That was a battle of artillery. The town and the castles gave mighty answers. Soon smoke veiled the sun and the light; the Turkish works were invisible. Kamenyets was hidden; only one gray enormous cloud was to be seen, filled in the interior with lightning, with thunder and roaring. But the Turkish guns carried farther than those of the town. Soon death began to cut people down in Kamenyets. A number of cannon were dismounted. In service at the arquebuses, two or three men fell at a time. A Franciscan Father, who was blessing the guns, had his nose and part of his lip carried off by a wedge from under a cannon; two very brave Jews who assisted in working that cannon were killed.
But the Turkish guns struck mainly at the intrenchment of the town. Pan Kazimir Humyetski sat there like a salamander, in the greatest fire and smoke: one half of his company had fallen; nearly all of those who remained were wounded. He himself lost speech and hearing; but with the aid of the Polish mayor he forced the enemy’s battery to silence, at least until new guns were brought to replace the old ones.
A day passed, a second, a third; and that dreadful “colloquium” of cannon did not cease for an instant. The Turks changed gunners four times a day; but in the town the very same men had to work all the time without sleep, almost without food, stifled from smoke; many were wounded from broken stones and fragments of cannon carriages. The soldiers endured; but the hearts began to weaken in the inhabitants. It was necessary at last to drive them with clubs to the cannon, where they fell thickly. Happily, in the evening of the third day and through the night following, from Thursday till Friday, the main cannonading was turned on the castles.
They were both covered, but especially the old one, with bombs from great mortars, which, however, “harmed little, since in darkness each bomb was discernible, and a man could avoid it.” But toward evening, when such weariness seized men that they fell off their feet from drowsiness, they perished often enough.
The little knight, Ketling, Myslishevski, and Kvasibrotski answered the Turkish fire from the castles. The starosta looked in at them repeatedly, and advanced amid a hail of bullets, anxious, but regardless of danger.
Toward evening, however, when the fire had increased still more, Pan Pototski approached Pan Michael.
“Gracious Colonel,” said he, “we shall not hold out.”
“While they confine themselves to firing we shall hold out,” answered the little knight; “but they will blow us out of here with mines, for they are making them.”
“Are they really mining?” asked the starosta, in alarm.
“Seventy cannon are playing, and their thunder is almost unceasing; still, there are moments of quiet. When such a moment comes, put down your ear carefully and listen.”
At that time it was not needful to wait long, especially as an accident came to their aid. One of the Turkish siege-guns burst; that caused a certain disorder. They sent from other intrenchments to inquire what had happened, and there was a lull in cannonading.
Pan Michael and the starosta approached the very end of one of the projections of the castle, and began to listen. After a certain time their ears caught clearly enough the resonant sound of hammers in the cliff.
“They are pounding,” said the starosta.
“They are pounding,” said the little knight.
Then they were silent. Great alarm appeared on the face of the starosta; he raised his hands and pressed his temples. Seeing this, Pan Michael said—
“This is a usual thing in all sieges. At Zbaraj they were digging under us night and day.”
The starosta raised his hand: “What did Prince Yeremi do?”
“He withdrew from intrenchments of wide circuit into narrower ones.”
“But what should we do?”
“We should take the guns, and with them all that is movable, and transfer them to the old castle; for the old one is founded on rocks that the Turks cannot blow up with mines. I have thought always that the new castle would serve merely for the first resistance; after that we must blow it up with powder, and the real defence will begin in the old one.”
A moment of silence followed; and the starosta bent his anxious head again.
“But if we have to withdraw from the old castle, where shall we go?” asked he, with a broken voice.
At that, the little knight straightened himself, and pointed with his finger to the earth: “I shall go there.”
At that moment the guns roared again, and a whole flock of bombs began to fly to the castle; but as darkness was in the world, they could be seen perfectly. Pan Michael took leave of the general, and went along the walls. Going from one battery to another, he encouraged men everywhere, gave advice; at last, meeting with Ketling, he said—
“Well, how is it?”
Ketling smiled pleasantly.
“It is clear as day from the bombs,” said he, pressing the little knight’s hand. “They do not spare fire on us.”
“A good gun of theirs burst. Did you burst it?”
“I did.”
“I am terribly sleepy.”
“And I too, but there is no time.”
“Ai,” said Pan Michael; “and the little wives must be frightened; at thought of that, sleep goes away.”
“They are praying for us,” said Ketling, raising his eyes toward the flying bombs.
“God give them health!” said Pan Michael.
“Among earthly women,” began Ketling, “there are none—”
But he did not finish, for the little knight, turning at that moment toward the interior of the castle, cried suddenly, in a loud voice—
“For God’s sake! Save us! What do I see?”
And he sprang forward.
Ketling looked around with
