“Father, do not blaspheme against the greatest warrior in the Commonwealth,” said Pan Yan.
“It is not I that blaspheme, but my entrails, on which hunger is playing, as on a fiddle—”
“The Swedes will dance to the music,” interrupted Volodyovski. “Now, gentlemen, let us advance quickly! I should like to come up with them exactly at that inn in the forest which we passed in coming hither.”
And he led on the squadron quickly, but not too quickly. They rode into a dense forest in which darkness enclosed them. The inn was less than two miles distant. When Volodyovski had drawn near, he went again at a walk, so as not to alarm the Swedes too soon. When not more than a cannon-shot away, the noise of men was heard.
“They are there and making an uproar!” said Pan Michael.
The Swedes had, in fact, stopped at the inn, looking for some living person to give information. But the place was empty. Some of the soldiers were shaking up the main building; others were looking in the cow-house, in the shed, or raising the thatch on the roof. One half of the men remained on the square holding the horses of those who were searching.
Pan Michael’s division approached within a hundred yards, and began to surround the inn with a Tartar crescent. Those of the Swedes standing in front heard perfectly, and at last saw men and horses; since, however, it was dark in the forest they could not see what kind of troops were coming; but they were not alarmed in the least, not admitting that others than Swedes could come from that point. At last the movement of the crescent astonished and disturbed them. They called at once to those who were in the buildings.
Suddenly a shout of “Allah!” was heard, and the sound of shots, in one moment dark crowds of soldiers appeared as if they had grown out of the earth. Now came confusion, a flash of sabres, oaths, smothered shouts; but the whole affair did not last longer than the time needed to say the Lord’s Prayer twice.
There remained on the ground before the inn five bodies of men and horses; Volodyovski moved on, taking with him twenty-five prisoners.
They advanced at a gallop, urging the Swedish horses with the sides of their sabres, and arrived at Magnushev at daybreak. In Charnyetski’s camp no one was sleeping; all were ready. The castellan himself came out leaning on his staff, thin and pale from watching.
“How is it?” asked he of Pan Michael. “Have you many informants?”
“Twenty-five prisoners.”
“Did many escape?”
“All are taken.”
“Only send you, soldier, even to hell! Well done! Take them at once to the torture, I will examine them.”
Then the castellan turned, and when departing said—
“But be in readiness, for perhaps we may move on the enemy without delay.”
“How is that?” asked Zagloba.
“Be quiet!” said Volodyovski.
The prisoners, without being burned, told in a moment what they knew of the forces of the markgraf—how many cannons he had, what infantry and cavalry. Charnyetski grew somewhat thoughtful; for he learned that it was really a newly levied army, but formed of the oldest soldiers, who had taken part in God knows how many wars. There were also many Germans among them, and a considerable division of French; the whole force exceeded that of the Poles by several hundred. But it appeared from the statements of the prisoners that the markgraf did not even admit that Charnyetski was near, and believed that the Poles were besieging Karl Gustav with all their forces at Sandomir.
The castellan had barely heard this when he sprang up and cried to his attendant: “Vitovski, give command to sound the trumpet to horse!”
Half an hour later the army moved and marched in the fresh spring morning through forests and fields covered with dew. At last Varka—or rather its ruins, for the place had been burned almost to the ground six years before—appeared on the horizon.
Charnyetski’s troops were marching over an open flat; therefore they could not be concealed from the eyes of the Swedes. In fact they were seen; but the markgraf thought that they were various “parties” which had combined in a body with the intent of alarming the camp.
Only when squadron after squadron, advancing at a trot, appeared from beyond the forest, did a feverish activity rise in the Swedish camp. Charnyetski’s men saw smaller divisions of horsemen and single officers hurrying between the regiments. The bright-colored Swedish infantry began to pour into the middle of the plain; the regiments formed one after another before the eyes of the Poles and were numerous, resembling a flock of many-colored birds. Over their heads were raised toward the sun quadrangles of strong spears with which the infantry shielded themselves against attacks of cavalry. Finally, were seen crowds of Swedish armored cavalry advancing at a trot along the wings; the artillery was drawn up and brought to the front in haste. All the preparations, all the movements were as visible as something on the palm of the hand, for the sun had risen clearly, splendidly, and lighted up the whole country.
The Pilitsa separated the two armies.
On the Swedish bank trumpets and kettledrums were heard, and the shouts of soldiers coming with all speed into line. Charnyetski ordered also to sound the crooked trumpets, and advanced with his squadrons toward the river.
Then he rushed with all the breath of his horse to the Vansovich squadron, which was nearest the Pilitsa.
“Old soldier!” cried he to Vansovich, “advance for me to the bridge, there dismount and to muskets! Let all their force be turned on you! Lead on!”
Vansovich merely flushed a little from desire, and waved his
