Генрик Сенкевич
Pan Michael
CHAPTER XLIX
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.
Under the influence of these thoughts and hopes. Pan Adam freed himself from torpor, and revived. His march along unknown ways, arduous labor, the sweeping wind of the steppes, and the dangers of the bold undertaking increased his health, and brought back his former strength. The warrior began to overcome in him the man of misfortune. Before that, there had been no place in him for anything except memories and suffering; now he had to think whole days of how he was to deceive and attack.
After they had passed the Dniester the Poles went on a diagonal, and down toward the Pruth. In the day they hid frequently in forests and reeds; in the night they made secret and hurried marches. So far the country was not much inhabited, and, occupied mainly by nomads, was empty for the greater part. Very rarely did they come upon fields of maize, and near them houses.
Marching secretly, they strove to avoid larger settlements, but often they stopped at smaller ones composed of one, two, three, or even a number of cottages; these they entered boldly, knowing that none of the inhabitants would think of fleeing before them to Budjyak, and forewarning the Tartars. Lusnia, however, took care that this should not happen; but soon he omitted the precaution, for he convinced himself that those few settlements, though subject, as it were, to the Sultan, were looking for his troops with dread; and secondly, that they had no idea what kind of people had come to them, and took the whole detachment for Karalash parties, who were marching after others at command of the Sultan.
The inhabitants furnished without opposition corn, bread, and dried buffalo-meat. Every cottager had his flock of sheep, his buffaloes and horses, secreted near the rivers, From time to time appeared also very large herds of buffaloes, half wild, and followed by a number of herdsmen. These herdsmen lived in tents on the steppe, and remained in one place only while they found grass in abundance. Frequently they were old Tartars. Pan Adam surrounded them with as much care as if they were a chambul; he did not spare them, lest they might send down toward Budjyak a report of his march. Tartars, especially after he had inquired of them concerning the roads, or rather the roadless country, he slew without mercy, so that not a foot escaped. He took then from the herds as many cattle as he needed, and moved on.
The detachment went southward; they met now more frequently herds guarded by Tartars almost exclusively, and in rather large parties. During a march of two weeks Pan Adam surrounded and cut down three bands of shepherds, numbering some tens of men. The dragoons always took the sheepskin coats of these men, and cleaning them over fires, put them on, so as to resemble wild herdsmen and shepherds. In another week they were all dressed like Tartars, and looked exactly like a chambul. There remained to them only the uniform weapons of regular cavalry; but they kept their jackets in the saddle-straps, so as to put them on when returning. They might be recognized near at hand by their yellow Mazovian mustaches and blue eyes; but from a distance a man of the greatest experience might be deceived at sight of them, all the more since they drove before them the cattle which they needed as food.
Approaching the Pruth, they marched along its left bank. Since the trail of Kuchman was in a region too much stripped, it was easy to foresee that the legions of the Sultan and the horde in the vanguard would march through Falezi, Hush, Kotimore, and only then by the Wallachian trail, and either turn toward the Dniester, or go straight as the east of a sickle through all Bessarabia, to come out on the boundary of the Commonwealth near Ushytsa. Pan Adam was so certain of this that, caring nothing for time, he went more and more slowly, and with increasing care, so as not to come too suddenly on chambuls. Arriving at last at the river forks formed by the Sarata and the Tekich, he stopped there for a long time, first, to give rest to his horses and men, and second, to wait in a well-sheltered place for the vanguard of the horde.
The place was well sheltered and carefully chosen, for all the inner and outer banks of the two rivers were covered partly with the common cornel-bush, and partly with dog-wood. This thicket extended as far as the eye could reach, covering the ground in places with dense brushwood, in places forming groups of bushes, between which were empty spaces, commodious for camping. At that season the trees and bushes had cast their blossoms, but in the early spring there must have been a sea of white and yellow flowers. The place was uninhabited, but swarming with beasts, such as deer and rabbits, and with birds. Here and there, at the edge of a spring, they found also bear tracks. One man at the arrival of the detachment killed a couple of sheep. In view of this, Lusnia promised himself a sheep hunt; but Pan Adam, wishing to lie concealed, did not permit the use of muskets, – the soldiers went out to plunder with spears and axes.
Later on they found near the water traces of fires, but old ones, probably of the past year. It was evident that nomads looked in there from time to time with their herds, or perhaps Tartars came to cut cornel-wood for slung staffs. But the most careful search did not discover a living soul. Pan Adam decided not to go farther, but to remain there till the coming of the Turkish troops.
They laid out a square, built huts, and waited. At the edges of the wood sentries were posted; some of these looked day and night toward Budjyak, others toward the Pruth in the direction of Falezi. Pan Adam knew that he would divine the approach of the Sultan's armies by certain signs; besides, he sent out small detachments, led by himself most frequently. The weather favored excellently the halt in that dry region. The days were warm, but it was easy to avoid heat in the shade of the thicket; the nights were clear, calm, moonlight, and then the groves were quivering from the singing of nightingales. During such nights Pan Adam suffered most, for he could not sleep; he was thinking of his former happiness, and pondering on the present days of disaster. He lived only in the thought that when his heart was sated with vengeance he would be happier and calmer. Meanwhile the time was approaching in which he was to accomplish that vengeance or perish.
Week followed week spent in finding food in wild places, and in watching. During that time they studied all the trails, ravines, meadows, rivers, and streams, gathered in again a number of herds, cut down some small bands of nomads, and watched continually in that thicket, like a wild beast waiting for prey. At last the expected moment came.
A certain morning they saw flocks of birds covering the earth and the sky. Bustards, ptarmigans, blue-legged quails, hurried through the grass to the thicket; through the sky flew ravens, crows, and even water-birds, evidently frightened on the banks of the Danube or the swamps of the Dobrudja. At sight of this the dragoons looked at one another; and the phrase, "They are coming! they are coming!" flew from mouth to mouth. Faces grew animated at once, mustaches began to quiver, eyes to gleam, but in that animation there was not the slightest alarm. Those were all men for whom life had passed in "methods;" they only felt what a hunting dog feels when he sniffs game. Fires were quenched in a moment, so that smoke might not betray the presence of people in the thicket; the horses were saddled; and the whole detachment stood ready for action.
It was necessary so to measure time as to fall on the enemy during a halt. Pan Adam understood well that the Sultan's troops would not march in dense masses, especially in their own country, where danger was altogether unlikely. He knew, too, that it was the custom of vanguards to march five or ten miles before the main army. He hoped, with good reason, that the Lithuanian Tartars would be first in the vanguard.
For a certain time he hesitated whether to advance to meet them by secret roads, well known to him, or to wait in the woods for their coming. He chose the latter, because it was easier to attack from the woods unexpectedly. Another day passed, then a night, during which not only birds came in swarms, but beasts came in droves to the woods. Next morning the enemy was in sight.
South of the wood stretched a broad though hilly meadow, which was lost in the distant horizon. On that meadow appeared the enemy, and approached the wood rather quickly. The dragoons looked from the trees at that dark mass, which vanished at times, when hidden by hills, and then appeared again in all its extent.
Lusnia, who had uncommonly sharp eyesight, looked some time with effort at those crowds approaching; then he went to Novoveski, and said, —
"Pan Commandant, there are not many men; they are only driving herds out to pasture."
Pan Adam convinced himself soon that Lusnia was right, and his face shone with gladness.
"That means that their halting-place is five or six miles from this grove," said he.
"It does," answered Lusnia. "They march in the night, evidently to gain shelter from heat, and rest in the day; they are sending the horses now to pasture till evening."
"Is there a large guard with the horses?"
Lusnia pushed out again to the edge of the wood, and did not return for a longer time. At last he came back and said, —
"There are about fifteen hundred horses and twenty-five men with them. They are in their own country; they fear nothing, and do not put out strong watches."
"Could you recognize the men?"
"They are far away yet, but they are Lithuanian Tartars. They are in our hands already."
"They are," said Pan Adam.
In fact, he was convinced that not a living foot of those men would escape. For such a leader as he, and such soldiers as he led, that was a very light task.
Meanwhile the herdsmen had driven the beasts nearer and nearer to the forest. Lusnia thrust himself out once again to the border, and returned a second time. His face was shining with cruelty and gladness.
"Lithuanian Tartars," whispered he.
Hearing this, Pan Adam made a noise like a falcon, and straightway a division of dragoons pushed into the depth of the wood. There they separated into two parties, one of which disappeared in a defile, so as to come out behind the herd and the Tartars; the other formed a half-circle, and waited.
All this was done so quietly that the most trained ear could not have caught a sound; neither sabre nor spur rattled; no horse neighed; the thick grass on the ground dulled the tramp of hoofs; besides, even the horses seemed to understand that the success of the attack depended on silence, for they were performing such service not for the first time. Nothing was heard from the defile and the brushwood but the call of the falcon, lower every little while and less frequent.
The herd of Tartar horses stopped before the wood, and scattered in greater or smaller groups on the meadow. Pan Adam himself was then near the edge, and followed all the movements of the herdsmen. The day was clear, and the time before noon, but the sun was already high, and cast heat on the earth. The horses rolled; later on, they approached the wood. The herdsmen rode to the edge of the grove, slipped down from their horses, and let them out on lariats; then seeking the shade and cool places, they entered the thicket, and lay down under the largest bushes to rest.
Soon a fire burst up in a flame; when the dry sticks had turned into coals and were coated with ashes, the herdsmen put half a colt on the coals, and sat at a distance themselves to avoid the heat. Some stretched on the grass; others talked, sitting in groups, Turkish fashion; one began to play on a horn. In the wood perfect silence reigned; the falcon called only at times.
The odor of singed flesh announced at last that the roast was ready. Two men drew it out of the ashes, and dragged it to a shady tree; there they sat in a circle cutting the meat with their knives, and eating with beastly greed. From the half-raw strips came blood, which settled on their fingers, and flowed down their beards.
When they had finished eating, and had drunk sour mare's milk out of skins, they felt satisfied. They talked awhile yet; then their heads and limbs became heavy.
Afternoon came. The heat flew down from heaven more and more. The forest was varied with quivering streaks of light made by the rays of the sun penetrating dense places. Everything was silent; even the falcons ceased to call.
A number of Tartars stood up and went to look at the horses; others stretched themselves like corpses on a battlefield, and soon sleep overpowered them. But their sleep after meat and drink was rather heavy and uneasy, for at times one groaned deeply, another opened his lids for a moment, and repeated, "Allah, Bismillah!"
All at once on the edge of the wood was heard some low but terrible sound, like the short rattle of a stifled man who had no time to cry. Whether the ears of the herdsmen were so keen, or some animal instinct had warned them of danger, or finally, whether Death had blown with cold breath on them, it is enough that they sprang up from sleep in one moment.
"What is that? Where are the men at the horses?" they began to inquire of one another. Then from a thicket some voice said in Polish, —
"They will not return."
That moment a hundred and fifty men rushed in a circle at the herdsmen, who were frightened so terribly that the cry died in their breasts. An odd one barely succeeded in grasping his dagger. The circle of attackers covered and hid them completely. The bush quivered from the pressure of human bodies, which struggled in a disorderly group. The whistle of blades, panting, and at times groaning or wheezing were heard, but that lasted one twinkle of an eye; and all was silent.
"How many are alive?" asked a voice among the attackers.
"Five, Pan Commandant."
"Examine the bodies; lest any escape, give each man a knife in the throat, and bring the prisoners to the fire."
The command was obeyed in one moment. The corpses were pinned to the turf with their own knives; the prisoners, after their feet had been bound to sticks, were brought around the fire, which Lusnia had raked so that coals, hidden under ashes, would be on the top.
The prisoners looked at this preparation and at Lusnia with wild eyes. Among them were three Tartars of Hreptyoff who knew the sergeant perfectly. He knew them too, and said, —
"Well, comrades, you must sing now; if not, you will go to the other world on roasted soles. For old acquaintance' sake I will not spare fire on you."
When he had said this he threw dry limbs on the fire, which burst out at once in a tall blaze.
Pan Adam came now, and began the examination. From confessions of the prisoners it appeared that what the young lieutenant had divined earlier was true. The Lithuanian Tartars and Cheremis were marching in the vanguard before the horde, and before all the troops of the Sultan. They were led by Azya, son of Tugai Bey, to whom was given command over all the parties. They, as well as the whole army, marched at night because of the heat; in the day they sent their herds out to pasture. They threw out no pickets, for no one supposed that troops could attack them even near the Dniester, much less at the Pruth, right at the dwellings of the horde; they marched comfortably, therefore, with their herds and with camels, which carried the tents of the officers. The tent of Murza Azya was easily known, for it had a bunchuk fixed on its summit, and the banners of the companies were fastened near it in time of halt. The camp was four or five miles distant; there were about two thousand men in it, but some of them had remained with the Belgrod horde, which was marching about five miles behind.
Pan Adam inquired further touching the road which would lead to the camp best, then how the tents were arranged, and last, of that which concerned him most deeply.
"Are there women in the tent?"
The Tartars trembled for their lives. Those of them who had served in Hreptyoff knew perfectly that Pan Adam was the brother of one of those women, and was betrothed to the other; they understood, therefore, what rage would seize him when he knew the whole truth.
That rage might fall first on them; they hesitated, therefore, but Lusnia said at once, —
"Pan Commandant, we'll warm their soles for the dog brothers; then they will speak."
"Thrust their feet in the fire!" said Pan Adam.
"Have mercy!" cried Eliashevich, an old Tartar from Hreptyoff. "I will tell all that my eyes have seen."
Lusnia looked at the commandant to learn if he was to carry out the threat notwithstanding this answer; but Pan Adam shook his head, and said to Eliashevich, —
"Tell what thou hast seen."
"We are innocent, lord," answered Eliashevich; "we went at command. The murza gave your gracious sister to Pan Adurovich, who had her in his tent. I saw her in Kuchunkaury when she was going for water with pails; and I helped her to carry them, for she was heavy – "
"Woe!" muttered Pan Adam.
"But the other lady our murza himself had in his tent. We did not see her so often; but we heard more than once how she screamed, for the murza, though he kept her for his pleasure, beat her with rods, and kicked her."
Pan Adam's lips began to quiver.
Eliashevich barely heard the question.
"Where are they now?"
"Sold in Stambul."
"To whom?"
"The murza himself does not know certainly. A command came from the Padishah to keep no women in camp. All sold their women in the bazaar; the murza sold his."
The explanation was finished, and at the fire silence set in; but for some time a sultry afternoon wind shook the limbs of the trees, which sounded more and more deeply. The air became stifling; on the edge of the horizon, black clouds appeared, dark in the centre, and shining with a copper-color on the edges.
Pan Adam walked away from the fire, and moved like one demented, without giving an account to himself of where he was going. At last he dropped with his face to the ground, and began to tear the earth with his nails, then to gnaw his own hands, and then to gasp as if dying. A convulsion twisted his gigantic body, and he lay thus for hours. The dragoons looked at him from a distance; but even Lusnia dared not approach him.
Concluding that the commandant would not be angry at him for not sparing the Tartars, the terrible sergeant, impelled by pure inborn cruelty, stuffed their mouths with grass, so as to avoid noise, and slaughtered them like bullocks. He spared Eliashevich alone, supposing that he would be needed to guide them. When he had finished this work, he dragged away from the fire the bodies, still quivering, and put them in a row; he went then to look at the commandant.
"Even if he has gone mad," muttered Lusnia, "we must get that one."
Midday had passed, the afternoon hours as well, and the day was inclining toward evening. But those clouds, small at first, occupied now almost the whole heavens, and were growing ever thicker and darker without losing that copper-colored gleam along the edges. Their gigantic rolls turned heavily, like millstones on their own axes; then they fell on one another, crowded one another, and pushing one another from the height, rolled in a dense mass lower and lower toward the earth. The wind struck at times, like a bird of prey with its wings, bent the cornel-trees and the dogwood to the earth, tore away a cloud of leaves, and bore it apart with rage; at times it stopped as if it had fallen into the ground. During such intervals of silence there was heard in the gathering clouds a certain ominous rattling, wheezing, rumbling; you would have said that legions of thunders were gathering within them and ranging for battle, grumbling in deep voices while rousing rage and fury in themselves, before they would burst out and strike madly on the terrified earth.
"A storm, a storm is coming!" whispered the dragoons to one another.
The storm was coming. The air grew darker each instant.
Then on the east, from the side of the Dniester, thunder rose and rolled with an awful outbreak along the heavens, till it went far away, beyond the Pruth; there it was silent for a moment, but springing up afresh, rushed toward the steppes of Budjyak, and rolled along the whole horizon.
First, great drops of rain fell on the parched grass. At that moment Pan Adam stood before the dragoons.
"To horse!" cried he, with a mighty voice.
And at the expiration of as much time as is needed to say a hurried "Our Father," he was moving at the head of a hundred and fifty horsemen. When he had ridden out of the woods, he joined, near the herd of horses, the other half of his men, who had been standing guard at the field-side, to prevent any herdsmen from escaping by stealth to the camp. The dragoons rushed around the herd in the twinkle of an eye, and giving out wild shouts, peculiar to Tartars, moved on, urging before them the panic-stricken horses.
The sergeant held Eliashevich on a lariat, and shouted in his ear, trying to outsound the roar of the thunder, —
"Lead us on dog blood, and straight, or a knife in thy throat!"
Now the clouds rolled so low that they almost touched the earth. On a sudden they burst, like an explosion in a furnace, and a raging hurricane was let loose; soon a blinding light rent the darkness, a thunder-clap came, and after it a second, a third; the smell of sulphur spread in the air, and again there was darkness. Terror seized the herd of horses. The beasts, driven from behind by the wild shouts of the dragoons, ran with distended nostrils and flowing mane, scarcely touching the earth in their onrush; the thunder did not cease for a moment; the wind roared, and the horses raced on madly in that wind, in that darkness, amid explosions in which the earth seemed to be breaking. Driven by the tempest and by vengeance, they were like a terrible company of vampires or evil spirits in that wild steppe.
Space fled before them. No guide was needed, for the herd ran straight to the camp of the Tartars, which was nearer and nearer. But before they had reached it, the storm was unchained, as if the sky and the earth had gone mad. The whole horizon blazed with living fire, by the gleam of which were seen the tents standing on the steppe; the world was quivering from the roar of thunders; it seemed that the clouds might burst any moment and tumble to the earth. In fact, their sluices were opened, and floods of rain began to deluge the steppe. The downfall was so dense that a few paces distant nothing could be seen, and from the earth, inflamed by the heat of the sun, a thick mist was soon rising.
Yet a little while, and herd and dragoons will be in the camp.
But right before the tents the herd split, and ran to both sides in wild panic; three hundred breasts gave out a fearful shriek; three hundred sabres glittered in the flame of the lightning, and the dragoons fell on the tents.
Before the outburst of the torrent, the Tartars saw in the lightning-flashes the on-coming herd; but none of them knew what terrible herdsmen were driving. Astonishment and alarm seized them; they wondered why the herd should rush straight at the tents; then they began to shout to frighten them away. Azya himself pushed aside the canvas door, and in spite of the rain, went out with anger on his threatening face. But that instant the herd split in two, and, amid torrents of rain and in the fog, certain fierce forms looked black and many times greater in number than the horse-herds; then the terrible cry, "Slay, kill!" was heard.
There was no time for anything, not even to guess what had happened, not even to be frightened. The hurricane of men, more dreadful and furious by far than the tempest, whirled on to the camp. Before Tugai Bey's son could retreat one step toward his tent, some power more than human, as you would have said, raised him from the earth.
Suddenly he felt that a dreadful embrace was squeezing him, that from its pressure his bones were bending and his ribs breaking; soon he saw, as if in mist, a face rather than which he would have seen Satan's, and fainted.
By that time the battle had begun, or rather the ghastly slaughter. The storm, the darkness, the unknown number of the assailants, the suddenness of the attack, and the scattering of the horses were the cause that the Tartars scarcely defended themselves. The madness of terror simply took possession of them. No one knew whither to escape, where to hide himself. Many had no weapons at hand; the attack found many asleep. Therefore, stunned, bewildered, and terrified, they gathered into dense groups, crowding, overturning, and trampling one another. The breasts of horses pushed them down, threw them to the ground; sabres cut them, hoofs crushed them. A storm does not so break, destroy, and lay waste a young forest, wolves do not eat into a flock of bewildered sheep, as the dragoons trampled and cut down those Tartars. On the one hand, bewilderment, on the other, rage and vengeance, completed the measure of their misfortune. Torrents of blood were mingled with the rain. It seemed to the Tartars that the sky was falling on them, that the earth was opening under their feet. The flash of lightning, the roar of thunder, the noise of rain, the darkness, the terror of the storm, answered to the dreadful outcries of the slaughtered. The horses of the dragoons, seized also with fear, rushed, as if maddened, into the throng, breaking it and stretching the men on the ground. At length the smaller groups began to flee, but they had lost knowledge of the place to such a degree that they fled around on the scene of struggle, instead of fleeing straight forward; and frequently they knocked against one another, like two opposing waves, struck one another, overturned one another, and went under the sword. At last the dragoons scattered the remnant of them completely, and slew them in the flight, taking no prisoners, and pursuing without mercy till the trumpets called them back from pursuit.
Never had an attack been more unexpected, and never a defeat more terrible. Three hundred men had scattered to the four winds of the world nearly two thousand cavalry, surpassing incomparably in training the ordinary chambuls. The greater part of them were lying flat in red pools of blood and rain. The rest dispersed, hid their heads, thanks to the darkness, and escaped on foot, at random, not certain that they would not run under the knife a second time. The storm and the darkness assisted the victors, as if the anger of God were fighting on their side against traitors.
Night had fallen completely when Pan Adam moved out at the head of his dragoons, to return to the boundaries of the Commonwealth. Between the young lieutenant and Lusnia, the sergeant, went a horse from the herd. On the back of this horse lay, bound with cords, the leader of all the Lithuanian Tartars, – Azya, the son of Tugai Bey, with broken ribs. He was alive, but in a swoon. Both looked at him from time to time as carefully and anxiously as if they were carrying a treasure, and were fearful of losing it.
