With Fire and Sword: An Historical Novel of Poland and Russia

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

This was the first wave; not Hmelnitski himself, with the Khan, but a reconnoitring party made up of thirty thousand chosen Tartars, armed with bows, muskets, and sabres. Having captured fifteen hundred men sent out for provisions, they went in a dense mass from Vishnyovets; then, stretching out in a long crescent, they began to ride around from the opposite side toward Old Zbaraj.

The prince, satisfied that this was merely a party, ordered the cavalry out of the intrenchments. The voices of command were heard; the regiments began to move and issue from behind the ramparts like bees from a hive. The plain was soon filled with men and horses. From a distance could be seen the captains riding around the squadrons and putting them in line of battle. The horses snorted playfully, and sometimes their neighing went through the ranks. Then from out this mass pushed forth two squadrons of Tartars and Cossacks, and advanced on a light trot; their bows shook on their shoulders, and their caps glittered. They rode in silence: and at their head was the red Vershul, whose horse reared under him as though wild, throwing his front hoofs in the air as if wishing to escape the bit and spring at once into the tumult. The blue of heaven was unspotted by a cloud; the day was clear, transparent, and the assailants were visible as on the palm of the hand.

Now there appeared from the side of Old Zbaraj a small wagon-train of the prince, which had not succeeded in entering with the army, and was hurrying with all its might to escape capture at a blow by the Tartars. Indeed it had not escaped their glance, and the long crescent moved swiftly toward it. Cries of "Allah!" flew to the ears of the infantry on the ramparts; the squadrons of Vershul shot on like a whirlwind to the rescue.

But the crescent arrived at the train sooner, and engirdled it in a moment as if with a black ribbon; and simultaneously several thousand of the horde turned with an unearthly howl to surround Vershul in like manner. Here might be noted the experience of Vershul and the skill of his soldiers. Seeing that they were flanking him on right and left, he divided his forces into three parts and sprang to the sides; then he divided them into four, then into two; and each time the enemy had to turn with his whole line, for he had no opponent in front and his wings were already broken. The fourth time they met breast to breast; but Vershul struck with all his force in the weakest part, burst through, and immediately found himself in the rear of the enemy, whom he left, and rushed like a tempest to the train, regardless of pursuit.

Old soldiers, beholding this from the ramparts, stood with armored hands on their hips, crying: "May the bullets strike them, only the prince's captains lead in that style!"

Then Vershul struck in the form of a sharp wedge the ring surrounding the tabor, and pierced it as an arrow pierces a man. In the twinkle of an eye he was in the centre. Now instead of two battles there raged one, but all the more stubborn. It was a marvellous sight. In the centre of the plain was a small tabor, like a moving fortress, throwing out long streaks of smoke and vomiting fire; without, a black and wildly moving swarm, as one gigantic eddy followed another, horses fleeing without riders; within, noise, uproar, and the thunder of guns. In one place some were rushing through others, in another they struggled unbroken. As a wild boar at bay defends himself with his white tusks and tears the raging dogs, so that tabor in the midst of the cloud of Tartars defended itself desperately, hoping that assistance greater than Vershul's would come from the camp.

The red coats of the dragoons of Kushel and Volodyovski soon twinkled on the field. You would have said they were red leaves of flowers driven by the wind. They rushed to the cloud of Tartars and disappeared in it as in a black forest; so for a time they were invisible, but the uproar increased. The troops wondered why the prince did not send force enough at once to the succor of the surrounded; but he delayed, wishing to show exactly what he sent, and in this way to raise their courage and prepare them for still greater perils.

However, the fire in the tabor grew weak; it was evident they had no time to load, or the barrels of the muskets had grown hot. The shouts of the Tartars increased continually; the prince therefore gave a signal, and three hussar squadrons--one (his guard) under Skshetuski, the second under the starosta of Krasnostav, the third a royal squadron under Piglovski--rushed to the battle from the camp. They struck them as an axe strikes; they broke the ring of Tartars at once, threw them back, scattered them, pressed them to the woods, re-dispersed and drove them more than a mile from the camp. The little tabor entered the intrenchments in safety, amidst joyous shouts and the thunder of cannon.

The Tartars, however, feeling that Hmelnitski and the Khan were following, did not disappear altogether, but came again, and shouting "Allah!" galloped around the whole camp, occupying at the same time the roads, highways, and villages, from which pillars of black smoke were soon rising to the sky. Many of their skirmishers came near the trenches; against these the soldiers of the prince and the quarter-soldiers rushed out at once, singly and in parties, especially from the Tartar, Wallachian, and dragoon squadrons.

Vershul was unable to take part in the skirmishes; for, struck six times in the head while defending the tabor, he lay as if dead in the tent. Volodyovski, red as a lobster, though untouched, still unsatisfied, took his place, and moved first to the field. These skirmishes, at which the infantry and heavy cavalry looked from the camp as at a spectacle, lasted till evening. Sometimes one side excelled, sometimes the other; they fought in groups or singly; captives were taken alive. But Pan Michael, as soon as he struck any one and finished him, turned again, and his red uniform circled over the whole field of battle. At last Skshetuski pointed him out from a distance to Lantskoronski as a curiosity, for as often as he met with a Tartar it might be said that lightning had struck that man. Zagloba, though beyond the hearing of Pan Michael, encouraged him with shouts from the ramparts. From time to time he turned to the soldiers standing around, and said,--