The men, though accustomed to the place, crossed themselves devoutly while dragging the boats, warning the lieutenant not to approach too near the shore; for there were traditions that whoever should gaze too long on Nenasytets would at last see something at which his mind would be disturbed. They asserted, also, that at times there rose from the whirlpool long black hands which caught the unwary who approached too near, and then terrible laughter was heard through the precipices. The Zaporojians did not dare to drag boats along in the night-time.

  No man could be received into the Brotherhood of the Saitch who had not crossed the Cataracts alone in a boat; but an exception was made of Nenasytets, since its rocks were never under water. Of Bogun alone blind minstrels sang as if he had stolen through Nenasytets; still belief was not given to the song.

  The transfer of the boats occupied nearly all the day, and the sun had begun to set when the lieutenant resumed his place in the boat. But to make up for this the succeeding Cataracts were crossed with ease, for the rocks were covered entirely, and after that they sailed out into the quiet waters of the lower country.

  Along the way Skshetuski saw on the field of Kuchkasi the enormous mound of white stone raised at command of Prince Yeremi as a memorial of his visit, and of which Pan Boguslav Mashkevich had spoken in Lubni. From there it was not far to the Saitch. But the lieutenant did not wish to enter the Chertomelik labyrinth in the dark; he determined therefore to pass the night at Hortitsa.

  He wished to meet some Zaporojians and announce himself, so that it should be known that an envoy and no one else was coming. Hortitsa, however, appeared to be empty; which surprised the lieutenant not a little, for he had learned from Grodzitski that a Cossack garrison was always stationed there against Tartar attacks. He went himself with some of the men a considerable distance from the shore to reconnoitre; but he could not go over the whole island, for it was more than five miles long, and the night was coming down dark and not very clear. He returned then to the boats, which meanwhile had been dragged up on the sand, and a fire had been made as protection against mosquitoes.

  The greater part of the night passed quietly. The Cossacks and the guides slept by the fire. Only the guards were awake, and the lieutenant, who had been tormented by a terrible sleeplessness since he left Kudák. He felt also that fever was wearing him. At times he fancied he heard steps approaching from the interior of the island, then again certain strange sounds like the distant bleating of goats. But he thought that his hearing deceived him. Suddenly, when it was near daybreak, a dark figure stood before him. It was a servant from the guard.

  “People are coming!” said he, hastily.

  “Who are they?”

  “Undoubtedly Zaporojians. There are forty of them.”

  “Very well. That is not a great number. Rouse the men! Stir the fire!”

  The Cossacks sprang to their feet at once. The replenished fire blazed high, and lighted the boats and the handful of soldiers under the lieutenant. The guards ran up also to the circle.

  Meanwhile the irregular steps of a crowd became distinctly audible. The steps stopped at a certain distance. Immediately some voice inquired in threatening accents, —

  “Who is on shore?”

  “And who are you?” answered the sergeant.

  “Answer, son of the enemy! if not, we will inquire with a musket.”

  “His Highness, the envoy of Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski, going to the koshevoi ataman,” said the sergeant, with emphasis.

  The voices in the crowd were silent; evidently there was a short consultation.

  “But come here yourself,” cried the sergeant; “don’t be afraid! People do not fall upon envoys, and envoys do not attack.”

  Steps were heard again, and after a while a number of figures came out of the shadow. By the swarthy complexion, low stature, and skin coats with wool outside, the lieutenant knew from the first glance that most of them were Tartars; there were only a few Cossacks among them. The idea flashed like lightning through Skshetuski’s brain that if the Tartars were in Hortitsa Hmelnitski had returned from the Crimea.

  In front of the crowd stood an old Zaporojian of gigantic size, with a wild and savage face. Approaching the fire, he asked, —

  “Who is the envoy here?” A strong smell of spirits came from him; the Zaporojian was evidently drunk. “Who is envoy here?” repeated he.

  “I am,” said Skshetuski, haughtily.

  “Thou!”

  “Am I a brother to thee that thou sayest ‘Thou’ to me?”

  “Learn politeness, you ruffian!” interrupted the sergeant. “You must say, ‘Serene great mighty lord envoy.’”

  “Destruction to you, devils’ sons! May the death of Serpyagoff strike you, serene great mighty sons! And what business have you with the ataman?”

  “It is not thy affair! Know only that thy life depends upon my reaching the ataman as quickly as possible.”

  At that moment another Zaporojian came out from the crowd.

  “We are here at the command of the ataman,” said he, “on guard so that no one from the Poles may approach; and if any man approaches, we are to bind him and deliver him bound, and we will do that.”

  “Whoever goes voluntarily, you will not bind.”

  “I will, for such is the order.”

  “Do you know, clown, what the person of an envoy means? Do you know whom I represent?”

  Then the old giant interrupted: “We will lead in the envoy, but by the beard, — in this fashion!”

  Saying this, he reached his hand to the lieutenant’s beard. But that moment he groaned, and as if struck by lightning dropped to the earth. The lieutenant had shivered his head with a battle-hammer.

  “Slash! slash!” howled enraged voices from the crowd.

  The Cossacks of the prince hurried to the rescue of their leader; muskets roared. “Slash! slash!” was mingled with the clash of steel. A regular battle began. The fire, trampled in the disturbance, went out, and darkness surrounded the combatants. Soon both sides had grappled each other so closely that there was no room for blows and knives; fists and teeth took the place of sabres.

  All at once, in the interior of the island, were heard numerous fresh shouts and cries. Aid was coming to the attacking party. Another moment and they would have come too late, for the disciplined Cossacks were getting the upper hand of the crowd.

  “To the boats!” cried the lieutenant, in a thundering voice.

  The escort executed the command in a twinkle. Unfortunately the boats had been dragged too far on the sand, and could not be pushed at once into the water. That moment the enemy sprang furiously toward the shore.

  “Fire!” commanded Pan Yan.

  A discharge of musketry restrained the assailants, who became confused, crowded together, and retreated in disorder, leaving a number of bodies stretched upon the sand. Some of these bodies squirmed convulsively, like fish snatched from the water and thrown on shore.

  The boatmen, assisted by a number of the Cossacks, planting their oars in the ground, pushed with all their might to get the boats into the water; but in vain.

  The enemy began their attack from a distance. The splashing of balls on the water was mingled with the whistling of arrows and the groans of the wounded. The Tartars, shouting “Allah!” with increased shrillness, urged one another on. The Cossack cries: “Cut! cut!” answered them; and the calm voice of Skshetuski, repeating faster and faster the command, “Fire!”

  The dawn was beginning to shine with pale light on the struggle. From the land side was to be seen a crowd of Cossacks and Tartars, some with their muskets held ready to aim, others stooping in the rear and drawing their bowstrings; from the side of the water two boats smoking and flashing with the continual discharges of musketry. Between them lay bodies stretched quietly on the sand.

  In one of these boats stood Pan Yan, taller than the others, haughty, calm, with the lieutenant’s staff in his hand and with uncovered head, — for a Tartar arrow had swept away his cap. The sergeant approached him and whispered, —

  “We cannot hold out; the crowd is too great!”

  But the lieutenant’s only thought was to seal his mission with his blood, to prevent the disgrace of his office, and to perish not without glory. Therefore, when the Cossacks made a sort of breastwork for themselves of the provision bags, from behind which they struck the enemy, he remained visible and exposed to attack.

  “Good!” said he; “we will die to the last man.”

  “We will die, father!” cried the Cossacks.

  “Fire!”

  Again the boats smoked. From the interior of the island new crowds came, armed with pikes and scythes. The assailants separated into two parties. One party kept up the fire; the other, composed of more than two hundred Cossacks and Tartars, only waited the proper moment for a hand-to-hand encounter. At the same time from the reeds of the island came out four boats, which were to attack the lieutenant from the rear and from both sides.

  It was clear daylight now. The smoke stretched out in long streaks in the quiet air, and covered the scene of conflict.

  The lieutenant commanded his twenty Cossacks to turn to the attacking boats, which, pushed with oars, moved on swiftly as birds over the quiet water of the river. The fire directed against the Tartars and Cossacks approaching from the interior of the island, was notably weakened on that account. They seemed, too, to expect this.

  The sergeant approached the lieutenant again.

  “The Tartars are taking their daggers between their teeth; they will rush on us this minute.”

  In fact, almost three hundred of the horde, with sabres in hand and knives in their teeth, prepared for the attack. They were accompanied by some tens of Zaporojians armed with scythes.

  The attack was to begin from every direction, for the assailing boats were within gunshot; their sides were already covered with smoke.

  Bullets began to fall like hail on the lieutenant’s men. Both boats were filled with groans. In a few moments half of the Cossacks were down; the remainder still defended themselves desperately. Their faces were black, their hands wearied, their sight dim, their eyes full of blood; their gun-barrels began to burn their hands. Most of them were wounded.

  At that moment a terrible cry and howl rent the air. The Tartars rushed to the attack.

  The smoke, pushed by the movement of the mass of bodies, separated suddenly and left exposed to the eye the two boats of the lieutenant covered with a dark crowd of Tartars, like two carcasses of horses torn by a pack of wolves. Some Cossacks resisted yet; and at the mast stood Pan Yan, with bleeding face and an arrow sunk to the shaft in his left shoulder, but defending himself furiously. His form was like that of a giant in the crowd surrounding him. His sabre glittered like lightning; groans and howls responded to his blows. The sergeant, with another Cossack, guarded him on both sides; and the crowd swayed back at times in terror before those three, but, urged from behind, pushed on, and died under the blows of the sabre.

  “Take them alive to the ataman!” was called out in the crowd. “Surrender!”

  But Skshetuski was surrendering only to God; for he grew pale in a moment, tottered, and fell to the bottom of the boat.

  “Farewell, father!” cried the sergeant, in despair.

  But in a moment he fell also. The moving mass of assailants covered the boats completely.

  CHAPTER XI.

  At the house of the inspector of weights and measures, in the outskirts of Hassan Pasha, at the Saitch, sat two Zaporojians at a table, fortifying themselves with spirits distilled from millet, which they dipped unceasingly from a wooden tub that stood in the middle of the table. One of them, already old and quite decrepit, was Philip Zakhar. He was the inspector. The other, Anton Tatarchuk, ataman of the Chigirin kuren, was a man about forty years old, tall, with a wild expression of face and oblique Tartar eyes. Both spoke in a low voice, as if fearing that some one might overhear them.

  “But it is to-day?” asked the inspector.

  “Yes, almost immediately,” answered Tatarchuk. “They are waiting for the koshevoi and Tugai Bey, who went with Hmelnitski himself to Bazaluk, where the horde is quartered. The Brotherhood is already assembled on the square, and the kuren atamans will meet in council before evening. Before night all will be known.”

  “It may have an evil end,” muttered old Philip Zakhar.

  “Listen, inspector! But did you see that there was a letter to me also?”

  “Of course I did, for I carried the letters myself to the koshevoi, and I know how to read. Three letters were found on the Pole, — one to the koshevoi himself, one to you, the third to young Barabash. Every one in the Saitch knows of this already.”

  “And who wrote? Don’t you know?”

  “The prince wrote to the koshevoi, for his seal was on the letter; who wrote to you is unknown.”

  “God guard us!”

  “If they don’t call you a friend of the Poles openly, nothing will come of it.”

  “God guard us!” repeated Tatarchuk.

  “It is evident that you have something on your mind.”

  “Pshaw! I have nothing on my mind.”

  “The koshevoi, too, may destroy all the letters, for his own head is concerned. There was a letter to him as well as to you.”

  “He may.”

  “But if you have done anything, then—” here the old inspector lowered his voice still more— “go away!”

  “But how and where?” asked Tatarchuk, uneasily. “The koshevoi has placed guards on all the islands, so that no one may escape to the Poles and let them know what is going on. The Tartars are on guard at Bazaluk. A fish couldn’t squeeze through, and a bird couldn’t fly over.”

  “Then hide in the Saitch, wherever you can.”

  “They will find me, — unless you hide me among the barrels in the bazaar? You are my relative.”

  “I wouldn’t hide my own brother. If you are afraid of death, then drink; you won’t feel it when you are drunk.”

  “Maybe there is nothing in the letters.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Here is misfortune, misfortune!” said Tatarchuk. “I don’t feel that I have done anything. I am a good fellow, an enemy to the Poles. But though there is nothing in the letter, the devil knows what the Pole may say at the council. He may ruin me.”

  “He is a severe man; he won’t say anything.”

  “Have you seen him to-day?”

  “Yes; I rubbed his wounds with tar, I poured spirits and ashes into his throat. He will be all right. He is an angry fellow! They say that at Hortitsa he slaughtered the Tartars like swine, before they captured him. Set your mind at rest about the Pole.”

  The sullen sound of the kettledrums which were beaten on the Koshevoi’s Square interrupted further conversation. Tatarchuk, hearing the sound, shuddered and sprang to his feet. Excessive fear was expressed by his face and movements.

  “They are beating the summons to council,” said he, catching his breath. “God save us! And you, Philip, don’t speak of what we have been saying here. God save us!”

  Having said this, Tatarchuk, seizing the tub with the liquor, brought it to his mouth with both hands, and drank, — drank as though he wished to drink himself to death.

  “Let us go!” said the inspector.

  The sound of the drums came clearer and clearer.

  They went out. The field of Hassan Pasha was separated from the square by a rampart surrounding the encampment proper, and by a gate with lofty towers on which were seen the muzzles of cannon fixed there. In the middle of the field stood the house of the inspector of weights and measures, and the cabins of the shop atamans, and around a rather large space were shops in which goods were stored. These shops were in general wretched structures made of oak planks, which Hortitsa furnished in abundance, fastened together with twigs and reeds. The cabins, not excepting that of the inspector, were mere huts, for only the roofs were raised above the ground. The roofs were black and smoked; for when there was fire in the cabin the smoke found exit, not only through the smoke-hole, but through every cranny in the roof, and one might suppose that it was not a cabin at all, but a pile of branches and reeds covering a tar-pit. No daylight entered these cabins; therefore a fire of pitch pine and oak chips was kept up. The shops, a few dozen in number, were divided into camp-shops which belonged to individual camps, and those of strangers in which during time of peace Tartars and Wallachians traded, — the first in skins, Eastern fabrics, arms, and every kind of booty; the second, chiefly in wine. But the shops for strangers were rarely occupied, since in that wild nest trade was changed most frequently to robbery, from which neither the inspectors nor the shop atamans could restrain the crowds.

  Among the shops stood also thirty-eight camp-drinking shops; and before them always lay, on the sweepings, shavings, oak-sticks, and heaps of horse-manure, Zaporojians, half dead from drinking, — some sunk in a stony sleep; others with foam in their mouths, in convulsions or delirium-tremens; others half drunk, howling Cossack songs, spitting, striking, kissing, cursing Cossack fate or weeping over Cossack sorrow, walking upon the heads and breasts of those lying around. Only during expeditions against the Tartars or the upper country was sobriety enforced, and at such times those who took part in an expedition were punished with death for drunkenness. But in ordinary times, and especially in the bazaar, all were drunk, — the inspector, the camp ataman, the buyers, and the sellers. The sour smell of unrectified spirits, mixed with the odor of tar, fish, smoke, and horse-hides, filled the air of the whole place, which in general, by the variety of its shops, reminded one of some little Turkish or Tartar town. Everything was for sale that at any time had been seized as plunder in the Crimea, Wallachia, or on the shores of Anatolia, — bright fabrics of the East, satins, brocades, velvets, cotton cloths, ticking, linen, iron and brass guns, skins, furs, dried fish, cherries, Turkish sweetmeats, church vessels, brass crescents taken from minarets, gilded crosses torn from churches, powder and sharp weapons, spear-staffs, and saddles. In that mixture of objects and colors moved about people dressed in remnants of the most varied garments, in the summer half-naked, always half-wild, discolored with smoke, black, rolled in mud, covered with wounds, bleeding from the bites of gigantic gnats which hovered in myriads over Chertomelik, and eternally drunk, as has been stated above.

 

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