Whole hours were spent in this manner. The sun had passed the zenith, and rayless, red, and smoky, as if veiled by haze, looked at that struggle.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the roar of guns gained such force that in the castle the loudest words shouted in the ear were not audible. The air in the castle became as hot as in a stove. The water which they poured on the cannon turned into steam, mixing with the smoke and hiding the light; but the guns thundered on.
Just after three o’clock, the largest Turkish culverines were broken. Some “Our Fathers” later, the mortar standing near them burst, struck by a long shot. Gunners perished like flies. Every moment it became more evident that that irrepressible castle was gaining in the struggle, that it would roar down the Turkish thunder, and utter the last word of victory.
The Turkish fire began to weaken gradually.
“The end will come!” shouted Volodyovski, with all his might, in Ketling’s ear. He wished his friend to hear those words amid the roar.
“So I think,” answered Ketling. “To last till tomorrow, or longer?”
“Perhaps longer. Victory is with us today.”
“And through us. We must think of that new mine.”
The Turkish fire was weakening still more.
“Keep up the cannonade!” cried Volodyovski. And he sprang among the gunners, “Fire, men!” cried he, “till the last Turkish gun is silent! To the glory of God and the Most Holy Lady! To the glory of the Commonwealth!”
The soldiers, seeing that the storm was nearing its end, gave forth a loud shout, and with the greater enthusiasm fired at the Turkish trenches.
“We’ll play an evening kindya for you, dog brothers,” cried many voices.
Suddenly something wonderful took place. All the Turkish guns ceased at once, as if someone had cut them off with a knife. At the same time, the musketry fire of the janissaries ceased in the new castle. The old castle thundered for a time yet; but at last the officers began to look at one another, and inquire—
“What is this? What has happened?”
Ketling, alarmed somewhat, ceased firing also.
“Maybe there is a mine under us which will be exploded right away,” said one of the officers.
Volodyovski pierced the man with a threatening glance, and said, “The mine is not ready; and even if it were, only the left side of the castle could be blown up by it, and we will defend ourselves in the ruins while there is breath in our nostrils. Do you understand?”
Silence followed, unbroken by a shot from the trenches or the town. After thunders from which the walls and the earth had been quivering, there was something solemn in that silence, but something ominous also. The eyes of each were intent on the trenches; but through the clouds of smoke nothing was visible. Suddenly the measured blows of hammers were heard on the left side.
“I told you that they are only making the mine,” said Pan Michael. “Sergeant, take twenty men and examine for me the new castle,” commanded he, turning to Lusnia.
Lusnia obeyed quickly, took twenty men, and vanished in a moment beyond the breach. Silence followed again, broken only by groans here and there, or the gasp of the dying, and the pounding of hammers. They waited rather long. At last the sergeant returned.
“Pan Commandant,” said he, “there is not a living soul in the new castle.”
Volodyovski looked with astonishment at Ketling. “Have they raised the siege already, or what? Nothing can be seen through the smoke.”
But the smoke, blown by the wind, became thin, and at last its veil was broken above the town. At the same moment a voice, shrill and terrible, began to shout from the bastion—
“Over the gates are white flags! We are surrendering!”
Hearing this, the soldiers and officers turned toward the town. Terrible amazement was reflected on their faces; the words died on the lips of all; and through the strips of smoke they were gazing toward the town. But in the town, on the Russian and Polish gates, white flags were really waving. Farther on, they saw one on the bastion of Batory.
The face of the little knight became as white as those flags waving in the wind.
“Ketling, do you see?” whispered he, turning to his friend.
Ketling’s face was pale also. “I see,” replied he.
And they looked into each other’s eyes for some time, uttering with them everything which two soldiers like them, without fear or reproach, had to say—soldiers who never in life had broken their word, and who had sworn before the altar to die rather than surrender the castle. And now, after such a defence, after a struggle which recalled the days of Zbaraj, after a storm which had been repulsed, and after a victory, they were commanded to break their oath, to surrender the castle, and live.
As, not long before, hostile balls were flying over the castle, so now hostile thoughts were flying in a throng through their heads. And sorrow simply measureless pressed their hearts—sorrow for two loved ones, sorrow for life and happiness; hence they looked at each other as if demented, as if dead, and at times they turned glances full of despair toward the town, as if wishing to be sure that their eyes were not deceiving them—to be sure that the last hour had struck.
At that time horses’ hoofs sounded from the direction of the town; and after a while Horaim, the attendant of the starosta, rushed up to them.
“An order to the commandant!” cried he, reining in his horse.
Volodyovski took the order, read it in silence, and after a time, amid silence as of the grave, said to the officers—
“Gracious gentlemen, commissioners have crossed the river in a boat, and have gone to Dlujek
