Áóëüáà

CHAPTER VI

Andrii could hardly move in the dark and narrow earthen burrow, as he
followed the Tatar, dragging after him his sacks of bread. “It will soon
be light,” said his guide: “we are approaching the spot where I placed a
light.” And in fact the dark earthen walls began to be gradually lit up.
They reached a widening in the passage where, it seemed, there had once
been a chapel; at least, there was a small table against the wall, like
an altar, and above, the faded, almost entirely obliterated picture of a
Catholic Madonna. A small silver lamp hanging before it barely illumined
it. The Tatar stooped and picked up from the ground a copper candlestick
which she had left there, a candlestick with a tall, slender stem, and
snuffers, pin, and extinguisher hanging about it on chains. She lighted
it at the silver lamp. The light grew stronger; and as they went on, now
illumined by it, and again enveloped in pitchy shadow, they suggested a
picture by Gerard Dow.

The warrior’s fresh, handsome countenance, overflowing with health and
youth, presented a strong contrast to the pale, emaciated face of his
companion. The passage grew a little higher, so that Andrii could hold
himself erect. He gazed with curiosity at the earthen walls. Here and
there, as in the catacombs at Kief, were niches in the walls; and in
some places coffins were standing. Sometimes they came across human
bones which had become softened with the dampness and were crumbling
into dust. It was evident that pious folk had taken refuge here from the
storms, sorrows, and seductions of the world. It was extremely damp
in some places; indeed there was water under their feet at intervals.
Andrii was forced to halt frequently to allow his companion to rest, for
her fatigue kept increasing. The small piece of bread she had swallowed
only caused a pain in her stomach, of late unused to food; and she often
stood motionless for minutes together in one spot.

At length a small iron door appeared before them. “Glory be to God, we
have arrived!” said the Tatar in a faint voice, and tried to lift her
hand to knock, but had no strength to do so. Andrii knocked hard at the
door in her stead. There was an echo as though a large space lay beyond
the door; then the echo changed as if resounding through lofty arches.
In a couple of minutes, keys rattled, and steps were heard descending
some stairs. At length the door opened, and a monk, standing on the
narrow stairs with the key and a light in his hands, admitted them.
Andrii involuntarily halted at the sight of a Catholic monk--one of
those who had aroused such hate and disdain among the Cossacks that they
treated them even more inhumanly than they treated the Jews.

The monk, on his part, started back on perceiving a Zaporovian Cossack,
but a whisper from the Tatar reassured him. He lighted them in, fastened
the door behind them, and led them up the stairs. They found themselves
beneath the dark and lofty arches of the monastery church. Before one of
the altars, adorned with tall candlesticks and candles, knelt a priest
praying quietly. Near him on each side knelt two young choristers in
lilac cassocks and white lace stoles, with censers in their hands. He
prayed for the performance of a miracle, that the city might be saved;
that their souls might be strengthened; that patience might be given
them; that doubt and timid, weak-spirited mourning over earthly
misfortunes might be banished. A few women, resembling shadows, knelt
supporting themselves against the backs of the chairs and dark wooden
benches before them, and laying their exhausted heads upon them. A few
men stood sadly, leaning against the columns upon which the wide arches
rested. The stained-glass window above the altar suddenly glowed with
the rosy light of dawn; and from it, on the floor, fell circles of blue,
yellow, and other colours, illuminating the dim church. The whole altar
was lighted up; the smoke from the censers hung a cloudy rainbow in the
air. Andrii gazed from his dark corner, not without surprise, at the
wonders worked by the light. At that moment the magnificent swell of
the organ filled the whole church. It grew deeper and deeper, expanded,
swelled into heavy bursts of thunder; and then all at once, turning into
heavenly music, its ringing tones floated high among the arches, like
clear maiden voices, and again descended into a deep roar and thunder,
and then ceased. The thunderous pulsations echoed long and tremulously
among the arches; and Andrii, with half-open mouth, admired the wondrous
music.

Then he felt some one plucking the shirt of his caftan. “It is time,”
 said the Tatar. They traversed the church unperceived, and emerged upon
the square in front. Dawn had long flushed the heavens; all announced
sunrise. The square was empty: in the middle of it still stood wooden
pillars, showing that, perhaps only a week before, there had been a
market here stocked with provisions. The streets, which were unpaved,
were simply a mass of dried mud. The square was surrounded by small,
one-storied stone or mud houses, in the walls of which were visible
wooden stakes and posts obliquely crossed by carved wooden beams, as was
the manner of building in those days. Specimens of it can still be
seen in some parts of Lithuania and Poland. They were all covered with
enormously high roofs, with a multitude of windows and air-holes. On
one side, close to the church, rose a building quite detached from and
taller than the rest, probably the town-hall or some official structure.
It was two stories high, and above it, on two arches, rose a belvedere
where a watchman stood; a huge clock-face was let into the roof.

The square seemed deserted, but Andrii thought he heard a feeble groan.
Looking about him, he perceived, on the farther side, a group of two
or three men lying motionless upon the ground. He fixed his eyes more
intently on them, to see whether they were asleep or dead; and, at the
same moment, stumbled over something lying at his feet. It was the dead
body of a woman, a Jewess apparently. She appeared to be young, though
it was scarcely discernible in her distorted and emaciated features.
Upon her head was a red silk kerchief; two rows of pearls or pearl beads
adorned the beads of her head-dress, from beneath which two long curls
hung down upon her shrivelled neck, with its tightly drawn veins. Beside
her lay a child, grasping convulsively at her shrunken breast, and
squeezing it with involuntary ferocity at finding no milk there. He
neither wept nor screamed, and only his gently rising and falling body
would have led one to guess that he was not dead, or at least on
the point of breathing his last. They turned into a street, and were
suddenly stopped by a madman, who, catching sight of Andrii’s precious
burden, sprang upon him like a tiger, and clutched him, yelling,
“Bread!” But his strength was not equal to his madness. Andrii repulsed
him and he fell to the ground. Moved with pity, the young Cossack flung
him a loaf, which he seized like a mad dog, gnawing and biting it; but
nevertheless he shortly expired in horrible suffering, there in the
street, from the effect of long abstinence. The ghastly victims of
hunger startled them at every step. Many, apparently unable to endure
their torments in their houses, seemed to run into the streets to see
whether some nourishing power might not possibly descend from the air.
At the gate of one house sat an old woman, and it was impossible to say
whether she was asleep or dead, or only unconscious; at all events, she
no longer saw or heard anything, and sat immovable in one spot, her head
drooping on her breast. From the roof of another house hung a worn
and wasted body in a rope noose. The poor fellow could not endure the
tortures of hunger to the last, and had preferred to hasten his end by a
voluntary death.

At the sight of such terrible proofs of famine, Andrii could not refrain
from saying to the Tatar, “Is there really nothing with which they can
prolong life? If a man is driven to extremities, he must feed on what he
has hitherto despised; he can sustain himself with creatures which are
forbidden by the law. Anything can be eaten under such circumstances.”

“They have eaten everything,” said the Tatar, “all the animals. Not a
horse, nor a dog, nor even a mouse is to be found in the whole city.
We never had any store of provisions in the town: they were all brought
from the villages.”

“But how can you, while dying such a fearful death, still dream of
defending the city?”

“Possibly the Waiwode might have surrendered; but yesterday morning the
commander of the troops at Buzhana sent a hawk into the city with a note
saying that it was not to be given up; that he was coming to its rescue
with his forces, and was only waiting for another leader, that they
might march together. And now they are expected every moment. But we
have reached the house.”

Andrii had already noticed from a distance this house, unlike the
others, and built apparently by some Italian architect. It was
constructed of thin red bricks, and had two stories. The windows of the
lower story were sheltered under lofty, projecting granite cornices.
The upper story consisted entirely of small arches, forming a gallery;
between the arches were iron gratings enriched with escutcheons; whilst
upon the gables of the house more coats-of-arms were displayed. The
broad external staircase, of tinted bricks, abutted on the square.
At the foot of it sat guards, who with one hand held their halberds
upright, and with the other supported their drooping heads, and in this
attitude more resembled apparitions than living beings. They neither
slept nor dreamed, but seemed quite insensible to everything; they even
paid no attention to who went up the stairs. At the head of the stairs,
they found a richly-dressed warrior, armed cap-a-pie, and holding a
breviary in his hand. He turned his dim eyes upon them; but the Tatar
spoke a word to him, and he dropped them again upon the open pages
of his breviary. They entered the first chamber, a large one, serving
either as a reception-room, or simply as an ante-room; it was filled
with soldiers, servants, secretaries, huntsmen, cup-bearers, and the
other servitors indispensable to the support of a Polish magnate’s
estate, all seated along the walls. The reek of extinguished candles was
perceptible; and two were still burning in two huge candlesticks, nearly
as tall as a man, standing in the middle of the room, although morning
had long since peeped through the wide grated window. Andrii wanted to
go straight on to the large oaken door adorned with a coat-of-arms and
a profusion of carved ornaments, but the Tatar pulled his sleeve and
pointed to a small door in the side wall. Through this they gained a
corridor, and then a room, which he began to examine attentively. The
light which filtered through a crack in the shutter fell upon several
objects--a crimson curtain, a gilded cornice, and a painting on the
wall. Here the Tatar motioned to Andrii to wait, and opened the door
into another room from which flashed the light of a fire. He heard a
whispering, and a soft voice which made him quiver all over. Through
the open door he saw flit rapidly past a tall female figure, with a long
thick braid of hair falling over her uplifted hands. The Tatar returned
and told him to go in.

He could never understand how he entered and how the door was shut
behind him. Two candles burned in the room and a lamp glowed before the
images: beneath the lamp stood a tall table with steps to kneel upon
during prayer, after the Catholic fashion. But his eye did not seek
this. He turned to the other side and perceived a woman, who appeared to
have been frozen or turned to stone in the midst of some quick movement.
It seemed as though her whole body had sought to spring towards him, and
had suddenly paused. And he stood in like manner amazed before her. Not
thus had he pictured to himself that he should find her. This was not
the same being he had formerly known; nothing about her resembled her
former self; but she was twice as beautiful, twice as enchanting,
now than she had been then. Then there had been something unfinished,
incomplete, about her; now here was a production to which the artist
had given the finishing stroke of his brush. That was a charming, giddy
girl; this was a woman in the full development of her charms. As
she raised her eyes, they were full of feeling, not of mere hints
of feeling. The tears were not yet dry in them, and framed them in a
shining dew which penetrated the very soul. Her bosom, neck, and arms
were moulded in the proportions which mark fully developed loveliness.
Her hair, which had in former days waved in light ringlets about her
face, had become a heavy, luxuriant mass, a part of which was caught
up, while part fell in long, slender curls upon her arms and breast. It
seemed as though her every feature had changed. In vain did he seek
to discover in them a single one of those which were engraved in his
memory--a single one. Even her great pallor did not lessen her
wonderful beauty; on the contrary, it conferred upon it an irresistible,
inexpressible charm. Andrii felt in his heart a noble timidity,
and stood motionless before her. She, too, seemed surprised at the
appearance of the Cossack, as he stood before her in all the beauty and
might of his young manhood, and in the very immovability of his limbs
personified the utmost freedom of movement. His eyes beamed with clear
decision; his velvet brows curved in a bold arch; his sunburnt cheeks
glowed with all the ardour of youthful fire; and his downy black
moustache shone like silk.

“No, I have no power to thank you, noble sir,” she said, her silvery
voice all in a tremble. “God alone can reward you, not I, a weak woman.”
 She dropped her eyes, her lids fell over them in beautiful, snowy
semicircles, guarded by lashes long as arrows; her wondrous face bowed
forward, and a delicate flush overspread it from within. Andrii knew not
what to say; he wanted to say everything. He had in his mind to say it
all ardently as it glowed in his heart--and could not. He felt something
confining his mouth; voice and words were lacking; he felt that it was
not for him, bred in the seminary and in the tumult of a roaming life,
to reply fitly to such language, and was angry with his Cossack nature.

At that moment the Tatar entered the room. She had cut up the bread
which the warrior had brought into small pieces on a golden plate, which
she placed before her mistress. The lady glanced at her, at the bread,
at her again, and then turned her eyes towards Andrii. There was a great
deal in those eyes. That gentle glance, expressive of her weakness and
her inability to give words to the feeling which overpowered her, was
far more comprehensible to Andrii than any words. His heart suddenly
grew light within him, all seemed made smooth. The mental emotions and
the feelings which up to that moment he had restrained with a heavy
curb, as it were, now felt themselves released, at liberty, and anxious
to pour themselves out in a resistless torrent of words. Suddenly the
lady turned to the Tatar, and said anxiously, “But my mother? you took
her some?”

“She is asleep.”

“And my father?”

“I carried him some; he said that he would come to thank the young lord
in person.”

She took the bread and raised it to her mouth. With inexpressible
delight Andrii watched her break it with her shining fingers and eat
it; but all at once he recalled the man mad with hunger, who had expired
before his eyes on swallowing a morsel of bread. He turned pale and,
seizing her hand, cried, “Enough! eat no more! you have not eaten for
so long that too much bread will be poison to you now.” And she at once
dropped her hand, laid her bread upon the plate, and gazed into his eyes
like a submissive child. And if any words could express--But neither
chisel, nor brush, nor mighty speech is capable of expressing what is
sometimes seen in glances of maidens, nor the tender feeling which takes
possession of him who receives such maiden glances.

“My queen!” exclaimed Andrii, his heart and soul filled with emotion,
“what do you need? what do you wish? command me! Impose on me the most
impossible task in all the world: I fly to fulfil it! Tell me to do that
which it is beyond the power of man to do: I will fulfil it if I destroy
myself. I will ruin myself. And I swear by the holy cross that ruin for
your sake is as sweet--but no, it is impossible to say how sweet! I have
three farms; half my father’s droves of horses are mine; all that my
mother brought my father, and which she still conceals from him--all
this is mine! Not one of the Cossacks owns such weapons as I; for the
pommel of my sword alone they would give their best drove of horses and
three thousand sheep. And I renounce all this, I discard it, I throw it
aside, I will burn and drown it, if you will but say the word, or even
move your delicate black brows! But I know that I am talking madly and
wide of the mark; that all this is not fitting here; that it is not for
me, who have passed my life in the seminary and among the Zaporozhtzi,
to speak as they speak where kings, princes, and all the best of noble
knighthood have been. I can see that you are a different being from the
rest of us, and far above all other boyars’ wives and maiden daughters.”

With growing amazement the maiden listened, losing no single word, to
the frank, sincere language in which, as in a mirror, the young, strong
spirit reflected itself. Each simple word of this speech, uttered in a
voice which penetrated straight to the depths of her heart, was clothed
in power. She advanced her beautiful face, pushed back her troublesome
hair, opened her mouth, and gazed long, with parted lips. Then she tried
to say something and suddenly stopped, remembering that the warrior
was known by a different name; that his father, brothers, country, lay
beyond, grim avengers; that the Zaporozhtzi besieging the city were
terrible, and that the cruel death awaited all who were within its
walls, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She seized a silk
embroidered handkerchief and threw it over her face. In a moment it was
all wet; and she sat for some time with her beautiful head thrown back,
and her snowy teeth set on her lovely under-lip, as though she suddenly
felt the sting of a poisonous serpent, without removing the handkerchief
from her face, lest he should see her shaken with grief.

“Speak but one word to me,” said Andrii, and he took her satin-skinned
hand. A sparkling fire coursed through his veins at the touch, and he
pressed the hand lying motionless in his.

But she still kept silence, never taking the kerchief from her face, and
remaining motionless.

“Why are you so sad? Tell me, why are you so sad?”

She cast away the handkerchief, pushed aside the long hair which fell
over her eyes, and poured out her heart in sad speech, in a quiet voice,
like the breeze which, rising on a beautiful evening, blows through the
thick growth of reeds beside the stream. They rustle, murmur, and
give forth delicately mournful sounds, and the traveller, pausing in
inexplicable sadness, hears them, and heeds not the fading light, nor
the gay songs of the peasants which float in the air as they return from
their labours in meadow and stubble-field, nor the distant rumble of the
passing waggon.

“Am not I worthy of eternal pity? Is not the mother that bore me
unhappy? Is it not a bitter lot which has befallen me? Art not thou a
cruel executioner, fate? Thou has brought all to my feet--the highest
nobles in the land, the richest gentlemen, counts, foreign barons, all
the flower of our knighthood. All loved me, and any one of them would
have counted my love the greatest boon. I had but to beckon, and the
best of them, the handsomest, the first in beauty and birth would have
become my husband. And to none of them didst thou incline my heart, O
bitter fate; but thou didst turn it against the noblest heroes of our
land, and towards a stranger, towards our enemy. O most holy mother of
God! for what sin dost thou so pitilessly, mercilessly, persecute me?
In abundance and superfluity of luxury my days were passed, the richest
dishes and the sweetest wine were my food. And to what end was it all?
What was it all for? In order that I might at last die a death more
cruel than that of the meanest beggar in the kingdom? And it was not
enough that I should be condemned to so horrible a fate; not enough
that before my own end I should behold my father and mother perish
in intolerable torment, when I would have willingly given my own life
twenty times over to save them; all this was not enough, but before my
own death I must hear words of love such as I had never before dreamed
of. It was necessary that he should break my heart with his words; that
my bitter lot should be rendered still more bitter; that my young
life should be made yet more sad; that my death should seem even more
terrible; and that, dying, I should reproach thee still more, O cruel
fate! and thee--forgive my sin--O holy mother of God!”

As she ceased in despair, her feelings were plainly expressed in her
face. Every feature spoke of gnawing sorrow and, from the sadly bowed
brow and downcast eyes to the tears trickling down and drying on her
softly burning cheeks, seemed to say, “There is no happiness in this
face.”

“Such a thing was never heard of since the world began. It cannot be,”
 said Andrii, “that the best and most beautiful of women should suffer so
bitter a fate, when she was born that all the best there is in the world
should bow before her as before a saint. No, you will not die, you shall
not die! I swear by my birth and by all there is dear to me in the
world that you shall not die. But if it must be so; if nothing, neither
strength, nor prayer, nor heroism, will avail to avert this cruel
fate--then we will die together, and I will die first. I will die before
you, at your beauteous knees, and even in death they shall not divide
us.”

“Deceive not yourself and me, noble sir,” she said, gently shaking her
beautiful head; “I know, and to my great sorrow I know but too well,
that it is impossible for you to love me. I know what your duty is, and
your faith. Your father calls you, your comrades, your country, and we
are your enemies.”

“And what are my father, my comrades, my country to me?” said Andrii,
with a quick movement of his head, and straightening up his figure like
a poplar beside the river. “Be that as it may, I have no one, no one!”
 he repeated, with that movement of the hand with which the Cossack
expresses his determination to do some unheard-of deed, impossible to
any other man. “Who says that the Ukraine is my country? Who gave it to
me for my country? Our country is the one our soul longs for, the one
which is dearest of all to us. My country is--you! That is my native
land, and I bear that country in my heart. I will bear it there all my
life, and I will see whether any of the Cossacks can tear it thence. And
I will give everything, barter everything, I will destroy myself, for
that country!”

Astounded, she gazed in his eyes for a space, like a beautiful statue,
and then suddenly burst out sobbing; and with the wonderful feminine
impetuosity which only grand-souled, uncalculating women, created for
fine impulses of the heart, are capable of, threw herself upon his neck,
encircling it with her wondrous snowy arms, and wept. At that moment
indistinct shouts rang through the street, accompanied by the sound of
trumpets and kettledrums; but he heard them not. He was only conscious
of the beauteous mouth bathing him with its warm, sweet breath, of the
tears streaming down his face, and of her long, unbound perfumed hair,
veiling him completely in its dark and shining silk.

At that moment the Tatar ran in with a cry of joy. “Saved, saved!” she
cried, beside herself. “Our troops have entered the city. They have
brought corn, millet, flour, and Zaporozhtzi in chains!” But no one
heard that “our troops” had arrived in the city, or what they had
brought with them, or how they had bound the Zaporozhtzi. Filled with
feelings untasted as yet upon earth, Andrii kissed the sweet mouth which
pressed his cheek, and the sweet mouth did not remain unresponsive. In
this union of kisses they experienced that which it is given to a man to
feel but once on earth.

And the Cossack was ruined. He was lost to Cossack chivalry. Never again
will Zaporozhe, nor his father’s house, nor the Church of God, behold
him. The Ukraine will never more see the bravest of the children who
have undertaken to defend her. Old Taras may tear the grey hair from his
scalp-lock, and curse the day and hour in which such a son was born to
dishonour him.



CHAPTER VII

Noise and movement were rife in the Zaporozhian camp. At first, no one
could account for the relieving army having made its way into the city;
but it afterwards appeared that the Pereyaslavsky kuren, encamped before
the wide gate of the town, had been dead drunk. It was no wonder that
half had been killed, and the other half bound, before they knew what it
was all about. Meantime the neighbouring kurens, aroused by the tumult,
succeeded in grasping their weapons; but the relieving force had already
passed through the gate, and its rear ranks fired upon the sleepy and
only half-sober Zaporozhtzi who were pressing in disorder upon them, and
kept them back.

The Koschevoi ordered a general assembly; and when all stood in a ring
and had removed their caps and became quiet, he said: “See what happened
last night, brother gentles! See what drunkenness has led to! See what
shame the enemy has put upon us! It is evident that, if your allowances
are kindly doubled, then you are ready to stretch out at full length,
and the enemies of Christ can not only take your very trousers off you,
but sneeze in your faces without your hearing them!”

The Cossacks all stood with drooping heads, knowing that they were
guilty; only Kukubenko, the hetman of the Nezamisky kuren, answered
back. “Stop, father!” said he; “although it is not lawful to make
a retort when the Koschevoi speaks before the whole army, yet it is
necessary to say that that was not the state of the case. You have not
been quite just in your reprimand. The Cossacks would have been guilty,
and deserving of death, had they got drunk on the march, or when engaged
on heavy toilsome labour during war; but we have been sitting here
unoccupied, loitering in vain before the city. There was no fast or
other Christian restraint; how then could it be otherwise than that a
man should get drunk in idleness? There is no sin in that. But we had
better show them what it is to attack innocent people. They first beat
us well, and now we will beat them so that not half a dozen of them will
ever see home again.”

The speech of the hetman of the kuren pleased the Cossacks. They raised
their drooping heads upright and many nodded approvingly, muttering,
“Kukubenko has spoken well!” And Taras Bulba, who stood not far from the
Koschevoi, said: “How now, Koschevoi? Kukubenko has spoken truth. What
have you to say to this?”

“What have I to say? I say, Blessed be the father of such a son! It
does not need much wisdom to utter words of reproof; but much wisdom
is needed to find such words as do not embitter a man’s misfortune, but
encourage him, restore to him his spirit, put spurs to the horse of his
soul, refreshed by water. I meant myself to speak words of comfort to
you, but Kukubenko has forestalled me.”

“The Koschevoi has also spoken well!” rang through the ranks of the
Zaporozhtzi. “His words are good,” repeated others. And even the
greyheads, who stood there like dark blue doves, nodded their heads and,
twitching their grey moustaches, muttered softly, “That was well said.”

“Listen now, gentles,” continued the Koschevoi. “To take the city, by
scaling its walls, or undermining them as the foreign engineers do,
is not proper, not Cossack fashion. But, judging from appearances,
the enemy entered the city without many provisions; they had not many
waggons with them. The people in the city are hungry; they will all eat
heartily, and the horses will soon devour the hay. I don’t know whether
their saints will fling them down anything from heaven with hayforks;
God only knows that though there are a great many Catholic priests among
them. By one means or another the people will seek to leave the city.
Divide yourselves, therefore, into three divisions, and take up your
posts before the three gates; five kurens before the principal gate, and
three kurens before each of the others. Let the Dadikivsky and Korsunsky
kurens go into ambush and Taras and his men into ambush too. The
Titarevsky and Timoschevsky kurens are to guard the baggage train on
the right flank, the Scherbinovsky and Steblikivsky on the left, and to
select from their ranks the most daring young men to face the foe. The
Lyakhs are of a restless nature and cannot endure a siege, and perhaps
this very day they will sally forth from the gates. Let each hetman
inspect his kuren; those whose ranks are not full are to be recruited
from the remains of the Pereyaslavsky kuren. Inspect them all anew. Give
a loaf and a beaker to each Cossack to strengthen him. But surely every
one must be satiated from last night; for all stuffed themselves so
that, to tell the truth, I am only surprised that no one burst in the
night. And here is one further command: if any Jew spirit-seller sells a
Cossack so much as a single jug of brandy, I will nail pig’s ears to his
very forehead, the dog, and hang him up by his feet. To work, brothers,
to work!”

Thus did the Koschevoi give his orders. All bowed to their girdles, and
without putting on their caps set out for their waggons and camps. It
was only when they had gone some distance that they covered themselves.
All began to equip themselves: they tested their swords, poured powder
from the sacks into their powder-flasks, drew up and arranged the
waggons, and looked to their horses.

On his way to his band, Taras wondered what had become of Andrii; could
he have been captured and found while asleep with the others? But no,
Andrii was not the man to go alive into captivity. Yet he was not to be
seen among the slaughtered Cossacks. Taras pondered deeply and went past
his men without hearing that some one had for some time been calling
him by name. “Who wants me?” he said, finally arousing himself from
his reflections. Before him stood the Jew, Yankel. “Lord colonel! lord
colonel!” said the Jew in a hasty and broken voice, as though desirous
of revealing something not utterly useless, “I have been in the city,
lord colonel!”

Taras looked at the Jew, and wondered how he had succeeded in getting
into the city. “What enemy took you there?”

“I will tell you at once,” said Yankel. “As soon as I heard the uproar
this morning, when the Cossacks began to fire, I seized my caftan and,
without stopping to put it on, ran at the top of my speed, thrusting
my arms in on the way, because I wanted to know as soon as possible the
cause of the noise and why the Cossacks were firing at dawn. I ran to
the very gate of the city, at the moment when the last of the army was
passing through. I looked, and in command of the rearguard was Cornet
Galyandovitch. He is a man well known to me; he has owed me a hundred
ducats these three years past. I ran after him, as though to claim the
debt of him, and so entered the city with them.”

“You entered the city, and wanted him to settle the debt!” said Bulba;
“and he did not order you to be hung like a dog on the spot?”

“By heavens, he did want to hang me,” replied the Jew; “his servants had
already seized me and thrown a rope about my neck. But I besought the
noble lord, and said that I would wait for the money as long as his
lordship liked, and promised to lend him more if he would only help me
to collect my debts from the other nobles; for I can tell my lord that
the noble cornet had not a ducat in his pocket, although he has farms
and estates and four castles and steppe-land that extends clear to
Schklof; but he has not a penny, any more than a Cossack. If the Breslau
Jews had not equipped him, he would never have gone on this campaign.
That was the reason he did not go to the Diet.”

“What did you do in the city? Did you see any of our people?”

“Certainly, there are many of them there: Itzok, Rachum, Samuel,
Khaivalkh, Evrei the pawnbroker--”

“May they die, the dogs!” shouted Taras in a rage. “Why do you name your
Jewish tribe to me? I ask you about our Zaporozhtzi.”

“I saw none of our Zaporozhtzi; I saw only Lord Andrii.”

“You saw Andrii!” shouted Bulba. “What is he doing? Where did you see
him? In a dungeon? in a pit? dishonoured? bound?”

“Who would dare to bind Lord Andrii? now he is so grand a knight.
I hardly recognised him. Gold on his shoulders and his belt, gold
everywhere about him; as the sun shines in spring, when every bird
twitters and sings in the orchard, so he shines, all gold. And his
horse, which the Waiwode himself gave him, is the very best; that horse
alone is worth two hundred ducats.”

Bulba was petrified. “Why has he put on foreign garments?”

“He put them on because they were finer. And he rides about, and the
others ride about, and he teaches them, and they teach him; like the
very grandest Polish noble.”

“Who forced him to do this?”

“I should not say that he had been forced. Does not my lord know that he
went over to them of his own free will?”

“Who went over?”

“Lord Andrii.”

“Went where?”

“Went over to their side; he is now a thorough foreigner.”

“You lie, you hog’s ear!”

“How is it possible that I should lie? Am I a fool, that I should lie?
Would I lie at the risk of my head? Do not I know that Jews are hung
like dogs if they lie to nobles?”

“Then it means, according to you, he has betrayed his native land and
his faith?”

“I do not say that he has betrayed anything; I merely said that he had
gone over to the other side.”

“You lie, you imp of a Jew! Such a deed was never known in a Christian
land. You are making a mistake, dog!”

“May the grass grow upon the threshold of my house if I am mistaken!
May every one spit upon the grave of my father, my mother, my father’s
father, and my mother’s father, if I am mistaken! If my lord wished I
can even tell him why he went over to them.”

“Why?”

“The Waiwode has a beautiful daughter. Holy Father! what a beauty!”
 Here the Jew tried his utmost to express beauty by extending his hands,
screwing up his eyes, and twisting his mouth to one side as though
tasting something on trial.

“Well, what of that?”

“He did it all for her, he went there for her sake. When a man is in
love, then all things are the same to him; like the sole of a shoe which
you can bend in any direction if you soak it in water.”

Bulba reflected deeply. He remembered the power of weak woman--how
she had ruined many a strong man, and that this was the weak point in
Andrii’s nature--and stood for some time in one spot, as though rooted
there. “Listen, my lord, I will tell my lord all,” said the Jew. “As
soon as I heard the uproar, and saw them going through the city gate,
I seized a string of pearls, in case of any emergency. For there
are beauties and noble-women there; ‘and if there are beauties and
noble-women,’ I said to myself, ‘they will buy pearls, even if they have
nothing to eat.’ And, as soon as ever the cornet’s servants had set me
at liberty, I hastened to the Waiwode’s residence to sell my pearls. I
asked all manner of questions of the lady’s Tatar maid; the wedding
is to take place immediately, as soon as they have driven off the
Zaporozhtzi. Lord Andrii has promised to drive off the Zaporovians.”

“And you did not kill him on the spot, you devil’s brat?” shouted Bulba.

“Why should I kill him? He went over of his own free will. What is his
crime? He liked it better there, so he went there.”

“And you saw him face to face?”

“Face to face, by heavens! such a magnificent warrior! more splendid
than all the rest. God bless him, he knew me, and when I approached him
he said at once--”

“What did he say?”

“He said--First he beckoned me with his finger, and then he said,
‘Yankel!’ Lord Andrii said, ‘Yankel, tell my father, tell my brother,
tell all the Cossacks, all the Zaporozhtzi, everybody, that my father
is no longer my father, nor my brother my brother, nor my comrades my
comrades; and that I will fight them all, all.’”

“You lie, imp of a Jew!” shouted Taras, beside himself. “You lie, dog! I
will kill you, Satan! Get away from here! if not, death awaits you!” So
saying, Taras drew his sword.

The terrified Jew set off instantly, at the full speed of his thin,
shrunken legs. He ran for a long time, without looking back, through the
Cossack camp, and then far out on the deserted plain, although Taras
did not chase him at all, reasoning that it was foolish to thus vent his
rage on the first person who presented himself.

Then he recollected that he had seen Andrii on the previous night
traversing the camp with some woman, and he bowed his grey head. Still
he would not believe that so disgraceful a thing could have happened,
and that his own son had betrayed his faith and soul.

Finally he placed his men in ambush in a wood--the only one which had
not been burned by the Cossacks--whilst the Zaporozhians, foot and
horse, set out for the three gates by three different roads. One
after another the kurens turned out: Oumansky, Popovichesky, Kanevsky,
Steblikovsky, Nezamaikovsky, Gurgazif, Titarevsky, Tomischevsky. The
Pereyaslavsky kuren alone was wanting. Its Cossacks had smoked and drank
to their destruction. Some awoke to find themselves bound in the enemy’s
hands; others never woke at all but passed in their sleep into the
damp earth; and the hetman Khlib himself, minus his trousers and
accoutrements, found himself in the camp of the Lyakhs.

The uproar among the Zaporozhtzi was heard in the city. All the besieged
hastened to the ramparts, and a lively scene was presented to the
Cossacks. The handsome Polish heroes thronged on the wall. The brazen
helmets of some shone like the sun, and were adorned with feathers white
as swans. Others wore pink and blue caps, drooping over one ear, and
caftans with the sleeves thrown back, embroidered with gold. Their
weapons were richly mounted and very costly, as were their equipments.
In the front rank the Budzhakovsky colonel stood proudly in his red cap
ornamented with gold. He was a tall, stout man, and his rich and ample
caftan hardly covered him. Near the side gate stood another colonel. He
was a dried-up little man, but his small, piercing eyes gleamed sharply
from under his thick and shaggy brows, and as he turned quickly on all
sides, motioning boldly with his thin, withered hand, and giving out his
orders, it was evident that, in spite of his little body, he understood
military science thoroughly. Not far from him stood a very tall cornet,
with thick moustaches and a highly-coloured complexion--a noble fond
of strong mead and hearty revelry. Behind them were many nobles who had
equipped themselves, some with their own ducats, some from the royal
treasury, some with money obtained from the Jews, by pawning everything
they found in their ancestral castles. Many too were parasites, whom the
senators took with them to dinners for show, and who stole silver cups
from the table and the sideboard, and when the day’s display was over
mounted some noble’s coach-box and drove his horses. There were folk of
all kinds there. Sometimes they had not enough to drink, but all were
equipped for war.

The Cossack ranks stood quietly before the walls. There was no gold
about them, save where it shone on the hilt of a sword or the mountings
of a gun. The Zaporozhtzi were not given to decking themselves out
gaily for battle: their coats-of-mail and garments were plain, and their
black-bordered red-crowned caps showed darkly in the distance.

Two men--Okhrim Nasch and Mikiga Golokopuitenko--advanced from the
Zaporozhian ranks. One was quite young, the other older; both fierce in
words, and not bad specimens of Cossacks in action. They were followed
by Demid Popovitch, a strongly built Cossack who had been hanging
about the Setch for a long time, after having been in Adrianople and
undergoing a great deal in the course of his life. He had been burned,
and had escaped to the Setch with blackened head and singed moustaches.
But Popovitch recovered, let his hair grow, raised moustaches thick
and black as pitch, and was a stout fellow, according to his own biting
speech.

“Red jackets on all the army, but I should like to know what sort of men
are under them,” he cried.

“I will show you,” shouted the stout colonel from above. “I will capture
the whole of you. Surrender your guns and horses, slaves. Did you see
how I caught your men?--Bring out a Zaporozhetz on the wall for them to
see.”

And they let out a Zaporozhetz bound with stout cords.

Before them stood Khlib, the hetman of the Pereyaslavsky kuren, without
his trousers or accoutrements, just as they had captured him in his
drunken sleep. He bowed his head in shame before the Cossacks at his
nakedness, and at having been thus taken like a dog, while asleep. His
hair had turned grey in one night.

“Grieve not, Khlib: we will rescue you,” shouted the Cossacks from
below.

“Grieve not, friend,” cried the hetman Borodaty. “It is not your fault
that they caught you naked: that misfortune might happen to any man. But
it is a disgrace to them that they should have exposed you to dishonour,
and not covered your nakedness decently.”

“You seem to be a brave army when you have people who are asleep to
fight,” remarked Golokopuitenko, glancing at the ramparts.

“Wait a bit, we’ll singe your top-knots for you!” was the reply.

“I should like to see them singe our scalp locks!” said Popovitch,
prancing about before them on his horse; and then, glancing at his
comrades, he added, “Well, perhaps the Lyakhs speak the truth: if that
fat-bellied fellow leads them, they will all find a good shelter.”

“Why do you think they will find a good shelter?” asked the Cossacks,
knowing that Popovitch was probably preparing some repartee.

“Because the whole army will hide behind him; and the devil himself
couldn’t help you to reach any one with your spear through that belly of
his!”

The Cossacks laughed, some of them shaking their heads and saying, “What
a fellow Popovitch is for a joke! but now--” But the Cossacks had not
time to explain what they meant by that “now.”

“Fall back, fall back quickly from the wall!” shouted the Koschevoi,
seeing that the Lyakhs could not endure these biting words, and that the
colonel was waving his hand.

The Cossacks had hardly retreated from the wall before the grape-shot
rained down. On the ramparts all was excitement, and the grey-haired
Waiwode himself appeared on horseback. The gates opened and the garrison
sallied forth. In the van came hussars in orderly ranks, behind them the
horsemen in armour, and then the heroes in brazen helmets; after whom
rode singly the highest nobility, each man accoutred as he pleased.
These haughty nobles would not mingle in the ranks with others, and
such of them as had no commands rode apart with their own immediate
following. Next came some more companies, and after these the cornet,
then more files of men, and the stout colonel; and in the rear of the
whole force the little colonel.

“Keep them from forming in line!” shouted the Koschevoi; “let all the
kurens attack them at once! Block the other gate! Titarevsky kuren, fall
on one flank! Dyadovsky kuren, charge on the other! Attack them in
the rear, Kukubenko and Palivod! Check them, break them!” The Cossacks
attacked on all sides, throwing the Lyakhs into confusion and getting
confused themselves. They did not even give the foe time to fire, it
came to swords and spears at once. All fought hand to hand, and each man
had an opportunity to distinguish himself.

Demid Popovitch speared three soldiers, and struck two of the highest
nobles from their saddles, saying, “Good horses! I have long wanted
just such horses.” And he drove the horses far afield, shouting to the
Cossacks standing about to catch them. Then he rushed again into the
fray, fell upon the dismounted nobles, slew one, and throwing his lasso
round the neck of the other, tied him to his saddle and dragged him over
the plain, after having taken from him his sword from its rich hilt and
removed from his girdle a whole bag of ducats.

Kobita, a good Cossack, though still very young, attacked one of the
bravest men in the Polish army, and they fought long together. They
grappled, and the Cossack mastering his foe, and throwing him down,
stabbed him in the breast with his sharp Turkish knife. But he did not
look out for himself, and a bullet struck him on the temple. The man who
struck him down was the most distinguished of the nobles, the handsomest
scion of an ancient and princely race. Like a stately poplar, he
bestrode his dun-coloured steed, and many heroic deeds did he perform.
He cut two Cossacks in twain. Fedor Korzh, the brave Cossack, he
overthrew together with his horse, shooting the steed and picking off
the rider with his spear. Many heads and hands did he hew off; and slew
Kobita by sending a bullet through his temple.

“There’s a man I should like to measure strength with!” shouted
Kukubenko, the hetman of the Nezamaikovsky kuren. Spurring his horse,
he dashed straight at the Pole’s back, shouting loudly, so that all who
stood near shuddered at the unearthly yell. The boyard tried to wheel
his horse suddenly and face him, but his horse would not obey him;
scared by the terrible cry, it bounded aside, and the Lyakh received
Kukubenko’s fire. The ball struck him in the shoulder-blade, and he
rolled from his saddle. Even then he did not surrender and strove to
deal his enemy a blow, but his hand was weak. Kukubenko, taking his
heavy sword in both hands, thrust it through his mouth. The sword,
breaking out two teeth, cut the tongue in twain, pierced the windpipe,
and penetrated deep into the earth, nailing him to the ground. His
noble blood, red as viburnum berries beside the river, welled forth in
a stream staining his yellow, gold-embroidered caftan. But Kukubenko had
already left him, and was forcing his way, with his Nezamaikovsky kuren,
towards another group.

“He has left untouched rich plunder,” said Borodaty, hetman of the
Oumansky kuren, leaving his men and going to the place where the
nobleman killed by Kukubenko lay. “I have killed seven nobles with my
own hand, but such spoil I never beheld on any one.” Prompted by greed,
Borodaty bent down to strip off the rich armour, and had already secured
the Turkish knife set with precious stones, and taken from the foe’s
belt a purse of ducats, and from his breast a silver case containing a
maiden’s curl, cherished tenderly as a love-token. But he heeded not how
the red-faced cornet, whom he had already once hurled from the saddle
and given a good blow as a remembrance, flew upon him from behind. The
cornet swung his arm with all his might, and brought his sword down upon
Borodaty’s bent neck. Greed led to no good: the head rolled off, and the
body fell headless, sprinkling the earth with blood far and wide; whilst
the Cossack soul ascended, indignant and surprised at having so soon
quitted so stout a frame. The cornet had not succeeded in seizing the
hetman’s head by its scalp-lock, and fastening it to his saddle, before
an avenger had arrived.

As a hawk floating in the sky, sweeping in great circles with his mighty
wings, suddenly remains poised in air, in one spot, and thence darts
down like an arrow upon the shrieking quail, so Taras’s son Ostap darted
suddenly upon the cornet and flung a rope about his neck with one cast.
The cornet’s red face became a still deeper purple as the cruel
noose compressed his throat, and he tried to use his pistol; but his
convulsively quivering hand could not aim straight, and the bullet flew
wild across the plain. Ostap immediately unfastened a silken cord which
the cornet carried at his saddle bow to bind prisoners, and having with
it bound him hand and foot, attached the cord to his saddle and dragged
him across the field, calling on all the Cossacks of the Oumansky kuren
to come and render the last honours to their hetman.

When the Oumantzi heard that the hetman of their kuren, Borodaty, was
no longer among the living, they deserted the field of battle, rushed to
secure his body, and consulted at once as to whom they should select as
their leader. At length they said, “But why consult? It is impossible to
find a better leader than Bulba’s son, Ostap; he is younger than all
the rest of us, it is true; but his judgment is equal to that of the
eldest.”

Ostap, taking off his cap, thanked his comrades for the honour, and did
not decline it on the ground of youth or inexperience, knowing that war
time is no fitting season for that; but instantly ordered them straight
to the fray, and soon showed them that not in vain had they chosen him
as hetman. The Lyakhs felt that the matter was growing too hot for them,
and retreated across the plain in order to form again at its other
end. But the little colonel signalled to the reserve of four hundred,
stationed at the gate, and these rained shot upon the Cossacks. To
little purpose, however, their shot only taking effect on the Cossack
oxen, which were gazing wildly upon the battle. The frightened oxen,
bellowing with fear, dashed into the camp, breaking the line of waggons
and trampling on many. But Taras, emerging from ambush at the moment
with his troops, headed off the infuriated cattle, which, startled by
his yell, swooped down upon the Polish troops, overthrew the cavalry,
and crushed and dispersed them all.

“Thank you, oxen!” cried the Zaporozhtzi; “you served us on the march,
and now you serve us in war.” And they attacked the foe with
fresh vigour killing many of the enemy. Several distinguished
themselves--Metelitza and Schilo, both of the Pisarenki, Vovtuzenko, and
many others. The Lyakhs seeing that matters were going badly for them
flung away their banners and shouted for the city gates to be opened.
With a screeching sound the iron-bound gates swung open and received the
weary and dust-covered riders, flocking like sheep into a fold. Many of
the Zaporozhtzi would have pursued them, but Ostap stopped his Oumantzi,
saying, “Farther, farther from the walls, brother gentles! it is
not well to approach them too closely.” He spoke truly; for from the
ramparts the foe rained and poured down everything which came to
hand, and many were struck. At that moment the Koschevoi came up and
congratulated him, saying, “Here is the new hetman leading the army like
an old one!” Old Bulba glanced round to see the new hetman, and beheld
Ostap sitting on his horse at the head of the Oumantzi, his cap on one
side and the hetman’s staff in his hand. “Who ever saw the like!” he
exclaimed; and the old man rejoiced, and began to thank all the Oumantzi
for the honour they had conferred upon his son.

The Cossacks retired, preparing to go into camp; but the Lyakhs showed
themselves again on the city ramparts with tattered mantles. Many rich
caftans were spotted with blood, and dust covered the brazen helmets.

“Have you bound us?” cried the Zaporozhtzi to them from below.

“We will do so!” shouted the big colonel from above, showing them a
rope. The weary, dust-covered warriors ceased not to threaten, nor the
most zealous on both sides to exchange fierce remarks.

At length all dispersed. Some, weary with battle, stretched themselves
out to rest; others sprinkled their wounds with earth, and bound them
with kerchiefs and rich stuffs captured from the enemy. Others, who were
fresher, began to inspect the corpses and to pay them the last honours.
They dug graves with swords and spears, brought earth in their caps and
the skirts of their garments, laid the Cossacks’ bodies out decently,
and covered them up in order that the ravens and eagles might not claw
out their eyes. But binding the bodies of the Lyakhs, as they came
to hand, to the tails of horses, they let these loose on the plain,
pursuing them and beating them for some time. The infuriated horses flew
over hill and hollow, through ditch and brook, dragging the bodies of
the Poles, all covered with blood and dust, along the ground.

All the kurens sat down in circles in the evening, and talked for a long
time of their deeds, and of the achievements which had fallen to the
share of each, for repetition by strangers and posterity. It was long
before they lay down to sleep; and longer still before old Taras,
meditating what it might signify that Andrii was not among the foe,
lay down. Had the Judas been ashamed to come forth against his own
countrymen? or had the Jew been deceiving him, and had he simply gone
into the city against his will? But then he recollected that there were
no bounds to a woman’s influence upon Andrii’s heart; he felt ashamed,
and swore a mighty oath to himself against the fair Pole who had
bewitched his son. And he would have kept his oath. He would not have
looked at her beauty; he would have dragged her forth by her thick and
splendid hair; he would have trailed her after him over all the plain,
among all the Cossacks. Her beautiful shoulders and bosom, white as
fresh-fallen snow upon the mountain-tops, would have been crushed to
earth and covered with blood and dust. Her lovely body would have been
torn to pieces. But Taras, who did not foresee what God prepares for
man on the morrow, began to grow drowsy, and finally fell asleep. The
Cossacks still talked among themselves; and the sober sentinel stood all
night long beside the fire without blinking and keeping a good look out
on all sides.



CHAPTER VIII

The sun had not ascended midway in the heavens when all the army
assembled in a group. News had come from the Setch that during the
Cossacks’ absence the Tatars had plundered it completely, unearthed the
treasures which were kept concealed in the ground, killed or carried
into captivity all who had remained behind, and straightway set out,
with all the flocks and droves of horses they had collected, for
Perekop. One Cossack only, Maksin Galodukha, had broken loose from the
Tatars’ hands, stabbed the Mirza, seized his bag of sequins, and on
a Tatar horse, in Tatar garments, had fled from his pursuers for
two nights and a day and a half, ridden his horse to death, obtained
another, killed that one too, and arrived at the Zaporozhian camp upon
a third, having learned upon the road that the Zaporozhtzi were before
Dubno. He could only manage to tell them that this misfortune had taken
place; but as to how it happened--whether the remaining Zaporozhtzi had
been carousing after Cossack fashion, and had been carried drunk into
captivity, and how the Tatars were aware of the spot where the treasures
of the army were concealed--he was too exhausted to say. Extremely
fatigued, his body swollen, and his face scorched and weatherbeaten, he
had fallen down, and a deep sleep had overpowered him.

In such cases it was customary for the Cossacks to pursue the robbers at
once, endeavouring to overtake them on the road; for, let the prisoners
once be got to the bazaars of Asia Minor, Smyrna, or the island of
Crete, and God knows in what places the tufted heads of Zaporozhtzi
might not be seen. This was the occasion of the Cossacks’ assembling.
They all stood to a man with their caps on; for they had not met to
listen to the commands of their hetman, but to take counsel together as
equals among equals. “Let the old men first advise,” was shouted to the
crowd. “Let the Koschevoi give his opinion,” cried others.

The Koschevoi, taking off his cap and speaking not as commander, but as
a comrade among comrades, thanked all the Cossacks for the honour, and
said, “There are among us many experienced men and much wisdom; but
since you have thought me worthy, my counsel is not to lose time in
pursuing the Tatars, for you know yourselves what the Tatar is. He will
not pause with his stolen booty to await our coming, but will vanish in
a twinkling, so that you can find no trace of him. Therefore my advice
is to go. We have had good sport here. The Lyakhs now know what Cossacks
are. We have avenged our faith to the extent of our ability; there is
not much to satisfy greed in the famished city, and so my advice is to
go.”

“To go,” rang heavily through the Zaporozhian kurens. But such words
did not suit Taras Bulba at all; and he brought his frowning, iron-grey
brows still lower down over his eyes, brows like bushes growing on dark
mountain heights, whose crowns are suddenly covered with sharp northern
frost.

“No, Koschevoi, your counsel is not good,” said he. “You cannot say
that. You have evidently forgotten that those of our men captured by the
Lyakhs will remain prisoners. You evidently wish that we should not heed
the first holy law of comradeship; that we should leave our brethren to
be flayed alive, or carried about through the towns and villages after
their Cossack bodies have been quartered, as was done with the hetman
and the bravest Russian warriors in the Ukraine. Have the enemy not
desecrated the holy things sufficiently without that? What are we? I
ask you all what sort of a Cossack is he who would desert his comrade in
misfortune, and let him perish like a dog in a foreign land? If it has
come to such a pass that no one has any confidence in Cossack honour,
permitting men to spit upon his grey moustache, and upbraid him with
offensive words, then let no one blame me; I will remain here alone.”

All the Zaporozhtzi who were there wavered.

“And have you forgotten, brave comrades,” said the Koschevoi, “that
the Tatars also have comrades of ours in their hands; that if we do not
rescue them now their lives will be sacrificed in eternal imprisonment
among the infidels, which is worse than the most cruel death? Have you
forgotten that they now hold all our treasure, won by Christian blood?”

The Cossacks reflected, not knowing what to say. None of them wished to
deserve ill repute. Then there stepped out in front of them the oldest
in years of all the Zaporozhian army, Kasyan Bovdug. He was respected by
all the Cossacks. Twice had he been chosen Koschevoi, and had also been
a stout warrior; but he had long been old, and had ceased to go upon
raids. Neither did the old man like to give advice to any one; but loved
to lie upon his side in the circle of Cossacks, listening to tales
of every occurrence on the Cossack marches. He never joined in the
conversation, but only listened, and pressed the ashes with his finger
in his short pipe, which never left his mouth; and would sit so long
with his eyes half open, that the Cossacks never knew whether he were
asleep or still listening. He always stayed at home during their raids,
but this time the old man had joined the army. He had waved his hand in
Cossack fashion, and said, “Wherever you go, I am going too; perhaps I
may be of some service to the Cossack nation.” All the Cossacks became
silent when he now stepped forward before the assembly, for it was long
since any speech from him had been heard. Every one wanted to know what
Bovdug had to say.

“It is my turn to speak a word, brother gentles,” he began: “listen,
my children, to an old man. The Koschevoi spoke well as the head of the
Cossack army; being bound to protect it, and in respect to the treasures
of the army he could say nothing wiser. That is so! Let that be my first
remark; but now listen to my second. And this is my second remark: Taras
spoke even more truly. God grant him many years, and that such leaders
may be plentiful in the Ukraine! A Cossack’s first duty and honour is to
guard comradeship. Never in all my life, brother gentles, have I heard
of any Cossack deserting or betraying any of his comrades. Both those
made captive at the Setch and these taken here are our comrades. Whether
they be few or many, it makes no difference; all are our comrades,
and all are dear to us. So this is my speech: Let those to whom the
prisoners captured by the Tatars are dear set out after the Tatars; and
let those to whom the captives of the Poles are dear, and who do
not care to desert a righteous cause, stay behind. The Koschevoi, in
accordance with his duty, will accompany one half in pursuit of the
Tatars, and the other half can choose a hetman to lead them. But if
you will heed the words of an old man, there is no man fitter to be
the commanding hetman than Taras Bulba. Not one of us is his equal in
heroism.”

Thus spoke Bovdug, and paused; and all the Cossacks rejoiced that the
old man had in this manner brought them to an agreement. All flung up
their caps and shouted, “Thanks, father! He kept silence for a long,
long time, but he has spoken at last. Not in vain did he say, when we
prepared for this expedition, that he might be useful to the Cossack
nation: even so it has come to pass!”

“Well, are you agreed upon anything?” asked the Koschevoi.

“We are all agreed!” cried the Cossacks.

“Then the council is at an end?”

“At an end!” cried the Cossacks.

“Then listen to the military command, children,” said the Koschevoi,
stepping forward, and putting on his cap; whilst all the Cossacks took
off theirs, and stood with uncovered heads, and with eyes fixed upon the
earth, as was always the custom among them when the leader prepared to
speak. “Now divide yourselves, brother gentles! Let those who wish to go
stand on the right, and those who wish to stay, on the left. Where the
majority of a kuren goes there its officers are to go: if the minority
of a kuren goes over, it must be added to another kuren.”

Then they began to take up their positions, some to the right and some
to the left. Whither the majority of a kuren went thither the hetman
went also; and the minority attached itself to another kuren. It came
out pretty even on both sides. Those who wished to remain were nearly
the whole of the Nezamaikovsky kuren, the entire Oumansky kuren, the
entire Kanevsky kuren, and the larger half of the Popovitchsky, the
Timoschevsky and the Steblikivsky kurens. All the rest preferred to go
in pursuit of the Tatars. On both sides there were many stout and brave
Cossacks. Among those who decided to follow the Tatars were Tcherevaty,
and those good old Cossacks Pokotipole, Lemisch, and Prokopovitch Koma.
Demid Popovitch also went with that party, because he could not sit long
in one place: he had tried his hand on the Lyakhs and wanted to try it
on the Tatars also. The hetmans of kurens were Nostiugan, Pokruischka,
Nevnimsky, and numerous brave and renowned Cossacks who wished to test
their swords and muscles in an encounter with the Tatars. There were
likewise many brave Cossacks among those who preferred to remain,
including the kuren hetmans, Demitrovitch, Kukubenko, Vertikhvist,
Balan, and Ostap Bulba. Besides these there were plenty of stout and
distinguished warriors: Vovtuzenko, Tcherevitchenko, Stepan Guska,
Okhrim Guska, Vikola Gonstiy, Zadorozhniy, Metelitza, Ivan Zakrutiguba,
Mosiy Pisarenko, and still another Pisarenko, and many others. They were
all great travellers; they had visited the shores of Anatolia, the salt
marshes and steppes of the Crimea, all the rivers great and small which
empty into the Dnieper, and all the fords and islands of the Dnieper;
they had been in Moldavia, Wallachia, and Turkey; they had sailed all
over the Black Sea, in their double-ruddered Cossack boats; they had
attacked with fifty skiffs in line the tallest and richest ships; they
had sunk many a Turkish galley, and had burnt much, very much powder in
their day; more than once they had made foot-bandages from velvets and
rich stuffs; more than once they had beaten buckles for their girdles
out of sequins. Every one of them had drunk and revelled away what would
have sufficed any other for a whole lifetime, and had nothing to show
for it. They spent it all, like Cossacks, in treating all the world, and
in hiring music that every one might be merry. Even now few of them
had amassed any property: some caskets, cups, and bracelets were hidden
beneath the reeds on the islands of the Dnieper in order that the Tatars
might not find them if by mishap they should succeed in falling suddenly
on the Setch; but it would have been difficult for the Tatars to find
them, for the owners themselves had forgotten where they had buried
them. Such were the Cossacks who wished to remain and take vengeance on
the Lyakhs for their trusty comrades and the faith of Christ. The old
Cossack Bovdug wished also to remain with them, saying, “I am not of
an age to pursue the Tatars, but this is a place to meet a good Cossack
death. I have long prayed God that when my life was to end I might end
it in battle for a holy and Christian cause. And so it has come to
pass. There can be no more glorious end in any other place for the aged
Cossack.”

When they had all separated, and were ranged in two lines on opposite
sides, the Koschevoi passed through the ranks, and said, “Well, brother
gentles, are the two parties satisfied with each other?”

“All satisfied, father!” replied the Cossacks.

“Then kiss each other, and bid each other farewell; for God knows
whether you will ever see each other alive again. Obey your hetman,
but you know yourselves what you have to do: you know yourselves what
Cossack honour requires.”

And all the Cossacks kissed each other. The hetmans first began it.
Stroking down their grey moustaches, they kissed each other, making the
sign of the cross, and then, grasping hands firmly, wanted to ask of
each other, “Well, brother, shall we see one another again or not?” But
they did not ask the question: they kept silence, and both grey-heads
were lost in thought. Then the Cossacks took leave of each other to the
last man, knowing that there was a great deal of work before them all.
Yet they were not obliged to part at once: they would have to wait until
night in order not to let the Lyakhs perceive the diminution in the
Cossack army. Then all went off, by kurens, to dine.

After dinner, all who had the prospect of the journey before them lay
down to rest, and fell into a deep and long sleep, as though foreseeing
that it was the last sleep they should enjoy in such security. They
slept even until sunset; and when the sun had gone down and it had grown
somewhat dusky, began to tar the waggons. All being in readiness, they
sent the waggons ahead, and having pulled off their caps once more to
their comrades, quietly followed the baggage train. The cavalry,
without shouts or whistles to the horses, tramped lightly after the
foot-soldiers, and all soon vanished in the darkness. The only sound was
the dull thud of horses’ hoofs, or the squeak of some wheel which had
not got into working order, or had not been properly tarred amid the
darkness.

Their comrades stood for some time waving their hands, though nothing
was visible. But when they returned to their camping places and saw by
the light of the gleaming stars that half the waggons were gone,
and many of their comrades, each man’s heart grew sad; all became
involuntarily pensive, and drooped their heads towards the earth.

Taras saw how troubled were the Cossack ranks, and that sadness,
unsuited to brave men, had begun to quietly master the Cossack hearts;
but he remained silent. He wished to give them time to become accustomed
to the melancholy caused by their parting from their comrades; but,
meanwhile, he was preparing to rouse them at one blow, by a loud
battle-cry in Cossack fashion, in order that good cheer might return
to the soul of each with greater strength than before. Of this only the
Slav nature, a broad, powerful nature, which is to others what the sea
is to small rivulets, is capable. In stormy times it roars and thunders,
raging, and raising such waves as weak rivers cannot throw up; but
when it is windless and quiet, it spreads its boundless glassy surface,
clearer than any river, a constant delight to the eye.

Taras ordered his servants to unload one of the waggons which stood
apart. It was larger and stronger than any other in the Cossack camp;
two stout tires encircled its mighty wheels. It was heavily laden,
covered with horsecloths and strong wolf-skins, and firmly bound with
tightly drawn tarred ropes. In the waggon were flasks and casks of
good old wine, which had long lain in Taras’s cellar. He had brought it
along, in case a moment should arrive when some deed awaited them worthy
of being handed down to posterity, so that each Cossack, to the very
last man, might quaff it, and be inspired with sentiments fitting to the
occasion. On receiving his command, the servants hastened to the waggon,
hewed asunder the stout ropes with their swords, removed the thick
wolf-skins and horsecloths, and drew forth the flasks and casks.

“Take them all,” said Bulba, “all there are; take them, that every one
may be supplied. Take jugs, or the pails for watering the horses; take
sleeve or cap; but if you have nothing else, then hold your two hands
under.”

All the Cossacks seized something: one took a jug, another a pail,
another a sleeve, another a cap, and another held both hands. Taras’s
servants, making their way among the ranks, poured out for all from the
casks and flasks. But Taras ordered them not to drink until he should
give the signal for all to drink together. It was evident that he wished
to say something. He knew that however good in itself the wine might be
and however fitted to strengthen the spirit of man, yet, if a suitable
speech were linked with it, then the strength of the wine and of the
spirit would be doubled.

“I treat you, brother gentles,” thus spoke Bulba, “not in honour of
your having made me hetman, however great such an honour may be, nor in
honour of our parting from our comrades. To do both would be fitting at
a fitting time; but the moment before us is not such a time. The
work before us is great both in labour and in glory for the Cossacks.
Therefore let us drink all together, let us drink before all else to the
holy orthodox faith, that the day may finally come when it may be spread
over all the world, and that everywhere there may be but one faith,
and that all Mussulmans may become Christians. And let us also drink
together to the Setch, that it may stand long for the ruin of the
Mussulmans, and that every year there may issue forth from it young men,
each better, each handsomer than the other. And let us drink to our own
glory, that our grandsons and their sons may say that there were once
men who were not ashamed of comradeship, and who never betrayed each
other. Now to the faith, brother gentles, to the faith!”

“To the faith!” cried those standing in the ranks hard by, with thick
voices. “To the faith!” those more distant took up the cry; and all,
both young and old, drank to the faith.

“To the Setch!” said Taras, raising his hand high above his head.

“To the Setch!” echoed the foremost ranks. “To the Setch!” said the
old men, softly, twitching their grey moustaches; and eagerly as young
hawks, the youths repeated, “To the Setch!” And the distant plain heard
how the Cossacks mentioned their Setch.

“Now a last draught, comrades, to the glory of all Christians now living
in the world!”

And every Cossack drank a last draught to the glory of all Christians in
the world. And among all the ranks in the kurens they long repeated, “To
all the Christians in the world!”

The pails were empty, but the Cossacks still stood with their hands
uplifted. Although the eyes of all gleamed brightly with the wine,
they were thinking deeply. Not of greed or the spoils of war were they
thinking now, nor of who would be lucky enough to get ducats, fine
weapons, embroidered caftans, and Tcherkessian horses; but they
meditated like eagles perched upon the rocky crests of mountains, from
which the distant sea is visible, dotted, as with tiny birds, with
galleys, ships, and every sort of vessel, bounded only by the scarcely
visible lines of shore, with their ports like gnats and their forests
like fine grass. Like eagles they gazed out on all the plain, with their
fate darkling in the distance. All the plain, with its slopes and roads,
will be covered with their white projecting bones, lavishly washed with
their Cossack blood, and strewn with shattered waggons and with broken
swords and spears; the eagles will swoop down and tear out their Cossack
eyes. But there is one grand advantage: not a single noble deed will be
lost, and the Cossack glory will not vanish like the tiniest grain of
powder from a gun-barrel. The guitar-player with grey beard falling upon
his breast, and perhaps a white-headed old man still full of ripe, manly
strength will come, and will speak his low, strong words of them. And
their glory will resound through all the world, and all who are born
thereafter will speak of them; for the word of power is carried afar,
ringing like a booming brazen bell, in which the maker has mingled much
rich, pure silver, that is beautiful sound may be borne far and wide
through the cities, villages, huts, and palaces, summoning all betimes
to holy prayer.



CHAPTER IX

In the city, no one knew that one-half of the Cossacks had gone in
pursuit of the Tatars. From the tower of the town hall the sentinel only
perceived that a part of the waggons had been dragged into the forest;
but it was thought that the Cossacks were preparing an ambush--a view
taken by the French engineer also. Meanwhile, the Koschevoi’s words
proved not unfounded, for a scarcity of provisions arose in the city.
According to a custom of past centuries, the army did not separate as
much as was necessary. They tried to make a sortie; but half of those
who did so were instantly killed by the Cossacks, and the other
half driven back into the city with no results. But the Jews availed
themselves of the opportunity to find out everything; whither and
why the Zaporozhtzi had departed, and with what leaders, and which
particular kurens, and their number, and how many had remained on the
spot, and what they intended to do; in short, within a few minutes all
was known in the city.

The besieged took courage, and prepared to offer battle. Taras had
already divined it from the noise and movement in the city, and hastened
about, making his arrangements, forming his men, and giving orders and
instructions. He ranged the kurens in three camps, surrounding them
with the waggons as bulwarks--a formation in which the Zaporozhtzi were
invincible--ordered two kurens into ambush, and drove sharp stakes,
broken guns, and fragments of spears into a part of the plain, with a
view to forcing the enemy’s cavalry upon it if an opportunity should
present itself. When all was done which was necessary, he made a speech
to the Cossacks, not for the purpose of encouraging and freshening up
their spirits--he knew their souls were strong without that--but simply
because he wished to tell them all he had upon his heart.

“I want to tell you, brother gentles, what our brotherhood is. You have
heard from your fathers and grandfathers in what honour our land has
always been held by all. We made ourselves known to the Greeks, and we
took gold from Constantinople, and our cities were luxurious, and we
had, too, our temples, and our princes--the princes of the Russian
people, our own princes, not Catholic unbelievers. But the Mussulmans
took all; all vanished, and we remained defenceless; yea, like a widow
after the death of a powerful husband: defenceless was our land as well
as ourselves! Such was the time, comrades, when we joined hands in a
brotherhood: that is what our fellowship consists in. There is no more
sacred brotherhood. The father loves his children, the mother loves her
children, the children love their father and mother; but this is not
like that, brothers. The wild beast also loves its young. But a man can
be related only by similarity of mind and not of blood. There have been
brotherhoods in other lands, but never any such brotherhoods as on our
Russian soil. It has happened to many of you to be in foreign lands. You
look: there are people there also, God’s creatures, too; and you talk
with them as with the men of your own country. But when it comes to
saying a hearty word--you will see. No! they are sensible people,
but not the same; the same kind of people, and yet not the same! No,
brothers, to love as the Russian soul loves, is to love not with the
mind or anything else, but with all that God has given, all that is
within you. Ah!” said Taras, and waved his hand, and wiped his grey
head, and twitched his moustache, and then went on: “No, no one else
can love in that way! I know that baseness has now made its way into
our land. Men care only to have their ricks of grain and hay, and their
droves of horses, and that their mead may be safe in their cellars;
they adopt, the devil only knows what Mussulman customs. They speak
scornfully with their tongues. They care not to speak their real
thoughts with their own countrymen. They sell their own things to their
own comrades, like soulless creatures in the market-place. The favour
of a foreign king, and not even a king, but the poor favour of a Polish
magnate, who beats them on the mouth with his yellow shoe, is dearer
to them than all brotherhood. But the very meanest of these vile men,
whoever he may be, given over though he be to vileness and slavishness,
even he, brothers, has some grains of Russian feeling; and they will
assert themselves some day. And then the wretched man will beat his
breast with his hands; and will tear his hair, cursing his vile life
loudly, and ready to expiate his disgraceful deeds with torture. Let
them know what brotherhood means on Russian soil! And if it has come to
the point that a man must die for his brotherhood, it is not fit that
any of them should die so. No! none of them. It is not a fit thing for
their mouse-like natures.”

Thus spoke the hetman; and after he had finished his speech he still
continued to shake his head, which had grown grey in Cossack service.
All who stood there were deeply affected by his speech, which went to
their very hearts. The oldest in the ranks stood motionless, their grey
heads drooping. Tears trickled quietly from their aged eyes; they
wiped them slowly away with their sleeves, and then all, as if with
one consent, waved their hands in the air at the same moment, and shook
their experienced heads. For it was evident that old Taras recalled to
them many of the best-known and finest traits of the heart in a man
who has become wise through suffering, toil, daring, and every earthly
misfortune, or, though unknown to them, of many things felt by young,
pure spirits, to the eternal joy of the parents who bore them.

But the army of the enemy was already marching out of the city, sounding
drums and trumpets; and the nobles, with their arms akimbo, were riding
forth too, surrounded by innumerable servants. The stout colonel gave
his orders, and they began to advance briskly on the Cossack camps,
pointing their matchlocks threateningly. Their eyes flashed, and they
were brilliant with brass armour. As soon as the Cossacks saw that they
had come within gunshot, their matchlocks thundered all together, and
they continued to fire without cessation.

The detonations resounded through the distant fields and meadows,
merging into one continuous roar. The whole plain was shrouded in smoke,
but the Zaporozhtzi continued to fire without drawing breath--the rear
ranks doing nothing but loading the guns and handing them to those in
front, thus creating amazement among the enemy, who could not understand
how the Cossacks fired without reloading. Amid the dense smoke which
enveloped both armies, it could not be seen how first one and then
another dropped: but the Lyakhs felt that the balls flew thickly, and
that the affair was growing hot; and when they retreated to escape from
the smoke and see how matters stood, many were missing from their ranks,
but only two or three out of a hundred were killed on the Cossack
side. Still the Cossacks went on firing off their matchlocks without a
moment’s intermission. Even the foreign engineers were amazed at tactics
heretofore unknown to them, and said then and there, in the presence of
all, “These Zaporozhtzi are brave fellows. That is the way men in other
lands ought to fight.” And they advised that the cannons should at once
be turned on the camps. Heavily roared the iron cannons with their wide
throats; the earth hummed and trembled far and wide, and the smoke lay
twice as heavy over the plain. They smelt the reek of the powder among
the squares and streets in the most distant as well as the nearest
quarters of the city. But those who laid the cannons pointed them too
high, and the shot describing too wide a curve flew over the heads
of the camps, and buried themselves deep in the earth at a distance,
tearing the ground, and throwing the black soil high in the air. At
the sight of such lack of skill the French engineer tore his hair, and
undertook to lay the cannons himself, heeding not the Cossack bullets
which showered round him.

Taras saw from afar that destruction menaced the whole Nezamaikovsky
and Steblikivsky kurens, and gave a ringing shout, “Get away from the
waggons instantly, and mount your horses!” But the Cossacks would not
have succeeded in effecting both these movements if Ostap had not
dashed into the middle of the foe and wrenched the linstocks from six
cannoneers. But he could not wrench them from the other four, for the
Lyakhs drove him back. Meanwhile the foreign captain had taken the lunt
in his own hand to fire the largest cannon, such a cannon as none of the
Cossacks had ever beheld before. It looked horrible with its wide mouth,
and a thousand deaths poured forth from it. And as it thundered,
the three others followed, shaking in fourfold earthquake the dully
responsive earth. Much woe did they cause. For more than one Cossack
wailed the aged mother, beating with bony hands her feeble breast;
more than one widow was left in Glukhof, Nemirof, Chernigof, and other
cities. The loving woman will hasten forth every day to the bazaar,
grasping at all passers-by, scanning the face of each to see if there
be not among them one dearer than all; but though many an army will
pass through the city, never among them will a single one of all their
dearest be.

Half the Nezamaikovsky kuren was as if it had never been. As the hail
suddenly beats down a field where every ear of grain shines like purest
gold, so were they beaten down.

How the Cossacks hastened thither! How they all started up! How raged
Kukubenko, the hetman, when he saw that the best half of his kuren was
no more! He fought his way with his remaining Nezamaikovtzi to the very
midst of the fray, cut down in his wrath, like a cabbage, the first man
he met, hurled many a rider from his steed, piercing both horse and man
with his lance; and making his way to the gunners, captured some of
the cannons. Here he found the hetman of the Oumansky kuren, and Stepan
Guska, hard at work, having already seized the largest cannon. He left
those Cossacks there, and plunged with his own into another mass of the
foe, making a lane through it. Where the Nezamaikovtzi passed there was
a street; where they turned about there was a square as where streets
meet. The foemen’s ranks were visibly thinning, and the Lyakhs
falling in sheaves. Beside the waggons stood Vovtuzenko, and in front
Tcherevitchenko, and by the more distant ones Degtyarenko; and behind
them the kuren hetman, Vertikhvist. Degtyarenko had pierced two Lyakhs
with his spear, and now attacked a third, a stout antagonist. Agile and
strong was the Lyakh, with glittering arms, and accompanied by fifty
followers. He fell fiercely upon Degtyarenko, struck him to the earth,
and, flourishing his sword above him, cried, “There is not one of you
Cossack dogs who has dared to oppose me.”

“Here is one,” said Mosiy Schilo, and stepped forward. He was a
muscular Cossack, who had often commanded at sea, and undergone many
vicissitudes. The Turks had once seized him and his men at Trebizond,
and borne them captives to the galleys, where they bound them hand and
foot with iron chains, gave them no food for a week at a time, and made
them drink sea-water. The poor prisoners endured and suffered all, but
would not renounce their orthodox faith. Their hetman, Mosiy Schilo,
could not bear it: he trampled the Holy Scriptures under foot, wound the
vile turban about his sinful head, and became the favourite of a pasha,
steward of a ship, and ruler over all the galley slaves. The poor slaves
sorrowed greatly thereat, for they knew that if he had renounced his
faith he would be a tyrant, and his hand would be the more heavy and
severe upon them. So it turned out. Mosiy Schilo had them put in new
chains, three to an oar. The cruel fetters cut to the very bone; and
he beat them upon the back. But when the Turks, rejoicing at having
obtained such a servant, began to carouse, and, forgetful of their
law, got all drunk, he distributed all the sixty-four keys among the
prisoners, in order that they might free themselves, fling their chains
and manacles into the sea, and, seizing their swords, in turn kill the
Turks. Then the Cossacks collected great booty, and returned with glory
to their country; and the guitar-players celebrated Mosiy Schilo’s
exploits for a long time. They would have elected him Koschevoi, but
he was a very eccentric Cossack. At one time he would perform some feat
which the most sagacious would never have dreamed of. At another, folly
simply took possession of him, and he drank and squandered everything
away, was in debt to every one in the Setch, and, in addition to that,
stole like a street thief. He carried off a whole Cossack equipment from
a strange kuren by night and pawned it to the tavern-keeper. For this
dishonourable act they bound him to a post in the bazaar, and laid a
club beside him, in order that every one who passed should, according
to the measure of his strength, deal him a blow. But there was not one
Zaporozhetz out of them all to be found who would raise the club against
him, remembering his former services. Such was the Cossack, Mosiy
Schilo.

“Here is one who will kill you, dog!” he said, springing upon the Lyakh.
How they hacked away! their shoulder-plates and breast-plates bent
under their blows. The hostile Lyakh cut through Schilo’s shirt of mail,
reaching the body itself with his blade. The Cossack’s shirt was dyed
purple: but Schilo heeded it not. He brandished his brawny hand, heavy
indeed was that mighty fist, and brought the pommel of his sword down
unexpectedly upon his foeman’s head. The brazen helmet flew into pieces
and the Lyakh staggered and fell; but Schilo went on hacking and cutting
gashes in the body of the stunned man. Kill not utterly thine enemy,
Cossack: look back rather! The Cossack did not turn, and one of the dead
man’s servants plunged a knife into his neck. Schilo turned and tried to
seize him, but he disappeared amid the smoke of the powder. On all sides
rose the roar of matchlocks. Schilo knew that his wound was mortal. He
fell with his hand upon his wound, and said, turning to his comrades,
“Farewell, brother gentles, my comrades! may the holy Russian land stand
forever, and may it be eternally honoured!” And as he closed his failing
eyes, the Cossack soul fled from his grim body. Then Zadorozhniy came
forward with his men, Vertikhvist issued from the ranks, and Balaban
stepped forth.

“What now, gentles?” said Taras, calling to the hetmans by name: “there
is yet powder in the powder-flasks? The Cossack force is not weakened?
the Cossacks do not yield?”

“There is yet powder in the flasks, father; the Cossack force is not
weakened yet: the Cossacks yield not!”

And the Cossacks pressed vigorously on: the foemen’s ranks were
disordered. The short colonel beat the assembly, and ordered eight
painted standards to be displayed to collect his men, who were scattered
over all the plain. All the Lyakhs hastened to the standards. But they
had not yet succeeded in ranging themselves in order, when the hetman
Kukubenko attacked their centre again with his Nezamaikovtzi and fell
straight upon the stout colonel. The colonel could not resist the
attack, and, wheeling his horse about, set out at a gallop; but
Kukubenko pursued him for a considerable distance cross the plain and
prevented him from joining his regiment.

Perceiving this from the kuren on the flank, Stepan Guska set out
after him, lasso in hand, bending his head to his horse’s neck. Taking
advantage of an opportunity, he cast his lasso about his neck at the
first attempt. The colonel turned purple in the face, grasped the cord
with both hands, and tried to break it; but with a powerful thrust
Stepan drove his lance through his body, and there he remained pinned to
the earth. But Guska did not escape his fate. The Cossacks had but time
to look round when they beheld Stepan Guska elevated on four spears. All
the poor fellow succeeded in saying was, “May all our enemies perish,
and may the Russian land rejoice forever!” and then he yielded up his
soul.

The Cossacks glanced around, and there was Metelitza on one side,
entertaining the Lyakhs by dealing blows on the head to one and another;
on the other side, the hetman Nevelitchkiy was attacking with his men;
and Zakrutibuga was repulsing and slaying the enemy by the waggons.
The third Pisarenko had repulsed a whole squadron from the more distant
waggons; and they were still fighting and killing amongst the other
waggons, and even upon them.

“How now, gentles?” cried Taras, stepping forward before them all: “is
there still powder in your flasks? Is the Cossack force still strong? do
the Cossacks yield?”

“There is still powder in the flasks, father; the Cossack force is still
strong: the Cossacks yield not!”

But Bovdug had already fallen from the waggons; a bullet had struck him
just below the heart. The old man collected all his strength, and said,
“I sorrow not to part from the world. God grant every man such an end!
May the Russian land be forever glorious!” And Bovdug’s spirit flew
above, to tell the old men who had gone on long before that men still
knew how to fight on Russian soil, and better still, that they knew how
to die for it and the holy faith.

Balaban, hetman of a kuren, soon after fell to the ground also from a
waggon. Three mortal wounds had he received from a lance, a bullet,
and a sword. He had been one of the very best of Cossacks, and had
accomplished a great deal as a commander on naval expeditions; but more
glorious than all the rest was his raid on the shores of Anatolia. They
collected many sequins, much valuable Turkish plunder, caftans, and
adornments of every description. But misfortune awaited them on their
way back. They came across the Turkish fleet, and were fired on by the
ships. Half the boats were crushed and overturned, drowning more than
one; but the bundles of reeds bound to the sides, Cossack fashion, saved
the boats from completely sinking. Balaban rowed off at full speed,
and steered straight in the face of the sun, thus rendering himself
invisible to the Turkish ships. All the following night they spent in
baling out the water with pails and their caps, and in repairing the
damaged places. They made sails out of their Cossack trousers, and,
sailing off, escaped from the fastest Turkish vessels. And not only did
they arrive unharmed at the Setch, but they brought a gold-embroidered
vesture for the archimandrite at the Mezhigorsky Monastery in Kief,
and an ikon frame of pure silver for the church in honour of
the Intercession of the Virgin Mary, which is in Zaporozhe. The
guitar-players celebrated the daring of Balaban and his Cossacks for
a long time afterwards. Now he bowed his head, feeling the pains which
precede death, and said quietly, “I am permitted, brother gentles, to
die a fine death. Seven have I hewn in pieces, nine have I pierced with
my lance, many have I trampled upon with my horse’s hoofs; and I no
longer remember how many my bullets have slain. May our Russian land
flourish forever!” and his spirit fled.

Cossacks, Cossacks! abandon not the flower of your army. Already
was Kukubenko surrounded, and seven men only remained of all the
Nezamaikovsky kuren, exhausted and with garments already stained with
their blood. Taras himself, perceiving their straits, hastened to
their rescue; but the Cossacks arrived too late. Before the enemies
who surrounded him could be driven off, a spear was buried just below
Kukubenko’s heart. He sank into the arms of the Cossacks who caught him,
and his young blood flowed in a stream, like precious wine brought from
the cellar in a glass vessel by careless servants, who, stumbling at the
entrance, break the rich flask. The wine streams over the ground, and
the master, hastening up, tears his hair, having reserved it, in order
that if God should grant him, in his old age, to meet again the comrade
of his youth, they might over it recall together former days, when a man
enjoyed himself otherwise and better than now. Kukubenko cast his eyes
around, and said, “I thank God that it has been my lot to die before
your eyes, comrades. May they live better who come after us than we have
lived; and may our Russian land, beloved by Christ, flourish forever!”
 and his young spirit fled. The angels took it in their arms and bore it
to heaven: it will be well with him there. “Sit down at my right hand,
Kukubenko,” Christ will say to him: “you never betrayed your comrades,
you never committed a dishonourable act, you never sold a man into
misery, you preserved and defended my church.” The death of Kukubenko
saddened them all. The Cossack ranks were terribly thinned. Many brave
men were missing, but the Cossacks still stood their ground.

“How now, gentles,” cried Taras to the remaining kurens: “is there still
powder in your flasks? Are your swords blunted? Are the Cossack forces
wearied? Have the Cossacks given way?”

“There is still an abundance of powder; our swords are still sharp; the
Cossack forces are not wearied, and the Cossacks have not yet yielded.”

And the Cossacks again strained every nerve, as though they had suffered
no loss. Only three kuren hetmans still remained alive. Red blood flowed
in streams everywhere; heaps of their bodies and of those of the enemy
were piled high. Taras looked up to heaven, and there already hovered a
flock of vultures. Well, there would be prey for some one. And there the
foe were raising Metelitza on their lances, and the head of the second
Pisarenko was dizzily opening and shutting its eyes; and the mangled
body of Okhrim Guska fell upon the ground. “Now,” said Taras, and waved
a cloth on high. Ostap understood this signal and springing quickly
from his ambush attacked sharply. The Lyakhs could not withstand this
onslaught; and he drove them back, and chased them straight to the spot
where the stakes and fragments of spears were driven into the earth. The
horses began to stumble and fall and the Lyakhs to fly over their heads.
At that moment the Korsuntzi, who had stood till the last by the baggage
waggons, perceived that they still had some bullets left, and suddenly
fired a volley from their matchlocks. The Lyakhs became confused, and
lost their presence of mind; and the Cossacks took courage. “The victory
is ours!” rang Cossack voices on all sides; the trumpets sounded and the
banner of victory was unfurled. The beaten Lyakhs ran in all directions
and hid themselves. “No, the victory is not yet complete,” said Taras,
glancing at the city gate; and he was right.

The gates opened, and out dashed a hussar band, the flower of all the
cavalry. Every rider was mounted on a matched brown horse from the
Kabardei; and in front rode the handsomest, the most heroic of them all.
His black hair streamed from beneath his brazen helmet; and from his
arm floated a rich scarf, embroidered by the hands of a peerless beauty.
Taras sprang back in horror when he saw that it was Andrii. And the
latter meanwhile, enveloped in the dust and heat of battle, eager to
deserve the scarf which had been bound as a gift upon his arm, flew on
like a greyhound; the handsomest, most agile, and youngest of all the
band. The experienced huntsman urges on the greyhound, and he springs
forward, tossing up the snow, and a score of times outrunning the hare,
in the ardour of his course. And so it was with Andrii. Old Taras paused
and observed how he cleared a path before him, hewing away and dealing
blows to the right and the left. Taras could not restrain himself, but
shouted: “Your comrades! your comrades! you devil’s brat, would you kill
your own comrades?” But Andrii distinguished not who stood before him,
comrades or strangers; he saw nothing. Curls, long curls, were what
he saw; and a bosom like that of a river swan, and a snowy neck and
shoulders, and all that is created for rapturous kisses.

“Hey there, lads! only draw him to the forest, entice him to the forest
for me!” shouted Taras. Instantly thirty of the smartest Cossacks
volunteered to entice him thither; and setting their tall caps firmly
spurred their horses straight at a gap in the hussars. They attacked the
front ranks in flank, beat them down, cut them off from the rear ranks,
and slew many of them. Golopuitenko struck Andrii on the back with his
sword, and immediately set out to ride away at the top of his speed.
How Andrii flew after him! How his young blood coursed through all his
veins! Driving his sharp spurs into his horse’s flanks, he tore along
after the Cossacks, never glancing back, and not perceiving that only
twenty men at the most were following him. The Cossacks fled at full
gallop, and directed their course straight for the forest. Andrii
overtook them, and was on the point of catching Golopuitenko, when a
powerful hand seized his horse’s bridle. Andrii looked; before him stood
Taras! He trembled all over, and turned suddenly pale, like a student
who, receiving a blow on the forehead with a ruler, flushes up like
fire, springs in wrath from his seat to chase his comrade, and suddenly
encounters his teacher entering the classroom; in the instant his
wrathful impulse calms down and his futile anger vanishes. In this wise,
in an instant, Andrii’s wrath was as if it had never existed. And he
beheld before him only his terrible father.

“Well, what are we going to do now?” said Taras, looking him straight
in the eyes. But Andrii could make no reply to this, and stood with his
eyes fixed on the ground.

“Well, son; did your Lyakhs help you?”

Andrii made no answer.

“To think that you should be such a traitor! that you should betray your
faith! betray your comrades! Dismount from your horse!”

Obedient as a child, he dismounted, and stood before Taras more dead
than alive.

“Stand still, do not move! I gave you life, I will also kill you!” said
Taras, and, retreating a step backwards, he brought his gun up to his
shoulder. Andrii was white as a sheet; his lips moved gently, and he
uttered a name; but it was not the name of his native land, nor of his
mother, nor his brother; it was the name of the beautiful Pole. Taras
fired.

Like the ear of corn cut down by the reaping-hook, like the young lamb
when it feels the deadly steel in its heart, he hung his head and rolled
upon the grass without uttering a word.

The murderer of his son stood still, and gazed long upon the lifeless
body. Even in death he was very handsome; his manly face, so short a
time ago filled with power, and with an irresistible charm for every
woman, still had a marvellous beauty; his black brows, like sombre
velvet, set off his pale features.

“Is he not a true Cossack?” said Taras; “he is tall of stature, and
black-browed, his face is that of a noble, and his hand was strong in
battle! He is fallen! fallen without glory, like a vile dog!”

“Father, what have you done? Was it you who killed him?” said Ostap,
coming up at this moment.

Taras nodded.

Ostap gazed intently at the dead man. He was sorry for his brother, and
said at once: “Let us give him honourable burial, father, that the foe
may not dishonour his body, nor the birds of prey rend it.”

“They will bury him without our help,” said Taras; “there will be plenty
of mourners and rejoicers for him.”

And he reflected for a couple of minutes, whether he should fling him to
the wolves for prey, or respect in him the bravery which every brave man
is bound to honour in another, no matter whom? Then he saw Golopuitenko
galloping towards them and crying: “Woe, hetman, the Lyakhs have been
reinforced, a fresh force has come to their rescue!” Golopuitenko had
not finished speaking when Vovtuzenko galloped up: “Woe, hetman! a fresh
force is bearing down upon us.”

Vovtuzenko had not finished speaking when Pisarenko rushed up without
his horse: “Where are you, father? The Cossacks are seeking for
you. Hetman Nevelitchkiy is killed, Zadorozhniy is killed, and
Tcherevitchenko: but the Cossacks stand their ground; they will not die
without looking in your eyes; they want you to gaze upon them once more
before the hour of death arrives.”

“To horse, Ostap!” said Taras, and hastened to find his Cossacks, to
look once more upon them, and let them behold their hetman once more
before the hour of death. But before they could emerge from the wood,
the enemy’s force had already surrounded it on all sides, and horsemen
armed with swords and spears appeared everywhere between the trees.
“Ostap, Ostap! don’t yield!” shouted Taras, and grasping his sword he
began to cut down all he encountered on every side. But six suddenly
sprang upon Ostap. They did it in an unpropitious hour: the head of one
flew off, another turned to flee, a spear pierced the ribs of a third;
a fourth, more bold, bent his head to escape the bullet, and the bullet
striking his horse’s breast, the maddened animal reared, fell back upon
the earth, and crushed his rider under him. “Well done, son! Well done,
Ostap!” cried Taras: “I am following you.” And he drove off those
who attacked him. Taras hewed and fought, dealing blows at one after
another, but still keeping his eye upon Ostap ahead. He saw that eight
more were falling upon his son. “Ostap, Ostap! don’t yield!” But they
had already overpowered Ostap; one had flung his lasso about his neck,
and they had bound him, and were carrying him away. “Hey, Ostap, Ostap!”
 shouted Taras, forcing his way towards him, and cutting men down like
cabbages to right and left. “Hey, Ostap, Ostap!” But something at that
moment struck him like a heavy stone. All grew dim and confused before
his eyes. In one moment there flashed confusedly before him heads,
spears, smoke, the gleam of fire, tree-trunks, and leaves; and then he
sank heavily to the earth like a felled oak, and darkness covered his
eyes.



CHAPTER X