For the Right

by Karl Emil Franzos

CHAPTER XVIII.

[THE APPROACHING DOOM.]

The valley of the "black Czeremosz"!... When the great Emperor Joseph, a hundred years ago, put forth his hand to lay hold of the lonely tracts overlooked by the Carpathians, he sent thither a brave old colonel, George Wetzler by name, a man reared on the sunny banks of the Neckar, to take possession of the district in the monarch's name, and to make suggestions for the improvement of the newly-acquired territory. No easy matter! but the old colonel was a Swabian born--stout of heart and tenacious of purpose--and, moreover, he was honest. So his efforts prospered, and some of the good institutions of his planting are growing still. Never at a loss to make the best of things, he was the very man for his work; but after inspecting this valley the old colonel's patience appears to have been fairly exhausted, as may be gathered from his report to Vienna--a witness of his disappointment to this day. "This valley of the black 'Tshermosh'," he bluntly declared, "must be Old Nick's own presence chamber, and what human creatures are to be found here, are a pack of senseless knaves. There is nothing to be got out of them, nor into them, and this wretched valley will always belong to him of the cloven foot, and never to the Emperor's Majesty."

In one point this judgment proved true, for the people or Zabie and Reza to this day own the supremacy of the State only in a loose and distant sort of way; but in other respects the plain-spoken colonel's picture certainly is overdrawn. It cannot be said that the inhabitants of the valley in question are either more senseless or more knavish than the rest of the Huzuls, though they may be even more shy of the world, more rude of habit--creatures of the forest, both hardy and daring, as men will become whose life is a constant warfare with the sterner forces of nature. But "Old Nick's presence chamber" itself, in sooth, is one of the most glorious, if wildest regions of this mountain chain, "raised by the devil and beautified by the Christ." It would seem as if this valley, which forces its way eastward in a zigzag line between the towering peaks in the southern-most part of Galicia, had indeed been something like an apple of contention for evil or for good. But if it was the devil who made the frowning mountains and strewed the valley with weird-shaped rocks, the imagination may fitly dwell on the redeeming fancy that the gracious Christ has clothed the heights with those splendid firwoods, and called forth flowers and shrubs about the boulders, sweeter and fairer than one would look for at such a height; and if it was the great adversary who made of the Czeremosz a roaring and dangerous torrent, it must have been the Friend of man who formed its banks, so rich and lovely, to hold in the turbulent stream. It fact the traveller, once acquainted with the fanciful legend, will remember it at every turn; and the higher he climbs, up towards the giant-keeper of the Hungarian frontier, the towering Black Mountain (the Czernahora), the more it will appear to him as though a contest between opposing forces had verily taken place; the upper valley certainly is one of the wildest and fairest spots on earth. It narrows perceptibly to the west, ending in a circular hollow, in the centre of which there is a small deep lake, whose waters appear black, partly on account of the dark-coloured strata of rock which form the sides of the basin, and partly because of its lying within the far-stretching shadow of that great frontier peak. At noon only is the silent mirror of the Black Water smiled upon by a passing sunbeam.

On the shore of this lake there is one of the largest settlements within the mountains--cottages, sheepfolds, barns in great number, and closed in with a thorn-hedge; it is the home of Clan Rosenko, numbering about three hundred souls, dwelling here and ruled over by no man save their own patriarch, feared for their valour and duly respected as the wealthiest tribe of the Carpathians. The patriarch of this settlement, in peace or war, is lord paramount within a territory as large as any English county, and wields an influence the strength of which rests in its tradition rather than upon any personal qualities. But never had the clan possessed greater power than when ruled over by the friend and ally of the avenger, the venerable Hilarion, surnamed the Just. There was not a man of Pokutia or the Bukowina who did not bow to him, and none so great nor yet so humble but he would obey his warning and accept his will.

In this man's close proximity Taras had arrived early in August, 1839, encamping with his much-lessened band on an open space within the Dembronia forest, about a mile from the Black Water. Not for fear of the military operations had he withdrawn from the plain and broken up his camp by the Crystal Springs; still less had he done so of his free choice, but yielding to necessity, and hoping thereby to avert worse things. For the report which had reached Colomea was only too well founded. Taras no longer had absolute power over the minds of his men, whose dissatisfaction had grown to bitterness and resentment, breaking out into open rebellion at last. Just that had happened which Nashko, with the clear discernment of his race, had foreseen and foretold, the catastrophe occurring in the last days of July.

"There are too many of them," Taras had said, sorrowfully, to the Jew. "I cannot now, as I used to, impress every individual man with the sacredness of the cause he is serving." But he was mistaken; the band never numbered more than about two hundred, and Taras knew each and all personally; the men, in their turn, being fully aware of his ideas concerning the work they were engaged in. Nor could explanation be sought in the suggestion that even his rigorous care could not suffice for keeping the band pure, and that some ill-disposed fellows, no doubt, were leavening the rest. No; the true reason was this, which Nashko and Jemilian failed not to point out to their beloved leader, saying, "You could never hope for anything better, unless the Almighty had lent you his own avenging angels for the work. These men are but human, and unwilling to stake their lives day after day for no advantage they can see; they look for some reward, some personal gain, for the constant danger they run. You think that the sacred cause of justice should be as dear to them as it is to you; perhaps it should, but for a fact it is not. And if you expect of these men to understand your way of thinking, you should, in your turn, try to enter into their views, less elevated though they be."

But, in truth, neither party could comprehend the other; and with a great number of the men the good-will even was wanting. Their wonderful success, and the fame attending it, had intoxicated them at first; but the novelty wore off, and they began to resent their hetman's folly which forbade plundering and expected them to do the work merely for the benefit of others. It was unheard-of severity, and most unjust, they considered. Among the Huzuls, too, a spirit of discontent was abroad. These wild, lawless men had joined the avenger because they hated the authorities, together with the Polish landlords and the thriving inhabitants of the plains, feeling attracted, moreover, by the prospect of plenty of fighting. It was not reward or booty they craved; but, unused to obedience or self-restraint of any kind, they writhed under the consciousness of being mere instruments of another man's will. They wished to have a voice in the matter before being ordered to this or that work, and did not see by what right they should be interfered with if at any time they preferred to please themselves after their own fashion. But there was yet another and an equally-numerous set of discontented ones, whose spokesman was the whilom choir leader, Sophron Hlinkowski--men of honest and respectable antecedents, who had gathered to Taras's standard either for pure love of his cause, or had been driven to it by cruel oppression.

But the scenes of bloodshed almost daily enacted, and in which they must take their part, filled them with horror and disgust. They trembled at the thought of what punishment they incurred at the hands, even, of earthly law, and they feared the judgment of God. Hitherto, though with a sore conscience, they had obeyed every behest of their leader, whom at first they so fondly adored; but their helpless regret, ending in despair, looked upon Taras now in the light of a cut-throat who forced them on to every fresh deed of iniquity. That his own soul suffered and bled more than theirs they never suspected; for the iron-willed man, worn and wan though he looked, never once quailed before his terrible purpose. They had come to look upon him as the destroyer, not only of their earthly, but even of their eternal hopes, and they were the first of his followers to unburden their minds.

The band had been on a raid as far as the river Sereth, and was returning in forced rides under cover of the night, taking their rest during the day in their various hiding-places, and once more was encamped now by the Crystal Springs.

But before the first day was out Taras reassembled his men, announcing that they must be ready to start at sundown for Ispas, and thence to the southern Bukowina, because several Roumanian communities had sent him their grievous complaints.

The information was received with a growl of disapproval, and a voice was heard, "What, already, before we are half rested?" Another following it up with a plain "We refuse!" While yet another added, "We sha'n't move a step, unless we see what we shall gain by it!" But these cries were half smothered in the swelling surf of a general discontent.

Taras's friends pressed round him--those few in number who in life or death would be true to him--Nashko, the faithful Jemilian and his fellow-servant Sefko, the youths Wassilj and Lazarko, and several others. They had caught up their muskets in real alarm, prepared to stand by him to the end; and to judge from the increasing uproar, violence indeed seemed imminent. The mutinous band pressed closer and closer to the captain.

But he stood motionless, with eyes bent on the ground, and his face wore the expression of stern, unflinching resolve, which had grown habitual with him. "Speak to them," whispered Jemilian, hoarsely. "Speak, or you are lost!" But he shook his head. Presently, however, he drew himself up, fixing a penetrating glance upon the foremost of the heaving crowd, and such was the power of his eye that they fell back cowed and confounded.

He lifted his hand. "Silence!" he cried, continuing, with a voice not over loud, but wonderfully impressive, "If you have aught to say, or to ask of me, here I am! But I will not brook disorder! Who is to be spokesman for the rest? Let him step forth."

There was but a low murmuring now, like rumbling thunder, ceasing gradually as the men fell to debating more quietly among themselves. The Huzuls gathered round the Royal Eagle, urging him evidently to inform the hetman of their wishes. Others again, the worst of the lot, pressed round a herculean fellow of the name of Iwon Pistak, who had been in the service of one of the victims of Taras's judgments, and had joined the band but recently. A third body in the background was seen clustering round Sophron, the former choir-leader; and while the others kept muttering with wrathful or threatening faces, these latter seemed to cling together for mutual support, requiring no words in their trouble.

An expression of disappointment, deep and bitter, passed over Taras's features. He had refused to believe what Nashko and Jemilian had told him concerning the splitting up of the band into factions--he could see it now distinctly for himself. Alas! how far matters must have gone already, how often the men must have consulted among themselves, and how fully their minds must have been made up, if at this moment of excitement the division could take place thus easily and naturally.

"Who is to be spokesman?" he repeated, expecting Iwon Pistak to step forth with an insolent demand. But he was mistaken--this man of might shrugged his shoulders, refusing the honour. Taras could hear him say with a loud whisper, "You see, he is sure to shoot down the first that dares tell him. Of course he will then be shot in his turn; still I decline to be that first one!"

Taras was on the point of yielding to his indignation, when his attention was diverted from that miserable wretch; for suddenly there stood before him, pale and trembling, one of those from whom he scarcely would have expected the spirit of resistance--it was the late choir-leader, Sophron.

"You may kill us, hetman," he cried passionately, "but we shall not again follow you: we will never again lift hand at your bidding. We cannot bear it any longer, to spill the blood of men who are unable to resist us. We fear the judgment of God!"

Taras was not utterly unprepared for this terrible accusation, Jemilian, more than once, having reported to him remarks he had overheard among the men. Sophron's words, at the same time, struck to his heart; and he who had not quailed when all the band seemed ready to turn upon him now leant on his musket, for he trembled, and his voice quivered as he made answer, "God is with those who love justice! This is, and has been, my stand-by; I require none other, and it ought to hold good for you."

"Then how do you know that that which is just in your sight is just also in the sight of God?" cried Sophron ... "Tell me," he continued excitedly, taking hold of the hetman's hand, "speak, Taras, and prove it, that God has shown you His will better and plainer than to others. Prove it, and show us that you have a right to judge men in His name--that the power you claim is given you by Him above!"

An ugly peal of laughter burst from Iwon and his party, but the Royal Eagle indignantly ordered them to hold their peace. Taras looked fixedly before him.

"Tell us!" Sophron repeated.

"What I have to say, you have known from the beginning," Taras made answer at length, but his voice was hollow. "I claim no power beyond that which every honest man is called to in this unhappy land, where right is not otherwise to be found."

"This is nonsense!" cried Sophron wildly, "I have suffered greater wrong than you. I have lost all, my property, my wife, my child, I have myself been imprisoned, and with no earthly show of justice. Yes, I have been wronged, cruelly, and so have you--I will admit it--and many another, no doubt! But for all that, can you prove that there is nothing left for honest men but to turn murderers themselves? What would become of mankind, I ask you--what of this country, if every man who has suffered innocently felt called upon to do as you have done?... Taras, you have misled us--you are grievously mistaken. And as for us, our latter ruin is likely to be worse that our former! Say, what answer shall we make to the Judge above, when He inquires of us, saying: 'What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto Me from the ground!'"

"Listen to him! that comes of having been a choir leader!" cried Iwon, with a sneer. But again the Huzul chief silenced him peremptorily.

"What is it you want?" said Taras, hoarsely.

"We want to leave you!" cried Sophron. "Let us go--we cannot bear it any longer.... We will try to live honestly and peacefully again; we will go away from this country which we have defiled with so much blood-shedding--far, far away. We will try to expiate the great wrong we have committed. And if our deep sorrow avails not, if the Almighty cannot again turn His face upon us, and we must fall into the hands of earthly judges, be it so, we have deserved it."

"You are at liberty to go," said Taras.

And wild excitement filled the air. The men of Sophron's party seemed beside themselves with the sudden prospect of quitting their present mode of life. "Would that we had spoken sooner!" they, kept crying.

"Any one is at liberty," repeated Taras; "let all those whose conscience forbids them to continue with me, lift up their right hand." Some forty men gave the required token; and, as Taras could see at a glance, he was losing the most trustworthy of his followers--not counting his own few personal adherents.

He heaved a sigh. "Step aside to yonder fir-tree," he said, "I will settle with you presently; you shall have your share of the common property. But I must arrange with these others first," He drew himself up proudly, and his eyes shot fire. "Now for you, Iwon Pistak!" he cried.

The giant hung back, but his fellows pushed him forward. "Why should I bear the brunt of it," he muttered; but gathering courage, he continued: "Well, you know our meaning, hetman, and I daresay you find it natural; for after all, why should we go and help those fellows in the Bukowina, utter strangers to us? and don't you think we owe something to ourselves? Supposing now, we did your bidding, we might find the manor garrisoned and soldiers in the cottages, some of their bullets might hit, and we lose life or limb--that is looking at the worst side. But at best--well, we kill the landlord or his steward, men who never have done us any harm, we help these wretched Bukowinians to get their money back, and then we return on our steps poor as church mice, even as we went. Is that fair, we ask? You call yourself an avenger, and we grant you are just, but in justice to ourselves you ought to allow us something for our pains, now, oughtn't you? Where would be the harm if you allowed us to go shares with the peasants in any money found, for after all it is our doing if they get any at all! And moreover, Taras, we do think it is ridiculous to expect of us fighting-men to live like a parcel of monks! We want to enjoy life, we----"

"That will do," interrupted Taras, "and what if I deny your requests?"

"In that case, Taras," declared the giant, with a foolish grin, "you couldn't be offended if we gave you the slip; we might carry on a warfare against rich wrong-doers on our own account, mightn't we?"

"That will do!" and Taras turned to the fellows of this man. "Whoever of you is of his way of thinking, let him signify it by lifting up his right hand." In a moment some fifty hands went up in the air. Taras would not have believed it possible, but he looked neither surprised nor mortified. "Very well," he said, "take your place by this rock, you shall have your due."

He stepped up to Julko. "And what about you?" he said, "do you also want to leave me?"

"It is not for me alone to decide," replied the Royal Eagle, gloomily, "else we should have left weeks ago. It is neither your fault nor ours! But the Huzuls have ever been free--we are not a submissive race. Of course we should always obey the hetman of our choosing, but I also must say that men who are willing to be hajdamaks do not expect to live like monks. We should, indeed, have given up long ago but for my father, who would not hear of it. This was his message when I sent him word of our desire: 'It is not I who commanded you to join Taras's banner; but neither did I forbid it, for I lay down no law unless I see absolute need of it; moreover, I consider Taras to be an honest man, who knows what he is about, and I approve of his warfare. If you think differently, the question is whether he has ever expected anything of you beyond that which you knew he would expect when you joined him. If this is the case you may break with him; but if not, you must stay!' This is my father's opinion, Taras!"

"And what is yours? Do you think, as he puts it, you ought to leave me?"

"No; else we should not be here still. But I say this, that we did not much consider what might be your real meaning when we came to you, or perhaps we misunderstood you entirely. So what we propose now is this: Take us back to the Black Water and we will submit the case to my father in person. He shall hear you and hear us, and we will leave him time to think it over; if after that he still will have us continue as your followers, we shall do so, whatever our own feelings may be."

"And if I do not agree to this proposal?"

"Then we leave you this very day," said the Royal Eagle, curtly. "I will answer for it to my father."

"In that case," said Taras, after a pause, "I must accept your proposal; you will see for yourself, Julko, that I have no other choice. If I had began this work for any advantage of my own, or merely to satisfy private revenge, I should have no need to appeal to you for your services any longer. For in that case I should turn the pistol against my own head at once, if I had not done so long ago!... But I have undertaken to fight for a holy cause, and I must not, I dare not, give it up till all means have failed me. I could not continue the work with the handful of faithful followers I have left; I must hope, therefore, that your father will be on my side. But at the present moment I have something else to ask of you, and you will do it, for it is a duty, Julko--the duty of an honest man!"

The Royal Eagle bent closer. "I guess your meaning," he said, under his breath; "it concerns Iwon and his fellows. You want to pass sentence on them."

"No, not that; for, evil as their intentions are, they have as yet committed no crime to be atoned for with their lives. But I must not permit these men to use their weapons, which have served a holy cause, for murder and robbery in the future. I will disarm them. Will you help me?"

"Of course we will!"

Thereupon Taras went over to Sophron and his party, asking their assistance also, which was readily granted.

But Iwon and his fellows little guessed what was in store for them. Standing or lying about, they talked noisily of the merry life they now hoped to lead, when suddenly to the right and to the left ranks were forming against them. They flew to arms, but it was too late; they saw themselves surrounded, and a circle of muskets levelled at their heads.

Taras fearlessly went up to them. "Lay down your arms," he commanded.

"Not before I have made a last use of mine," cried Iwon, enraged, and, snatching up his pistol, he discharged it at Taras.

The bullet missed its mark, striking a tree close beside the captain; but another bullet proved true to its aim. Lazarko, quick as lightning, had fired back at the assailant of his beloved master. The giant's hand went up to his head, he staggered, and fell heavily to the ground.

The sudden death of their ringleader so terrified the mutinous men that they obeyed helplessly, laying down their arms and entreating Taras to forgive them this once, and they would do his bidding for ever.

But he shook his head. "I know you now," he said, sternly, "men of your sort are no fit champions of a holy cause. Go your ways, and seek a better occupation than you intended. Green Giorgi and the rest of the hajdamaks have disappeared, for they are afraid of me; should you make common cause with them they might venture forth from their hiding-places and once more be the pest of the land. Take warning, then, for I shall hold you answerable. If any crimes are committed I shall know that you are the scoundrels whom I shall have to deal with next. And be very certain I shall find you, if need be."

"We will seek an honest livelihood, indeed we will!" they asserted, trembling.

"So much the better," he returned, coldly. "I charge you to do as you promise, lest I should have to make good my word."

Thereupon Jemilian, by his orders, gave to every man who was ready to go food for three days and his fair share of the common purse, the disarmed number starting first, abashed and silent. And then the word was given for a general departure.

"Say a kind word to us before leaving," said Sophron, with honest entreaty, and all the rest of that party pressed round the captain, begging him to forgive them. "We are sorry, but we must do it," they pleaded.

"I know," said Taras: "I bear you no grudge; but you also shall believe that it is laid upon me to act as I have done. Farewell, and God grant that we may not meet again!"

"Oh!" cried Sophron, "then you do bear us ill-will?"

"No," said Taras, and his voice was low with inward emotion; "indeed I wish you well, and that is why I said, God grant that we may not meet again on the road--that road which is marked out for me. Fare ye well!"

He spurred his horse, and, followed by his own friends and the Huzuls, he led the way towards the Red Hollow. The night fell, and the stars looked down upon the deserted camp by the Crystal Springs. Taras never returned to it.

They reached the Black Water, after four days of desperate riding through the pathless forest wilds. Their coming was entirely unexpected; but all the greater was the delight of the tribe at the return of the clansmen. Taras, too, was received with a hearty welcome. Those savage natures are not prone to show affection; but having made friends, they are fast and true. They had received the unhappy man with real sympathy on his first seeking their alliance. His dauntless courage struck a kindred chord, not to mention an undercurrent of naïve gratitude in their minds, as though they were indeed beholden to him for being such a thorn in the flesh of the powers they hated. And when the aged Hilarion had clasped hands with Taras, in token of mutual friendship, the wild shouts of "Urrahah" that filled the air, if an expression of savage delight, promised faithful adherence as well....

This being the case, the returning champions were loth to disclose the real reason of their arrival, and with tacit consent deferred matters to the following morning, when Julko and Taras together sought the presence of Hilarion, informing him of the state of affairs calmly and without bitterness.

The aged man listened quietly, the proud head uplifted, and with thoughtful, unperturbed brow. At times only his hand, passing with a quick movement over the silvery expanse of his mighty beard, betrayed his deep interest in the recital. "It is the old story," he said at last, after a long pause of silence, when they had finished. "I have watched the course of this world for eighty years, and it is ever the same. It is the wicked only who know how to traffic with the hearts of men, and to do so for their own advantage; but the good man is unsuspecting, judging others by his own honest nature, and it is sure to bring him to grief. It is nothing new, Taras, and I am only surprised that you have no worse tale to tell; for you are good and honest to the core, and trustful as a child, in spite of the rivers of blood you have set flowing; and you are as a stranger on the face of this earth, despite the fearful experience of your life."

"I do not understand you, my father," said Taras, with modest deference.

"Nor would it avail you if I tried to explain my meaning," replied the old man, smiling sadly. "You would never understand it, and still less could you alter your nature.... As for your rupture, I cannot take sides with either of you; for you are both in the right, each acting after his nature. This is not a case to be influenced by any man's opinion."

"Then you do think that our ways henceforth lie apart?" said Julko; "I and every one of our men thought so."

"It would be the simplest solution, and perhaps the most prudent," said Hilarion, slowly, "but I do not say it would be the best and most noble ... Let me tell you, Taras, when I first heard of the work you had set yourself to do, and of the way in which you did it, striving to carry out justice without fail or wrong, as far as mortal man is able, I said within myself, 'Thanks be to those up yonder, whatever their names may be--and if the popes are right in maintaining there is but One, well, then, thanks be to Him that I have lived to see this day; for truly it is a shame what oppression the inhabitants of the plain have to suffer, what wrongs untold, and no champion, no avenger, has ever stood up for them. But now such a one is given them, in token, as it were, that they are men still, and not mere cattle born for the yoke.' These were my thoughts, Taras, and I think so still. But I also knew that your work could not continue. Not that you had anything to fear from the Whitecoats, for a man who has the mountain-haunts of the Welyki Lys to fall back upon, and as many helpers as there are sufferers in the land, need fear no soldiers. No, the only danger threatening you would come from your own people, for you judged others by yourself, taking for granted their willingness to share the burden to which you have bowed your own shoulders. It could not end well, and to tell the truth it was a relief to me to see you arrive yesterday, for the news would never have taken me by surprise that you had fallen a victim to your mutinous band. Or if they dared not shoot you they might have delivered you up to the magistrates, gaining thereby their own safety and filthy reward besides. Yes, these were my fears; and it was chiefly with the hope of protecting you that I insisted on our men remaining true to your banner!"

"It may be so," said Taras, gloomily. "A week ago I would have taken my oath in contradicting you, but now I have not a word to say. But the question is, What is now to be done?"

"What, indeed?" repeated the old man. "I have thought about it a great deal, and especially this last night. I could not sleep for anxiety concerning you, for I love you as though you were a son of mine ... If prudence alone could guide you, I should invite you to remain with us and live in peace henceforth as a shepherd and huntsman in the mountains. I doubt not but that your wife and children would be released on your word of honour, and you could live happily. But it is useless talking, for you will listen--you can listen--only to that inward voice which prompts you to continue this work! So the question remains how to make it possible. If you raise your standard anywhere within these mountains your name and fame will attract numbers of men, there is no doubt about that; and they will be neither better nor worse than those with whom you have lately parted. How, then, will you anticipate such danger as you have just escaped?--do you think you might permit them some enjoyment of life and a share in the booty?

"Never!" cried Taras, passionately. The aged Huzul nodded. "I knew it," he said. "It would be wronging your inmost nature, and I could scarcely advise you to attempt it. For in that case the devil, not you, would be ruling the band before a month were out. Nothing remains, therefore, but to govern your men in the future as you did in the past. A band will gather round you, but what will be the end? You must be prepared for worse things than these late experiences; you may end any day as I have hinted. Or do you think I am mistaken?"

"No! But there is no other way."

"There is," rejoined the old man; "I have thought it over, and it seems to me the one plan to be adopted. You must not collect another band; at the same time you must carry on your work, which I deem both sacred and necessary. Do it in this way: Encamp with your faithful adherents in our vicinity, and wait and see what complaints reach you here. If any wrong requires you to redress it, I shall order this son of mine and as many of our men as you may ask for, to place themselves at your disposal. From the moment of their going forth with you, and until they return, your word shall be their law, but at other times they shall be free to live within the mountains as they are wont. That will suit all parties: you will not be short of men when you require them for any work that may be before you; the sufferers in the lowlands will not be crying in vain for their avenger, and my own people need not forego the pleasure of having a hand in punishing the Polish nobles, the Whitecoats, and all those that would lord it over us by means of the law, whom they hate cordially. This is what I offer to you: straightforward and honest alliance; will you accept it?"

"I am grateful to you," said Taras, "but it concerns a matter far dearer to me than life. I pray you, therefore, let me consider it, and hear my answer to-morrow."

Taras gathered his friends about him, and informed them of the proposal. Opinions differed.

"This will be no lasting alliance, dear master," said Jemilian, anxiously. "We know the Huzuls! We grant that they are honest and brave, and if for the rest of it they are dissolute rascals, that is no business of ours; but we also know that they have a devilish temper of their own, and are ready to pick quarrels out of nothing."

"Well, if we know that, they cannot take us unawares," suggested Nashko. "We shall have to treat them accordingly, and if the alliance does come to grief sooner or later, we shall be no worse off than we are now. It seems to me there is no reason why we should not accept the offer as matters now stand."

Taras himself inclined to this opinion, and the result was that on the following day the alliance between him and Hilarion was solemnly ratified in accordance with the ancient usage of the tribe, a usage found to this day among Mongolian races. They filled two goblets with mare's milk, and each of the two about to pledge his friendship mixed a drop of his blood with the cup he was holding; thereupon they exchanged the vessels, and turning their faces sunward, they rested their left hands upon their heads, while drinking each of the other's life blood.

About a week passed quietly. Taras repeatedly went to commune with Hilarion, and the old man in his turn visited him in his little camp in the Dembronia Forest. But their people had no intercourse with each other. No news arrived from the lowlands, and no prayer for redress. The peasants believed the band to have dispersed, and the avenger to be either dead or somehow silenced.

But there was a poor mother far away in a village of the Bukowina who refused to believe that the man was dead, or no longer to be found, of whom alone she could hope that he would be the saviour of her unhappy child. Her neighbours laughed at her for setting out to seek him in the mountains; but she went and found him after a five days' anxious search. And the story she had to tell was so heartrending, that both Taras and Hilarion decided on the spot that her prayer must be granted, although the undertaking was fraught with more than usual danger, and even the bravest of the brave might well shrink back.

The victim in this case was a Ruthen maiden of rarest beauty, Tatiana Bodenko by name, who, in the district gaol of Czernowitz, was awaiting the Emperor's decision concerning the sentence of death which had been passed on her, following upon the verdict found by the local jury in fulfilment of their duty. That fair-haired, gentle creature, with the eyes of a fawn, had indeed committed murder; but it was one of those pitiful cases which the law must condemn, while the heart's sympathy will plead for the culprit.

Tatiana, who had only just reached her eighteenth year, was the eldest daughter of a poor gamekeeper, and had grown up amid all the hardships of poverty. The mother often was ailing, and the father absent on duty, so that at an early age the responsibility of rearing the younger children upon the humblest of means devolved on her. It was indeed a wonder that the flower of her beauty unfolded in spite of such nipping cares; but she fought hunger bravely and kept out the cold. There is a saying among her people that if God sees reason to punish a mother He gives beauty to the daughter, and that lightning loves to descend on the tallest trees. Poor Tatiana also had to learn that a girl's beauty may be her ruin. She was modest and sweet as a violet, but she could not help being seen; and all eyes that beheld her seemed spell-bound. But silent worship not being a virtue much known in those parts, she had much ado in keeping at a distance her rude admirers, and would often sigh at the thought that, with all her other burdens, she should have the special trouble of such beauty as well. But the day also was given her when she found that it was not altogether amiss to be lovely; she had made the acquaintance of a young peasant at a neighbouring village, and came to be grateful for her sweet face, since thereby she had gained his love. The young man was honest and fairly well off, her parents gave their blessing gladly, and that saying need never have come true as far as Tatiana was concerned had not an evil hour brought Mr. Eugene de Kotinski, the owner of the forest, to her father's cottage.

He was not a fast man of the worst type, and his morals hitherto had escaped the world's censure, but no sooner had he seen the girl than he was seized with a frenzied passion for her. Day after day he returned, like a moth to the candle, trying to win her with the most dazzling promises, and these failing, with cruel threats. Her prayers and tears availed not, and she withdrew into the silence of contempt. Suddenly his visits ceased; he had left the neighbourhood, hoping to master his folly. But the promptings of his nature, perhaps of his heart even, were too strong for such honest intentions; he returned to ask the keeper for the hand of his daughter. It was an unheard-of resolve for a man of his standing, making the gossips gape with wonder for miles around; but still more startling was the further news that Tatiana had rejected her noble suitor. She did not care to be his wife, and neither her mother's entreaty nor her father's abuse could move her; she remained true to her humble lover. But passion fed on rebuff, and the maddened nobleman now sought to gain his end by a baseness which many another of his kind, no doubt, would have had recourse to much sooner. He exerted his influence, and the young peasant was levied as a recruit and carried off into a distant province. But this villainous trick brought him not a step further, the girl repulsing him more firmly still, whereupon he played his last card, discharging the keeper and evicting him and his family from their humble cottage, though it was in the depth of winter and the poor wife sick and suffering.

But if Tatiana was the cause of all this trouble, she also was the unconscious means of help. A forest ranger in the neighbourhood, pitying the poor girl, took her father into his service, appointing him even to a better post than the one he had quitted. This man was a German of the name of Huber, of known respectability, and a widower beyond the heyday of life. But he succumbed nevertheless, offering the girl his honest love, and was more fortunate than the nobleman had been. Tatiana agreed to wean her heart from the young peasant, separated from her by cruel interference, and to secure a home and bread for her family by marrying the kind-hearted ranger. Her father's sudden illness only strengthened her resolve; he could die in peace, for the widow and orphans would thus be cared for. The wedding was postponed for the usual time of mourning, and this delay left room for evil slander. The ranger was informed that his wife that was to be had allowed herself to be visited secretly by Kotinski's valet. Of such baseness had that man's revenge been capable! And he must have paid his servant handsomely, for the wretch added oath upon oath when Huber interrogated him concerning the truth of the report. Calumny carried the day. He broke with the girl, and once more Tatiana, with her mother and the little ones, were homeless. Again pity held out a helping hand, a well-to-do widow in their own village receiving them into her house. But even here they were not safe from Kotinski's low-minded vengeance. That charitable widow was fined for giving shelter to a girl of bad character. When Tatiana heard this she took hold of the one possession they had left, her father's musket, and waylaying Kotinski as he rode about his property, she killed him by a shot through the heart; and going to the nearest magistrate she gave herself up on the spot.

The case against her was so plain that sentence could be passed almost immediately; according to the law, she had forfeited her young life and must atone for her deed on the gallows. When asked whether she had anything to say for herself, she made answer quietly: "You will not deny, sirs, that he deserved to die; and since my father is dead, and my eldest brother but nine years old, I had to do it myself." But in spite of this open confession, the jury unanimously agreed that the verdict should be accompanied by a strong recommendation to mercy. She was told of it, but all she said was: "Mere life is nothing to me. I suppose the Emperor would not let me go back to work for my mother and the children; so I do not care whether I die now, or some years hence in prison." And her whole bearing showed that she spoke as she felt. She returned to her cell, awaiting the imperial decision without a shade of disquietude. She considered she had done her duty--an evil duty, to be sure--and must take the consequences. Her fortitude was not the outcome of heroism, but simply that submissive yielding to the inevitable which is so strong a characteristic of Slavonic races; but in a case like this, and surrounded with the halo of so tragic a fate, it reflects the lustre of the higher virtue.

But while the girl thus awaited her fate calmly, Taras was coming to avert it. The hill country between the rivers Czeremosz, Pruth, and Sereth was almost bare of troops, and he knew the neighbourhood sufficiently; nevertheless this enterprise was the most daring of his ventures. There was the General with his concentrated forces not far to the left of him, and he was moving towards a city of some ten thousand inhabitants--not to mention its garrison, the strength of which he had not been able to learn. True, he had sent on Nashko and the Royal Eagle to procure information and to reconnoitre the situation of the prison; but these spies of his could scarcely rejoin him before he, at the head of his band, would have arrived in the vicinity of the town; and the least suspicion of their approach would bring almost certain failure, for the General could effectively cut off their retreat. No precaution, therefore, was omitted to avert discovery. They carried food for themselves and provender for their horses, in order to obviate intercourse with the peasantry. They rode by night only, and in small detachments, taking their rest and hiding in lonely places from the early dawn till late in the evening. They avoided villages--and solitary homesteads even--choosing the rocky woodland paths as much as possible, where the horses' hoofs left no traces behind them. Still, a hundred horsemen could not traverse the country as quietly as mice; and, apart from all this, everything depended on whether the attack could be carried out successfully within the space of an hour: if there were anything like a fight, the band was lost. Most of Taras's feats hitherto had been ventures for life or death; but the chances of utter failure never seemed more certain than this time. The Huzuls hardly realised it, or if they did, their great temerity despised the danger; but all the deeper was Taras's sense of responsibility.

With the first streak of dawn on the fourth day they reached that uninhabited forest region, rent with numberless ravines, between the village of Dracinetz and the Swabian settlement of Rosch, which forms the western suburb of Czernowitz. In the midst of this wild waste rises broadly and grandly the Cecina mountain, the brow of which, in times gone by, bore the ramparts and bastions of a considerable stronghold. In one of the hollows on the western slope, between rocks and brushwood, the band was halting; to this spot the spies had been ordered to return. They arrived in the course of the day, but their news was even less hopeful than Taras had anticipated. The prison itself was favourably situated in the outskirts of the city, but within a stone's throw of barracks containing some five hundred soldiers.

But Taras nevertheless resolved to venture, and the attack was not only successful, but was achieved without the loss even of a single life. The enterprise, which bordered on the impossible, was carried victoriously through by a series of happy chances.

A storm had broken at sunset, the rain descending in torrents for hours through the night. Under cover of this tempest the band succeeded in gaining the level between the gaol and the Catholic cemetery, without letting the sentry in the barracks close by, or any one else, become aware of their arrival. Taras dismounted with about half his men, cautiously advancing to the entrance of the prison. The sentinel, most fortunately, had retired from the pelting rain, and was comfortably asleep, well wrapped up in his overcoat. He was gagged and pinioned before he had half opened his drowsy eyes.

And now Taras rang the bell, but there was no sound in response--the wind only howled and the rain splashed wildly. After the bell had been rung a second time, approaching footsteps were heard and keys rattled, a sleepy voice growling, "What is it at this time of night?" "Government inspection!" returned Taras, peremptorily. At which the gates flew open, revealing an old turnkey with a lantern in his hand. He staggered back horrified.

"Lead the way to Tatiana Bodenko," said Taras, lifting his pistol. "You are a dead man if you raise the alarm; but you have nothing to fear if you show me to her cell. I am the avenger, and you may trust my word."

The man grew livid, but did as he was told, tremblingly unlocking the cell of the condemned maiden. Taras took hold of the lantern and entered, leaving the warder to his men. Tatiana was fast asleep, her rest being as peaceful as though she had sought it in her father's cottage, the sweet earnings of toil. A gleam of light fell on her face, and a tall man, grey-haired and wan, was bending over her. She woke with a start, and gave a little scream, but he laid his hand on her mouth, saying, "Rise; I am the avenger. I have come to take you back to your mother; it is she who has sent me. Be quick!"

He turned away, and she rose as in a dream; but her limbs shook and she was scarcely able to put on her clothes. Taras knew that not a moment was to be lost; divesting himself of his "bunda," he wrapped it about her and lifting the quivering figure in his strong arms, he carried her away through the night and the rain, followed by his men, to where the others were waiting. He placed her upon a horse, tying her fast in the saddle and joining the bridle to that of his own steed. And the band dashed away quick as lightning through the storm-tossed night.

But success was scarcely yet complete. Unless the authorities at Czernowitz had utterly lost their heads they would send a courier to inform the General of what had happened; and if the latter moved forward to the banks of the Czeremosz, quite at his leisure, he could cut off the band's retreat to the mountains. Taras was fully aware of this and resolved to make a dash for it straight across country, taxing his men and horses to their utmost. And it was well he did so, for on the evening of the second day he fell in with the vanguard of the approaching troops, a handful of hussars. But these, not strong enough to venture upon an attack, turned tail after having exchanged some shots with the bandits. Only one of their bullets hit, wounding one of Taras's truest helpers, and his own inmost heart as well; his oldest, most faithful companion, Jemilian, fell bleeding by his side. They lifted him up, taking him away with them back to the mountains. The old man's iron nature fought for life, but Taras knew that the sore parting was at hand....

Words utterly fail to describe the excitement which filled the land when that night's exploit became known. The consternation was all the greater because men had clung to the belief that Taras's day was over and no further attack need be feared. It had been asserted he had laid hands on himself in despair; others declaring his band had mutinied and that he had fled for his life to Hungary. But here he was, bold as ever, daring unheard-of things, and heading a swarm of outlaws which the terrified hussars who had fallen in with them estimated at five hundred at least.

Helplessly the authorities met at the Board, couriers flying from Czernowitz to Colomea, and thence to Lemberg, and away to Vienna. The poor district governor, who had begun to breathe more freely, hung his head again in utter dismay. "Would to God," he cried bitterly, "our superiors at Lemberg had turned their venom against this Taras, instead of spluttering it over us. But as for those at Vienna----" he heaved a sigh and sat mute. The poor old man was so deeply troubled that even his favourite resort of growling began to fail him.

But "those at Vienna," meanwhile, did not quite deserve his disgust. Before a week was over he could once more call the Board to inform them that a special writ had arrived from the Provincial Governor, and his eyes shone with a curious moisture. "Gentlemen," he said, "after all it was not in vain that we stood up for what is fair and right. Our superiors at Lemberg have just informed me that by express orders from Vienna Anusia Barabola and her children are to be set at liberty at once, and that, considering the very special circumstances of the case, she is to be indemnified for any loss she may have suffered through having been detained here. This is fine, I say! But, on the other hand," he added, with a queer smile, "we seem to be told that, in part at least, our views are open to amendment. Listen to this," and he read as follows:--"'It appears to be thought highly desirable at Vienna that an effort should be made to bring Taras to his senses by personal remonstrance, it being left to the district authorities to name fit persons for this office. These, in company with the outlaw's wife if possible, are to repair to Taras's camp, and to inform him that the Imperial Government, having learned that he, formerly a well-behaved and even exemplary subject, had been driven to his desperate crimes by an alleged wrong done to his parish in the matter of a law-suit against the lord of the manor concerning a field of theirs--that Government, as in duty bound to rectify any miscarriage of justice, had ordered a careful revision of the judicial records referring to that suit; and although there seemed nothing irregular in the judgment of the local court, yet nevertheless it appeared that certain pleas might be urged in Taras's favour, for which reason it was deemed well to annul that judgment by an act of imperial prerogative, and to order the case to be tried over again; that the district governor was instructed to repeat the process of collecting evidence, and especially to inquire into the possibility of perjury in the former trial--these matters to be taken in hand with all possible speed; and Taras to be given to understand that the case was to be re-tried for the sake of justice itself, and not with the mere idea of pacifying him. At the same time he shall be informed of this decision, in the hope that it may enable him to see his way all the more plainly to turn from his present evil life, and by an unconditional surrender to make amends to the law he has so grievously wronged. And though it would not be just to hold out positive impunity to him and his accomplices, he is to be assured that his and their lives shall in that case be spared. The district governor is herewith requested to take note of these instructions, and to act accordingly.'"

Herr von Bauer looked up from his paper, and, allowing the excitement of the Board to subside, he added presently, "And now, gentlemen, who is to be sent--to Taras, I mean; for I shall myself repair to Zulawce to re-examine the witnesses."

"If I might be allowed to suggest," said Wroblewski, the secretary, looking wicked, "surely we could find no better delegates than our friend Kapronski, who sooner or later will have to show his face here, and the amiable hero of all this business himself, Mr. Wenceslas Hajek, who, I am told, intends this very week to enter the blessed estate of matrimony."

"None of your chaff," broke in the governor, "we are not gathered here for joking; moreover, I want to be off to inform the poor woman of her liberty. I'll see her myself! So, to come to business, suppose we appoint Dr. Starkowski, who not only knows Taras, but always had a good word for him. And I should say he could not have a better companion than the parish-priest of Zulawce, Father Leo Woronczuk. Let these two go and come to an understanding with Taras."

The Board unanimously agreed to this proposal, and the governor was soon free to repair to the city gaol, his heart brimming with the good news for Anusia.