"We have just been saved as by a miracle from almost certain death. You know that I have never been a hard landlord; my peasants are kindly treated, and there has never been a point of contention between us till within these last weeks. But after the rising of Taras my people appeared entirely changed. They no longer touched their caps to me refused the labour they owed me, and there was a good deal of seditious speaking and of getting drunk at the public-house. I did what I could to prevent worse things, yielding one point and another, but to no purpose. They grew only the more refractory, and it ended in their sending a deputation to me, a lot of young fellows armed with scythes and firelocks, demanding a loan of fifty florins. I refused it. They returned in the evening, about double the number, all more or less in drink, and not merely young men, but a great many of the older ones as well. There seemed nothing left but to yield, for how could I oppose them with a handful of retainers, and I dared not risk the safety of my wife and children. So I paid them the money. They went off brawling, spending it in drink forthwith. The day before yesterday they returned, some of my most trusted peasants among them, grievously drunk. 'We want one hundred florins of the money you have stolen from us, you robber, you tyrant,' cried their spokesman, a certain labourer of the name of Juzef Supan, 'pay it at once, or we shall call Taras.' 'Well, call him,' I said. 'I know him, and he knows me, for he was in my service twelve years ago; he knows I am no unjust man.' But they had only abuse in return, concluding, 'We don't even want Taras, we can help ourselves. Either you give us a hundred florins here on the spot or we'll make you rue it!' What could I do? I paid the money and off they went.
"My poor wife and I were left to consider the horrors of the situation. There was little doubt of how it would end--they would return with increased demands, or, more probably, would fall to plunder. Life itself was in jeopardy, and no help to be had. Even flight was impossible; for how could we risk it when rebellion is up everywhere? We could only look at one another in mute despair. Some hours passed, when suddenly my wife started from the couch on which she had buried her tearful face, looking at me with luminous eyes, as though she had had an inspiration. 'Husband!' she cried, 'you call Taras!' I stared at her, aghast, believing her demented with the agony of our fears. 'My dear,' I said, 'you know not what you are saying! My referring to him so confidently in the presence of these rebels was like a drowning man's snatching at a straw--nay, not even that! True, I have not been a hard landlord--the Almighty is my witness--but how should Taras care? Don't you know that he is no better than a cut-throat now; up in arms against the noble and wealthy of the land? If I called him we were lost, if we are not so already!' 'No, we should be saved,' cried she, warmly. 'Why, you know yourself we never had a more honest fellow in our service. I well remember his driving me once over to Colomea. I was struck with a peculiar sadness in his face; and on my inquiring what ailed him, he, in the most simple, straightforward fashion, told me it was about a girl. Now, it was just a tale of troubled love, nothing at all particular, but a man who could thus sorrow about a girl, and speak as he did, has a heart, I say, to pity us and our children.' I thought she was imagining a good deal; but, as she clung to her fancy, I no longer tried to contradict her, but set my face to the doing of a desperate duty. I did not send for Taras--for where, indeed, could I have looked for him?--but I gave orders to barricade the doors; and, arming my men, I placed wife and child in the strong room of the tower, prepared for the worst, and resolved to meet it.
"The day passed quietly, but with the approach of night we heard them coming--a mob of several hundred--the very women among them. They roared for admittance. 'We'll have it all back what you have robbed us of!" they cried, and forthwith prepared to force an entrance. The strong portal was groaning beneath the blows of their axes--it must yield, and we are lost! At this terrible moment a thunderous noise filled the air, the echoing hoof-treads of a body of horse bursting upon us. 'The hussars!' cried my steward; but no, for the mob was shrieking, 'Urrahah, the avenger!' When I heard that I knew the hour of death had come. There was an ominous silence, when a mighty voice fell upon my anxious ear: 'You are lying, you wretches, I know the man!' and presently, 'Up, comrades, make sure of this murderous lot; let none escape!' It was Taras himself. My men gave a cry of hope, but I felt stunned. There was a knocking at the gate presently, and a voice saying, 'Open, sir; I have come to save you!' My men let him in.
"Taras, indeed, stood before me, but I should not have known him again, so old, so worn he looked. 'My poor master,' he said, taking my hand, 'what must you have suffered, and the dear lady and the children! But fear nothing now, come with me and we will settle matters.' I followed him speechless. 'Nay, stop,' he said, with the sweetest smile, 'had we not better send word to the lady first, she will be anxious, and I would not have her be troubled a minute longer than I can help!' I called one of my men, sending him to her with a message, but then--I am not ashamed of owning it, I have not shed a tear these thirty years, but there was no fighting against it now.... 'Poor master,' he said, 'be comforted.' He spoke to me gently, as to a child, and drew me along with him to face the peasantry. A strange sight indeed--they stood like a flock of sheep when a storm is bursting, pressing against each other for very fear, and surrounded by a number of Taras's men armed to the teeth, every third man carrying a blazing torch besides. By the outer gate I perceived a further number, motionless on their horses, and drawn up like a body of cavalry, their leader a man in peasant garb with marked Jewish features. 'Now,' cried Taras, looking sternly at the mob, 'here is the man you have accused to me; let me hear, then, what he has been guilty of to justify your murderous attack. But I will have the truth--and woe to the man that dares a falsehood!' Upon which most of them fell on their knees, crying for mercy; a few only remained stubbornly on their feet, and there was but one who had the courage to make answer--it was Juzef Supan who said: 'We did not think that you, the people's avenger, would take the part of a Polish noble--a landlord--is not that enough in your eyes? He did, however, oppress us, like all of them!' 'You are not much of a witness,' said Taras, 'I happen to remember you. Your heart is a swamp, and your words like its poisonous exhalations. Is there any one here who can come forward with proof of the baron's oppression?' Juzef scowled, but the peasants cried: 'Forgive us, he led us on, saying, This is the time when poor folk can enjoy themselves for once, and the rich men must pay! And so we----' ... 'Turned rogues and all but assassins,' interrupted Taras, and his eye shot fire; 'do you think these are the people that have any claim on me? You have deserved death every one of you for thus dragging low the sacred cause I have espoused; for making the holy right an excuse for the doing of meanest wrong. Yes, you have forfeited your lives; but, believing that you have been misled, and that you are willing to repent, I will grant you forgiveness, unless the baron himself would have you punished.' 'Surely, I forgive them heartily,' I cried. 'In that case,' he continued, 'I have but three things to see to. Firstly, you shall begin to-morrow with rendering whatever labour you owe to the baron; and you will behave reverently, as he deserves at your hands. If any of you, after this, dares offer him any slight, or withholds any just tribute, be it but a sheaf of wheat or an hour of your time, I shall have him shot, as sure as there is a God above us.' 'We will render our every due,' they cried. 'Secondly'--and he turned to me--'do they owe any arrears?' 'No,' 'But they have refused labour--for how long?' 'About three weeks.' 'That is eighteen working days. And how much in money did they force you to give them?' 'One hundred and fifty florins; but I acquit them of it.' 'Ah, but that is not justice,' he exclaimed, with a look that brooked no contradiction; and, addressing himself again to the peasantry, he called upon their judge to step forth. But that good man was not of the rioters; only one of the elders, Grigori Borsak, had joined the mob, and shamefacedly he presented himself. 'The eighteen days' labour,' said Taras, 'shall be doubled, and are due to the baron whenever he chooses to call on you within six weeks from this day. But as for the money, or at least its value, I'll see it paid back this very hour. You must raise it on the spot; some of my men will go with you about the village, and you had better not keep us waiting. And now for the third matter.' His voice swelled like thunder, and at a sign from him Juzef was dragged forth. 'Ah! forgive him!' I cried; but he shook his head. Another sign--two shots--and Juzef fell a corpse at our feet. The peasantry, horror-struck, rushed back to the village. 'Well, then, this is settled,' said Taras, turning to me. 'I have but to wait now to see them make amends for what they robbed you of.' But I stood mute, the awfulness and the generosity of this man seemed overpowering. He, too, was silent awhile, and then he said softly, almost humbly, 'I would like to see the lady and the dear children, but I dare hardly ask it.' 'Certainly,' I cried; 'forgive my neglect. Besides, she will want to thank you. It was she who insisted that you would save us if I would but send for you.' 'No! did she, indeed?' he exclaimed, blushing for very pleasure; yet he followed me bashfully, almost reluctantly.
"But my wife was coming to meet us, bathed in tears and holding our youngest child in her arms. She flung herself on her knees before him, but he, with a gesture of dismay, lifted her gently, and, bowing reverently, kissed the hem of her garment. 'Dear lady,' he said, 'I am told that you still think kindly of your former servant; and be sure he has never forgotten either the baron or yourself. I heard of your plight two days ago, but could not come sooner--not till I saw judgment done upon the mandatar at Rossow,' 'Bawinski!' she cried, dismayed, 'ah, his poor wife!' 'I could not help it, his life was forfeited!' 'Terrible man,' she sobbed, 'how long shall this shedding of blood continue?' It must continue while wrong remains unpunished,' said he, solemnly, 'and I have the power of righting it.' I thought it best to change the subject, inquiring after his wife and children; and my wife, recovering herself, invited him to our sitting-room. He followed her shyly and with the utmost respect, nor could he be prevailed upon to take a seat, but, hat in hand, remained standing, listening deferentially to all I told him about ourselves and the things that had occurred since his leaving. In fact, he was just the old servant happening to pay a visit to his former master, unconsciously falling back into the ways of service with the humble interest of grateful attachment. But no sooner was he told that the elder had returned with some money and a few heads of cattle, than he was the captain of his band again, self-confident and imperious. I endeavoured once more to have the people excused from making amends, but he would not hear of it, turning upon me almost fiercely: 'It is right, sir, to accept it!' and there seemed nothing else to be done. He took his leave with evident emotion, and burst away with his band, like a whirlwind, as he had come. I have written this in the early glimmer of morning, hardly myself as yet, but I longed to tell you; nay, conscience urged me not to delay my report. I am ready to swear to this statement if required, remaining, meanwhile,
"Ever yours,
"Zborowski."
The lawyer had read the letter aloud, but with a voice growing husky and tremulous, and having finished he sat down silent. Nor could any one else find speech, except the governor, who once again struck his fists on the table, exclaiming with a quaint petulance:--
"Perhaps you will tell me now, sirs, what I am to think of this? I say it is maddening, it is distracting, if even the law cannot decide whether a man is a wicked scoundrel or a noble-hearted, valorous defender of his kind. Now without this Taras, my good friend Zborowski were a corpse by this time, every manor in the district, but for him, were in rains, and rebellion stalking the land! It is so, indeed. I have little chance of upholding martial law though I proclaimed it, but every word of his is regarded like an edict of the crown. But what do I say?--why, without him we had never seen this confusion, and the wretch has men shot like sparrows! Do you understand him? then do help me to see straight!"
"He is a remarkable outlaw, that much I perceive," said the general, drily.