With Fire and Sword - Henryk Sienkiewicz (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

“That’s a great warrior,” said he. “It is too bad that he should rise against the country with others. We served together at Khotím. He was still a youth, but already gave promise of ripening into an uncommon man.”

“But he is from the Trans-Dnieper, and leads men of that region,” said Skshetuski. “How is it, father, that he is now marching from the south, from the direction of Kamenyets?”

“It seems,” answered the old man, “that Hmelnitski fixed winter quarters for him there on purpose, since Tugai Bey remained on the Dnieper, and that great murza has a hatred for him from former times. No one has cut up the Tartars like Burlai.”

“And now he will be a comrade to them?”

“Yes,” said Zatsvilikhovski, “such are the times. But Hmelnitski will watch and keep them from devouring each other.”

“When do they expect Hmelnitski here, father?” asked Volodyovski.

“Any day. But who can tell? The commanders should send out scout after scout; but they do not. I was barely able to prevail on them to send Kushel to the south and Piglovski to Cholganski Kamen. I wished to go myself, but there are counsels without end. They should send also the secretary of the Crown with some squadrons. They would better hurry, lest it be too late. God give us the prince at the earliest moment, or we shall be met by disgrace like that of Pilavtsi.”

“I saw those soldiers as we rode through the square,” said Zagloba, “and I think there are more fools among them than good men. They should be market-boys, not comrades to us who are enamoured of glory, esteeming it beyond our own lives.”

“What are you talking about?” blurted out the old man. “I do not belittle your bravery, though once I was of another mind. But all the knights here are the first soldiers that the Commonwealth has ever had. Only a head is needed⁠—a leader! Lantskoronski is a good skirmisher, but no general; Firlei is old, and as to the cupbearer, he and Prince Dominik made a reputation for themselves at Pilavtsi. What wonder that no one wants to obey them! A soldier will shed his blood freely if sure that he will not be destroyed without need. But now, instead of thinking of the siege, they are disputing about positions.”

“Are there provisions enough?” asked Zagloba, in alarm.

“Not so many as are necessary; but we are still worse off for provender. If the siege should last a month, there will be only shavings and stones for the horses.”

“There is still time to get provender,” said Volodyovski.

“Then go and tell them so. God give us the prince! I repeat.”

“You are not the only one who is sighing for him,” interrupted Pan Longin.

“I know that,” answered the old man. “Look out on the square! All at the walls look with longing eyes toward Old Zbaraj; others in the town have climbed the towers; and if anyone cries in a joke, ‘He is coming,’ they are mad with joy. A thirsty stag is not so eager for water as we for the prince. Oh, if he could only get here before Hmelnitski! But I think he must have been delayed.”

“We too pray, whole days at a time, for his coming,” said one of the Bernardines.

The prayers and wishes of all the knighthood were soon to gain their object, though the following day brought still greater fears and was full of ominous prophecies. On Thursday, July 8, a terrific storm raged over the town and the freshly raised ramparts of the camp. Rain fell in torrents. A part of the earthworks was swept away. Gnyezna and the two ponds overflowed. In the evening lightning struck the infantry under command of Firlei, castellan of Belsk, killed a number of men, and tore the banner to pieces. This was considered of evil omen⁠—an evident sign of the anger of God, the more since Firlei was a Calvinist. Zagloba proposed that a deputation be sent to him with the request and prayer to become a Catholic, “for there could be no blessing of God for an army whose leader was living in disgusting errors hateful to Heaven.” Many shared this opinion; and only the dignity of the castellan’s person and the command prevented the sending of the deputation. But their courage fell all the more. The storm raged without interruption. The bulwark, though strengthened with stones, willows, and stakes, became so soft that the cannon began to sink. They were obliged to put planks under the howitzers, mortars, and even under the eight-pounders. In the deep ditches the water roared to the height of a man. Night brought no rest. The storm drove to the east new gigantic piles of clouds which, concentrating and discharging with terrific noise in the heavens, cast out on Zbaraj their whole stock of rain, thunder, and lightning. Only the servants remained in the tents at the camp; soldiers, officers, and commanders, with the exception of the castellan of Kamenyets, took refuge in the town. If Hmelnitski had come with the storm, he would have taken the camp without a blow.

Next day it was a little better, though rain was still falling. About five o’clock in the afternoon the wind drove away the clouds, the blue sky opened above the camp, and in the direction of Old Zbaraj a splendid seven-colored rainbow was shining. The mighty arc with one arm extended beyond Old Zbaraj, while the other, seeming to drink in the moisture of the Black Forest, glittered, changed, and played on the background of fleeing clouds. That moment confidence entered all hearts. The knights returned to the camp and stood on the slippery bulwark to gladden their eyes with the sight of the rainbow. Immediately they began to talk loudly and to guess what this favorable sign might announce, when Volodyovski, standing with others over the very ditch, covered his panther eyes with his hand and cried⁠—

“Troops are coming from