Poland -- History -- Stanislaus II Augustus, 1764-1795 -- Fiction
"The night was now grown so dark, they could not be sure of their
way; and their horses stumbling at every step, over stumps of trees
and hollows in the earth, increased their apprehensions to such a
degree, that they obliged the king to keep up with them on foot. He
literally marked his path with his blood; his shoes having been torn
off in the struggle at the carriage. Thus they continued wandering
backward and forward, and round the outskirts of Warsaw, without any
exact knowledge of their situation. The men who guarded him at last
became so afraid of their prisoner's taking advantage of these
circumstances to escape, that they repeatedly called on Kosinski for
orders to put him to death. Kosinski refused; but their demands
growing more imperious, as the intricacies of the forest involved
them completely, the king expected every moment to find their
bayonets in his breast.
"Meanwhile," continued the palatine, "when I recovered from my swoon
in the palace, my leg had been bound up, and I felt able to stir.
Questioning the officers who stood about my couch, I found that a
general panic had seized them. They knew not how to proceed; they
shuddered at leaving the king to the mercy of the confederates, and
yet were fearful, by pursuing him further, to incense them through
terror or revenge to massacre their prisoner, if he were still alive.
I did all that was in my power to dispel this last dread. Anxious, at
any rate, to make another attempt to preserve him, though I could not
ride myself, I strenuously advised an immediate pursuit on horseback,
and insisted that neither darkness nor apprehension of increasing
danger should be permitted to impede their course. Recovered presence
of mind in the nobles restored hope and animation to the terrified
soldiers, and my orders were obeyed. But I must add, they were soon
disappointed, for in less than half an hour the detachment returned
in despair, showing me his majesty's coat, which they had found in
the fosse. I suppose the ruffians tore it off when they rifled him.
It was rent in several places, and so wet with blood that the officer
who presented it to me concluded they had murdered the king there,
and drawn away his body, for by the light of the torches the soldiers
could trace drops of blood to a considerable distance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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