“The doctor told me,” said Zagloba, “that if he recovers and is bled copiously, his mind will not be disturbed, and he will bear misfortune with a lighter heart.”
“There is no consolation for him now,” said Basia.
“Often it would be better for a man not to have memory,” remarked Pan Mushalski; “but even animals are not free from it.”
Here the old man called the famous bowman to account for that remark.
“If you had no memory you couldn’t go to confession,” said he; “and you would be the same as a Lutheran, deserving hellfire. Father Kaminski has warned you already against blasphemy; but say the Lord’s prayer to a wolf, and the wolf would rather be eating a sheep.”
“What sort of wolf am I?” asked the famous bowman, “There was Azya; he was a wolf.”
“Didn’t I say that?” asked Zagloba. “Who was the first to say, that’s a wolf?”
“Pan Adam told me,” said Basia, “that day and night he hears Eva and Zosia calling to him ‘save;’ and how can he save? It had to end in sickness, for no man can endure such pain. He could survive their death; he cannot survive their shame.”
“He is lying now like a block of wood; he knows nothing of God’s world,” said Pan Mushalski; “and it is a pity, for in battle he was splendid.”
Further conversation was interrupted by a servant, who announced that there was a great noise in the town, for the people were assembling to look at the starosta of Podolia, who was just making his entrance with a considerable escort and some tens of infantry.
“The command belongs to him,” said Zagloba. “It is valiant on the part of Pan Pototski to prefer this to another place, but as of old I would that he were not here. He is opposed to the hetman; he did not believe in the war; and now who knows whether it will not come to him to lay down his head.”
“Perhaps other Pototskis will march in after him,” said Pan Mushalski.
“It is evident that the Turks are not distant,” answered Zagloba. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, God grant the starosta of Podolia to be a second Yeremi, and Kamenyets a second Zbaraj!”
“It must be; if not, we shall die first,” said a voice at the threshold.
Basia sprang up at the sound of that voice, and crying “Michael!” threw herself into the little knight’s arms.
Pan Michael brought from the field much important news, which he related to his wife in the quiet cell before he communicated it to the military council. He had destroyed utterly a number of smaller chambuls, and had whirled around the Crimean camp and that of Doroshenko with great glory to himself. He had brought also some tens of prisoners, from whom they might select informants as to the power of the Khan and Doroshenko.
But other men had less success. The starosta of Podlyasye, at the head of considerable forces, was destroyed in a murderous battle; Motovidlo was beaten by Krychinski, who pursued him to the Wallachian trail, with the aid of the Belgrod horde and those Tartars who survived Pan Adam’s victory at Tykich. Before coming to Kamenyets, Pan Michael turned aside to Hreptyoff, wishing, as he said, to look again on that scene of his happiness.
“I was there,” said he, “right after your departure; the place had not grown cold yet, and I might have come up with you easily, but I crossed over to the Moldavian bank at Ushytsa, to put my ear toward the steppe. Some chambuls have crossed already, but are afraid that if they come out at Pokuta, they will strike on people unexpectedly. Others are moving in front of the Turkish army, and will be here soon. There will be a siege, my dove—there is no help for it; but we will not surrender, for here everyone is defending not only the country, but his own private property.”
When he had said this, he took his wife by the shoulders, and kissed her on the cheeks; that day they talked no more with each other.
Next morning Pan Michael repeated his news at Bishop Lantskoronski’s before the council of war, which, besides the bishop, was formed of Pan Mikolai Pototski, starosta of Podolia, Pan Lantskoronski, chamberlain of Podolia, Pan Revuski, secretary of Podolia, Pan Humyetski, Ketling, Makovetski, Major Kvasibrotski, and a number of other officers. To begin with, Volodyovski was not pleased with the declaration of Pan Pototski, that he would not take the command on himself, but confide it to a council.
“In sudden emergencies, there must be one head and one will,” said the little knight. “At Zbaraj there were three men to whom command belonged by office, still they gave it to Prince Yeremi, judging rightly that in danger it is better to obey one.”
These words were without effect. In vain did the learned Ketling cite, as an example, the Romans, who, being the greatest warriors in the world, invented dictatorship. Bishop Lantskoronski, who did not like Ketling—for he had fixed in his mind, it is unknown why, that, being a Scot by origin, Ketling must be a heretic at the bottom of his soul—retorted that the Poles did not need to learn history from immigrants; they had their own mind too, and did not need to imitate the Romans, to whom they were not inferior in bravery and eloquence, or if they were, it was very little. “As there is more blaze,” said the bishop, “from an armful of wood than from one stick, so there is more watchfulness in many heads than in one.” Herewith he praised the “modesty” of Pan Pototski, though others understood it to be rather fear of responsibility, and from himself he advised negotiations.
When this word was uttered, the soldiers sprang from their seats as if scalded. Pan Michael, Ketling, Makovetski, Kvasibrotski, set
