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

hearts of the soldiers rose, daring came to them, fire entered their souls at the sight of the monstrance shining like the sun, at the sight of the calmness of the priest, and those maidens clothed in white. The breeze carried about the strengthening odor of the incense burned in the censers; the heads of all were bent down with humility. Mukhovetski from time to time elevated the monstrance and his eyes to heaven, and intoned the hymn, “Before so great a sacrament.”

The powerful voices of Yaskolski and Jabkovski continued, “We fall on our faces;” and the whole army sang, “Let the old give place to the new law with its testament!” The deep bass of the cannon accompanied the hymn, and at times the cannonballs flew past, roaring above the baldachin and the priests; sometimes the balls striking lower in the ramparts scattered earth on the people, so that Zagloba wriggled and pressed up to the staff. Fear affected especially his hair. When the procession halted for prayer there was silence, and the balls could be heard distinctly flying like great birds in a flock. Zagloba merely reddened the more; the priest Yaskolski looked to the field, and unable to restrain himself muttered, “They should rear chickens and keep away from cannon!” for in truth the Cossacks had very bad gunners, and he, as a former soldier, could not look calmly on such clumsiness and waste of powder. Again they went on till they reached the other end of the ramparts, where there had been no great pressure from the enemy. Trying here and there, especially from the western pond, to see if they could not create a panic, the Tartars and Cossacks drew back at last to their own positions, and remained in them without sending out even skirmishers. Meanwhile the procession had freshened the minds of the besieged completely.

It was evident that Hmelnitski was waiting for the arrival of his tabor; still he felt so sure that the first real storm would be sufficient, that he barely ordered a few trenches to be made for the cannon and did not undertake other earthworks to threaten the besieged. The tabor arrived the following day, and took its place near the camp, wagon after wagon, in a number of tens of rows a mile in length, from Vernyaki to Dembini. With it came also new forces; namely, the splendid Zaporojian infantry, almost equal to the Turkish janissaries in storms and attacks, and far more capable than the Cossacks or the mob.

The memorable day, Tuesday, July 13, was passed in feverish preparations on both sides. There was no doubt that the assault would take place, for the trumpets, drums, and kettledrums were sounding the alarm from daybreak in the Cossack camp; among the Tartars a great sacred drum, called the balt, was roaring like thunder. The evening came, calm and clear, but from both ponds and the Gnyezna thin mists were rising; at length the first star began to twinkle in the sky.

At that moment sixty Cossack cannon bellowed with one voice; the countless legions rushed with a terrible cry to the ramparts, and the storm began. It appeared to the soldiers standing on the ramparts that the ground was quivering under their feet; the oldest remembered nothing like it.

“Jesus and Mary! what is that?” asked Zagloba, standing near Skshetuski among the hussars, in the interval of the rampart; “those are not men coming against us.”

“Of course you know they are not men; the enemy are driving oxen ahead, so that we may spend the first shots on them.”

The old noble became as red as a beet, his eyes were coming out of his head, and from his mouth burst one word, in which all the rage, all the terror, all that he could think at that moment was included: “Scoundrels!”

The oxen, as if mad, urged by wild, half-naked herdsmen with clubs and burning brands, were insane from fear; they ran forward with an awful bellowing, now crowding together, now hurrying on, now scattering or turning to the rear; urged with shouts, burned with fire, lashed with rawhides, they rushed again toward the ramparts. At last Vurtsel’s guns began to vomit iron and fire; then smoke hid the light, the air was red, the terrified cattle were as if cut by a thunderbolt. Half of them fell, and over their bodies went the enemy.

In front ran captives with bags of sand to fill the ditch; they were stabbed from behind with pikes and scorched with musketry fire. These were peasants from around Zbaraj, who had been unable to take refuge in the town before the avalanche came⁠—young men as well as old, and women. All ran forward with a shriek, a cry, a stretching of hands to heaven, and a wailing for mercy. Hair stood on end from the howl, but pity was dead upon earth at that hour. On one side the pikes of Cossacks were entering their shoulders; on the other the balls of Vurtsel mashed the unfortunates, grapeshot tore them to pieces, dug furrows among them. They ran on, fell, rose again, and went forward; for the Cossack wave pushed them⁠—the Cossack, the Turk, and the Tartar. The ditch was soon filled with bodies, blood, and sandbags; at last it was evened, and the enemy rushed over with a shout.

The regiments pushed on, one after another; by the light of the cannon-fire were to be seen the officers urging forward new regiments to the ramparts. The choicest men rushed to the quarters and troops of Yeremi, for at that point Hmelnitski knew the greatest resistance would be. The kurens of the Saitch therefore came up; after them the formidable men of Pereyasláv, with Loboda. Voronchenko led the regiment of Cherkasi, Kulak the Karvoff regiment, Nechai the Bratslav, Stepka the Uman, Mrozovetski the Korsún regiment; also the men of Kalnik went, and the strong regiment of Belotserkoff⁠—fifteen thousand men in all, and with them Hmelnitski