."

But the smoke, blown by the wind, became thin, and at last its veil was broken above the town. At the same moment a voice, shrill and terrible, began to shout from the bastion, —

"Over the gates are white flags! We are surrendering!"

Hearing this, the soldiers and officers turned toward the town. Terrible amazement was reflected on their faces; the words died on the lips of all; and through the strips of smoke they were gazing toward the town. But in the town, on the Russian and Polish gates, white flags were really waving. Farther on, they saw one on the bastion of Batory.

The face of the little knight became as white as those flags waving in the wind.

"Ketling, do you see?" whispered he, turning to his friend.

Ketling's face was pale also. "I see," replied he.

And they looked into each other's eyes for some time, uttering with them everything which two soldiers like them, without fear or reproach, had to say, – soldiers who never in life had broken their word, and who had sworn before the altar to die rather than surrender the castle. And now, after such a defence, after a struggle which recalled the days of Zbaraj, after a storm which had been repulsed, and after a victory, they were commanded to break their oath, to surrender the castle, and live.

As, not long before, hostile balls were flying over the castle, so now hostile thoughts were flying in a throng through their heads. And sorrow simply measureless pressed their hearts, – sorrow for two loved ones, sorrow for life and happiness; hence they looked at each other as if demented, as if dead, and at times they turned glances full of despair toward the town, as if wishing to be sure that their eyes were not deceiving them, – to be sure that the last hour had struck.

At that time horses' hoofs sounded from the direction of the town; and after a while Horaim, the attendant of the starosta, rushed up to them.

"An order to the commandant!" cried he, reining in his horse.

Volodyovski took the order, read it in silence, and after a time, amid silence as of the grave, said to the officers, —

"Gracious gentlemen, commissioners have crossed the river in a boat, and have gone to Dlujek to sign conditions. After a time they will come here. Before evening we must withdraw the troops from the castle, and raise a white flag without delay."

No one answered a word. Nothing was heard but quick breathing.

At last Kvasibrotski said, "We must raise the white flag. I will muster the men."

Here and there the words of command were heard. The soldiers began to take their places in ranks, and shoulder arms. The clatter of muskets and the measured tread roused echoes in the silent castle.

Ketling pushed up to Pan Michael. "Is it time?" inquired he.

"Wait for the commissioners; let us hear the conditions! Besides, I will go down myself."

"No, I will go! I know the places better; I know the position of everything."

"The commissioners are returning! The commissioners are returning!"

The three unhappy envoys appeared in the castle after a certain time. They were Grushetski, judge of Podolia, the chamberlain Revuski, and Pan Myslishevski, banneret of Chernigoff. They came gloomily, with drooping heads; on their shoulders were gleaming kaftans of gold brocade, which they had received as gifts from the vizir.

Volodyovski was waiting for them, resting against a gun turned toward Dlujek. The gun was hot yet, and steaming. All three greeted him in silence.

"What are the conditions?" asked he.

"The town will not be plundered; life and property are assured to the inhabitants. Whoever does not choose to remain has the right to withdraw and betake himself to whatever place may please him."

"And Kamenyets?"

The commissioners dropped their heads: "Goes to the Sultan forever."

The commissioners took their way, not toward the bridge, for throngs of people had blocked the road, but toward the southern gate at the side. When they had descended, they sat in the boat which was to go to the Polish gate. In the low place lying along the river between the cliffs, the janissaries began to appear. Greater and greater streams of people flowed from the town, and occupied the place opposite the old bridge. Many wished to run to the castle; but the outgoing regiments restrained them, at command of the little knight.

When Volodyovski had mustered the troops, he called Pan Mushalski and said to him, —

"Old friend, do me one more service. Go this moment to my wife, and tell her from me – " Here the voice stuck in the throat of the little knight for a while. "And say to her from me – " He halted again, and then added quickly, "This life is nothing!"

The bowman departed. After him the troops went out gradually. Pan Michael mounted his horse and watched over the march. The castle was evacuated slowly, because of the rubbish and fragments which blocked the way.

Ketling approached the little knight. "I will go down," said he, fixing his teeth.

"Go! but delay till the troops have marched out. Go!"

Here they seized each other in an embrace which lasted some time. The eyes of both were gleaming with an uncommon radiance. Ketling rushed away at last toward the vaults.

Pan Michael took the helmet from his head. He looked awhile yet on the ruin, on that field of his glory, on the rubbish, the corpses, the fragments of walls, on the breastwork, on the guns; then raising his eyes, he began to pray. His last words were, "Grant her, O Lord, to endure this patiently; give her peace!"

Ah! Ketling hastened, not waiting even till the troops had marched out; for at that moment the bastions quivered, an awful roar rent the air; bastions, towers, walls, horses, guns, living men, corpses, masses of earth, all torn upward with a flame, and mixed, pounded together, as it were, into one dreadful cartridge, flew toward the sky.

Thus died Volodyovski, the Hector of Kamenyets, the first soldier of the Commonwealth.

In the monastery of St. Stanislav stood a lofty catafalque in the centre of the church; it was surrounded with gleaming tapers, and on it lay Pan Volodyovski in two coffins, one of lead and one of wood. The lids had been fastened, and the funeral service was just ending.

It was the heartfelt wish of the widow that the body should rest in Hreptyoff; but since all Podolia was in the hands of the enemy, it was decided to bury it temporarily in Stanislav, for to that place the "exiles" of Kamenyets had been sent under a Turkish convoy, and there delivered to the troops of the hetman.

All the bells in the monastery were ringing. The church was filled with a throng of nobles and soldiers, who wished to look for the last time at the coffin of the Hector of Kamenyets, and the first cavalier of the Commonwealth. It was whispered that the hetman himself was to come to the funeral; but as he had not appeared so far, and as at any moment the Tartars might come in a chambul, it was determined not to defer the ceremony.

Old soldiers, friends or subordinates of the deceased, stood in a circle around the catafalque. Among others were present Pan Mushalski, the bowman. Pan Motovidlo, Pan Snitko, Pan Hromyka, Pan Nyenashinyets, Pan Novoveski, and many others, former officers of the stanitsa. By a marvellous fortune, no man was lacking of those who had sat on the evening benches around the hearth at Hreptyoff; all had brought their heads safely out of that war, except the man who was their leader and model. That good and just knight, terrible to the enemy, loving to his own; that swordsman above swordsmen, with the heart of a dove, – lay there high among the tapers, in glory immeasurable, but in the silence of death. Hearts hardened through war were crushed with sorrow at that sight; yellow gleams from the tapers shone on the stern, suffering faces of warriors, and were reflected in glittering points in the tears dropping down from their eyelids.

Within the circle of soldiers lay Basia, in the form of a cross, on the floor, and near her Zagloba, old, broken, decrepit, and trembling. She had followed on foot from Kamenyets the hearse bearing that most precious coffin, and now the moment had come when it was necessary to, give that coffin to the earth. Walking the whole way, insensible, as if not belonging to this world, and now at the catafalque, she repeated with unconscious lips, "This life is nothing!" She repeated it because that beloved one had commanded her, for that was the last message which he had sent her; but in that repetition and in those expressions were mere sounds, without substance, without truth, without meaning and solace. No; "This life is nothing" meant merely regret, darkness, despair, torpor, merely misfortune incurable, life beaten and broken, – an erroneous announcement that there was nothing above her, neither mercy nor hope; that there was merely a desert, and it will be a desert which God alone can fill when He sends death.

They rang the bells; at the great altar Mass was at its end. At last thundered the deep voice of the priest, as if calling from the abyss: "Requiescat in pace!" A feverish quiver shook Basia, and in her unconscious head rose one thought alone, "Now, now, they will take him from me!" But that was not yet the end of the ceremony. The knights had prepared many speeches to be spoken at the lowering of the coffin; meanwhile Father Kaminski ascended the pulpit, – the same who had been in Hreptyoff frequently, and who in time of Basia's illness had prepared her for death.

People in the church began to spit and cough, as is usual before preaching; then they were quiet, and all eyes were turned to the pulpit. The rattling of a drum was heard on the pulpit.

The hearers were astonished. Father Kaminski beat the drum as if for alarm; he stopped suddenly, and a deathlike silence followed. Then the drum was heard a second and a third time; suddenly the priest threw the drumsticks to the floor of the church, and called, —

"Pan Colonel Volodyovski!"

A spasmodic scream from Basia answered him. It became simply terrible in the church. Pan Zagloba rose, and aided by Mushalski bore out the fainting woman.

Meanwhile the priest continued: "In God's name, Pan Volodyovski, they are beating the alarm! there is war, the enemy is in the land! – and do you not spring up, seize your sabre, mount your horse? Have you forgotten your former virtue? Do you leave us alone with sorrow, with alarm?"

The breasts of the knights rose; and a universal weeping broke out in the church, and broke out several times again, when the priest lauded the virtue, the love of country, and the bravery of the dead man. His own words carried the preacher away. His face became pale; his forehead was covered with sweat; his voice trembled. Sorrow for the little knight carried him away, sorrow for Kamenyets, sorrow for the Commonwealth, ruined by the hands of the followers of the Crescent; and finally he finished his eulogy with this prayer: —

"O Lord, they will turn churches into mosques, and chant the Koran in places where till this time the Gospel has been chanted. Thou hast cast us down, O Lord; Thou hast turned Thy face from us, and given us into the power of the foul Turk. Inscrutable are Thy decrees; but who, O Lord, will resist the Turk now? What armies will war with him on the boundaries? Thou, from whom nothing in the world is concealed, – Thou knowest best that there is nothing superior to our cavalry! What cavalry can move for Thee, O Lord, as ours can? Wilt Thou set aside defenders behind whose shoulders all Christendom might glorify Thy name? O kind Father, do not desert us! show us Thy mercy! Send us a defender! Send a crusher of the foul Mohammedan! Let him come hither; let him stand among us; let him raise our fallen hearts! Send him, O Lord!"

At that moment the people gave way at the door; and into the church walked the hetman, Pan Sobieski. The eyes of all were turned to him; a quiver shook the people; and he went with clatter of spurs to the catafalque, lordly, mighty, with the face of a Caesar. An escort of iron cavalry followed him.

"Salvator!" cried the priest, in prophetic ecstasy.

Sobieski knelt at the catafalque, and prayed for the soul of Volodyovski.