“H’m!” said Volodyovski, “maybe there is such a man.”
When he had said this, his mustaches trembled threateningly. Rössel looked at him, and grew suddenly red. For a time it seemed that either he would burst a blood-vessel or break into laughter; but at last he remembered that he was in captivity, and controlled himself quickly. But Kmita with his steel eyes looked at him steadily and said—
“That will be shown tomorrow.”
“But is Boguslav in good health?” asked Volodyovski; “for the fever shook him a long time, and must have weakened him.”
“He is, and has been this long time, as healthy as a fish, and takes no medicine. The doctor at first wanted to give him many preservatives, but immediately after the first came a paroxysm. Prince Boguslav gave orders to toss that doctor up from sheets; and that helped him, for the doctor himself got a fever from fright.”
“To toss him up from sheets?” asked Volodyovski.
“I saw it myself,” answered Rössel. “Two sheets were placed one above the other, and the doctor put in the centre of them. Four strong soldiers took the sheets by the corners, and threw up the poor doctor. I tell you, gentlemen, that he went nearly ten ells into the air, and he had hardly come down when they hurled him up again. General Israel, Count Waldeck, and the prince were holding their sides from laughter. Many of the officers too were looking at the spectacle, till the doctor fainted. Then the prince was free of his fever, as if some hand had removed it.”
Though Pan Michael and Babinich hated Boguslav, still they could not restrain themselves from laughter when they heard of this joke. Babinich struck his knees and cried—
“Ah, the scoundrel! how he helped himself!”
“I must tell Zagloba of this medicine,” said Pan Michael.
“It cured him of the fever,” said Rössel; “but what is that, when the prince does not restrain sufficiently the impulses of his blood, and therefore will not live to ripe age?”
“I think so too,” muttered Babinich. “Such as he do not live long.”
“Does he give way to himself in the camp?” asked Pan Michael.
“Of course,” answered Rössel. “Count Waldeck laughed, saying that his princely grace takes with him waiting-maids. I saw myself two handsome maidens; his attendants told me that they were there to iron his lace—but God knows.”
Babinich, when he heard this, grew red and pale; then he sprang up, and seizing Rössel by the arm began to shake him violently.
“Are they Poles or Germans?”
“Not Poles,” said the terrified Rössel. “One is a Prussian noblewoman; the other is a Swede, who formerly served the wife of General Israel.”
Babinich looked at Pan Michael and drew a deep breath; the little knight was relieved too, and began to move his mustaches.
“Gentlemen, permit me to rest,” said Rössel. “I am dreadfully tired, for the Tartar led me ten miles with a lariat.”
Kmita clapped his hands for Soroka, and committed the prisoner to him; then he turned with quick step to Pan Michael.
“Enough of this!” said he. “I would rather perish a hundred times than live in this ceaseless alarm and uncertainty. When Rössel mentioned those women just now, I thought that someone was going at my temple with a club.”
“It is time to finish!” said Volodyovski, shaking his sabre.
At that moment trumpets sounded at the hetman’s quarters; soon trumpets answered in all the Lithuanian squadrons, and pipes in the chambuls.
The troops began to assemble, and an hour later were on the march.
Before they had gone five miles a messenger hurried up from Byeganski of Korsak’s squadron, with intelligence for the hetman that a number of troopers had been seized from a considerable body occupied in collecting on that side of the river all the wagons and horses of the peasants. Interrogated on the spot, they acknowledged that the tabor of the whole army was to leave Prostki about eight o’clock in the morning, and that commands were issued already.
“Let us praise God and urge on our horses,” said Gosyevski. “Before evening that army will be no longer in existence.”
He sent the horde neck and head to push with utmost endeavor between Waldeck’s troops and the Pomeranian infantry hastening to aid them. After the horde went Lithuanians; being mainly of the light squadrons, they came right after the horde.
Kmita was in the front rank of the Tartars, and urged on his men till the horses were steaming. On the road he bowed down on the saddle, struck his forehead on the neck of his horse, and prayed with all the powers of his soul—
“Grant me, O Christ, to take vengeance, not for my own wrongs, but for the insults wrought on the country! I am a sinner; I am not worthy of Thy grace; but have mercy on me! Permit me to shed the blood of heretics, and for Thy praise I will fast and scourge myself every week on this day till the end of my life.”
Then to the Most Holy Lady of Chenstohova, whom he had served with his blood, and to his own patron besides, did he commit himself; and strong with such protection, he felt straightway that an immense hope was entering his soul, that an uncommon power was penetrating his limbs—a power before which everything must fall in the dust. It seemed to him that wings were growing from his shoulders; joy embraced him like a whirlwind, and he flew in front of his Tartars, so that sparks were scattered from under the hoofs of his steed. Thousands of wild warriors bent forward to the necks of their ponies, and shot along after him.
A river of pointed caps rose and fell with the rush of the horses; bows rattled behind the men’s shoulders; in front went the sound from the tramp of iron hoofs; from behind flew the roar of the oncoming squadrons, like the deep roar of a great swollen river.
And thus they flew on in the rich starry night which
