With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕

duels with such enemies. No one does that who stands on dignity; but in these times no one thinks of dignity.”

“Our men are marching already!” cried Zagloba, seeing the red line of Volodyovski’s dragoons moving at a trot toward the dam.

They were followed by a number of volunteers from each regiment. Among others went the red Vershul, Kushel, Ponyatovski, the two Karvichi, and Pan Longin Podbipienta from the hussars. The distance between the two divisions began to diminish rapidly.

“You will see something,” said Skshetuski to Zagloba, “Look especially at Volodyovski and Podbipienta. They are splendid fighters. Do you see them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, look at them! You will have something to enjoy.”

XXXI

When the warriors drew near each other, they reined in their horses and opened in mutual abuse.

“Come on! come on! We will feed the dogs with your carrion right away!” cried the prince’s soldiers.

“Your carrion is not fit even for dogs!” answered the Cossacks.

“You will rot here on the dam, you infamous robbers!”

“For whom it is fated, that one will rot; but the fish will pick your bones soon.”

“To the dung-heaps with your forks, you trash! Dung-forks are fitter for you than sabres.”

“If we are trash, our sons will be nobles, for they will be born of your girls.”

Some Cossack, evidently from the Trans-Dnieper, pushed forward, and placing his palms around his mouth, cried with a loud voice: “The prince has two nieces; tell him to send them to Krívonos.”

It grew dim in Volodyovski’s eyes when he heard this blasphemy, and he spurred his horse on to the Zaporojian.

Skshetuski, on the right wing with his hussars, recognized him from a distance, and cried to Zagloba: “Volodyovski is rushing on! Volodyovski! Look there! there!”

“I see!” said Zagloba. “He has already reached him. They are fighting! One, two! I see perfectly. It is all over. He is a swordsman, plague take him!”

At the second blow the Cossack fell to the ground as if struck by lightning, and fell with his head to his comrades, as an evil omen to them.

Then a second sprang forward, in a scarlet kontush stripped from some noble. He fell upon Volodyovski a little from the flank, but his horse stumbled at the very moment of the blow. Volodyovski turned, and then could be seen the master; for he only moved his hand, making a light, soft motion⁠—invisible, so to speak⁠—but still the sabre of the Zaporojian sprang up, flew into the air. Volodyovski seized him by the shoulder, and pulled him with his horse toward the Polish side.

“Save me, brothers!” cried the prisoner.

He offered no resistance, knowing that in case he did he would be thrust through that moment. He even struck his horse with his heels to urge him on; and so Volodyovski led him as a wolf leads a kid.

In view of this, a couple of tens of warriors rushed out from both sides of the river, for no more could find place on the dam. They fought in single combat, man with man, horse with horse, sabre with sabre; and it was a wonderful sight, that series of duels, on which both armies looked with the greatest interest, drawing auguries from them of the future success. The morning sun shone upon the combatants, and the air was so transparent that even the faces might be seen from both sides. Anyone looking from a distance would have thought that it was a tournament or games. But at one moment a riderless horse would spring from the tumult; at another, a body would tumble from the dam into the clear mirror of the water, which splashed up in golden sparks and then moved forward in a circling wavelet farther and farther from shore.

The courage of the soldiers in both armies grew as they beheld the bravery of their own men and their eagerness for the fight. Each sent good wishes to its own. Suddenly Skshetuski clasped his hands and cried⁠—

“Vershul is lost; he fell with his horse. Look! he was sitting on the white one.”

But Vershul was not lost, though he had indeed fallen with his horse; for they had both been thrown by Pulyan, a former Cossack of Prince Yeremi, then next in command to Krívonos. He was a famous skirmisher, and had never left off that game. He was so strong that he could easily break two horseshoes at once. He had the reputation of being invincible in single combat. When he had thrown Vershul he attacked a gallant officer, Koroshlyakhtsits, and cut him terribly⁠—almost to the saddle. Others drew back in fear. Seeing this, Pan Longin turned his Livonian mare against him.

“You are lost!” cried Pulyan, when he saw the foolhardy man.

“It can’t be helped,” answered Podbipienta, raising his sabre for the blow.

He had not, however, his Zervikaptur, that being reserved for ends too important to permit its use in desultory combat. He had left it in the hands of his faithful armor-bearer in the ranks, and had merely a light blade of blue steel engraved with gold. Pulyan endured its first blow, though he saw in a moment that he had to do with no common enemy, for his sword quivered to the palm of his hand. He endured the second and the third blow; then, either he recognized the greater skill of his opponent in fencing, or perhaps he wished to exhibit his tremendous strength in view of both armies, or, pushed to the edge of the dam, he feared to be thrown into the water by Pan Longin’s enormous beast. It is enough that after he had received the last blow he brought the horses side by side, and seized the Lithuanian by the waist in his powerful arms.

They grasped each other like two bears when they are fighting for a female. They wound themselves around each other like two pines which, having grown from a single stump, intertwine till they form but one tree. All held breath and gazed in silence on the