“Even if someone has fallen, such as Pan Mushalski. Well, there is no help for it! I am terribly sorry for Mushalski, though he died a hero’s death.”
“May God grant us no worse one, if only not soon! for I confess to you, Michael, I should be sorry for—Krysia.”
“Yes, and I too for Basia; we will work earnestly, and maybe there is mercy above us. I am very glad in soul for some reason. We must do a notable deed tomorrow as well.”
“The Turks have made protections of plank. I have thought of a method used in burning ships; the rags are now steeping in tar, so that tomorrow before noon we will burn all those works.”
“Ah!” said the little knight, “then I will lead a sortie. During the fire there will be confusion in every case, and it will not enter their heads that there can be a sortie in daylight. Tomorrow may be better than today, Ketling.”
Thus did they converse with swelling hearts, and then went to rest, for they were greatly wearied. But the little knight had not slept three hours when Lusnia roused him.
“Pan Commandant,” said the sergeant, “we have news.”
“What is it?” cried the watchful soldier, springing up in one moment.
“Pan Mushalski is here.”
“For God’s sake! what do you tell me?”
“He is here. I was standing at the breach, and heard someone calling from the other side in Polish, ‘Do not fire; it is I.’ I looked; there was Pan Mushalski coming back dressed as a janissary.”
“Praise be to God!” said the little knight; and he sprang up to greet the bowman.
It was dawning already. Pan Mushalski was standing outside the wall in a white cap and armor, so much like a real janissary that one’s eyes were slow in belief. Seeing the little knight, he hurried to him, and began to greet him joyously.
“We have mourned over you already!” cried Volodyovski.
With that a number of other officers ran up, among them Ketling. All were amazed beyond description, and interrupted one another asking how he came to be in Turkish disguise.
“I stumbled,” said he, “over the body of a janissary when I was returning, and struck my head against a cannonball; though I had a cap bound with wire, I lost consciousness at once. My head was tender after that blow which I got from Hamdi Bey. When I came to myself I was lying on a dead janissary, as on a bed. I felt my head; it was a trifle sore, but there was not even a lump on it. I took off my cap; the rain cooled my head, and I thought: ‘This is well for us. It would be a good plan to take that janissary’s uniform, and stroll among the Turks. I speak their tongue as well as Polish, and no one could discover me by my speech; my face is not different from that of a janissary. I will go and listen to their talk.’ Fear seized me at times, for I remembered my former captivity; but I went. The night was dark; there was barely a light here and there. I tell you, gentlemen, I went among them as if they had been my own people. Many of them were lying in trenches under cover; I went to them. This and that one asked, ‘Why are you strolling about?’ ‘Because I cannot sleep,’ answered I. Others were talking in crowds about the siege. There is great consternation. I heard with my own ears how they complained of our Hreptyoff commandant here present,” at this Pan Mushalski bowed to Volodyovski. “I repeat their ipsissima verba” (very words), “because an enemy’s blame is the highest praise. ‘While that little dog,’ said they, thus did the dog brothers call your grace—‘while that little dog defends the castle, we shall not capture it.’ Others said, ‘Bullets and iron do not harm him; but death blows from him as from a pestilence.’ Then all in the crowd began to complain: ‘We alone fight,’ said they, ‘and other troops are doing nothing; the volunteers are lying with their bellies to the sky. The Tartars are plundering; the spahis are strolling about the bazaars. The Padishah says to us, “My dear lambs;” but it is clear that we are not over-dear to him, since he sends us here to the shambles. We will hold out,’ said they, ‘but not long; then we will go back to Hotin, and if they do not let us go, some lofty heads may fall.’ ”
“Do you hear, gracious gentlemen?” cried Volodyovski. “When the janissaries mutiny, the Sultan will be frightened, and raise the siege.”
“As God is dear to me, I tell the pure truth,” said Mushalski. “Rebellion is easy among the janissaries, and they are very much dissatisfied. I think that they will try one or two storms more, and then will gnash their teeth at their aga, the kaimakan, or even the Sultan himself.”
“So it will be,” cried the officers.
“Let them try twelve storms; we are ready,” said others.
They rattled their sabres and looked with bloodshot eyes at the trenches, while drawing deep breaths; hearing this, the little knight whispered with enthusiasm to Ketling, “A new Zbaraj! a new Zbaraj!”
But Pan Mushalski began again: “I have told you what I heard. I was sorry to leave them, for I might have heard more; but I was afraid that daylight might catch me. I went then to those trenches from which they were not firing; I did this so as to slip by in the dark. I look; I see no regular sentries, only groups of janissaries strolling, as everywhere. I go to a frowning gun; no one says anything. You know that I took spikes for the cannon. I push a spike into the priming quickly; it won’t go in—it needs a blow from a hammer. But since the Lord God
