“Let us go to rouse them,” said Volodyovski; “that will be quicker! Come; the horses are ready, I hear them.”
In a moment they mounted, as did also the two attendants, Ogarek and Syruts. All pushed on their way between the cottages of the village, striking the doors and windows, and crying with sky-piercing voices: “To your sabres, to your sabres! The lady of Vodokty is carried away! Kmita is in the neighborhood!”
Hearing these cries, this or that man rushed forth from his cottage, looked to see what was happening, and when he had learned what the matter was, fell to shouting himself, “Kmita is in the neighborhood; the lady is carried away!” And shouting in this fashion, he rushed headlong to the outbuildings to saddle his horse, or to his cottage to feel in the dark for his sabre on the wall. Every moment more voices cried, “Kmita is in the neighborhood!” There was a stir in the village, lights began to shine, the cry of women was heard, the barking of dogs. At last the nobles came out on the road—some mounted, some on foot. Above the multitude of heads glittered in the night sabres, pikes, darts, and even iron forks.
Volodyovski surveyed the company, sent some of them immediately in different directions, and moved forward himself with the rest.
The mounted men rode in front, those on foot followed, and they marched toward Volmontovichi to join the Butryms. The hour was ten in the evening, and the night clear, though the moon had not risen. Those of the nobles whom the grand hetman had sent recently from the war dropped into ranks at once; the others, namely the infantry, advanced with less regularity, making a clatter with their weapons, talking and yawning aloud, at times cursing that devil of a Kmita who had robbed them of pleasant rest. In this fashion they reached Volmontovichi, at the edge of which an armed band pushed out to meet them.
“Halt! who goes?” called voices from that band.
“The Gashtovts!”
“We are the Butryms. The Domasheviches have come already.”
“Who is leading you?” asked Volodyovski.
“Yuzva the Footless at the service of the colonel.”
“Have you news?”
“He took her to Lyubich. They went through the swamp to avoid Volmontovichi.”
“To Lyubich?” asked Volodyovski, in wonder. “Can he think of defending himself there? Lyubich is not a fortress, is it?”
“It seems he trusts in his strength. There are two hundred with him. No doubt he wants to take the property from Lyubich; they have wagons and a band of led horses. It must be that he did not know of our return from the army, for he acts very boldly.”
“That is good for us!” said Volodyovski. “He will not escape this time. How many guns have you?”
“We, the Butryms, have thirty; the Domasheviches twice as many.”
“Very good. Let fifty men with muskets go with you to defend the passage in the swamps, quickly; the rest will come with me. Remember the axes.”
“According to command.”
There was a movement; the little division under Yuzva the Footless went forward at a trot to the swamp. A number of tens of Butryms who had been sent for other nobles now came up.
“Are the Gostsyeviches to be seen?” asked Volodyovski.
“Yes, Colonel. Praise be to God!” cried the newly arrived. “The Gostsyeviches are coming; they can be heard through the woods. You know that they carried her to Lyubich?”
“I know. He will not go far with her.”
There was indeed one danger to his insolent venture on which Kmita had not reckoned; he knew not that a considerable force of the nobles had just returned home. He judged that the villages were as empty as at the time of his first stay in Lyubich; while on the present occasion counting the Gostsyeviches, without the Stakyans, who could not come up in season, Volodyovski was able to lead against him about three hundred sabres held by men accustomed to battle and trained.
In fact, more and more nobles joined Volodyovski as he advanced. At last came the Gostsyeviches, who had been expected till that moment. Volodyovski drew up the division, and his heart expanded at sight of the order and ease with which the men stood in ranks. At the first glance it was clear that they were soldiers, not ordinary untrained nobles. Volodyovski rejoiced for another reason; he thought to himself that soon he would lead them to more distant places.
They moved then on a swift march toward Lyubich by the pinewoods through which Kmita had rushed the winter before. It was well after midnight. The moon sailed out at last in the sky, and lighting the woods, the road, and the marching warriors, broke its pale rays on the points of the pikes, and was reflected on the gleaming sabres. The nobles talked in a low voice of the unusual event which had dragged them from their beds.
“Various people have been going around here,” said one of the Domasheviches; “we thought they were deserters, but they were surely his spies.”
“Of course. Every day strange minstrels used to visit Vodokty as if for alms,” said others.
“And what kind of soldiers has Kmita?”
“The servants in Vodokty say they are Cossacks. It is certain that Kmita has made friends with Hovanski or Zolotarenko. Hitherto he was a murderer, now he is an evident traitor.”
“How could he bring Cossacks thus far?”
“With such a great band it is not easy to pass. Our first good company would have stopped him on the road.”
“Well, they might go through the forests. Besides, are there few lords travelling with domestic Cossacks? Who can tell them from the enemy? If these men are asked they will say that they are domestic Cossacks.”
“He will defend himself,” said one of the Gostsyeviches, “for he is a brave and resolute man; but our colonel will be a match for him.”
“The Butryms too have vowed that even if they have to fall one on the other, he will not leave there alive. They are the most bitter against
