The trumpeter of Krakow

by Eric P. Kelly

However, summons for help from Jan Kanty seldom waited long without an answer. He had been busy all that night with his writings, at which he worked incessantly, when he was not aiding some world-wrecked soul—writings which were to prove of inestimable value to the university and the whole world of culture after his death. Therefore the ringing of the bell took him but a few steps from his work. As he unlocked the door and flung it open the girl darted by him and into the house.

“It is I, Elzbietka Kreutz,” she said. “Good father, I come with news that needs action, I think, and that immediately. But first close the door, since there are some pursuing me.”

The scholar closed the door. If he felt astonishment at the sight of a young girl flying through the streets at such an hour, he did not show it. He was, as a matter of fact, used to all kinds of strange happenings. Even when the wretched beggars raced past the door wondering what had become of their victim, he had an impulse to go out and talk to them and eventually share his purse with them, since he knew that it was only poverty and starvation that drove them to such extremes. But recognizing the girl’s distress and her immediate need for him, he closed the door and led the way into his study.

“What has happened, daughter? Has there been a robbery again in the house or has thine uncle gotten himself into some difficulty? Something of the sort there is, I feel and know.”

She recited her story as best she could, for she was short-breathed from running and from her anxiety for Joseph. If only he would not smile! If only he would not think that she had been dreaming! But the venerable scholar was far from smiling.

“You are right,” he exclaimed spiritedly, almost before she had finished her tale. “There is no time to wait. He is in some grave danger which may the good God divert from him. Remain here where you will be safe. I will at once send a servant of the university to call the watch, and will go with them myself to the tower. I fear something of evil has happened.”

A few minutes later thirty men of the city watch, in heavy armor, were marching upon the church. They found first the church watchman securely bound in the churchyard and released him. Then they entered the tower through the unlocked door, and began silently and cautiously to climb the stairs.

In the meantime the band of Cossacks high up in the tower above had begun to grow weary of this excursion. At first the idea of an attack in mid-air, and in a church tower at that, had piqued their curiosity and aroused their thirst for adventure, since such an attack had heretofore been entirely outside their experience. And when earlier in the evening Peter had called for the ten volunteers he needed, not one man among them could be induced to remain behind.

But the affair had proved to be of a simplicity that had no appeal for men so bloodthirsty. In truth, so well had Peter’s plans been laid, and so secure from intrusion did they feel in this lofty stronghold, and so irksome was the waiting for their leader, that they had succumbed one by one to the drowsiness of the early morning hour and with the exception of the one man who stood guard over the trumpeter, they were sprawled out idly, or were dozing.

Therefore men of the city watch, when they had crept noiselessly to the top, surprised them completely. In truth they were captives before they were quite on their guard or realized what was happening. Pan Andrew’s guard himself did not have time to carry out the leader’s command—he was in fact made prisoner, as he was upon the point of delivering a deathblow.