Fire in the Steppe (59 page)

He sent the most renowned warrior to death, and he did not grieve for him. The hetman thought always, what he said later on at Vienna, that Pani Wojnina
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might give birth to people, but that Wojna (war) only killed them. He was ready himself to die; he thought that to die was the most direct duty of a soldier, and that when a soldier could render famous service by dying, death was to him a great reward and favor. The hetman knew also that the little knight was of one conviction with himself.

Besides, he had no time to think of sparing single soldiers when destruction was advancing on churches, towns, the country, the whole Commonwealth; when, with forces unheard of, the Orient was rising against Europe to conquer all Christendom, which, shielded by the breast of the Commonwealth, had no thought of helping that Commonwealth. The only question possible for the hetman was that Kamenyets should cover the Commonwealth, and then the Commonwealth the remainder of Christendom.

This might have happened had the Commonwealth been strong, had disorder not exhausted it. But the hetman had not troops enough even for reconnoissances, not to mention war. If he hurried some tens of soldiers to one place, there was an opening made in another, through which an invading wave might pour in without obstacle. The detachments of sentries posted by the Sultan at night in his camp outnumbered the squadrons of the hetman. The invasion moved from two directions,—from the Dnieper and the Danube. Because Doroshenko, with the whole horde of the Crimea, was nearer, and had inundated the country already, burning and slaying, the chief squadrons had gone against him; on the other hand, people were lacking for simple reconnoissances. While in such dire straits the hetman wrote the following few words to Pan Michael,—

Since Pan Adam was living at Mohiloff for the time, and, as report ran, was to come to Hreptyoff in any case, the little knight merely sent word to him to hasten, because a commission from the hetman was waiting for him.

Pan Adam came three days later. His acquaintances hardly knew him, and thought that Pan Byaloglovski had good reason to call him a skeleton. He was no longer that splendid fellow, high-spirited, joyous, who on a time used to rush at the enemy with outbursts of laughter, like the neighing of a horse, and gave blows with just such a sweep as is given by the arm of a windmill. He had grown lean, sallow, dark, but in that leanness he seemed a still greater giant. While looking at people, he blinked as if not recognizing his nearest acquaintances; it was needful also to repeat the same thing two or three times to him, for he seemed not to understand at first. Apparently grief was flowing in his veins instead of blood; evidently he strove not to think of certain things, preferring to forget them, so as not to run mad.

It is true that in those regions there was not a man, not a family, not an officer of the army, who had not suffered evil from Pagan hands, who was not bewailing some acquaintance, friend, near and dear one; but on Pan Adam there had burst simply a whole cloud of misfortunes. In one day he had lost father and sister, and besides, his betrothed, whom he loved with all the power of his exuberant spirit. He would rather that his sister and that dearly beloved girl had both died; he would rather they had perished from the knife or in flames. But their fate was such that in comparison with the thought of them the greatest torment was nothing for Pan Adam. He strove not to think of their fate, for he felt that thinking of it bordered on insanity; he strove, but he failed.

In truth, his calmness was only apparent. There was no resignation whatever in his soul, and at the first glance it was evident to any man that under the torpor there was something ominous and terrible, and, should it break forth, that giant would do something awful, just as a wild element would. That was as if written on his forehead explicitly, so that even his friends approached him with a certain timidity; in talking with him, they avoided reference to the past.

The sight of Basia in Hreptyoff opened closed wounds in him, for while kissing her hands in greeting, he began to groan like an aurochs that is mortally wounded, his eyes became bloodshot, and the veins in his neck swelled to the size of cords. When Basia, in tears and affectionate as a mother, pressed his head with her hands, he fell at her feet, and could not rise for a long time. But when he heard what kind of office the hetman had given him, he became greatly enlivened; a gleam of ominous joy flashed up in his face, and he said,—

"I will do that, I will do more!"

"And if you meet that mad dog, give him a skinning!" put in Zagloba.

Pan Adam did not answer at once; he only looked at Zagloba; sudden bewilderment shone in his eyes; he rose and began to go toward the old noble, as if he wished to rush at him.

"Do you believe," said he, "that I have never done evil to that man, and that I have always been kind to him?"

"I believe, I believe!" said Zagloba, pushing behind the little knight hurriedly. "I would go myself with you, but the gout bites my feet."

"Novoveski," asked the little knight, "when do you wish to start?"

"To-night."

"I will give you a hundred dragoons. I will remain here myself with another hundred and the infantry. Go to the square!"

They went out to give orders. Zydor Lusnia was waiting at the threshold, straightened out like a string. News of the expedition had spread already through the square; the sergeant therefore, in his own name and the name of his company, began to beg the little colonel to let him go with Pan Adam.

"How is this? Do you want to leave me?" asked the astonished Volodyovski.

"Pan Commandant, we made a vow against that son of a such a one; and perhaps he may come into our hands."

"True! Pan Zagloba has told me of that," answered the little knight.

Lusnia turned to Novoveski,—

"Pan Commandant!"

"What is your wish?"

"If we get him, may I take care of him?"

Such a tierce, beastly venom was depicted on the face of the Mazovian that Novoveski inclined at once to Volodyovski, and said entreatingly,—

"Your grace, let me have this man!"

Pan Michael did not think of refusing; and that same evening, about dusk, a hundred horsemen, with Novoveski at their head, set out on the journey.

They marched by the usual road through Mohiloff and Yampol. In Yampol they met the former garrison of Rashkoff, from which two hundred men joined Novoveski by order of the hetman; the rest, under command of Pan Byaloglovski, were to go to Mohiloff, where Pan Bogush was stationed. Pan Adam marched to Rashkoff.

The environs of Rashkoff were a thorough waste; the town itself had been turned into a pile of ashes, which the winds had blown to the four sides of the world; its scant number of inhabitants had fled before the expected storm. It was already the beginning of May, and the Dobrudja horde might show itself at any time; therefore it was unsafe to remain in those regions. In fact, the hordes were with the Turks, on the plain of Kuchunkaury; but men around Rashkoff had no knowledge of that, therefore every one of the former inhabitants, who had escaped the last slaughter, carried off his head in good season whithersoever seemed best to him.

Along the road Lusnia was framing plans and stratagems, which in his opinion Pan Adam should adopt if he wished to outwit the enemy in fact and successfully. He detailed these ideas to the soldiers with graciousness.

"You know nothing of this matter, horse-skulls," said he; "but I am old, I know. We will go to Rashkoff; we will hide there and wait. The horde will come to the crossing; small parties will cross first, as is their custom, because the chambul stops and waits till they tell if 'tis safe; then we will slip out and drive them before us to Kamenyets."

"But in this way we may not get that dog brother," remarked one of the men in the ranks.

"Shut your mouth!" said Lusnia. "Who will go in the vanguard if not the Lithuanian Tartars?"

In fact, the previsions of the sergeant seemed to be coming true. "When he reached Rashkoff Pan Adam gave the soldiers rest. All felt certain that they would go next to the caves, of which there were many in the neighborhood, and hide there till the first parties of the enemy appeared. But the second day of their stay the commandant brought the squadron to its feet, and led it beyond Rashkoff.

"Are we going to Yagorlik, or what?" asked the sergeant in his mind.

Meanwhile they approached the river just beyond Rashkoff, and a few "Our Fathers" later they halted at the so-called "Bloody Ford." Pan Adam, without saying a word, urged his horse into the water and began to cross to the opposite bank. The soldiers looked at one another with astonishment.

"How is this,—are we going to the Turks?" asked one of another. But these were not "gracious gentlemen" of the general militia, ready to summon a meeting and protest, they were simple soldiers inured to the iron discipline of stanitsas; hence the men of the first rank urged their horses into the water after the commandant, and then those in the second and third did the same. There was not the least hesitation. They were astonished that, with three hundred horse, they were marching against the Turkish power, which the whole world could not conquer; but they went. Soon the water was plashing around the horses' sides; the men ceased to wonder then, and were thinking simply of this, that the sacks of food for themselves and the horses should not get wet. Only on the other bank did they begin to look at one another again.

"For God's sake, we are in Moldavia already!" said they, in quiet whispers.

And one or another looked behind, beyond the Dniester, which glittered in the setting sun like a red and golden ribbon. The river cliffs, full of caves, were bathed also in the bright gleams. They rose like a wall, which at that moment divided that handful of men from their country. For many of them it was indeed the last parting.

The thought went through Lusnia's head that maybe the commandant had gone mad; but it was the commandant's affair to command, his to obey.

Meanwhile the horses, issuing from the water, began to snort terribly in the ranks. "Good health! good health!" was heard from the soldiers. They considered the snorting of good omen, and a certain consolation entered their hearts.

"Move on!" commanded Pan Adam.

The ranks moved, and they went toward the setting sun and toward those thousands, to that swarm of people, to those nations gathered at Kuchunkaury.

Pan Adam's passage of the Dniester, and his march with three hundred sabres against the power of the Sultan, which numbered hundreds of thousands of warriors, were deeds which a man unacquainted with war might consider pure madness; but they were only bold, daring deeds of war, having chances of success.

To begin with, raiders of those days went frequently against chambuls a hundred times superior in numbers; they stood before the eyes of the enemy, and then vanished, cutting down pursuers savagely. Just as a wolf entices dogs after him at times, to turn at the right moment and kill the dog pushing forward most daringly, so did they. In the twinkle of an eye the beast became the hunter, started, hid, waited, but though pursued, hunted too, attacked unexpectedly, and bit to death. That was the so-called "method with Tartars," in which each side vied with the other in stratagems, tricks, and ambushes. The most famous man in this method was Pan Michael, next to him Pan Rushchyts, then Pan Pivo, then Pan Motovidlo; but Novoveski, practising from boyhood in the steppes, belonged to those who were mentioned among the most famous, hence it was very likely that when he stood before the horde he would not let himself be taken.

The expedition had chances of success too, for the reason that beyond the Dniester there were wild regions in which it was easy to hide. Only here and there, along the rivers, did settlements show themselves, and in general the country was little inhabited; nearer the Dniester it was rocky and hilly; farther on there were steppes, or the land was covered with forests, in which numerous herds of beasts wandered, from buffaloes, run wild, to deer and wild boars. Since the Sultan wished before the expedition "to feel his power and calculate his forces," the hordes dwelling on the lower Dniester, those of Belgrod, and still farther those of Dobrudja, marched at command of the Padishah to the south of the Balkans, and after them followed the Karalash of Moldavia, so that the country had become still more deserted, and it was possible to travel whole weeks without being seen by any person.

Pan Adam knew Tartar customs too well not to know that when the chambuls had once passed the boundary of the Commonwealth they would move more warily, keeping diligent watch on all sides; but there in their own country they would go in broad columns without any precaution. And they did so, in fact; there seemed to the Tartars a greater chance to meet death than to meet in the heart of Bessarabia, on the very Tartar boundary, the troops of that Commonwealth which had not men enough to defend its own borders.

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