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

“He is a Hercules! May the bullets strike him!” cried they, raising their hands.

Pan Longin approached the still unkindled machine, bent and hurled the stone at the very centre of the wall.

Those present bent their heads, so loud was the whistle of the stone. The mortises were broken by the blow; a rattle was heard all around; the tower twisted as if broken in two, and fell with a crash. The pile of timber was covered with pitch and fired in a moment.

Soon gigantic flames illuminated the whole plain. Rain fell continually; but the fire was too strong, and those moving towers were burning, to the astonishment of both armies, since the night was so wet.

Stepka, Kulak, and Mrozovetski hurried from the Cossack tabor with several thousand men, to quench the fire. Pillars of flame and red smoke shot up toward the sky, with power increasing each moment, and were reflected in the lakes and ponds formed by the tempest on the battlefield.

The knights began to return in serried ranks to the rampart. They were greeted even at that distance with shouts of joy. Suddenly Skshetuski looked around, cast his eyes into the heart of the company, and called with a thundering voice: “Halt!”

Pan Longin and the little knight were not among the returning. It was evident that, carried away by ardor, they had remained too long at the last tower, and perhaps found Cossacks hidden somewhere; it was enough that, seemingly, they had not noticed the retreat.

“Return!” commanded Skshetuski.

Sobieski, at the other end of the line, did not know what had happened and ran to inquire. At that moment the two knights showed themselves as if they had risen out of the earth, halfway between the towers and the other knights. Pan Longin with his gleaming broadsword strode with gigantic steps, and at his side ran Pan Michael on a trot. Both had their heads turned to the Cossacks, who were chasing them like a pack of dogs. By the red light of the flames the whole pursuit was perfectly visible. One would have said that an enormous elk with her young was retreating before a crowd of hunters ready to hurl herself at any moment on the enemy.

“They will be killed! By the mercy of God, forward!” cried Zagloba, in a heartrending voice; “they will be shot with arrows or muskets! By the wounds of Christ, forward!” And not considering that a new battle might begin in a moment he flew, sabre in hand, with Skshetuski and others, to the succor; he thrust, twisted, sprang up, panted, cried, was shaking all over, and rushed on with what legs and breath remained to him.

The Cossacks, however, did not fire, for their muskets were wet, and the strings of their bows damp; they only pressed on. Some had pushed to the front and were about to run up, when both knights at bay turned to them and giving an awful shout, raised their sabres on high. The Cossacks halted. Pan Longin, with his immense sword, seemed to them some supernatural being.

As two tawny wolves pressed overmuch by hounds turn and show their white teeth, and the dogs whining at a distance do not dare to rush on, so these turned repeatedly, and each time their pursuers halted. Once only a man, evidently of bolder nature, ran up to them with a scythe in his hand; but Pan Michael sprang at him like a wildcat and bit him to death. The rest waited for their comrades, who were coming on the run in a dense body.

But the line of Cossacks came nearer and nearer, and Zagloba flew with his sabre over his head, shouting with an unearthly voice: “Kill! slay!”

Then there was a report from the bulwarks, and a bomb screaming like a screech-owl described a red arc in the sky and fell in the dense crowd; after it a second, a third, a tenth. It seemed that battle would begin anew. Till the siege of Zbaraj, projectiles of that kind were unknown to the Cossacks, and when sober they feared them terribly, seeing in them the sorcery of Yeremi. The crowd therefore stopped for a moment, then broke in two; the bombs burst, scattering death and destruction.

“Save yourselves! save yourselves!” was shouted in tones of terror.

All fled. Pan Longin and Volodyovski dropped into the saving ranks of the hussars. Zagloba threw himself on the neck of one and the other, and kissed them on the cheeks and eyes. Joy was choking him; but he restrained it, not wishing to show the softness of his heart, and cried⁠—

“Oh, the ox-drivers! I won’t say that I love you, but I was alarmed about you! Is that the way you understand service, to lag in the rear? You ought to be dragged behind horses over the square by your feet. I shall be the first to tell the prince, that he may think of a punishment for you. Now we’ll go to sleep. Thank God for that too! Those dog-brothers were lucky to run away before the bombs, for I should have cut them up like cabbage. I prefer fighting to seeing my friends die. We must have a drink tonight. Thank God for that too! I thought we should have to sing the requiem over you tomorrow. But I am sorry there was no fight, for my hand is itching awfully, though I gave them beans and onions in the shelters.”

The Poles had to raise new ramparts to render the earthworks of the Cossacks useless and make defence easier for their own reduced forces. They dug therefore all night after the storm. On this account the Cossacks were not idle. Having approached quietly in the dark night between Thursday and Friday, they threw up a second and much higher wall around the camp. All shouted at dawn, and began to fire at once, and four whole days and nights they