“I know; I succeeded in snatching a part of that silver from their hands, indeed the greater part. It is here now, and I am thinking what to do with it.”
“This is surely the cause of the anger of the Polish colonels. They say that if the Poles found the silver, it belongs to the Poles.”
“That’s a reason!” cried Count Veyhard.
“For my mind, it is a strong reason,” said Sadovski; “and I think that if you had found the silver you would not feel bound to divide it, not only with the Poles, but even with me, a Cheh.”
“First of all, my dear sir, I do not share your good will for the enemies of our king,” answered the count, with a frown.
“But we, thanks to you, must share with you shame and disgrace, not being able to succeed against a fortress to which you have brought us.”
“Then have you lost all hope?”
“But have you any yourself to give away?”
“Just as if you knew; and I think that these gentlemen share more willingly with me in my hope, than with you in your fear.”
“Do you make me a coward, Count Veyhard?”
“I do not ascribe to you more courage than you show.”
“And I ascribe to you less.”
“But I,” said Miller, who for some time had looked on the count with dislike as the instigator of the ill-starred undertaking, “shall have the silver sent to the cloister. Perhaps kindness and graciousness will do more with these surly monks than balls and cannon. Let them understand that we wish to possess the fortress, not their treasures.”
The officers looked on Miller with wonder, so little accustomed were they to magnanimity from him. At last Sadovski said—
“Nothing better could be done, for it will close at once the mouths of the Polish colonels who lay claim to the silver. In the fortress it will surely make a good impression.”
“The death of that Kmita will make the best impression,” answered Count Veyhard. “I hope that Kuklinovski has already torn him out of his skin.”
“I think that he is no longer alive,” said Miller. “But that name reminds me of our loss, which nothing can make good. That was the greatest gun in the whole artillery of his grace. I do not hide from you, gentlemen, that all my hopes were placed on it. The breach was already made, terror was spreading in the fortress. A couple of days longer and we should have moved to a storm. Now all our labor is useless, all our exertions vain. They will repair the wall in one day. And the guns which we have now are no better than those of the fortress, and can be easily dismounted. No larger ones can be had anywhere, for even Marshal Wittemberg hasn’t them. The more I ponder over it, the more the disaster seems dreadful. And to think that one man did this—one dog! one Satan! I shall go mad! To all the horned devils!”
Here Miller struck the table with his fist, for unrestrained anger had seized him, the more desperately because he was powerless. After a while he cried—
“But what will the king say when he hears of this loss?” After a while he added: “And what shall we do? We cannot gnaw away that cliff with our teeth. Would that the plague might strike those who persuaded me to come to this fortress!”
Having said this, he took a crystal goblet, and in his excitement hurled it to the floor so that the crystal was broken into small bits.
This unbecoming frenzy, more befitting a peasant than a warrior holding such a high office, turned all hearts from him, and soured good-humor completely.
“Give counsel, gentlemen!” cried Miller.
“It is possible to counsel, but only in calmness,” answered the Prince of Hesse.
Miller began to puff and blow out his anger through his nostrils. After a time he grew calm, and passing his eyes over those present as if encouraging them with a glance, he said—
“I ask your pardon, gentlemen, but my anger is not strange. I will not mention those places which, when I had taken command after Torstenson, I captured, for I do not wish, in view of the present disaster, to boast of past fortune. All that is done at this fortress simply passes reason. But still it is necessary to take counsel. For that purpose I have summoned you. Deliberate, then, and what the majority of us determine at this council will be done.”
“Let your worthiness give us the subject for deliberation,” said the Prince of Hesse. “Have we to deliberate only concerning the capture of the fortress, or also concerning this, whether it is better to withdraw?”
Miller did not wish to put the question so clearly, or at least he did not wish the “either—or,” to come first from his mouth; therefore he said—
“Let each speak clearly what he thinks. It should be a question for us of the profit and praise of the king.”
But none of the officers wished more than Miller to appear first with the proposition to retreat, therefore there was silence again.
“Pan Sadovski,” said Miller after a while, in a voice which he tried to make agreeable and kind, “you say what you think more sincerely than others, for your reputation insures you against all suspicion.”
“I think, General,” answered the colonel, “that Kmita was one of the greatest soldiers of this age, and that our position is desperate.”
“But you were in favor of withdrawing from the fortress?”
“With permission of your worthiness, I was only in favor of not beginning the siege. That is a thing quite different.”
“Then what do you advise now?”
“Now I give the floor to Count Veyhard.”
Miller swore like a pagan.
“Count Veyhard will answer for this unfortunate affair,” said he.
“My counsels have not all been carried out,” answered the
