The Deluge. Vol. 2. Генрик Сенкевич

you will gain the supreme happiness, – salvation. Against my heart then I say, Go; I do not detain you. Our prayers, the protection of God, will go with you."

      "In such company I shall go boldly and perish with joy."

      "But return, soldier of God, return safely; for you are loved with sincerity here. May Saint Raphael attend you and bring you back, cherished son, my dear child!"

      "Then I will begin preparations at once," said Pan Andrei, joyfully pressing the priest. "I will dress in Swedish fashion with a jacket and wide-legged boots. I will fill in the powder, and do you, father, stop the exorcisms for this night; fog is needful to the Swedes, but also to me."

      "And do you not wish to confess before starting?"

      "Of course, without that I should not go; for the devil would have approach to me."

      "Then begin with confession."

      Charnyetski went out of the cell, and Kmita knell down near the priest and purged himself of his sins. Then, gladsome as a bird, he began to make preparations.

      An hour or two later, in the deep night, he knocked again at the prior's cell, where Pan Charnyetski also was waiting.

      The two scarcely knew Pan Andrei, so good a Swede had he made himself. He had twirled his mustaches to his eyes and brushed them out at the ends; he had put his hat on one side of his head, and looked precisely like some cavalry officer of noted family.

      "As God lives, one would draw a sabre at sight of him," said Charnyetski.

      "Put the light at a distance," said Kmita; "I will show you something."

      When Father Kordetski had put the light aside quickly, Pan Andrei placed on a table a roll, a foot and a half long and as thick as the arm of a sturdy man, sewn up in pitched linen and filled firmly with powder. From one end of it was hanging a long string made of tow steeped in sulphur.

      "Well," said he, "when I put this flea-bane in the mouth of the cannon and ignite the string, then its belly will burst."

      "Lucifer would burst!" cried Pan Charnyetski. But he remembered that it was better not to mention the name of the foul one, and he slapped his own mouth.

      "But how will you set fire to the string?" asked Kordetski.

      "In that lies the whole danger, for I must strike fire. I have good flint, dry tinder, and steel of the best; but there will be a noise, and they may notice something. The string I hope will not quench, for it will hang at the beard of the gun, and it will be hard to see it, especially as it will hide itself quickly in burning; but they may pursue me, and I cannot flee straight toward the cloister."

      "Why not?" asked the priest.

      "For the explosion would kill me. The moment I see the spark on the string I must jump aside with all the strength in my legs, and when I have run about fifty yards, must fall to the ground under the intrenchment. After the explosion I shall rush toward the cloister."

      "My God, my God, how many dangers!" said the prior, raising his eyes to heaven.

      "Beloved father, so sure am I of returning that even emotion does not touch me, which on an occasion like this ought to seize me. This is nothing! Farewell, and pray the Lord God to give me luck. Only conduct me to the gate."

      "How is that? Do you want to go now?" asked Charnyetski.

      "Am I to wait till daylight, or till the fog rises? Is not my head dear to me?"

      But Pan Andrei did not go that night, for just as they came to the gate, darkness, as if out of spite, began to grow light. Some movement too was heard around the great siege gun.

      Next morning the besieged were convinced that the gun was transferred to another place.

      The Swedes had received apparently some report of a great weakness in the wall a little beyond the bend near the southern bastion, and they determined to direct missiles to that spot. Maybe too the prior was not a stranger to the affair, for the day before they had seen old Kostuha (Konstantsia) going out of the cloister. She was employed chiefly when there was need of giving false reports to the Swedes. Be that as it may, it was a mistake on their part; for the besieged could now repair in the old place the wall so greatly shaken, and to make a new breach a number of days would be needed.

      The nights were clear in succession, the days full of uproar. The Swedes fired with terrible energy. The spirit of doubt began again to fly over the fortress. Among the besieged were nobles who wished to surrender; some of the monks too had lost heart. The opposition gained strength and importance. The prior made head against it with unrestrained energy, but his health began to give way. Meanwhile came reinforcements to the Swedes and supplies from Cracow, especially terrible explosive missiles in the form of iron cylinders filled with powder and lead. These caused more terror than damage to the besieged.

      Kmita, from the time that he had conceived the plan of bursting the siege gun, secreted himself in the fortress. He looked every day at the roll, with heart-sickness. On reflection he made it still larger, so that it was almost an ell long and as thick as a boot-leg. In the evening he cast greedy looks toward the gun, then examined the sky like an astrologer. But the bright moon, shining on the snow continually, baffled his plan.

      All at once a thaw came; clouds covered the horizon, and the night was dark, – so dark that even strain your eyes you could see nothing. Pan Andrei fell into such humor as if some one had given him the steed of the Sultan; and midnight had barely sounded when he stood before Charnyetski in his cavalry dress, the roll under his arm.

      "I am going!" said he.

      "Wait, I will speak to the prior."

      "That is well. Kiss me. Pan Pyotr, and go for the prior."

      Charnyetski kissed him with feeling, and turned away. He had hardly gone thirty steps when Kordetski stood before him in white. He had guessed that Kmita was going, and had come there to bless him.

      "Babinich is ready; he is only waiting for your reverence."

      "I hurry, I hurry!" answered the priest. "O Mother of God, save him and aid him!"

      After a while both were standing at the opening where Charnyetski left Kmita, but there was no trace of him.

      "He has gone!" said the prior, in amazement.

      "He has gone!" repeated Charnyetski.

      "But, the traitor!" said the prior, with emotion, "I intended to put this little scapular on his neck."

      Both ceased to speak; there was silence around, and as the darkness was dense there was firing from neither side. On a sudden Charnyetski whispered eagerly, —

      "As God is dear to me, he is not even trying to go in silence! Do you hear steps crushing the snow?"

      "Most Holy Lady, guard thy servant!" said the prior.

      Both listened carefully for a time, till the brisk steps and the noise on the snow had ceased.

      "Do you know, your reverence, at moments I think that he will succeed, and I fear nothing for him. The strange man went as if he were going to an inn to drink a glass of liquor. What courage he has in him! Either he will lay down his head untimely, or he will be hetman. H'm! if I did not know him as a servant of Mary, I should think that he has – God give him success, God grant it to him! for such another cavalier there is not in the Commonwealth."

      "It is so dark, so dark!" said Kordetski; "but they are on their guard since the night of your sortie. He might come upon a whole rank before he could see it."

      "I do not think so. The infantry are watching, that I know, and watch carefully; but they are in the intrenchment, not before the muzzles of their own cannon. If they do not hear the steps, he can easily push under the intrenchment, and then the height of it alone will cover him – Uf!"

      Here Charnyetski puffed and ceased speaking; for his heart began to beat like a hammer from expectation and alarm, and breath failed him.

      Kordetski made the sign of the cross in the darkness.

      A third person stood near the two. This was Zamoyski.

      "What is the matter?" asked he.

      "Babinich