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

of Pan Longin rose a lofty mound, shone on by the pale sad light of the moon.

Three friends were returning from the town to the square, from which came an uninterrupted sound of firing. They walked in silence, for neither wished to speak the first word; but other groups were speaking of the deceased, giving him unanimous praise.

“It was a splendid funeral,” said an officer passing at the side of Skshetuski; “they did not give a better to Serakovski, the secretary of the Crown.”

“For he deserved it,” answered another officer; “who else would have undertaken to break through to the king?”

“But I heard,” added the third, “that among Vishnyevetski’s men there was a number of volunteers; but after such a terrible example the desire will surely desert them all.”

“Besides, the thing is impossible. A snake could not creep through.”

“As I live, it would be pure madness.”

The officers passed on. A new moment of silence followed. Suddenly Volodyovski said: “You heard, Yan, what they said?”

“Yes,” answered Skshetuski; “it is my turn now.”

“Yan,” said Volodyovski, seriously, “you know me of old, and you know that I am not quick to withdraw before peril; but peril is one thing, and downright suicide is another.”

“And you, Michael, say this?”

“Yes, for I am your friend.”

“And I am your friend. Give me your word of honor that you will not go third if I perish.”

“Impossible!” cried Volodyovski.

“Ah, you see, Michael! How can you ask that of me which you will not do yourself? Let the will of God be done.”

“Then let me go with you.”

“The prince has prohibited that⁠—not I. You are a soldier, and you must obey.”

Pan Michael was silent, for he was a soldier first of all; then his mustaches only quivered violently by the light of the moon. At last he said: “The night is very clear; don’t go now.”

“I should prefer a darker one, but delay is impossible. The weather is, as you see, settled for a long time, our powder is almost gone, our provisions are at an end. The soldiers are digging through the square, looking for roots; the gums of some of them are rotting from the rubbish they have eaten. I will go tonight⁠—at once; I have taken farewell of the prince already.”

“I see that you are simply desperate.”

Skshetuski smiled gloomily. “God guard you, Michael! It is certain that we are not swimming in luxury, but I shall not seek death of my own will, for that is a sin; besides, it is not a question of perishing, but of getting through, going to the king, and saving the camp.”

Volodyovski was suddenly seized with such a desire to tell Skshetuski all about the princess that he almost opened his mouth; but he thought to himself, “His head will be turned by the news, and they will catch him the more easily,” He bit his tongue therefore, was silent, and then asked: “Which way are you going?”

“I told the prince that I should go through the pond, and then by the river till I passed far beyond the tabor. He said that this was a better road than others.”

“There is no help, I see,” said Volodyovski. “Since death is predestined to a man, it is better on the field of glory than in bed. God attend you, God attend you, Yan! If we do not meet in this world we shall in the other, and I shall surely keep my heart for you.”

“As I shall mine for you. God reward you for all the good you have done! And listen to me, Michael! If I die, they will perhaps not put me up as they did Pan Longin, for they have received too severe a lesson; but they will be sure to boast of it in some way, in which case let old Zatsvilikhovski go to Hmelnitski for my body, for I do not wish that dogs should drag me through their camp.”

“Rest assured!” said Volodyovski.

Zagloba, who from the beginning had listened in semiconsciousness, understood the conversation at last, but he felt unable to restrain or dissuade; he only groaned deeply: “Yesterday that one, today this one. My God, my God, my God!”

“Have faith,” said Volodyovski.

“Pan Yan⁠—” began Zagloba, and he could go no further. His gray, suffering head rested on the breast of the knight, and he drew up to him like a helpless little child.

An hour later Skshetuski sank into the water of the western pond.

The night was very clear, and the middle of the pond looked like a silver shield; but Skshetuski vanished straightway from the eye. The shore was thickly overgrown with rushes and reeds; farther on, where the reeds were thinner, was a rich growth of pondweed and plants. That mixture of wide and narrow leaves, slippery stalks, snaky stems winding around the legs and body to the waist hindered his advance greatly, but at least concealed him from the patrol. To swim across the clear centre of the pond was out of the question, for any dark object would have been seen easily. Skshetuski determined therefore to pass along the shore of the pond to the swamp at the other side, through which the river entered the pond. Patrols of Cossacks or Tartars were likely to be there; but the place was overgrown with a whole forest of reeds, only the edge had been cut down to make cabins for the mob. The swamp once attained, it would be possible to push on through the reeds, even in the daytime, unless the quagmire should be too deep. But that road also was a terrible one. Under the sleeping water, not farther than a yard from the shore, the mud was an ell or more in depth. After every step Skshetuski took there rose to the surface of the water bubbles, the gurgling of which could be heard distinctly in the stillness. Besides, in spite of the slowness of his movements, ripples were formed which ran every moment farther from their source to the