Part 13

The _melée_ became general, and every one could show his personal skill. Demid Popovich had already speared two soldiers and thrown two officers from their steeds, saying, "Those are good horses; I have long wished to have such horses!" And he drove the horses a long way out into the field, calling to the Cossacks standing there to catch them. He again went into the crowd; once more attacked the officers thrown down; killed one of them, and throwing his _arkan_ round the neck of the other,[34] tied it to his saddle and dragged him over the field, after possessing himself of his costly sword and the purse full of ducats, which hung at his belt.

Kobita, a good Cossack and a young one, too, fought with one of the bravest Polish warriors, and long was their fight. They were already hand to hand: the Cossack got the uppermost, and, after throwing down his adversary, plunged his sharp Turkish knife into his breast; but he took no heed of himself, and on the very spot a hot bullet struck him on the temple. He who killed him was one of the most notable among the lords; a handsome knight of ancient and princely descent. Slim as a poplar, he rode on his chestnut steed. Many were the noble knightly feats he had already accomplished; two Zaporoghians had he hewn in twain; Theodore Korj, a good Cossack, had he thrown on the dust with his horse; he shot the horse, and pierced the Cossack under it with his spear; many heads, many hands had he hewn down; he had killed the Cossack Kobita by sending a bullet through his temple.

"This is the man with whom I should wish to try my strength!" cried Kookoobenko, the ataman of the Nezamaikovskoï kooren; and spurring his horse, he rushed up close behind him and gave a fearful howl, which made all around shudder. The Pole tried to turn his horse round to confront his foe; but the horse would not turn: terrified by the fearful shriek, it dashed aside, and Kookoobenko fired his gun at the rider. The bullet entered his shoulder-blade, and down went the Pole on the ground; still, even then, he yielded not, but tried to strike once more at his foe; but his weakened arm fell beneath the weight of his sabre, and Kookoobenko taking, with both his hands, his heavy sword, drove it right into the Pole's blanched mouth: the blade knocked out two white teeth, cut the tongue in two, ran through the throat, and went far into the ground, nailing the knight for ever to the dank earth. Like a fountain spirted forth the high-descended noble blood, red as the berries of the water elder, and dyed the yellow gold-embroidered jacket.

And Kookoobenko had already left him, and, along with the Cossacks of his kooren, cut his way into another crowd. "Eh! why did he leave on the ground such costly finery!" said Borodatyi, the Omanskoï ataman, riding from his kooren to the spot where lay the officer killed by Kookoobenko. "I have killed with my own hand seven officers, and have not yet seen such finery on any one." And giving way to cupidity, Borodatyi bent down in order to take possession of the costly arms; he had already seized a Turkish knife, with a handle set with precious stones: had untied from the belt a purse full of ducats: had taken from the neck a pouch of fine linen and costly silver, containing a girl's ringlet, which had been carefully kept as a souvenir; but he did not hear how, behind his back, there had rushed upon him the red-nosed ensign, who had already been thrown from his saddle by Borodatyi, and had received a good deep slash at his hands. The ensign lifted his sword, and struck it with all his might on the bended neck of Borodatyi. No good had come of cupidity! Away sprang the mighty head, and down fell the beheaded body, making a large pool of blood on the ground. Up to the skies flew the hard Cossack's soul, frowning and filled with indignation, and, at the same time, astonished at departing so quickly from so strong a body. Hardly had the ensign taken hold of the ataman's crown-lock, in order to tie it to his saddle, when a stern avenger was there.

As a goshawk, who seems to swim in the sky, and who, after having made many circles with his strong wings, suddenly remains stationary in the air, and then darts with arrow-like speed on some quail chirping by the highway side, so Ostap, the son of Tarass, suddenly darted on the ensign, and threw the arkan round his neck. Still redder grew the red face of the ensign, as the fatal knot tightened round his throat; he tried to use his pistol, but his cramped hand could not take aim, and the bullet flew harmlessly through the field. Ostap detached from the ensign's saddle a silken rope, which the latter kept for the purpose of tying his prisoners, and bound him hand and foot with his own rope, hooked its end to his saddle, and dragged him across the field, shouting to the Cossacks of the Omanskoï kooren to go and render the last honours to their ataman.

As soon as the Cossacks heard that their ataman Borodatyi was killed, they left the battle-field, rushed to take away his body, and began on the spot to deliberate as to whom they should choose for their ataman. At last they said, "What is the use of deliberating? no one would do better as a koorennoïataman than young Boolba, Ostap; true, he is the youngest among us, but he has as much sense as the oldest." Ostap, taking off his cap, thanked his brother Cossacks for the honour, did not refuse it, either on account of youth or of inexperience, knowing that it was of no use to do so now in battle time. Instead of this, he led them into the thickest of the fray, and showed them that he well deserved to be their ataman.

In the meanwhile, the Poles felt that the fight had grown too hot for them; they retired and ran across the field, in order to form their ranks at the other end of it. The diminutive colonel gave a signal to four fresh companies who stood near the gate, and grape-shot flew thence into the crowd of Cossacks; but the volley did but little mischief: it flew into the herd of the Cossacks' bullocks, who were stupidly gazing on the fight. The terrified bullocks roared, turned on the Cossack encampment, broke the waggons to pieces, and trampled some men under their feet. But Tarass, rushing at this moment from his ambuscade, with loud cries threw himself with his regiment across their way. The whole of the maddened herd of one accord turned round, and, dashing into the Polish regiments, threw confusion into the cavalry, mixed, crushed, and broke asunder the ranks.

"Thanks to ye, bullocks!" cried the Zaporoghians. "Campaign service have ye borne hitherto, and now war service have ye rendered also!" and with fresh strength they pressed on the enemy. Many were the foes who were slaughtered there. Many were those who distinguished themselves --Metelitza, Shilo, Pissarenkos, Vovtoozenko, and many more. The Poles saw that no good could come of it; the ensign was hoisted, and the signal was given to open the gate. Creaking went the iron-nailed gate, and in went the exhausted and dust-covered riders, like sheep into the sheep-fold. Many of the Zaporoghians wished to pursue them; but Ostap detained his Cossacks, saying, "Farther, farther away, brothers, from the walls! it is not well to draw too near them." And he was right; for a volley of grape-shot came from the walls, and did much mischief. At this moment the Koschevoï rode up to Ostap, and praised him, saying, "Though thou art but a new ataman, yet thou leadest thy Cossacks like an old one!" And old Tarass turned round to see who the new ataman was, and beheld his Ostap in front of the Omansko? kooren, his cap stuck on one side and the ataman's mace in his hand. "There, just look at that one!" said he, gazing at him; and joyful felt old Boolba, and began to thank the Cossacks for the honour bestowed on his son.

The Cossacks retired, preparing to return to their encampment, when the Poles reappeared on the walls; but their dresses were now torn to pieces, many costly coats were besmeared with gore, and dust covered the fine brass helmets.

"Did you tie us with your ropes?" cried the Zaporoghians from below.

"Take heed!" cried from above the stout colonel, showing a rope; and still the dust-covered exhausted warriors continued to abuse one another, and on both sides the hot-headed exchanged scolding words.

At last all withdrew. Some, tired by the fight, retired to rest; some applied earth to their wounds, and tore into bandages kerchiefs and costly dresses, taken from the slain enemies. Those who were less tired went to remove the corpses of their dead comrades, and to render the last duty to them. Graves were dug with sabres and spears, the earth was carried away in caps and in the skirts of coats; then the corpses of the Cossacks were reverently laid in the ground and covered with fresh earth, so that the carrion ravens and eagles might not tear out their eyes. And the corpses of the Poles, several together, as they came to hand, were tied to the tails of wild horses and sent to be dragged over the plain, and for a long time after were the horses lashed on the sides and driven about. The maddened animals flew across furrows and hillocks, ditches and rivulets, and the Polish corpses, covered with gore and dust, were kicked about the ground.

As the evening came on, the Cossacks assembled in circles, and sat for a long time talking about the feats which it had fallen to every one to perform, feats to be told for ever to new-comers and to posterity. Long did they remain before going to sleep; but longer than all, old Tarass lay awake, thinking all the time what it could mean that Andrew had not been among the enemy's warriors. Had the Judas scrupled to fight against his countrymen? or, had the Jew belied him, and had he simply been made prisoner? But then he remembered that Andrew's heart was not proof against woman's words. Tarass felt a deep pang in his heart, and vowed vengeance against the Polish girl, who had bewitched his son. And assuredly he would have fulfilled his vow; he would have taken no heed of her beauty; he would have trailed her by her thick luxuriant hair; he would have dragged her across the whole field, amidst all the Cossacks; he would have kicked on the ground, covered with gore and blackened with dust, her beautiful bosom and shoulders, white as the eternal snows that lie on the crests of mountains; he would have torn her fine graceful form into fragments. But Boolba knew not what God reserved for the morrow, and falling into forgetfulness, he at last went to sleep. In the mean time, the Cossacks continued talking among themselves, and all night long, close to the fires, stood the sober vigilant sentinels, carefully looking on every side.

VIII.

The sun was not yet high in the heavens when all the Zaporoghians assembled in a crowd. News had come from the Ssiecha, that the Tartars, during the absence of the Cossacks, had pillaged it, and dug up the treasures which the Cossacks kept concealed underground, had killed or made prisoners all those who were left behind, and had directed their course straight to Perekop, with all the herds of cattle and horses which they had taken. One Cossack only, Maxim Gotodookha, had escaped on the way, from the hands of the Tartars, had killed one of their Mirzas,[35] had taken away his purse of sequins, and had, on a Tartar horse, in a Tartar dress, for one day and a half and two nights, fled from their hue and cry; had ridden his horse to death, had taken a second, which sank also under hard riding, and had only on the third found his way to the Zaporoghian encampment, which, he ascertained on the road, was under the walls of Doobno. He scarcely found time to declare the misfortune that had happened; but as to how it had happened, whether the remaining Cossacks had caroused too deeply, according to Cossack fashion, and had been made prisoners whilst tipsy; and how had the Tartars been apprised of the spot where the treasures lay hidden--nothing could he tell about all this. He was too exhausted, the whole of his body was swollen, his face was scorched by the sun and beaten by the wind; he fell on the spot fast asleep.

In such emergencies, the Zaporoghians were accustomed to proceed without the least delay, in pursuit of the invaders, and endeavour to catch them on the way, because the prisoners might be sent in no time to the slave markets of Asia Minor, to Smyrna, to the island of Crete, and wherever else the crown-locked heads of the Zaporoghians might not be expected to make their appearance. It was for this reason that the Zaporoghians had now assembled. They stood now with their heads covered, because they had come together, not by command to hear an order from their chief, but to deliberate as equals among themselves. "Let the elders give their advice first," was the cry heard from the crowd. "Let the Koschevoï give his advice," exclaimed some. And the Koschevoï, cap in hand, no longer as a chief but as a comrade, thanked all the Cossacks for the honour, and spoke thus: "There are many among us who are older than I, and who have more wisdom in their counsels, but as you have honoured me, my advice is this. Do not waste your time, comrades, go in pursuit of the Tartars at once; they are not likely to wait for our arrival with the stolen goods; they will quickly spend them and leave no trace. So this is my advice, go at once. We have done our duty here. The Poles know at present what the Cossacks are; we have avenged our faith as much as lay in our power; no great booty can be found in a famished city; so, this is our advice, go!"

"Let us go!" was the shout throughout the Zaporoghian koorens. But the speech was not welcome to Tarass Boolba, and still deeper over his eyes did he bend his contracted eyebrows, whose grayish white made them resemble bushes which grow on the high crest of mountains, and whose tops are ever covered with the sharp points of the Boreal sleet.

"Not so; thy advice is not good, Ivoschevoï!" said he, "thy speech is all wrong. Thou seemest to forget that our comrades taken by the Poles, are still prisoners? Thou seemest to wish that we should not fulfil the first holy rule of comradeship, that we should leave our brothers that they may be flayed alive, or that their Cossack bodies may be quartered and dragged about through towns and villages, as they have already done with the Hetman and the best Russian knights. Has our faith not yet sustained sufficient insults? Who are we then? I ask all of you, what sort of Cossack is he who leaves his comrade in misfortune--who leaves him to die the death of a dog in a foreign country? If it has come to such a pitch that nobody any longer values the Cossack's honour, that every one allows his gray mustachios to be spit upon, and bears the insult of shameful words, I, for one, will not bear it! Alone will I remain!"

The Zaporoghians wavered.

"And dost thou forget, brave colonel," replied the Koschevoï, "that those who are now in the hands of the Tartars are our comrades too, and that if we do not release them now, they will be sold into life-long slavery to infidels; and that slavery is more bitter than the most cruel death? Dost thou forget that all our treasures, acquired with Christian blood, are now in their hands?"

The Cossacks remained thoughtful, and did not know what to say. None of them were desirous of acquiring a disgraceful character. Then Kassian Bovdug, the oldest in all the Zaporoghian army, stepped forward. He was held in reverence by all the Cossacks; twice had he been elected Koschevoï Ataman, and a good Cossack had he proved in war; but he had long ago grown old, and ceased to take part in campaigns; he did not like to give advice, but the old fellow liked to remain lying in the Cossack circles listening to stories about events which had come to pass, and Cossack exploits in war. He never joined in their talk, but remained constantly listening, pressing with his fingers the ashes in his short pipe, which he never took out of his mouth; and long would he remain with his eyes closed, so that the Cossacks knew not whether he was asleep or listening. During all the late campaigns he had remained at home; but on this occasion he had come too, after waving his hand in the Cossack fashion, and saying, "Happen what will, I'll go, and perhaps be of some Use to my fellow-Cossacks!"

All the Cossacks kept silence as he now appeared before the assembly, because for a long time none had heard him say a single word. Every one was anxious to know what Bovdug would say. "My turn is now come to speak, gentlemen brothers," he began, "listen to the old Cossack's saying, children. Wise were the Koschevoï's words, and, as the chief of the Cossacks, who is bound to preserve the treasures of the army, and to care for them, nothing more wise could he have said. Let this be my first saying; listen now to my second. This is what I will tell you now; great was the truth of what the Colonel Tarass said; may Heaven lengthen his life, and may it send more such colonels to Ukraine! The Cossack's first duty and first glory is to fulfil the duty of comradeship. Long as I have lived in this world, gentlemen brothers, I never happened to hear that a Cossack ever left his comrade, or betrayed him in any emergency. These and those are both our comrades; be their numbers great or small, it is the same thing--both are our comrades, both are dear to us; so this is my saying: let the men to whom those who have been made prisoners by the Tartars are dearer, pursue the Tartars; let the others to whom those who have been made prisoners by the Poles are dearer, and who do not choose to desist from a righteous undertaking, remain here. The Koschevoï, according to his duty, may, with the one party, give chase to the Tartars, and the other party may choose a Nakaznoï Ataman.[36] And should you like to listen to my old mind's advice, none is better entitled to be the Nakaznoï Ataman than Tarass Boolba; none of us is equal in valour to him!"

Thus spake Bovdug, and then remained silent; and the Cossacks were rejoiced at his having settled their minds. They threw their caps up in the air, and cried "Thanks to thee, father! thou kept silent--for a long time hast thou kept silent--and now at last thou hast spoken thy mind; truly saidst thou when joining the campaign, that thou mightest be of use to the Cossacks, so has it proved to be!"

"Well, do you approve this?" asked the Koschevoï.

"Yes, all of us approve it!" cried the Cossacks.

"So, then, the Rada is ended?"

"Yes, it is!" cried the Cossacks.

"Well then, children, listen to my orders now!" said the Koschevoï; and stepping forward, he put on his cap, while all the Zaporoghians, from first to last, took off theirs, and remained uncovered with their eyes bent on the ground, according to the Cossack custom when their chief was about to address them. "Now, gentlemen brothers, separate yourselves! whoever wishes to go, step to the right; whoever remains, go to the left; wherever the greater part of a kooren goes, thither the ataman follows; if the lesser part goes on one side, it may join the other koorens."

And now they began to pass, some to the right, some to the left. Whither the greater went thither followed the ataman, the lesser part always joining with the other koorens. In the end, the two sides proved nearly equal. Among those who chose to remain were not a few of the very very excellent Cossacks.[37] All off them had seen war and campaigns; had sailed to the Anatolian coasts, traversed the Crimean salt-marshes and steppes, knew all the rivers and streams that flow into the Dnieper, all the banks and islands of that river; had been in Moldavia, "Wallachia, and Turkey; had crossed the Black Sea in all directions in their two-helmed Cossack boats--fifty such boats in ranks had attacked the richest and the tallest ships; had sent to the bottom of the sea not a few Turkish galleys, and had fired away much, very much powder in their lives; more than once had they torn to rags costly stuffs and silks to wrap up their feet; more than once had their pockets been full of bright sequins. And it would have been impossible to reckon how much property, which would have lasted others for a whole life, each of them had spent in feasting and drinking. They had spent it all like righteous Cossacks, treating every one and hiring musicians, in order that every one around them might enjoy himself. Even now, there were but few of them who had not treasure hidden underground; cups, silver goblets, and ornaments hidden in the reeds on the islands of the Dnieper, in order that the Tartars should not discover them, if by mischance they should fall upon the Ssiecha unawares; but it was scarcely possible that the Tartars could have found them, for even the owners had begun to forget where they had hidden them.

Such were the Cossacks who resolved to remain, and take their revenge on the Poles for the sake of their beloved comrades and the Christian faith. The old Cossack Bovdug resolved also to abide with them, saying "My years are no longer those in which I could give chase to the Tartars; here is the place where I may find a Cossack's death. For a long time I have prayed God, that I might, when I close my life, end it in war for some holy and Christian reason. Thus it now happens; the old Cossack could not find a more glorious end, or in a more fitting place."

When all were separated and stood in two rows, in koorens on both sides, the Koschevoï went through the ranks and said, "Well now, gentlemen brothers, is one side pleased with the other?"

"All are pleased, father," answered the Cossacks.

"Well then, embrace one another, and give one another a farewell shake of the hand, for Heaven knows if we are to meet again in this life. Obey your Ataman, do what you know must be done; you know yourselves what a Cossack's honour bids you to do!"

And all the Cossacks, as many as were there, embraced one another. First of all began the atamans, and wiping their gray mustachios with their hands, kissed one another's cheeks, and then as they took one another's hands and held them tight, they wished to ask, "Gentleman brother, shall we ever meet again, or shall we not?" However, they put not the question, but kept silence, and both gray heads remained thoughtful. The Cossacks, too, bade farewell to one another, well knowing that both sides would have hard work; still they decided not to separate at once, but to await the darkness of night, in order that the foe should not perceive the diminution of their forces. They all repaired to their koorens for dinner. After dinner, those who had to go on march laid themselves down for repose, and had a long sound sleep, as if conscious that this would perhaps be their last sleep in such freedom. They slept till the sun set; as it went down and darkness came on, they began to put their carts in order. This done, they made them advance, and themselves bidding once more farewell to their comrades, slowly followed; behind the infantry tramped the cavalry in silence, without crying to their horses or urging them on, and soon, nothing could be seen of them in the darkness of the night. The hollow trampling of the horses alone resounded, and at times was heard the creaking of some wheel, which had not been properly greased on account of the darkness.

The comrades who were left behind, stood a long time waving their hands to them, although nothing could be seen. But when they ceased at last, and came back to their places, when they saw by the light of the stars, which now shone brightly, that half the waggons were gone, and that many, many friends were there no longer, sorrow crept into their hearts, and all became thoughtful and bent down their heads.