“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, he 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.”
LV
After that sortie the night was passed in desultory firing; at daylight it was announced that a number of Turks were standing near the castle, waiting till men were sent out to negotiate. Happen what might, it was needful to know what they wanted; therefore Pan Makovetski and Pan Myslishevski were appointed at the council to go out to the Pagans.
A little later Pan Kazimir Humyetski joined them, and they went forth. There were three Turks—Muhtar Bey, Salomi, the pasha of Rushchuk, and the third Kozra, an interpreter. The meeting took place under the open sky outside the gate of the castle. The Turks, at sight of the envoys, began to bow, putting their fingertips to their hearts, mouths, and foreheads; the Poles greeted them politely, asking why they had come. To this Salomi answered—
“Dear men! a great wrong has been done to our lord, over which all who love justice must weep; and for which He who was before the ages will punish you, if you do not correct it straightway. Behold, you sent out of your own will Yuritsa, who beat with the forehead to our vizir and begged him for a cessation of arms. When we, trusting in your virtue, went out of the trenches, you began to fire at us from cannon, and rushing out from behind walls, covered the road with corpses as far as the tents of the Padishah; which proceeding cannot remain without punishment, unless you surrender at once the castles and the town, and show great regret and repentance.”
To this Makovetski gave answer—
“Yuritsa is a dog, who exceeded his instructions, for he ordered his attendant to hang out a white flag, for which he will be judged. The bishop on his own behalf inquired privately if an armistice might be arranged; but you did not cease to fire in time of sending those letters. I myself am a witness of that, for broken stones wounded me in the mouth; wherefore you have not the right to ask us to cease firing. If you come now with an armistice ready, it is well; if not, tell your lord, dear men, that we will defend the walls and the town as before, until we perish, or what is more certain, till you perish, in these rocks. We have nothing further to give you, except wishes that God may increase your days, and permit you to live to old age.”
After this conversation the envoys separated straightway. The Turks returned to the vizir; Makovetski, Humyetski, and Myslishevski to the castle. They were covered with questions as to how they had sent off the envoys. They related the Turkish declaration.
“Do not receive it, dear brothers,” said Kazimir Humyetski. “In brief, these dogs wish that we should give up the keys of the town before evening.”
To this many voices gave answer, repeating the favorite expression—
“That Pagan dog will not grow fat with us. We will not surrender; we will drive him away in confusion. We do not want him.”
After such a decision, all separated; and firing began at once. The Turks had succeeded already in putting many heavy guns in position; and their balls, passing the “breastworks,” began to fall into the town. Cannoneers in the town and the castles worked in the sweat of their foreheads the rest of the day and all night. When anyone fell, there was no man to take his place, there was a lack also of men to carry balls and powder. Only before daybreak did the uproar cease somewhat. But barely was the day growing gray in the east, and the rosy gold-edged belt of dawn appearing, when in both castles the alarm was sounded. Whoso was sleeping sprang to his feet; drowsy throngs came out on the streets, listening carefully. “They are preparing for an assault,” said some to others, pointing to the side of the castle. “But is Pan Volodyovski there?” asked alarmed voices. “He is, he is!” answered others.
In the castles they rang the chapel bells, and rattling of drums was beard on all sides. In the half-light, half-darkness of morning, when the town was comparatively quiet, those voices seemed mysterious and solemn. At that moment the Turks played the “kindya;” one band gave the sounds to another, and they ran in that way, like an echo, through the whole immense tabor. The Pagan swarms began to move around the tents. At the rising day the towering intrenchments, ditches, and approaches came out of the darkness, stretching in a long line
