Kitabı oku: «Pan Michael», sayfa 35

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.

CHAPTER LIII

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.

The famed archer let out two arrows at him; but both merely sounded on his armor with a groaning, and fell without effect on the grass. Pan Mushalski began to hesitate whether to send forth a third shaft against the neck of the steed, or rush on the bey with his sabre. But while he was thinking of this on the way, the bey saw him and urged on his black stallion.

Both met in the middle of the field. Pan Mushalski, wishing to show his great strength and take Hamdi alive, struck up his sword with a powerful blow and closed with him; he seized the bey's throat with one hand, with the other his pointed helmet, and drew him from his horse. But the girth of his own saddle broke; the incomparable bowman turned with it, and dropped to the ground. Hamdi struck the falling man with the hilt of his sword on the head and stunned him. The spahis and mamelukes, who had feared for Hamdi, shouted with joy; the Poles were grieved greatly. Then the opposing sides sprang toward one another in dense groups, – one side to seize the bowman, the other to defend even his body.

So far the little knight had taken no part in the skirmish, for his dignity of colonel did not permit that; but seeing the fall of Mushalski and the preponderance of Hamdi, he resolved to avenge the archer and give courage to his own men. Inspired with this thought, he put spurs to his horse, and swept across the field as swiftly as a sparrow-hawk goes to a flock of plover, circling over stubble. Basia, looking through a glass, saw him from the battlements, and cried at once to Zagloba, who was near her, —

"Michael is flying! Michael is flying!"

"You see him," cried the old warrior. "Look carefully; see where he strikes the first blow. Have no fear!"

The glass shook in Basia's hand. Though, as there was no discharge in the field yet from bows or janissary guns, she was not alarmed over-much for the life of her husband, still, enthusiasm, curiosity, and disquiet seized her. Her soul and heart had gone out of her body that moment, and were flying after him. Her breast was heaving quickly; a bright flush covered her face. At one moment she had bent over the battlement so far that Zagloba seized her by the waist, lest she might fall to the fosse.

"Two are flying at Michael!" cried she.

"There will be two less!" said Zagloba.

Indeed, two spahis came out against the little knight. Judging from his uniform, they knew that he was a man of note, and seeing the small stature of the horseman they thought to win glory cheaply. The fools! they flew to sure death; for when they had drawn near he did not even rein in his horse, but gave them two blows, apparently as light as when a mother in passing gives a push apiece to two children. Both fell on the ground, and clawing it with their fingers, quivered like two lynxes which death-dealing arrows have struck simultaneously.

The little knight flew farther toward horsemen racing through the field, and began to spread dreadful disaster. As when after Mass a boy comes in with a pewter extinguisher fixed to a staff, and quenches one after another the candles on the altar, and the altar is buried in shadow, so Pan Michael quenched right and left brilliant horsemen, Egyptian and Turkish, and they sank in the darkness of death. The Pagans recognized a master above masters, and their hearts sank within them. One and another withdrew his horse, so as not to meet with the terrible leader; the little knight rushed after the fugitives like a venomous wasp, and pierced one after another with his sting.

The men at the castle artillery began to shout joyously at sight of this. Some ran up to Basia, and borne away with enthusiasm, kissed the hem of her robe; others abused the Turks.

"Basia, restrain yourself!" cried Zagloba, every little while, holding her continually by the waist; but Basia wanted to laugh and cry, and clap her hands, and shout and look, and fly to her husband in the field.

He continued to carry off spahis and Egyptian beys till at last cries of "Hamdi! Hamdi!" were heard throughout the whole field. The adherents of the Prophet called loudly for their greatest warrior to measure himself with that terrible little horseman, who seemed to be death incarnate.

Hamdi had seen the little knight for some time; but noting his deeds, he was simply afraid of him. It was a terror to risk at once his great fame and young life against such an ominous enemy; therefore he feigned not to see him, and began to circle around at the other end of the field. He had just finished Pan Yalbryk and Pan Kos when despairing cries of "Hamdi! Hamdi!" smote his ear. He saw then that he could hide himself no longer, that he must win immeasurable glory or lay down his life; at that moment he gave forth a shout so shrill that all the rocks answered with an echo, and he urged on toward the little knight a horse as swift as a whirlwind.

Pan Michael saw him from a distance, and pressed also with his heels his Wallachian bay. Others ceased the armed argument. At the castle Basia, who had seen just before all the deeds of the terrible Hamdi, grew somewhat pale, in spite of her blind faith in the little knight, the unconquerable swordsman; but Zagloba was thoroughly at rest.

"I would rather be the heir of that Pagan than that Pagan himself," said he to Basia, sententiously.

Pyentka, the slow Lithuanian, was so certain of his lord that not the least anxiety darkened his face; but seeing Hamdi rushing on, he began to hum a popular song, —

 
"O thou foolish, foolish house-dog,
That's a gray wolf from the forest.
Why dost thou rush forward to him
If thou canst not overcome him!"
 

The men closed in the middle of the field between two ranks, looking on from a distance. The hearts of all died in them for a moment. Then serpentine lightning flashed in the bright sun above the heads of the combatants; but the curved blade flew from the hand of Hamdi like an arrow urged by a bowstring; he bent toward the saddle, as if pierced with a blade-point, and closed his eyes. Pan Michael seized him by the neck with his left hand, and placing the point of his sabre at the armpit of the Egyptian, turned toward his own men. Hamdi gave no resistance; he even urged his horse forward with his heel, for he felt the point between his armpit and the armor. He went as if stunned, his hands hanging powerless, and from his eyes tears began to fall. Pan Michael gave him to the cruel Lusnia, and returned himself to the field.

But in the Turkish companies trumpets and pipes were sounded, – a signal of retreat to the skirmishers. They began to withdraw toward their own forces, taking with them shame, vexation, and the memory of the terrible horseman.

"That was Satan!" said the spahis and mamelukes to one another. "Whoso meets that man, to him death is predestined! Satan, no other!"

The Polish skirmishers remained awhile to show that they held the field; then, giving forth three shouts of victory, they withdrew under cover of their guns, from which Pan Pototski gave command to renew fire. But the Turks began to retreat altogether. For a time yet their burnooses gleamed in the sun, and their colored kefis and glittering head-pieces; then the blue sky hid them.

On the field of battle there remained only the Turks and Poles slain with swords. Servants came out from the castle to collect and bury the Poles. Then ravens came to labor at the burial of the Pagans, but their stay was not long, for that evening new legions of the Prophet frightened them away.

CHAPTER LIV

On the following day, the vizir himself arrived before Kamenyets at the head of a numerous army of spahis, janissaries, and the general militia from Asia. It was supposed at once, from the great number of his forces, that he would storm the place; but he wished merely to examine the walls. Engineers came with him to inspect the fortress and earthworks. Pan Myslishevski went out this time against the vizir with infantry and a division of mounted volunteers. They began to skirmish again; the action was favorable for the besieged, though not so brilliant as on the first day. Finally, the vizir commanded the janissaries to move to the walls for a trial. The thunder of cannon shook at once the town and the castle. When the janissaries were near the quarters of Pan Podchaski, all fired at once with a great outburst; but as Pan Podchaski answered from above with very well-directed shots, and there was danger that cavalry might flank the janissaries, they retreated on the Jvanyets road, and returned to the main camp.

In the evening, a certain Cheh (Bohemian) stole into the town; he had been a groom with the aga of the janissaries, and being bastinadoed, had deserted. From him the Poles learned that the Turks had fortified themselves in Jvanyets, and occupied broad fields on this side of Dlujek. They asked the fugitive carefully what the general opinion among the Turks was, – did they think to capture Kamenyets or not? He answered that there was good courage in the army, and the omens were favorable. A couple of days before, there had risen on a sudden from the earth in front of the Sultan's pavilion, as it were a pillar of smoke, slender below, and widening above in the form of a mighty bush. The muftis explained that that portent signified that the glory of the Padishah would reach the heavens, and that he would be the ruler to crush Kamenyets, – an obstacle hitherto invincible. That strengthened hearts greatly in the army. "The Turks," continued the fugitive, "fear Pan Sobieski, and succor; from time past they bear in mind the peril of meeting the troops of the Commonwealth in the open field, though they are willing to meet Venetians, Hungarians, or any other people. But since they have information that there are no troops in the Commonwealth, they think generally that they will take Kamenyets, though not without trouble. Kara Mustafa, the kaimakan, has advised to storm the walls straightway; but the more prudent vizir prefers to invest the town with regular works, and cover it with cannon-balls. The Sultan, after the first skirmishes, has inclined to the opinion of the vizir; therefore it is proper to look for a regular siege."

Thus spoke the deserter. Hearing this news. Pan Pototski and the bishop, the chamberlain, Pan Volodyovski, and all the other chief officers were greatly concerned. They had counted on storms, and hoped with the defensiveness of the place to repulse them with great loss to the enemy. They knew from experience that during storms assailants suffer great losses; that every attack which is repulsed shakes their courage, and adds boldness to the besieged. As the knights at Zbaraj grew enamoured at last of resistance, of battles and sorties, so the inhabitants of Kamenyets might acquire love for battle, especially if every attack ended in defeat for the Turks and victory for the town. But a regular siege, in which the digging of approaches and mines, the planting of guns in position, mean everything, might only weary the besieged, weaken their courage, and make them inclined to negotiation. It was difficult also to count on sorties, for it was not proper to strip the walls of soldiers, and the servants or townspeople, led beyond the walls, could hardly stand before janissaries.

Weighing this, all the superior officers were greatly concerned, and to them a happy result of the defence seemed less likely. In fact, it had small chance of success, not only in view of the Turkish power, but in view of themselves. Pan Volodyovski was an incomparable soldier and very famous, but he had not the majesty of greatness. Whoso bears the sun in himself is able to warm all everywhere; but whoso is a flame, even the most ardent, warms only those who are nearest. So it was with the little knight. He did not know how to pour his spirit into others, and could not, just as he could not give his own skill with the sword. Pan Pototski, the supreme chief, was not a warrior, besides, he lacked faith in himself, in others, in the Commonwealth. The bishop counted on negotiations mainly; his brother had a heavy hand, but also a mind not much lighter. Relief was impossible, for the hetman, Pan Sobieski, though great, was then without power. Without power was the king, without power the whole Commonwealth.

On the 16th of August came the Khan with the horde, and Doroshenko with his Cossacks, and occupied an enormous area on the fields, beginning with Ronen. Sufan Kazi Aga invited Pan Myslishevski that day to an interview, and advised him to surrender the place, for if he did he would receive such favorable conditions as had never been heard of in the history of sieges. The bishop was curious to know what those favors were; but he was shouted down in the council, and a refusal was sent back in answer. On August 18, the Turks began to advance, and with them the Sultan.

They came on like a measureless sea, – infantry, janissaries, spahis. Each pasha led the troops of his own pashalik, therefore inhabitants of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Behind them came an enormous camp with loaded wagons drawn by mules and buffaloes. That hundred-colored swarm, in various dresses and arms, moved without end. From dawn till night those leaders marched without stopping, moved from one place to another, stationed troops, circled about in the fields, pitched tents, which occupied such a space that from the towers and highest points of Kamenyets it was possible in no wise to see fields free from canvas. It seemed to people that snow had fallen and filled the whole region about them. The camp was laid out during salvos of musketry, for the janissaries shielding that work did not cease to fire at the walls of the fortress; from the walls an unbroken cannonade answered. Echoes were thundering from the cliffs; smoke rose and covered the blue of the sky. Toward evening Kamenyets was enclosed in such fashion that nothing save pigeons could leave it. Firing ceased only when the first stars began to twinkle.

For a number of succeeding days firing from the walls and at the walls continued without interruption. The result was great damage to the besiegers; the moment a considerable group of janissaries collected within range, white smoke bloomed out on the walls, balls fell among the janissaries, and they scattered as a flock of sparrows when some one sends fine shot at them from a musket. Meanwhile the Turks, not knowing evidently that in both castles and in the town there were guns of long range, pitched their tents too near. This was permitted, by the advice of Pan Michael; and only when time of rest came, and troops, escaping from heat, had crowded into those tents, did the walls roar with continuous thunder. Then rose a panic; balls tore tents, broke poles, struck soldiers, hurled around sharp fragments of rocks. The janissaries withdrew in dismay and disorder, crying with loud voices; in their retreat they overturned other tents, and carried alarm with them everywhere. On the men disordered in this way Pan Michael fell with cavalry, and cut them till strong bodies of horsemen came to their aid. Ketling directed this fire mainly; besides him, the Polish mayor made the greatest havoc among the Pagans. He bent over every gun, applied the match himself, and covering his eyes with his hand, looked at the result of the shot, and rejoiced in his heart that he was working so effectively.

The Turks were digging approaches, however, making intrenchments and fixing heavy guns in them. But before they began to fire from these guns, an envoy of the Turks came under the walls, and fastening to a dart a letter from the Sultan, showed it to the besieged. Dragoons were sent out; these brought the envoy at once to the castle. The Sultan, summoning the town to surrender, exalted his own might and clemency to the skies.

"My army" (wrote he) "may be compared to the leaves of the forest and the sands of the sea. Look at the heavens; and when you see the countless stars, rouse fear in your hearts, and say one to another, 'Behold, such is the power of the believers!' But because I am a sovereign, gracious above other sovereigns, and a grandson of the God of Justice, I receive my right from above. Know that I hate stubborn men; do not oppose, then, my will; surrender your town. If you resist, you will all perish under the sword, and no voice of man will rise against me."

They considered long what response to give to that letter, and rejected the impolitic counsel of Zagloba to cut off a dog's tail and send it in answer. They despatched a clever man skilled in Turkish; Yuritsa was his name. He bore a letter which read as follows: —

"We do not wish to anger the Sultan, but we do not hold it our duty to obey him, for we have not taken oath to him, but to our own lord. Kamenyets we will not surrender, for an oath binds us to defend the fortresses and churches while our lives last."

After this answer the officers went to their places on the walls. Bishop Lantskoronski and the starosta took advantage of this, and sent a new letter to the Sultan, asking of him an armistice for four weeks. When news of this went along the gates, an uproar and clatter of sabres began. "But I believe," repeated this man and that, "that we are here burning at the guns, and behind our shoulders they are sending letters without our knowledge, though we are members of the council." At the evening kindya the officers went in a body to the starosta, with the little knight and Pan Makovetski at their head, both greatly afflicted at what had happened.

"How is this?" asked Makovetski. "Are you thinking already of surrender, that you have sent a new envoy? Why has this happened without our knowledge?"

"In truth," added the little knight, "since we are called to a council, it is not right to send letters without our knowledge. Neither will we permit any one to mention surrender; if any one wishes to mention it, let him withdraw from authority."

While speaking he was terribly roused; being a soldier of rare obedience, it caused him the utmost pain to speak thus against his superiors. But since he had sworn to defend the castle till his death he thought, "It behooves me to speak thus."

The starosta was confused and answered, "I thought this was done with general consent."

"There is no consent. We will die here!" cried a number of voices.

"I am glad to hear that," said the starosta; "for in me faith is dearer than life, and cowardice has never come near me, and will not. Remain, gracious gentlemen, to supper; we will come to agreement more easily."

But they would not remain.

"Our place is at the gates, not at the table," said the little knight.

At this time the bishop arrived, and learning what the question was, turned at once to Pan Makovetski and Volodyovski.

"Worthy men!" said he, "each has the same thing at heart as you, and no one has mentioned surrender. I sent to ask for an armistice of four weeks; I wrote as follows; 'During that time we will send to our king for succor, and await his instructions, and further that will be which God gives.'"

When the little knight heard this he was excited anew, but this time because rage carried him away, and scorn at such a conception of military matters. He, a soldier since childhood, could not believe his ears, could not believe that any man would propose a truce to an enemy, so as to have time himself to send for succor.

The little knight looked at Makovetski and then at other officers; they looked at him. "Is this a jest?" asked a number of voices. Then all were silent.

"I fought through the Tartar, Cossack, Moscow, and Swedish wars," said Pan Michael, at last, "and I have never heard of such reasons. The Sultan has not come hither to please us, but himself. How will he consent to an armistice, when we write to him that at the end of that time we expect aid?"

"If he does not agree, there will be nothing different from what there is now," said the bishop.

"Whoso begs for an armistice exhibits fear and weakness, and whoso looks for succor mistrusts his own power. The Pagan dog believes this of us from that letter, and thereby irreparable harm has been done."

"I might be somewhere else," said the bishop; "and because I did not desert my flock in time of need, I endure reprimand."

The little knight was sorry at once for the worthy prelate; therefore he took him by the knees, kissed his hands, and said, —

"God keep me from giving any reprimand here; but since there is a council, I utter what experience dictates to me."

"What is to be done, then? Let the fault be mine; but what is to be done? How repair the evil?" asked the bishop.

"How repair the evil?" repeated Volodyovski.

And thinking a moment, he raised his head joyously, —

"Well, it is possible. Gracious gentlemen, I pray you to follow me."

He went out, and after him the officers. A quarter of an hour later all Kamenyets was trembling from the thunder of cannon. Volodyovski rushed out with volunteers; and falling upon sleeping janissaries in the approaches, ha slashed them till he scattered and drove the whole force to the tabor.

Then he returned to the starosta, with whom he found the bishop. "Here," said he, joyously, – "here is help for you."