Fire in the Steppe (66 page)

Pan Vasilkovski, knowing nothing of the janissaries, who had formed beyond the houses toward the river, rushed with undiminished speed behind the Tartars, or rather behind one half the chambul. He came up, closed, and fell to slashing down those who, having inferior horses, could not flee quickly. The second half of the chambul turned then, wishing to surround him; but at that moment the volunteers rushed up, and the chamberlain came with his men of Kieff. The Tartars, pressed on so many sides, scattered like sand, and then began a rushing about,—that is, the pursuit of a group by a group, of a man by a man,—in which many of the horde fell, especially by the hand of Pan Vasilkovski, who struck blindly at whole crowds, just as a lark-falcon strikes sparrows or bunting.

But Pan Michael, a cool and keen soldier, did not let the dragoons out of his hand. Like a hunter who holds trained, eager dogs in strong leashes, not letting them go at a common beast, but only when he sees the flashing eyes and white teeth of a savage old boar, so the little knight, despising the fickle horde, was watching to see if spahis, janissaries, or some other chosen cavalry were not behind them.

Pan Lantskoronski rushed to him with his men of Kieff.

"My benefactor," cried he, "the janissaries are moving toward the river; let us press them!"

Pan Michael drew his rapier and commanded, "Forward!"

Each dragoon drew in his reins, so as to have his horse in hand; then the rank bent a little, and moved forward as regularly as if on parade. They went first at a trot, then at a gallop, but did not let their horses go yet at highest speed. Only when they had passed the houses built toward the water, east of the castle, did they see the white felt caps of the janissaries, and know that they had to do not with volunteer, but with regular janissaries.

"Strike!" cried Volodyovski.

The horses stretched themselves, almost rubbing the ground with their bellies, and hurled back lumps of hard earth with their hoofs.

The janissaries, not knowing what power was approaching to the succor of Jvanyets, were really withdrawing toward the river. One detachment, numbering two hundred and some tens of men, was already at the bank, and its first ranks were stepping onto scows; another detachment of equal force was going quickly, but in perfect order. When they saw the approaching cavalry they halted, and in one instant turned their faces to the enemy. Their muskets were lowered in a line, and a salvo thundered as at a review. What is more, these hardened warriors, considering that their comrades at the shore would support them with musketry, not only did not retreat after the volley, but shouted, and following their own smoke, struck in fury with their sabres on the cavalry. That was daring of which the janissaries alone were capable, but for which they paid dearly, because the riders, unable to restrain the horses, even had they the wish, struck them as a hammer strikes, and breaking them in a moment, scattered destruction and terror. The first rank fell under the force of the blow, as grain under a whirlwind. It is true that many fell only from the impetus, and these, springing up, ran in disorder to the river, from which the second detachment gave fire repeatedly, aiming high, so as to strike the dragoons over the heads of their comrades.

After a while there was evident hesitation among the janissaries at the scows, and also uncertainty whether to embark or follow the example of the other detachment, and engage hand to hand with the cavalry. But they were restrained from the last step by the sight of fleeing groups, which the cavalry pushed with the breasts of horses, and slashed so terribly that its fury could only be compared with its skill. At times such a group, when too much pressed, turned in desperation and began to bite, as a beast at bay bites when it sees that there is no escape for it. But just then those who were standing at the bank could see as on their palms that it was impossible to meet that cavalry with cold weapons, so far superior were they in the use of them. The defenders were cut with such regularity and swiftness that the eye could not follow the motion of the sabres. As when men of a good household, shelling peas well dried, strike industriously and quickly on the threshing-floor, so that the whole barn is thundering with the noise of the blows and the kernels are jumping toward every side, so did the whole river-bank thunder with sabre-blows, and the groups of janissaries, slashed without mercy, sprang hither and thither in every direction.

Pan Vasilkovski hurled himself forward at the head of this cavalry, caring nothing for his own life. But as a trained reaper surpasses a young fellow much stronger than he, but less skilled at the sickle,—for when the young man is toiling, and streams of sweat cover him, the other goes forward constantly, cutting down the grain evenly before him,—so did Pan Michael surpass the wild youth Vasilkovski. Before striking the janissaries he let the dragoons go ahead, and remained himself in the rear somewhat, to watch the whole battle. Standing thus at a distance, he looked carefully, but every little while he rushed into the conflict, struck, directed, then again let the battle push away from him; again he looked, again he struck. As usual in a battle with infantry, so it happened then, that the cavalry in rushing on passed the fugitives. A number of these, not having before them a road to the river, returned in flight to the town, so as to hide in the sunflowers growing in front of the houses; but Pan Michael saw them. He came up with the first two, and distributed two light blows between them; they fell at once, and digging the earth with their heels, sent forth their souls with their blood through the open wounds. Seeing this, a third fired at the little knight from a janissary musket, and missed; but the little knight struck him with his sword-edge between nose and mouth, and this deprived him of precious life. Then, without loitering. Pan Michael sprang after the others; and not so quickly does a village youth gather mushrooms growing in a bunch, as he gathered those men before they ran to the sunflowers. Only the last two did soldiers of Jvanyets seize; the little knight gave command to keep these two alive.

When he had warmed himself a little, and saw that the janissaries were hotly pressed at the river, he sprang into the thick of the battle, and coming up with the dragoons, began real labor. Now he struck in front, now he turned to the right or the left, gave a thrust with his blade and looked no farther; each time a white cap fell to the ground. The janissaries began to crowd from before him with an outcry; he redoubled the swiftness of his blows; and though he remained calm himself, no eye could follow the movements of his sabre, and know when he would strike or when he would thrust, for his sabre described one bright circle around him.

Pan Lantskoronski, who had long heard of him as a master above masters, but had not seen him hitherto in action, stopped fighting and looked on with amazement; unable to believe his own eyes, he could not think that one man, though a master, and famous, could accomplish so much. He seized his head, therefore, and his comrades around only heard him repeating continually, "As God lives, they have told little of him yet!" And others cried, "Look at him, for you will not see that again in this world!" But Pan Michael worked on.

The janissaries, pushed to the river, began now to crowd in disorder to the scows. Since there were scows enough, and fewer men were returning than had come, they took their places quickly and easily. Then the heavy oars moved, and between the janissaries and the bank was formed an interval of water which widened every instant. But from the scows guns began to thunder, whereupon the dragoons thundered in answer from their muskets; smoke rose over the water in cloudlets, then stretched out in long strips. The scows, and with them the janissaries, receded every moment. The dragoons, who held the field, raised a fierce shout, and threatening with their fists, called,—

"Ah, thou dog, off with thee! off with thee!"

Pan Lantskoronski, though the balls were plashing still, seized Pan Michael by the shoulders right at the bank.

"I did not believe my eyes," said he, "those, my benefactor, are wonders which deserve a golden pen!"

"Native ability and training," answered Pan Michael, "that's the whole matter! How many wars have I passed through?"

Then returning Lantskoronski's pressure, he freed himself, and looking at the bank, cried,—

"Look, your grace; you will see another power."

The chamberlain turned, and saw an officer drawing a bow on the bank. It was Pan Mushalski.

Hitherto the famous bowman had been struggling with others in hand-to-hand conflicts with the enemy; but now, when the janissaries had withdrawn to such a distance that bullets and pistol-balls could not reach them, he drew his bow, and standing on the bank at its highest point he tried the string first with his finger, when it twanged sharply; he placed on it the feathered arrow—and aimed.

At that moment Pan Michael and Lantskoronski looked at him. It was a beautiful picture. The bowman was sitting on his horse; he held his left hand out straight before him, in it the bow, as if in a vice. The right hand he drew with increasing force to the nipple of his breast, till the veins were swelling on his forehead, and he aimed carefully. In the distance were visible, under a cloud of smoke, a number of scows moving on the river, which was very high, from snow melting on the mountains, and was so transparent that the scows and the janissaries sitting on them were reflected in the water. Pistols on the bank were silent; eyes were turned on Pan Mushalski, or looked in the direction in which his murderous arrow was to go.

Now the string sounded loudly, and the feathered arrow left the bow. No eye could catch its flight; but all saw perfectly how a sturdy janissary, standing at an oar, threw out his arms on a sudden, and turning on the spot, dropped into the river. The transparent surface spurted up from his weight; and Pan Mushalski said,—

"For thee, Didyuk." Then he sought another arrow. "In honor of the hetman," said he to his comrades. They held their breath; after a while the air whistled again, and a second janissary fell on the scow.

On all the scows the oars began to move more quickly; they struck the clear river vigorously; but the famous bowman turned with a smile to the little knight,—"In honor of the worthy wife of your grace!" A third time the bow was stretched; a third time he sent out a bitter arrow; and a third time it sank half its shaft's length in the body of a man. A shout of triumph thundered on the bank, a shout of rage from the scows. Then Pan Mushalski withdrew; and after him followed other victors of the day, and went to the town.

While returning, they looked with pleasure on the harvest of that day. Few of the horde had perished, for they had not fought well even once; and put to flight, they recrossed the river quickly. But the janissaries lay to the number of some tens of men, like bundles of firmly bound grain. A few were struggling yet, but all had been stripped by the servants of the chamberlain. Looking at them, Pan Michael said,—

"Brave infantry! the men move to the conflict like wild boars; but they do not know beyond half what the Swedes do."

"They fired as a man would crack nuts," said the chamberlain.

"That came of itself, not through training, for they have no general training. They were of the Sultan's guard, and they are disciplined in some fashion; besides these there are irregular janissaries, considerably inferior."

"We have given them a keepsake! God is gracious, that we begin the war with such a noteworthy victory."

But the experienced Pan Michael had another opinion.

"This is a small victory, insignificant," said he. "It is good to raise courage in men without training and in townspeople, but will have no result."

"But do you think courage will not break in the Pagans?"

"In the Pagans courage will not break," said Pan Michael.

Thus conversing, they reached Jvanyets, where the people gave them the two captured janissaries who had tried to hide from Pan Michael in the sunflowers.

One was wounded somewhat, the other perfectly well and full of wild courage. When he reached the castle, the little knight, who understood Turkish well, though he did not speak it fluently, asked Pan Makovetski to question the man. Pan Makovetski asked if the Sultan was in Hotin himself, and if he would come soon to Kamenyets.

The Turk answered clearly, but insolently,—

"The Padishah is present himself. They said in the camp that to-morrow Halil Pasha and Murad Pasha would cross, taking engineers with them. To-morrow, or after to-morrow, the hour of destruction will come on you."

Here the prisoner put his hands on his hips, and, confident in the terror of the Sultan's name, continued,—

"Mad Poles! how did you dare at the side of the Sultan to fall on his people and strike them? Do you think that hard punishment will miss you? Can that little castle protect you? What will you be in a few days but captives? What are you this day but dogs springing in the face of your master?"

Pan Makovetski wrote down everything carefully; but Pan Michael, wishing to temper the insolence of the prisoner, struck him on the face at the last words. The Turk was confused, and gained respect for the little knight straightway, and in general began to express himself more decently. When the examination was over, and they brought him to the hall, Pan Michael said,—

"It is necessary to send these prisoners and their confession on a gallop to Warsaw, for at the king's court they do not believe yet that there will be war."

"And what do you think, gentlemen, did that prisoner tell the truth, or did he lie altogether?"

"If it please you, gentlemen," said Volodyovski, "it is possible to scorch his heels. I have a sergeant who executed Azya, the son of Tugai Bey, and who in these matters is
exquisitissimus
; but, to my thinking, the janissary has told the truth in everything. The crossing will begin soon; we cannot stop it,—no! even if there were a hundred times as many of us. Therefore nothing is left but to assemble, and go to Kamenyets with the news."

"I have done so well at Jvanyets that I would shut myself up in the castle with pleasure," said the chamberlain, "were I sure that you would come from time to time with succor from Kamenyets. After that, let happen what would!"