“Your Royal Grace,” answered Wittemberg, who, weaker than usual, saw things in a gloomier light, “let us thank God even for this—that we shall have a farther march in peace, though Charnyetski’s troops scatter quickly and rally easily.”
“Marshal,” answered the king, “I do not think you a worse leader than Charnyetski; but if I had beaten you in this fashion, I think you would not be able to assemble your troops in two months.”
Wittemberg only bowed in silence, and Karl spoke on: “Yes, we shall have a quiet march, for Charnyetski alone could really hamper it. If Charnyetski’s troops are not before us, there is no hindrance.”
The generals rejoiced at these words. Intoxicated with victory, the troops marched past the king with shouts and with songs. Charnyetski ceased to threaten them like a cloud. Charnyetski’s troops were scattered; he had ceased to exist. In view of this thought their past sufferings were forgotten and their future toils were sweet. The king’s words, heard by many officers, were borne through the camp; and all believed that the victory had uncommon significance, that the dragon of war was slain once more, and that only days of revenge and dominion would come.
The king gave the army some hours of repose; meanwhile from Kozyenitsi came trains with provisions. The troops were disposed in Golamb, in Krovyeniki, and in Jyrzynie. The cavalry burned some deserted houses, hanged a few peasants seized with arms in their hands, and a few camp-servants mistaken for peasants; then there was a feast in the Swedish camp, after which the soldiers slept a sound sleep, since for a long time it was the first quiet one.
Next day they woke in briskness, and the first words which came to the mouths of all were: “There is no Charnyetski!”
One repeated this to another, as if to give mutual assurance of the good news. The march began joyously. The day was dry, cold, clear. The hair of the horses and their nostrils were covered with frost. The cold wind froze soft places on the Lyubelsk high road, and made marching easy. The troops stretched out in a line almost five miles long, which they had never done previously. Two dragoon regiments, under command of Dubois, a Frenchman, went through Markushev and Grabov, five miles from the main force. Had they marched thus three days before they would have gone to sure death, but now fear and the glory of victory went before them.
“Charnyetski is gone,” repeated the officers and soldiers to one another.
In fact, the march was made in quiet. From the forest depths came no shouts; from thickets fell no darts, hurled by invisible hands.
Toward evening Karl Gustav arrived at Grabov, joyous and in good humor. He was just preparing for sleep when Aschemberg announced through the officer of the day that he wished greatly to see the king.
After a while he entered the royal quarters, not alone, but with a captain of dragoons. The king, who had a quick eye and a memory so enormous that he remembered nearly every soldier’s name, recognized the captain at once.
“What is the news, Freed?” asked he. “Has Dubois returned?”
“Dubois is killed.”
The king was confused; only now did he notice that the captain looked as if he had been taken from the grave; and his clothes were torn.
“But the dragoons?” inquired he, “those two regiments?”
“All cut to pieces. I alone was let off alive.”
The dark face of the king became still darker; with his hands he placed his locks behind his ears.
“Who did this?”
“Charnyetski.”
Karl Gustav was silent, and looked with amazement at Aschemberg; but he only nodded as if wishing to repeat: “Charnyetski, Charnyetski, Charnyetski!”
“All this is incredible,” said the king, after a while. “Have you seen him with your own eyes?”
“As I see your Royal Grace. He commanded me to bow to you, and to declare that now he will recross the Vistula, but will soon be on our track again. I know not whether he told the truth.”
“Well,” said the king, “had he many men with him?”
“I could not estimate exactly, but I saw about four thousand, and beyond the forest was cavalry of some kind. We were surrounded near Krasichyn, to which Colonel Dubois went purposely from the high road, for he was told that there were some men there. Now, I think that Charnyetski sent an informant to lead us into ambush, since no one save me came out alive. The peasants killed the wounded. I escaped by a miracle.”
“That man must have made a compact with hell,” said the king, putting his hand to his forehead; “for to rally troops after such a defeat, and be on our neck again, is not human power.”
“It has happened as Marshal Wittemberg foresaw,” put in Aschemberg.
“You all know how to foresee,” burst out the king, “but how to advise you do not know.”
Aschemberg grew pale and was silent. Karl Gustav, when joyous, seemed goodness itself; but when once he frowned he roused indescribable fear in those nearest him, and birds do not hide so before an eagle as the oldest and most meritorious generals hid before him. But this time he moderated quickly, and asked Captain Freed again—
“Has Charnyetski good troops?”
“I saw some unrivalled squadrons, such cavalry as the Poles have.”
“They are the same that attacked with such fury in Golamb; they must be old regiments. But Charnyetski himself—was he cheerful, confident?”
“He was as confident as if he had beaten us at Golamb. Now his heart must rise the more, for they have forgotten Golembo and boast of Krasichyn. Your Royal Grace, what Charnyetski told me to repeat I have repeated; but when I was on the point of departing some one of the high officers approached me, an old man, and told me that he was the person who had stretched out Gustavus Adolphus in a hand-to-hand conflict, and he poured much abuse on your Royal Grace; others supported him. So do they boast. I left
