All eyes were turned on him; he trembled throughout his whole body, as if all his wounds were reopened, and he repeated, “That is my captive! That is Tugai Bey’s son. As God lives, it is he.”
But the young Tartar raised his head proudly, cast his wild-cat glance on the assembly, and pulling open suddenly the clothes on his bosom, said, “Here are the fish tattooed in blue. I am the son of Tugai Bey!”
CHAPTER XXIX.
All were silent, so great was the impression which the name of the terrible warrior had made. Tugai Bey was the man who, in company with the dreadful Hmelnitski, had shaken the entire Commonwealth; he had shed a whole sea of Polish blood; he had trampled the Ukraine, Volynia, Podolia, and the lands of Galicia with the hoofs of horses; had destroyed castles and towns, had visited villages with fire, had taken tens of thousands of people captive. The son of such a man was now there before the assembly in the stanitsa of Hreptyoff, and said to the eyes of people: “I have blue fish on my breast; I am Azya, bone of the bone of Tugai Bey.” But such was the honor among people of that time for famous blood that in spite of the terror which the name of the celebrated murza must have called forth in the soul of each soldier, Mellehovich increased in their eyes as if he had taken on himself the whole greatness of his father.
They looked on him with wonderment, especially the women, for whom every mystery becomes the highest charm; he too, as if he had increased in his own eyes through his confession, grew haughty: he did not drop his head a whit, but said in conclusion,—
“That noble”—here he pointed at Novoveski—“says I am his man; but this is my reply to him: ‘My father mounted his steed from the backs of men better than you.’ He says truly also that I was with him, for I was, and under his rods my back streamed with blood, which I shall not forget, so help me God! I took the name of Mellehovich to escape his pursuit. But now, though I might have gone to the Crimea, I am serving this fatherland with my blood and health, and I am under no one but the hetman. My father was a relative of the Khan, and in the Crimea wealth and luxury were waiting for me; but I remained here in contempt, for I love this fatherland, I love the hetman, and I love those who have never disdained me.”
When he had said this, he bowed to Volodyovski, bowed so low before Basia that his head almost touched her knees; then, without looking on any one again, he took his sabre under his arm, and walked out.
For a time yet silence continued. Zagloba spoke first. “Ha! Where is Pan Snitko! But I said that a wolf was looking out of the eyes of that Azya; and he is the son of a wolf!”
“The son of a lion!” said Volodyovski; “and who knows if he hasn’t taken after his father?”
“As God lives, gentlemen, did you notice how his teeth glittered, just like those of old Tugai when he was in anger?” said Pan Mushalski. “By that alone I should have known him, for I saw old Tugai often.”