At the head of these was Pan Motovidlo. This rabble, not employed usually in battle and armed with weapons of any kind, rushed forward with such desire that they roused admiration even in the hetman. It may be that greed of plunder inspired them; perhaps the fire seized them which enlivened the whole army that day. It is enough that they struck the janissaries as if they had been smoke, and overpowered them so savagely that in the first onset they forced them back a musket-shot’s length from the gate. Hussein threw new regiments into the whirl of battle; and the struggle, renewed in the twinkle of an eye, lasted whole hours. At last Korytski, at the head of chosen regiments, beset the gate in force; the hussars from a distance moved like a great bird raising itself lazily to flight, and pushed toward the gate also.
At this time an adjutant rushed to the hetman from the Eastern side of the camp.
“The voevoda of Belsk is on the ramparts!” cried he, with panting breast.
After him came a second—
“The hetmans of Lithuania are on the ramparts!”
After him came others, always with similar news. It had grown dark in the world, but light was beaming from the face of the hetman. He turned to Pan Bidzinski, who at that moment was near him, and said—
“Next comes the turn of the cavalry; but that will be in the morning.”
No one in the Polish or the Turkish army knew or imagined that the hetman intended to defer the general attack till the following morning. Nay, adjutants sprang to the captains with the command to be ready at any instant. The infantry stood in closed ranks; sabres and lances were burning the hands of the cavalry. All were awaiting the order impatiently, for the men were chilled and hungry.
But no order came; meanwhile hours passed. The night became as black as mourning. Drizzling rain had set in at one o’clock in the day; but about midnight a strong wind with frozen rain and snow followed. Gusts of it froze the marrow in men’s bones; the horses were barely able to stand in their places; men were benumbed. The sharpest frost, if dry, could not be so bitter as that wind and snow, which cut like a scourge. In constant expectation of the signal, it was not possible to think of eating and drinking or of kindling fires. The weather became more terrible each hour. That was a memorable night—“a night of torture and gnashing of teeth.” The voices of the captains—“Stand! stand!”—were heard every moment; and the soldiers, trained to obedience, stood in the greatest readiness without movement, and patiently.
But in front of them, in rain, storm, and darkness, stood in equal readiness the stiffened regiments of the Turks. Among them, too, no one kindled a fire, no one ate, no one drank. The attack of all the Polish forces might come at any moment, therefore the spahis could not drop their sabres from their hands; the janissaries stood like a wall, with their muskets ready to fire. The hardy Polish soldiers, accustomed to the sternness of winter, could pass such a night; but those men reared in the mild climate of Rumelia, or amid the palms of Asia Minor, were suffering more than their powers could endure. At last Hussein discovered why Sobieski did not begin the attack. It was because that frozen rain was the best ally of the Poles. Clearly, if the spahis and janissaries were to stand through twelve hours like those, the cold would lay them down on the morrow as grain sheaves are laid. They would not even try to defend themselves—at least till the heat of the battle should warm them.
Both Poles and Tartars understood this. About four o’clock in the morning two pashas came to Hussein—Yanish Pasha and Kiaya Pasha, the leader of the janissaries, an old warrior of renown and experience. The faces of both were full of anxiety and care.
“Lord!” said Kiaya, first, “if my ‘lambs’ stand in this way till daylight, neither bullets nor swords will be needed against them.”
“Lord!” said Yanish Pasha, “my spahis will freeze, and will not fight in the morning.”
Hussein twisted his beard, foreseeing defeat for his army and destruction to himself. But what was he to do? Were he to let his men break ranks for even a minute, or let them kindle fires to warm themselves with hot food, the attack would begin immediately. As it was, the trumpets were sounded at intervals near the ramparts, as if the cavalry were just ready to move.
Kiaya and Yanish Pasha saw only one escape from disaster—that was, not to wait for the attack, but to strike with all force on the enemy. It was nothing that he was in readiness; for though ready to attack, he did not expect attack himself. Perhaps they might drive him out of the intrenchments; in the worst event defeat was likely in a night battle,
