And in such sound sleep lay they that they woke not
At shine of lanterns, nor the entering
Of several men, who fell upon the nobles
As those wall-spiders named scythe-spiders pounce
On flies half-sleeping. Scarcely one may buzz,
With lengthy legs its cruel conqueror
Embraces it around, and strangles it.
But sounder than the sleep of flies, the sleep
Was of the nobles; not one buzzed; they all
Lay there as lifeless, though by powerful arms
Seized, and rolled over like to packs of straw.
Alone the Bucket, who no equal owned
In all the district for his strength of head
At banquets, could two firkins drink of mead
Ere his tongue tripped him, or his legs him failed,
Though he had feasted long, and deeply slept,
Gave yet some sign of life. He oped one eye,
And saw—true nightmares. Two most dreadful faces
Right o’er him! each a pair of whiskers bore.
He felt their breath, their whiskers touch his lips,
They move their fourfold hands like wings around.
Afraid, he tried to sign the cross; in vain
Would raise his hand, the right hand pinioned seemed;
He moved the left; he felt, alas! the spirits
Had bound him like an infant swathed in bands.
He feared things yet more dreadful, oped his eyes,
And lay unbreathing, stiff, and all but dead.
But yet the Baptist strove to save himself.
It was too late! already he was fastened
In his own girdle; yet he writhed about,
And made such powerful springs, he fell upon
The sleepers’ chests, among their heads he rolled,
And like a pike-fish flung himself about,
Who throws him on the sand, and like a bear
He roared aloud, for he had powerful lungs.
He roared out “Treachery!” The whole assembly
Waked up, and all in chorus answered, “Treachery!
Violence! and treachery!”
To the mirrored hall
The echoes of that shout arrived, where slept
The Count, Gervasy, and the jockeys. Then
Gervasy woke, in vain he strove to rise,
To his own rapier bound in stick-like form.
He looked, and through the window armèd men
Perceived, in low black hats, green uniforms.
Of these one, girded with a scarf, upheld
A sword, and with its point his company
Of soldiers ordered, whispering the while,
“Bind! bind!” Around like sheep the jockeys lie
In bonds; the Count sits unbound, but disarmed;
Beside him stand, with naked bayonets,
Two soldiers. These Gervasy recognised.
Alas! they are Muscovites!!
Not seldom had
The Klucznik been in such a plight before.
Not seldom ropes were on his feet and hands,
Yet could he free himself; he knew the way
To break asunder bonds; great strength had he,
Trust in himself; in silence he considered
How best release himself. He closed his eyes,
As though he slept; he slowly lengthened out
Both feet and hands, drew in his breath, compressed
His chest unto the narrowest, until
At once contracting, swelling, rolling up,
As when a serpent hides both head and tail
Among his folds, Gervasy thus from long
Grew short and thick; the ropes expanded, they
Did even creak, but still they did not burst.
The Klucznik turned him round in shame and rage,
And on the ground his angry visage hid;
Eyes closed, he lay insensible as wood.
Then woke the drums: at first full low, and then
With ever greater and with louder rattle.
At this appel the Russian officer
Ordered the Count and jockeys to be locked
Within the hall, and under guard, to lead
The nobles to the mansion, where there stood
The second band. In vain the Baptist strove,
And flung himself about.
The staff was placed
Within the mansion, and with it were many
Well-armed nobility, Podhajscy,
And Birbaszowie, Hreczechy, Biergele,
Relations all, or friends unto the Judge,
Who hastened to his succour when they heard
About the attack, the more because they long
Had been at feud with the Dobrzynskis.
Who
The Muscovite battalion from the hamlets
Had brought? Who from the nobles’ farmsteads round
So fast had summoned all the neighbourhood.
The Assessor was it? or else Jankiel?
Of this were differing tales, but no one knew
For certain, either then, or later on.
Now had the sun arisen, all bloody red,
Stripped of his beams, half seen, and half in clouds
Concealed, like horseshoe in a smithy’s coals
Enkindled. Now the wind increased, and blew
Clouds from the eastward quarter, thick and ragged
Like ice-floes; every cloud cold drizzly rain
In flying scattered; after it the wind
Flew swift, and dried the rain up; and again
A damp cloud following the wind rushed on.
And thus the day by turns was chill and rainy.
Meanwhile the Major ordered to be brought
Some beams that near the house were laid to dry,
And in each beam with hatchet to be cut
A half-round opening, and in these holes
To insert the prisoners’ legs, and close them round
With other beams. Both logs of wood, with nails
Secured upon the corners, tightly pressed
Like canine jaws upon their legs; their hands
Were tighter yet secured behind their backs.
The Major, to increase their torment, ordered
Their caps to be first stripped from off their heads,
Their cloaks from off their shoulders, their kontusze,
Ev’n taratatki, even their zupany.
And thus the nobles, fettered in the stocks,
Sat in a row, their teeth all chattering,
In cold and rain, for still the wet increased.
In vain the Baptist strove, and flung about.
In vain the Judge made intercession for
The noblemen, and Telimena joined
Entreaties to Sophia’s tears, to use
Towards the prisoners greater gentleness.
The officer, indeed, who led the band,
Nikita Rykow, though a Muscovite,
A good man, let himself be pacified.
But what of that when he must Major Plut
Himself obey?
This Major was by race
A Pole from Dzierowicz, and named, ’twas said,
In Polish Plutowicz; but he had taken
Another name; a rascal great was he,
As usual with a Pole who makes himself
A Muscovite in service of the Czar.
Plut with his pipe stood there before the front,
With hands upon his side; and when folks bowed
To him, he lifted up his nose in air,
And for all answering he blew as sign
Of angry humour from his mouth a cloud
Of smoke, and went away into the house.
But meantime had the Judge made Rykow mild,
And led the Assessor likewise on one side,
Consulting how to finish this affair
Without a trial, and, yet more important,
Without entanglement with government.
So Captain Rykow said to Major Plut,
“Sir Major, what to us are all these prisoners?
Must we deliver them unto the law?
’Twill be a great misfortune to the nobles,
And none will give you, Major, aught for this.
Major, do you know how we’ll best compose
This business? Let the Judge reward your pains.
We’ll say that we came here a-visiting,
Thus will the goats be whole, the wolf be fed.
It is a Russian proverb, ‘All things can
Be done, if but with prudence.’ And a proverb
Is this, ‘Roast on the Czar’s spit for yourself.’
And this too is a proverb, ‘Better is
Agreeing than disagreement,’ ‘Weave thou well
The knot, and put the end in water.’ We
Need give in no report, so none need know.
For ‘God gave hands to take’—a Russian proverb.”
This hearing, up the Major starts and snorts
With anger: “Rykow, are you mad? This is
The imperial service, service is not friendship.
Stupid old Rykow! Are you mad? Shall I
Let mutineers loose, in these warlike times?
Ha ha! you Poles! I’ll teach you mutiny!
You miserable nobles! you Dobrzynskis!
Eh! I’ll soon teach you! Let the wretches soak!”
He roared with laughter, from the window looking.
“Why, there’s that same Dobrzynski in a surtout!
Hey! strip him of his surtout! last year he
Began at a redoubt this quarrel with me.
And who began it? He it was, not I.
He, when I danced, exclaimed, ‘Put out that thief!’
For I was then accused of pilfering
The regimental chest, and undergoing
Examination, and in mighty trouble.
But what was that to him? As I was dancing,
He cried behind me ‘Thief!’ the noblemen,
‘Hurrah!’ They wronged me; what then? In my claws
This wretched nobleman has fall’n. I said,
‘Eh! what! Dobrzynski, eh! “The goat has come
Unto the wagon.” ’ What, Dobrzynski, now?
Thou seest it may come unto a flogging!”
Then to the Judge he whispered in his ear,
“Judge, if you wish the affair to pass off well,
For every head pay down a thousand roubles
In ready cash; a thousand roubles, Judge.
That’s the last word.”
The Judge to bargain tried;
The Major would not hear; about the room
He walked, and belched thick smoke, as does a squib
Or rocket; while the women followed him,
Weeping and praying. “Major,” said the Judge,
“What will you gain, if you do summon us?
There here has been no bloody fight, there were
None wounded; as they ate the hens and geese,
According to the statute, they must pay
Full compensation. I’ll bring no complaint
Against the Count; that only was a common
Quarrel of neighbours.”
“Judge,” the Major said,
“Have you yet read the Yellow Book?”—“What is
The Yellow Book?” the Judge inquired.—“A book,”
The Major answered, “better than your statutes;
For every other word therein is, ‘ropes,
Siberia, knout!’ the book of martial law,
Proclaimed now through all Litva; your tribunals
Are now beneath the table. For a trick
Like this, according to our martial law,
You’ll get hard labour in Siberia
At least.”—“I will appeal,” the Judge replied,
“Unto the governor.”—“Appeal,” said Plut,
“Even to the Emperor. You know that when
The Emperor confirms a ukase, often
He through his clemency the penalty
Increases twofold. You appeal; perhaps
I’ll find out in necessity, Sir Judge,
A good hook ev’n for you! For that spy, Jankiel,
Whom long the government has watched, he is
Your servant, dwelling in your tavern. Now
I can arrest you all together.”—“Me!”
The Judge exclaimed; “arrest me! How will you
Dare without orders?” And the quarrel grew
Ever more violent, when at once arrived
A new guest in the courtyard.
A tumultuous
Arrival ’twas. First as some wondrous courier,
A monstrous black ram entered; with four horns
His head was bristling, whereof two like arches
Were twisted round his ears, and decked with bells,
And two, whose ends protruded from his brows,
Shook balls, round, brazen, clattering. After him
Came oxen, and a flock of sheep and goats;
Behind the beasts four heavy laden wains.
All guessed it was the entrance of the friar.
The Judge, who knew the duties of a host,
Stood on the threshold to salute his guest.
The priest upon the foremost carriage rode;
The hood half hid his visage, but they quickly
Did know him, for as he the prisoners passed,
He turned his face to them, and beckoning made.
The driver of the second car likewise
They knew; old Matthew ’twas, the Rod, disguised
In peasant garments; soon as he appeared
The nobles raised a shout. He said, “Ye fools!”
And with his hand commanded them be still.
The third the Prussian bore in ragged coat,
And Zan and Mickiewicz were in the fourth.
Meanwhile Podhajscy and Isajewicze,
Birbasze, Wilbikowie, Biergiele,
Kotwicze, seeing the Dobrzynski nobles
In this harsh slavery, began to cool
Down from their former anger by degrees;
For Poland’s nobles, though most quarrelsome,
And very quick to fight, are not vindictive.
So they for counsel to old Matthew haste.
He stations the assembly round the cars,
And orders them to wait.
The Bernardine
Then entered in the room; they hardly knew him,
Although not changed in dress, for he had taken
Upon him such a different mood. By custom
Gloomy and thoughtful, now he raised his head,
And with a cheerful mien, like jovial friar,
Ere he began to speak, laughed loud and long.
“Ha! ha! ha! I salute you, ha! ha! ha!
Most excellent! first-rate! Sir officers,
Whoever hunts by day, you hunt by night.
Good hunting! I have seen the game. Ay, ay!
Pluck, pluck the nobles, strip ’em of their husks!
Ay, put a bit on ’em, for they are skittish!
I must congratulate you, Major, on
Catching the little Count. ’Tis a fat morsel,
Rich, and a young lord from his ancestors.
Don’t let him from the cage, without you get
Three hundred ducats, and when you have got it,
Give some three farthings to the convent, and
To me, for I’ll pray always for your soul;
As I’m a Bernardine, I often think
About your soul. Death seizes by the ears
Even staff-officers. Well Baka wrote,
‘Death lurks behind the executioner
In scarlet, and not seldom soundly knocks
Upon the coat, and smites on linen as
Upon a hood, on frizzled locks as on
The uniform.’ Says Baka: ‘Mother Death
Is like an onion, since she forces tears
Where’er she presses; but unto her breast
She folds alike the child that will be lulled,
And the roaring bully.’ Ah! ah! Major, we
Do live to-day, to-morrow die. That only
Is ours that we to-day may eat and drink.
Sir Judge, perhaps it’s time for breakfast now?
I’ll sit at table, and beg all to sit
With me. Some zrazy, Major? Sir lieutenant,
What think you? If we had a bowl of punch?”
“True, father,” both the officers replied,
“ ’Tis time to eat, and drink the Judge’s health.”
The household wondered, as they gazed on Robak,
Whence he derived such mien, and merriment.
The Judge then gave these orders to the cook:
Bowl, sugar, bottle, zrazy. All were brought.
Rykow and Plut did labour with such will,
Devoured so eagerly, and drank so deep,
In half-an-hour of zrazy twenty-three
They ate, and emptied half a mighty punch-bowl.
The Major, satiate and merry, hurled
Himself into an arm-chair, drew his pipe out,
And lit it with a bank-note; with a napkin
He wiped his breakfast from his lips, and turned
A laughing look upon the women, saying,
“I like you, pretty ladies, as dessert;
And, by my epaulettes of Major, when
A man has eaten breakfast, after meat
The nicest relish is a talk with ladies,
Pretty as you, fair ladies! I know what.
Let’s play at cards, at welba-cwelba, whist,
Or—a mazurka! ha! three hundred devils!
Am I not best mazurist in the first
Regiment of Jägers.” Therefore to the ladies
He bent half double, and by turns blew out
Tobacco-smoke and compliments.
“A dance!”
Cried Robak; “as I empty out a bottle,
I, though a priest, at times tuck up my gown,
And dance mazurkas! But you know this, Major,
We here are drinking, but the Jägers freezing
Behind the house. Drinking is drinking. Judge,
Give ’em a whisky cask. The Major will
Allow this; let the valiant Jägers drink.”
“I’d ask it,” said the Major, “but herein
Is no compulsion.”—“Give ’em, Judge,” did whisper
Robak, “a cask of spirits.” And thus, while
The merry staff were swilling in the house,
Behind it, drinking in the ranks began.
In silence Captain Rykow drained his cup.
But at the same time as he drank, the Major
Made to the ladies compliments; and ever
The zeal for dancing greater in him grew.
He threw away his pipe, and seized the hand
Of Telimena; he would dance, she fled.
So went he to Sophia, and bending double,
Invited her to a mazurka. “Here,
You Rykow, leave off puffing at your pipe;
Put down that pipe, for you can play the lute.
Don’t you see that guitar? come, take it up.
Play a mazurka. I, the Major, will
Make one in the first couple.” So the Captain
Took the guitar, began to screw the strings.
Plut once more Telimena asked to dance.
“Upon a Major’s word, Miss, I’m no Russian.
I’ll be a dog’s son, if I’m telling lies.
If I tell lies—inquire; the officers
Will witness all, and all the army says it,
That in this second army, the ninth corps,
The second foot division, fifteenth regiment
Of Jägers, Major Plut’s the best mazurist.
So come along, Miss, don’t be obstinate,
Or like an officer I’ll punish you.”
This saying, he sprang, seized Telimena’s hand,
And on her pale arm gave a smacking kiss;
When Thaddeus, springing from one side, bestowed
A blow upon his face. The kiss and blow
Together sounded, one behind the other,
As word may follow after word.
The Major
Was all confounded, rubbed his eyes, and pale
With anger, cried, “Rebellion! mutineer!”
And drawing his sword, made haste to pierce his foe.
Then from his sleeve the priest a pistol drew;
“Fire, Thaddeus,” he cried, “as at a candle.”
Quick Thaddeus seized it, measured aim, and fired.
He missed, but stupefied and singed the Major.
Up started Rykow with his instrument.
“Rebellion!” cried he, and on Thaddeus rushed.
The Wojski brandished from behind the table
A knife held backwards. Through the air it hissed
Between the heads, and sooner struck than gleamed,
It struck the depth of the guitar, the inside
To outside turning. Rykow bent aside,
And thus avoided death, though much frightened.
Exclaiming, “Jägers, mutiny, by heaven!”
He drew his sword, and making good defence,
Drew near the threshold.
Presently there entered
From the other side the room, and through the window,
A many nobles, armed with rapiers, led
On by the Rod. Plut reached the hall, and Rykow
Behind him; they the soldiers call; already
Three nearest to the house as succour haste.
Now through the doors three gleaming bayonets
Creep in, and after them three low black hats.
With Rod uplifted Matthew in the doorway
Stood, leaning ’gainst the wall; he lay in wait
Like cat that watches mice, till fierce he smote,
And may be the three heads had rolled on earth;
But either the old man’s sight served him ill,
Or over-great his ardour; ere they gave
Their necks to him, he smote upon their hats;
He tore them, but the Rod, down falling, clashed
On bayonets; the Muscovites drew back,
And Matthew drove them out into the court.
There the confusion was still greater.
There Soplica’s partisans with emulation
Worked at unfettering the Dobrzynskis, tore
The stocks asunder. Seeing this the Jägers
Rush to their swords, and hasten to the place.
A sergeant with a bayonet pierced Podhajski,
Wounded two other noblemen, a third
He shot at, and they fled. The Baptist still
Was in the stocks; with hands already free,
Ready for combat he arose, upraised
His hand, and doubled up his lengthy fingers,
And from above upon a Russian’s back
So fierce he smote, he brow and visage beat
Into the carbine’s lock. The lock was stirred,
But drenched in blood the powder kindled not.
The sergeant rolled o’er at the Baptist’s feet
Upon his weapon. Baptist bent him down,
And seized his rifle by its barrel. Whirling
The rifle like his Sprinkler round, high raised,
Round turning like a windmill’s sails, at once
He on the shoulders smote two rank and file,
And knocked a corporal upon the head.
The rest in terror drew back from the stocks.
Thus Baptist with a moving roof protected
The nobles.
After breaking of the stocks,
And cutting ropes, the nobles being free,
Now fell upon the wagons of the friar,
And from them drew forth rapiers, sabres, swords,
Firearms, and scythes. The Bucket found two guns
There, with a sack of bullets; in his rifle
He poured them, and another gun like charged
Left for the Bustard.
Now arrived more Jägers.
Confused they grow, together crowded, stumbling;
The nobles cannot in the tumult smite
With cross-cut, and the Jägers cannot fire.
Now hand to hand they fight, steel, tooth by tooth,
Encountering steel, is shivered; bayonet
Meets sabre, scythe on hilt is broken, fist
Meets fist, and arm meets arm. But Rykow hastes
With some part of the Jägers, where the barn
Doth meet the hedge; there stands he, to his soldiers
He calls, to end a battle so misruled,
Wherein, with weapons never used, they fall
Beneath the blows of fists. Enraged that he
Himself may fire not, since in such a crowd
He knows not Muscovites from Poles, he cries,
“Draw up!” which meaneth, form in rank and file.
But ’mid the shouting none his orders heard.
Old Matthew, for these combats hand to hand
Unsuited, backward drew, a clear space made
To right and left before him on his way.
Here, with his sabre’s end, the bayonets
He wipes off from the barrels of the guns,
As candle-wicks from lights; then, backwards striking
He heweth down, or pierceth; thus retreated
The prudent Matthew from the battle-field.
But with the greatest fury on him rushed
An old Gefreiter, trainer to the regiment,
A mighty master of the bayonet.
He gathered him together, bent, and seized
The carbine in both hands, the right upon
The lock, the left the barrel midmost grasped.
He twisted, skipped, at times seemed half to sit,
And with his right hand forward pushed the gun,
Like sting from snaky jaws, and once again
He drew it backwards, leaning on his knee.
Thus twisting, springing, Matthew he attacked.
Old Matthew straight discerned his foeman’s skill,
And with his left hand placed his spectacles
Upon his nose, the right against his breast
Sustained the handle of the Rod; he drew
Back, the Gefreiter’s motions with his eyes
Pursuing. He himself upon his legs
Went sloping, as though drunken. The Gefreiter
More quickly runs, and sure of victory,
To reach the easier his retreating foe,
He rose, and all his right arm far outstretched,
The rifle forward pushing, so he made
Himself the stronger by the force of pushing,
And weapon’s weight, until he forward bent.
And Matthew thither, where the bayonet
He saw inserted in the barrel, placed
His Rod beneath, and upwards smote the weapon;
Then dropping presently his Rod, he slashed
The Russian on the hand; once, and again
With backward stroke he cleft in twain his jaw.
Thus the Gefreiter fell, chief fencing-master
Among the Muscovites, and cavalier
With crosses three, and medals four.
Meanwhile,
Around the stocks the nobles’ left-hand wing
Already were near victory. There fought
The Sprinkler, seen from far, the Razor moved
Among the Muscovites; one cut them through
The middle of the body, on the head
The other smote them, like to that machine
Which German masters have invented, called
A thrasher; but it is at the same time
A straw-cutter, possessing flails and knives,
It chops up straw and beats out grain at once.
Thus do the Sprinkler and the Baptist work
In common, slaying foes, one from above,
And from below the other.
But the Baptist
Now casts aside his certain victory.
He rushes to the left wing, where fresh danger
Is threatening Matthew. The Gefreiter’s death
Avenging, with a long spontoon comes on
An ensign. A spontoon at once is spear
And axe, neglected, or only used
On board the fleet; but at that time it served
The infantry. The ensign, a young man,
Moved round with skill; oft as his foeman thrust
Aside his weapon, back he drew, and Matthew
Could not the young man overtake, and thus,
Or wounding or not wounding, he must fain
Defend himself. Now with the pike the ensign
Had given him a light wound; now on high
His battle-axe upraising, he prepared
To deal the blow. The Baptist could not run
Up to the spot, but stood half-way and whirled
His weapon round, and underneath the feet
He threw it of the foe. He broke a bone;
The spontoon from his hand the ensign dropped;
He tottered; on him falls the Baptist; him
A crowd of nobles follow, and upon
The nobles rush the Muscovites confused
From the left wing. War now began around
The Sprinkler.
For the Baptist, who in helping
Matthew had lost his sword, well-nigh had paid
This service with his own life. For on him
There fell two powerful Russians from behind,
And all at once the fourfold hands were tangled
Among his hair; fast planted on their feet,
They pulled as tight as springy ropes, fast bound
Unto a barge’s mast. In vain the Baptist
Dealt blind strokes backwards; he was failing fast.
But presently he saw that near to him
Gervasy combated; he shouted loud,
“Jesus, Maria! Penknife!”
By the shout
Knowing the Baptist’s trouble, turned the Klucznik,
And the blade lowered of the flexile steel,
Between the Baptist’s head and Russians’ hands.
They drew back, uttering loudly piercing cries.
But one hand, stronger tangled in the hair,
Remained there hanging, dripping streams of blood.
Thus a young eagle, who has struck one claw
Into a hare to hold the quarry fast
While clinging with the other to a tree,
Struggling to liberate himself, half tears
In twain the spreading eagle; in the wood
Remains the right claw, but the left, all bleeding,
Is borne off by the hare into the plains.
The Baptist being free, turns round his eyes,
Stretches his hands, and for a weapon seeks,
Calls for a weapon. Meanwhile with his fist
He threatens, standing strong in act to walk,
Himself protecting by Gervasy’s side,
Till in the crush he views his son the Bustard.
The Bustard with his right hand points his gun,
The left behind him drags a six-foot tree,
All armed with flints, and knobs, and hardened knots,
No hand could lift it but the Baptist’s own.
Soon as his well-loved arm the Baptist viewed,
His Sprinkler, swift he seized it, kissed it, sprang
With joy; he whirled it round his head, at once
In blood imbrued.
What deeds he after did,
Or what defeat around him spread, ’twere vain
To sing; for none would credit give the Muse,
As none to that poor woman credit gave,
In Wilna, who, while standing on the height
Above the Ostra gate, beheld how Dejow,
The Russian leader, with a Cossack regiment
Entering, already open forced the gate;
And now one burgher, Czarnobacki named,
Slew Dejow, and annihilated all
The Cossack regiment.
’Tis enough that thus
It happened even as Rykow had foreseen;
The Jägers in the crowd succumbed unto
The strength of their antagonists. On earth
Of slain lay twenty-three; some thirty groaned
With wounds all covered; many fled and hid
Within the orchard, ’mid the hops, beside
The river; some into the house had rushed
Beneath the vantage of the women there.
With shout of joy the conquering nobles rushed—
These to the wine-casks, these to strip the spoils
From off their foes. Robak alone did not
The triumphs of the nobles share; though he
Himself had fought not hitherto the canons
Forbid a priest to fight—he as a man
Of great experience gave counsels, viewed
The field of battle round from different sides;
With glance, with beckoning of hand, he gave
Fresh courage to the combatants, and guided
Their movements. And he now unto them called
To join themselves to him, to strike on Rykow,
To make the victory complete. Meanwhile
He through an envoy signified to Rykow,
That if he would lay down his arms he should
Preserve his life; but if he still delay
To give his sword up, Robak will command
To hem the remnant in, and cut them down.
In no wise Captain Rykow quarter asked.
The half-battalion gathering round himself,
He cried, “Make ready!” Presently the file
Their rifles grasped, the weapons crashed, but they
Were loaded long before. He cried, “Present!”
In long file gleamed the guns; he cried out, “Fire
In turn!” one after other thundered loud.
While one takes aim, one loads, another grasps
The rifle in his hand. Resounds the hiss
Of bullets, click of locks, the ramrod’s crash;
The whole file like a moving reptile seems,
A thousand glittering feet together moving.
’Tis true that all the Jägers drunken were
With the strong liquor, for they aimed but ill,
And missed; they rarely wound, and seldom kill;
And yet two Matthews have already wounds,
And one of the Bartholomews lies low.
The nobles rarely fire, with but few guns;
They would with sabres strike upon the foe.
The elder men restrain them; thick the balls
Whistle, they wound, they drive on; soon they make
The courtyard clear before them, now begin
To clatter on the mansion’s window-panes.
Thaddeus, who by his uncle’s orders had
Stayed in the mansion to defend the women,
Now hearing loud and louder rage the fight,
Ran forth; the Chamberlain rushed after him,
Since Thomas brought to him at length his sabre.
He hastened, joined him to the noblemen,
And placed him at their head; rushed on, upraised
His sword; the nobles at his pointing moved.
The Jägers, them admitting, poured a hail
Of bullets. Wounded lay Isajewicz,
Wilbik, and Razor. Robak after this
Restrains the nobles on one side, and Matthew
Restrains them on the other. In their zeal
The nobles colder grow, look round, draw back.
The Russians mark this. Captain Rykow thinks
To strike the last blow, from the court to drive
The nobles, and the mansion to command.
“Form for the charge!” he cried, “and to your pikes.
Forward!” and presently the file, their stocks
Planting like hop-poles, bent their heads, and marched
Forwards, and quickened step. In vain the nobles
Resist them from the front, fire on the wings;
The file already had o’er-passed the court.
The Captain, pointing with his sword unto
The house-door, crieth, “Yield, Soplica, or
I’ll give command to fire the house!” “Then fire it,”
Replied the Judge, “I’ll fry me at that fire.”
O house of Soplicowo! if unhurt
Thy white walls gleam beneath the elm-trees still;
If still the assembly of the neighbouring nobles
Sit at the Judge’s hospitable board,
They surely often drink the Bucket’s health;
Without him Soplicowo were undone.
The Bucket hitherto few proofs of courage
Had given, though from the stocks the first set free
Among the nobles, though immediately
He found his well-loved Bucket in the cart,
His favourite gun, there with a sack of balls.
He would not fight; he trusted not himself,
He said, while fasting. So he went where stood
A tub of spirits, in his hand he raised.
The stream, as with a spoon, unto his lips.
Then, soon as he well strengthened was and warmed,
He set his cap right; from his knees he took
The Bucket in both hands; the powder rammed
Down in the gun, and poured the priming o’er,
And looked upon the battle-field. He saw
How that bright wave of bayonets smote and sundered
The nobles; he against this billow swam;
He stooped him down to earth, and dived among
The thick grass in the courtyard’s midst; till there,
Where nettles grew, he close in ambush laid,
And called by signs the Bustard to him.
He
Stood on the threshold, with his gun defending
The mansion, for his dear Sophia lived there;
And though by her his suit remained despised,
He loved her ever, and in her defence
Were glad to perish.
Now the file of Jägers
Already on the nettles had encroached
Marching, when Bucket drew the trigger back;
And from the jaws of that deep-throated gun
A dozen balls all jagged let he fly
Among the Muscovites. A second dozen
The Bustard hurls. The Jägers were confused,
And frightened at the ambush, all the file
Wound in a knot, drew back, threw out their wounded,
And then the Baptist drove them back again.
The barn was far off. Fearing a long round,
Beneath the garden wall had Rykow sprung,
There in their course he stayed his flying band,
He ranked them, but he changed their form of file.
Of one file he composed a triangle,
The sharp wedge pointed forward, but two sides
He placed against the garden wall. Well did he,
For horsemen from the castle rushed on him.
The Count, who in the castle under guard
Of Muscovites had been, when fled dispersed
The frightened guard, his courtiers placed on horse;
And hearing shots, he led his cavalry
Right under fire; himself the foremost rode,
With sabre lifted high. Then Rykow cried,
“The half-battalion fire!” A fiery thread
Then flew along the locks, and from the sable
Barrels projecting forward, whistled forth
Three hundred bullets. Of the cavalry
Three fell down wounded; one man lay a corpse.
The Count’s horse fell, and fell the Count; the Klucznik
Ran, crying out for help, for he had seen
The Jägers for their target take the last
Of the Horeszkos, by spindle side.
Robak stood nearer; with his body he
The Count did cover, and for him received
The shot; he drew him from beneath his horse,
Commanded that the nobles step apart,
Take better aim, and spare resultless shots,
And lurk behind the hedges, or the wells,
Behind the walls of cowsheds; and the Count
Shall with his horsemen wait a better time.
Most marvellously Thaddeus understood
The plans of Robak, and accomplished them.
He stood concealed behind a wood-built well,
And as he aimed with coolness and with skill
From a two-barrelled gun—he well could hit
A florin thrown in air—inflicted thus
Most horrid wounds on Muscovy. He chose
The seniors; and his first shot slew at once
A sergeant-major, then from both the barrels
Each after each he cut two sergeants off.
Now at the borders of the triangle
He shot, now at the midst, where stood the staff.
At this impatiently did Rykow rage,
Stamped with his feet, and gnawed his sabre’s hilt.
Cried, “Major Plut, what is to come of this?
Soon none will here remain to give commands.”
So Plut in anger said to Thaddeus,
“Shame on you, Master Pole, to hide behind
A piece of wood; be not a coward, come
Out in the midst; fight honourably, like
A soldier.” To him Thaddeus made reply,
“Then, Major, if you are so bold a knight,
Why hide you thus behind a Jäger’s collar?
I am not afraid of you; come from behind
The hedges; you have caught it on your face;
But yet I’m ready still to fight with you.
Why all this bloodshed? For between us two
This quarrel was; let pistols or the sword
Decide it. I will give you choice of arms,
From cannons down to pins. If not, I’ll shoot
You all like wolves in pitfalls.” Saying this,
He fired, and aimed so well, that the lieutenant
He struck who stood at side of Rykow.
“Major,”
Did Rykow whisper, “go you forth to duel;
Revenge his earlier doings in the morn:
For if another slay this nobleman,
You will not, Major, wash away your shame.
This noble must be lured into the plain.
The rifle may not slay him, but the sword.
‘What knocks no art is; I prefer what pierces,’
Did old Suwarow say; go to the plain,
Or he will shoot us, Major, every one.
Look, now he’s taking aim.” Thereto the Major:
“Rykow, dear friend, a dreadful fellow thou
Art with the sword; go thou forth, brother Rykow.
Or hark ye what, I’ll send out some lieutenant;
I as the Major may not leave the soldiers,
For I am in command of the battalion.”
This hearing, Rykow raised his sword, went forth
Boldly, commanded firing to give o’er;
Waved a white cloth, and asked of Thaddeus
What weapon pleased him. The conditions made,
They both agreed on swords. But Thaddeus had
No sword, and while they sought for one on rushed
The Count all armed, and broke their conference off.
He cried out, “Pan Soplica, by your leave,
You have the Major challenged. With the captain
I have a previous quarrel. In my castle”—
“Say, sir,” broke in Protasy, “in our castle”—
“He entered,” said the Count, concluding, “at
The head of all those thieves. He—I knew Rykow—
Bound fast my jockeys. Him I will chastise,
As I chastised the robbers ’neath that rock,
Which the Sicilians call Birbante-Rocca.”
All then was silent, and the firing ceased.
Both armies gazed with curiosity
Upon the meeting of their generals.
The Count and Rykow went, they turned aside,
Each other with the right hand threatening,
And right eye; with their left hands then they bare
Their heads, and courteously salute; the custom
Of honour, ere it come to murdering,
First to salute. Their swords already met,
And had begun to clash. The heroes lift
Their feet, and on the left knee kneel, by turns
Backward and forward springing.
But as Plut
Saw Thaddeus standing right before his front,
He spoke in whispers to Gefreiter Gont,
Who passed as foremost shooter in the band.
“Gont,” said the Major, “see’st that gallows-thief?
If thou canst lodge a bullet in him, there
Beneath the fifth rib, thou shalt get from me
Four silver roubles.” Gont turned round his gun,
Stooped to the lock, his faithful comrades with
Their mantles hid him, and he fired, not at
The rib, but at the head of Thaddeus;
Shot, and hit very near, in middle of
The hat. Aside turned Thaddeus; then the Baptist
On Rykow fell, and all the nobles after,
Exclaiming, “Treachery!” Him shielded Thaddeus.
Scarce Rykow in retreating could succeed,
And fall into the centre of his ranks.
Once more did the Dobrzynskis onward charge,
Vying with Litva; spite of discord past
Between the parties, all like brothers fought,
The one cheered on the other. The Dobrzynskis,
Who saw Podhajski wheel around before
The Jäger ranks, down-mowing with his scythe,
Cried out rejoicing, “The Podhaje live!
Forward, Litvini brothers! Litva, Litva!”
The Skolubowie, seeing valiant Razor,
Though wounded, fly on with his sword raised high,
Cried out, “The Matthews! long live the Masovians!”
Each giving heart to each, they charge upon
The Russians; vainly Robak and Matthias
Would hold them back.
While thus they smote the band
Of Jägers from the front, the Wojski left
The battle-field, and towards the garden went,
And at his side the sage Protasy came.
The Wojski gave him orders whispering.
There stood within the garden, close unto
The very wall that Rykow chose as base
For his triangle, a large ancient cheese-store,
Builded in lattices, with rafters bound
Cross-ways, in cage-like form. Within it gleamed
Great heaps of whitest cheeses, and around
Were sheaves of herbs there laid to dry, of sage,
Of carduus benedictus, and wild thyme;
A herbary complete, the Wojski’s daughter’s
Store of domestic medicine. Above,
The cheese-store was some seven ells in breadth.
Below, it rested on one mighty pillar,
Like a stork’s nest. That old and oaken column
Leaned sidewards, ’twas already half-decayed,
And threatened accident. Not once alone
The Judge was counselled to throw down the house,
Made weak by age; but always said the Judge,
He rather would repair than pull it down,
Or else he would rebuild. Thus he delayed
The building till some more convenient time;
Meanwhile beneath the pillar he caused place
Two props; the building thereby reinforced,
But yet unlasting, o’er the garden wall
Looked down on Captain Rykow’s triangle.
Towards this cheese-house silently the Wojski
And Wozny go; each with a monstrous pole,
As with a spear is armed, the housekeeper
Hastes through the hemp-plants after them, likewise
The scullion, though a small boy, very strong.
When there, upon the rotten column’s top
They placed the poles, and pushed with all their strength,
As watermen push off a barge when moored
On sandy shallows, and away from shore
With long poles push it off into the deep.
The column shook, the cheese-house tottered, fell
Headlong with crash of wood and cheeses on
The Muscovite triangle, crushing, wounding,
And slaying; where the files had stood, now lay
Corpses, and wood, and cheeses white as snow,
Defiled with blood and brains. The triangle
Broke into fragments, and the Sprinkler thundered
Upon their midst; already gleamed the Razor,
And the Rod smote; from forth the house there rushed
A crowd of noblemen, and from the gates
The Count his cavalry did hurl upon
The fugitives.
Eight Jägers now alone,
Their sergeant at their head, still make defence.
The Klucznik rushes up, they boldly stand,
Nine barrels pointed straightway at his head.
He rushed upon their shot, the Penknife’s blade
Round whirling. This the priest perceiving, ran
Across the Klucznik’s way, himself he falls,
And strikes Gervasy’s foot. They fell, just when
The platoon fired. The lead scarce whistled by,
When up Gervasy stood. Into the smoke
He sprung, at once swept off two Jägers’ heads.
The rest in terror fled; he them pursued,
And smote; they ran across the courtyard, he
Behind them. In the barn doors opening wide
They rushed. Gervasy rushed into the barn.
Upon their necks, and vanished in the dark,
But not neglected battle. Through the doors
Came groans, a shouting, and blows thickly dealt.
Soon all was silent. Forth Gervasy came
With bloody sword, alone.
The nobles now
Had cleared the plain, pursued the Jägers, scattered,
Cut down, ran through. Rykow alone remained.
He cried he never would lay down his arms,
And fought on, when the Chamberlain now came
Towards him, who with sword uplifted said,
“Captain, you will not stain your honour by
Accepting quarter; you have given proof,
Unfortunate, though brave, of courage; lay
Your sword down, ere we with our sabres shall
Disarm you; you shall keep both life and honour.
You are my prisoner.”
Then Rykow, by
The Chamberlain’s exceeding dignity
Now vanquished, bowed low, and to him his sword,
Unsheathed, with bloodstained hilt gave up; then said,
“Ye Lachy! brothers! woe to me that I
Had not a single cannon. Well Suwarow
Was used to say, ‘Remember, comrade Rykow,
Without some cannon never march on Poles.’
The Jägers all were drunk! the Major let
Them drink! Oh, Major Plut was very wilful.
But he shall answer to the Czar, for he
Was in command. But I, Sir Chamberlain,
Will be your friend. A Russian proverb says,
‘Who loveth greatly, he, Sir Chamberlain,
Will stoutly fight.’ You are good at drinking-bout
And good at fighting out, but cease to vent
On Jägers your excesses.”
Hearing this,
The Chamberlain his sabre straight upraised,
And through the Wozny proclamation made
Of general pardon; then he gave command
To look unto the wounded, clear the field
Of corpses, and the disarmed Jägers lead
Away as prisoners. Long they searched for Plut.
He, deeply buried in the nettles, lay
As lifeless; but at last came forth, when he
Became aware the battle all was done.
Such ending the last foray had in Litva.