“I stumbled,” said he, “over the body of a janissary when I was returning, and struck my head against a cannon-ball; though I had a cap bound with wire, I lost consciousness at once. My head was tender after that blow which I got from Hamdi Bey. When I came to myself I was lying on a dead janissary, as on a bed. I felt my head; it was a trifle sore, but there was not even a lump on it. I took off my cap; the rain cooled my head, and I thought: ‘This is well for us. It would be a good plan to take that janissary’s uniform, and stroll among the Turks. I speak their tongue as well as Polish, and no one could discover me by my speech; my face is not different from that of a janissary. I will go and listen to their talk.’ Fear seized me at times, for I remembered my former captivity; but I went. The night was dark; there was barely a light here and there. I tell you, gentlemen, I went among them as if they had been my own people. Many of them were lying in trenches under cover; I went to them. This and that one asked, ‘Why are you strolling about?’ ‘Because I cannot sleep,’ answered I. Others were talking in crowds about the siege. There is great consternation. I heard with my own ears how they complained of our Hreptyoff commandant here present,” at this Pan Mushalski bowed to Volodyovski. “I repeat their ipsissima verba” (very words), “because an enemy’s blame is the highest praise. ‘While that little dog,’ said they, thus did the dog brothers call your grace,—‘while that little dog defends the castle, we shall not capture it.’ Others said, ‘Bullets and iron do not harm him; but death blows from him as from a pestilence.’ Then all in the crowd began to complain: ‘We alone fight,’ said they, ‘and other troops are doing nothing; the volunteers are lying with their bellies to the sky. The Tartars are plundering; the spahis are strolling about the bazaars. The Padishah says to us, “My dear lambs;” but it is clear that we are not over-dear to him, since he sends us here to the shambles. We will hold out,’ said they, ‘but not long; then we will go back to Hotin, and if they do not let us go, some lofty heads may fall.’”
“Do you hear, gracious gentlemen?” cried Volodyovski. “When the janissaries mutiny, the Sultan will be frightened, and raise the siege.”
“As God is dear to me, I tell the pure truth,” said Mushalski. “Rebellion is easy among the janissaries, and they are very much dissatisfied. I think that they will try one or two storms more, and then will gnash their teeth at their aga, the kaimakan, or even the Sultan himself.”
“So it will be,” cried the officers.
“Let them try twelve storms; we are ready,” said others.
They rattled their sabres and looked with bloodshot eyes at the trenches, while drawing deep breaths; hearing this, the little knight whispered with enthusiasm to Ketling, “A new Zbaraj! a new Zbaraj!”
But Pan Mushalski began again: “I have told you what I heard. I was sorry to leave them, for I might have heard more; but I was afraid that daylight might catch me. I went then to those trenches from which they were not firing; I did this so as to slip by in the dark. I look; I see no regular sentries, only groups of janissaries strolling, as everywhere. I go to a frowning gun; no one says anything. You know that I took spikes for the cannon. I push a spike into the priming quickly; it won’t go in,—it needs a blow from a hammer. But since the Lord God gave some strength to my hand (you have seen my experiments more than once), I pressed the spike; it squeaked a little, but went in to the head. I was terribly glad.”
“As God lives! did you do that? Did you spike the great cannon?” asked men on every side.
“I spiked that and another, for the work went so easily that I was sorry to leave it; and I went to another gun. My hand is a little sore, but the spike went in.”
“Gracious gentlemen,” cried Pan Michael, “no one here has done greater things; no one has covered himself with such glory. Vivat Pan Mushalski!”