Cossack Tales

by Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol

"Tell me, where am I now?" asked Tarass, collecting his thoughts, and endeavouring to bring back his recollection of the past.

"Hold thy tongue," said his comrade, sternly rebuking him. "What wouldst thou know more? Dost thou not feel that thou art all mangled? For the last fortnight we have been riding hard with thee, without ever stopping, and thou all the time with fever and delirium. 'Tis now the first time that thou hast had a quiet sleep. Hold thy tongue, if thou wilt not bring woe upon thy head."

But Tarass still endeavoured to gather his thoughts, and to recollect the past. "But how is it? I was quite taken and surrounded by the Poles. I had no possibility of cutting my way through the crowd?"

"Hold thy tongue, I tell thee, devil's son!" angrily cried Tovkach, as a nurse out of temper cries to a naughty child. "Of what use is it for thee to know how thou didst escape? Thou hast escaped, that's enough. There were men at hand who did not forsake thee; well, that is all thou needest know. We have still many nights to ride hard together. Dost thou think thou art worth no more than a common Cossack? Not so; they have set a price of two thousand ducats on thy head."

"And what of Ostap?" suddenly cried Tarass, endeavouring to rise, for he remembered all at once how Ostap had been caught and bound before his eyes, and how he must now be in the hands of the Poles. And grief rushed into his old head. He tore the bandages from his wounds, threw them far away, and wished to say something aloud; but his mind began to wander. Fever and delirium once more fell on him, and he ejaculated raving sentences without any sense or connection. Meanwhile his faithful comrade stood before him, grumbling and uttering without interruption, scolding words, and gruff reproaches. At last he took hold of his feet and hands, swaddled him round like a baby, set all the bandages in order, packed him up in an ox-hide? bound him round with sheets of bark, and then, tying him with a rope to his saddle, once more galloped away.

"I'll bring thee home, shouldst thou even die by the way. I will not let the Poles deride thy Cossack birth, tear thy body to pieces, and cast them into the river. And if an eagle is to peck thine eyes out of thy skull, it shall, at all events, be the eagle of our steppes, and not the Polish eagle—no, not the one that comes from Poland! Shouldst thou not be alive, it's the same thing. I'll bring thee over to Ukraine."

Thus spoke the faithful comrade, and riding day and night, without ever taking repose, he brought the still unconscious Tarass to the Zaporoghian Ssiecha. There he untiringly treated him with simples and poultices; he found a knowing Jewess, who, during a whole month, administered different medicines to Tarass; and at last Tarass improved. Perhaps the medicines took effect, and perhaps simply his own iron strength saved him; but in six weeks he was on his feet again, his wounds healed, and the sabre scars alone showed how deep they had been. However, he had grown evidently sullen and sorrowful. Three deep furrows crossed his brow, and never again left it. He looked about him, all were new in the Ssiecha; the old comrades had all died away. Not one remained of those who had stood up for the good cause, for faith and brotherhood. Those who went with the Koschevoï to pursue the Tartars, they, too, were long since no more—every one had perished, every one had met his end; some were killed in glorious fight, some had died in the Crimean salt-marshes of hunger and thirst, some had pined to death, not being able to endure the shame of captivity; the Koschevoï was also long ago no more of this world, like all the old comrades, and the grass was already growing over the bodies of those in whose veins once boiled the Cossack's valour.

In vain were attempts made to divert and enliven Tarass; in vain bearded gray-haired bards came in bands of two or three at a time to sing the praises of his Cossack feats; his features retained a harsh indifferent expression, and an unquenchable sorrow was seen on them, as, with his head bent down he murmured in a subdued voice, "My son! My Ostap!"

The Zaporoghians prepared for a sea campaign. Two hundred boats sailed down the Dnieper, and Asia Minor saw their shaven and crown-tufted heads, while they put everything on its blooming coast to fire and sword; it saw the turbans of its Mahometan inhabitants, like numberless flowers, strewn about on its fields soaked in blood, or floating near its shores. It saw not a few tar-besmeared Zaporoghian trowsers, and sinewy arms with black nagaïkas.[40] The Zaporoghians devoured and destroyed all the vineyards; left heaps of dirt in the Mosques; used costly Persian shawls instead of belts, and girded their dirty coats with them. Long afterwards, were the short Zaporoghian pipes to be found in these places. The Zaporoghians started gaily on their return; a ten-gun Turkish brig gave chase to them, and with a volley from its broadside dispersed their boats like birds; one-third of the Cossacks were drowned in the deep sea; but the remainder joined once more together and came into the mouth of the Dnieper, bringing with them twelve barrels full of sequins.

But all this no longer diverted Tarass. He went into the fields and into the steppes as if to hunt, but his gun remained unfired, and with a sorrowful heart he laid it down, and sat by the sea-shore. He remained there long with drooping head, saying all the time, "My Ostap! My Ostap!" Bright and wide was the Black Sea before him, the gull shrieked in the distant reeds, his white mustachios glistened like silver, and one tear rolled after another.