CHAPTER XXII

Preparations for starting went forward briskly. Attendants were chosen with care, strong men and sober. Arms, horses, wagons, and brichkas were ready. Observing ways of the period, they had not forgotten dogs, which in time of marching went under the wagons and at places of rest were used to hunt hares and foxes. The mult.i.tude of supplies and the preparations astonished the lady, who had not supposed that campaigning demanded such details, and, thinking this trouble taken perhaps for her safety, she inquired of Pan Serafin touching the matter. He, as a prudent man, and one of experience, replied thus to her,--

"It is certain that we have thy person in mind, for, as I think, we shall not leave here without meeting some violence from Martsian. Thou hast heard that he has summoned his roysterers with whom he is bargaining and drinking. We should be disgraced were we to let any man s.n.a.t.c.h thee away from us. What will be, will be, but though we had to fall one on another, we must take thee to Cracow uninjured." Then she kissed his hand, saying that she was not worthy to cause them this peril; but he waved his hand simply.

"We should not dare to appear before men," said he, "unless we did this, and matters moreover are such that each coincides with the other.

It is not enough to set out for a war, one must prepare for it wisely.

Thou art astonished that we have three or four horses each man of us, as well as attendants, but thou must know that in war horses are the main question; many of them die on the way, crossing rivers and marshes, or from various camp accidents. And then what? If thou buy in haste a new horse, with faults and bad habits, that beast will fail at the critical moment. Though my son and Tachevski took a good party and excellent horses, we have foreseen every accident, and take each a new saddle beast. Father Voynovski, unrivalled in knowledge of horses, bought cheaply from old Pan Podlodovski such a Turkish steed for Pan Yatsek that the hetman himself would not refuse to appear on him."

"Which horse is for your son?" inquired the young lady.

Pan Serafin looked at her, and shook his head smiling.

"Well, Father Voynovski is right in his judgment of woman. 'That evil,'

said he, 'will be sly, even if it be the most honest.' Thou askest which horse is for Stanislav. Well, I answer in this way. Yatsek's horse is that sorrel with a star on his forehead, and a white left hind fetlock."

"You annoy me!" exclaimed the young lady.

And spitting like a cat at him, she turned, and then vanished. But that same day the pith of small loaves of bread and some salt disappeared from the dishes, and Lukash the next day beheld something curious. At the well in the courtyard the sorrel horse had his nose in the white hands of the lady, and when he was led later on to the stable he looked back at her time after time expressing with short neighs his yearning.

Lukash could not learn at the time the cause of this "confidence," for he was intent on loading a wagon, so it was some time after midday that he approached the young lady, and said, with eyes glowing from emotion,--

"Have you noticed one thing?"

"What?" inquired Panna Anulka.

"That even a beast knows a real dainty."

She forgot that he had seen her in the morning, and noting that look in his eyes raised her beautiful brows with astonishment.

"What have you in mind?" asked she.

"What?" repeated Lukash, "Yatsek's horse!"

"Oh, a horse!"

Then she burst into laughter and ran from the porch to her chamber.

He stood there astonished, and a little confused, understanding neither why she had run from him, nor what had roused her sudden laughter.

Another week pa.s.sed, and preparations were then almost finished, but somehow Pan Serafin was not urgent for the journey. He deferred it from day to day, improved various details, complained of heat, and at last drooped in spirits. Anulka was eager to be on the road. The Bukoyemskis were growing uneasy, and at length Father Voynovski agreed that farther delay was a loss of time without reason. But Pan Serafin met their impatience with these words,--

"I have news that the king has not gone yet to Cracow, and will not go quickly. Meantime the troops are to meet there, but only in part, and no one knows the day of this meeting. I ordered Stanislav to send me a man every month, with a letter giving details as to where regiments are quartered, whither they are to march, and under whose orders. Seven weeks have pa.s.sed without tidings. A letter may come to me now any moment, hence my delay; and I am alarmed somewhat. Think not that we must find our young men at Cracow, in every case. On the contrary, it may happen that they will not be there at any time."

"How is that?" inquired Anulka, disquieted.

"This, that regiments do not need to march through Cracow. Wherever a regiment is it can move thence as directly as the stroke of a sickle, but where Pan Zbierhovski may be at the moment I know not. He may have been sent to the boundary of Silesia, or to the army of the grand hetman who is coming from Russia. Regiments are hurried from place to place very often, just to train them in marching. In the course of seven weeks various commands may have come of which Stanislav should have informed me, but he has not done so. Hence I am anxious, for it is well known that in camps there are frequent disputes and also duels.

Perhaps something has happened. But even if all is in order, we ought to know where the regiment is, and what is its starting point."

All became gloomy at these words, save Father Voynovski.

"A regiment is not a needle," said he "nor is it a b.u.t.ton, which if torn from a coat is found with much difficulty. Be not concerned over this. We shall learn of them in Cracow more quickly than we could here in Yedlinka."

"But on the road we may miss the letter."

"Leave a command to send it on after us. That is the right way.

Meanwhile in Cracow we will find the safest place possible for the lady, and then our minds will be free when we start for the second time."

"Reason! Reason!"

"This is my advice then. If no letter comes ere to-morrow we will start in the cool of the evening for Radom--then farther, to Kieltse, Yendreyov, and Miehov."

"Perhaps the day after during daylight we could reach Radom, so as not to pa.s.s in the night through those forests, and thus avoid an ambush if the Krepetskis should make one."

"An ambush is nothing! Better go in the cool!" said Mateush. "If they attack they will do so as well in the day as at night, and now at night things are visible."

Then he rubbed his hands gleefully. The three others followed his example.

But Father Voynovski thought otherwise. He had great doubts touching a road attack.

"Martsian might perhaps venture, but the old man is too prudent; he knows too well what such a deed signifies and how much, more than once, men have suffered for violence to women. Besides against the power of our party Martsian could not reckon on victory, while in every event he could reckon on vengeance from Yatsek and Stanislav."

The delight of the Bukoyemskis was spoiled by the priest, but they were soothed by Vilchopolski, who struck the floor with his wooden leg, shook his head, and opposed, saying,--

"Though up to Radom and even to Kieltse and Miehov you meet no adventure, I advise you to neglect no precaution till you touch the gates of Cracow; along the road there are woods everywhere, and I, as a man knowing Martsian best of all, am convinced that that devil is now planning an ambush."

CHAPTER XXIII

At last came the day of departure. The party moved out of Yedlinka at daylight, with beautiful weather, and with horses and men in good number. Besides the iron and leather-covered carriage intended for the ladies and the priest, in case his old gun-wound should annoy him on horseback too greatly, there were three well-laden wagons drawn each by four horses. At each wagon were three men, including the driver. Behind Pan Serafin six mounted attendants, in turquoise-colored livery, led reserve horses. The priest had two men, each Bukoyemski had two also, besides a forester who guarded the trunk-laden wagons, altogether thirty-four persons well armed with muskets and sabres. It is true that in case of attack some could not aid in defending, since they would have to guard wagons and horses, but even in that case the Bukoyemskis felt sure that they could go through the world with those attendants, and that it would not be healthy for a party three or four times their number to attack them. Their hearts were swelling with a delight so enormous that hardly could they stay in their saddles. They had fought manfully in their time against Tartars and Cossacks, but those were common, small wars, and later on, when they settled in the wilderness, their youth had pa.s.sed merely in inspecting inclosures, in a ceaseless watch over foresters, in killing bears when it was their duty to preserve them, and in drunken frolics at Kozenitse and Radom and Prityk. But now, for the first time, when each put his stirrup near the stirrup of his brother, when they were going to a war against the immense might of Turkey, they felt that this was their true destination, that their past life had been vain and wretched, and that now had begun in reality the deeds and achievements for which G.o.d the Father had created Polish n.o.bles, G.o.d the Son redeemed them, and the Holy Ghost made them sacred. They could not think this out clearly, or express it in phrases, for in those things they had never been powerful, but they wished to fire off their guns then in ecstasy. Their advance seemed too slow to them. They wished to let out their horses and rush like a whirlwind, fly toward that great destination, to that great battle of the Poles with the pagans, to that triumph through Polish hands of the cross above the crescent, to a splendid death, and to glory for the ages. They felt loftier in some way, purer, more honorable, and in their n.o.bility still more enn.o.bled.

They had scarcely a thought then for Martsian and his rioting company, or for barriers and engagements on the roadway. All that seemed to them now something trivial, vain, and unworthy of attention. And if whole legions had stood in their way, they would have shot over them like a tempest, they would have ridden across them just in pa.s.sing, put them under the bellies of their horses, and rushed along farther. Their native leonine impulses were roused, and warlike, knightly blood had begun to play in them with such vigor that if command had been given those four men to charge the whole bodyguard of the Sultan, they would not have hesitated one instant.

But similar feelings, and founded, moreover, on old recollections, filled the hearts of Pan Serafin and Father Voynovski. The priest had pa.s.sed the flower of his life on the field with a lance in his hand, or a sabre. He remembered whole series of reverses and victories, he remembered the dreadful rebellion of Hmelnitski, Joltevody, Korsun, Pilavtse, Zbaraj the renowned, and the giant battle of Berestechko. He remembered the Swedish war, with its never-ending record of struggles and the attack of Rakotsi. He had been in Denmark, for a triumphing people, not satisfied with crushing and driving out Sweden, had sent in pursuit of it Charnyetski's invincible regiments to the borders of a distant ocean; he had helped to defeat Dolgoruki and Hovanski; he had known the n.o.blest knights and greatest men of the period; he had been a pupil of Pan Michael the immortal; he had been enamoured of slaughter, storms, battles, and bloodshed, but all that had lasted only till personal misfortune had broken his spirit, and he took on himself holy orders. From that day he changed altogether, and when, turning to people in front of the altar, he said to them: "Peace be with you;" he believed himself uttering Christ's own commandment, and that every war, as opposed to that commandment, "is abhorrent" to Heaven, a sin against mercy, a stain on Christian nations. But a war against Turks was the one case which he excepted. "G.o.d," said he, "put the Polish people on horseback, and turned their b.r.e.a.s.t.s eastward; by that same act He showed them His will and their calling. He knew why He chose us for that position, and put others behind our shoulders; hence, if we wish to fulfil His command and our mission with worthiness, we must face that vile sea, and break its waves with our bosoms."

Father Voynovski judged, therefore, that G.o.d had placed on the throne purposely a sovereign who, when hetman, had shed pagan blood in such quant.i.ty, that his hands might give the last blow to the enemy, and avert ruin from Christians at once and forever. It seemed to him that just then had appeared the great day of destination, the day to accomplish G.o.d's purpose; hence he considered that war as a sacred way of the cross, and was charmed at the thought, that age, toil, and wounds had not pressed him to the earth so completely, that he might not take part in it.

He would be able yet to wave a flag, he, the old soldier of Christ, would spur on his horse, and spring with a cross in his hand to the thickest of the battle, with the certainty in his heart that behind him and that cross a thousand sabres would bite on the skulls of the pagans and a thousand lances would enter their bodies.

Finally thoughts flew to his head which were personal, and more in accord with his earlier disposition. He could hold the cross in his left, but in the right hand a sabre. As a priest he could not do this against Christians, but against Turks it was proper! Oh, proper! Now he would show young men for the first time how pagan lights should be extinguished, how pagan champions must be mowed down and cut to pieces; he would show of what kind were the warriors of his day. Nay! on more fields than one men had marvelled at his prowess. It may happen now that even the king will be astounded! And this thought at that moment so filled him with rapture that he failed in his rosary: "Hail Mary--slay! kill!--full of grace--at them!--The Lord is with Thee--cut them down!" Till at last he recovered. "Tfu! to the evil one with this--glory is smoke. Has insanity seized me? _non n.o.bis, non n.o.bis sed nomini tuo_" (not to us, not to us, but to Thy name) and he pa.s.sed the beads through his fingers more attentively.

Pan Serafin was repeating also his litany of the morning, but from time to time he looked now at the priest, now at the young lady, now at the Bukoyemskis, who were riding at the side of the carriage, now at the trees and the dew-covered gra.s.sy openings between them. At last, when he had finished the final "Hail, Mary!" he turned to the old man, and said, sighing deeply,--