The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 2Sienkiewicz, Henryk
History
The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 2
Sienkiewicz, Henryk
Historical fiction; Poland -- History -- John II Casimir, 1648-1668 -- Fiction
Kmita reined in his horse somewhat. “Come this way!” called he.
The dispute ceased, the Kyemliches hurried up, and they rode farther
four abreast.
“And do you know the road to the Silesian boundary?” asked Pan Andrei.
“O Mother of God! we know, we know,” answered the old man.
“There are no Swedish parties on the road?”
“No, for all are at Chenstohova, unless we might meet a single man; but
God give us one!”
A moment of silence followed.
“Then you served with Kuklinovski?” asked Kmita.
“We did, for we thought that being near we might serve the holy monks
and your grace, and so it has happened. We did not serve against the
fortress,—God save us from that! we took no pay unless we found
something on Swedes.”
“How on Swedes?”
“For we wanted to serve the Most Holy Lady even outside the walls;
therefore we rode around the camp at night or in the daytime, as the
Lord God gave us; and when any of the Swedes happened alone, then
we—that is—O Refuge of sinners!—we—”
“Pounded him!” finished Kosma and Damian.
Kmita laughed. “Kuklinovski had good servants in you. But did he know
about this?”
“He received a share, an income. He knew, and the scoundrel commanded
us to give a thaler a head. Otherwise he threatened to betray us. Such
a robber,—he wronged poor men! And we have kept faith with your grace,
for not such is service with you. Your grace adds besides of your own;
but he, a thaler a head, for our toil, for our labor. On him may God—”
“I will reward you abundantly for what you have done,” said Kmita. “I
did not expect this of you.”
The distant sound of guns interrupted further words. Evidently the
Swedes had begun to fire with the first dawn. After a while the roar
increased. Kmita stopped his horse; it seemed to him that he
distinguished the sound of the fortress cannon from the cannon of the
Swedes, therefore he clinched his fist, and threatening with it in the
direction of the enemies’ camp said,—
“Fire away, fire away! Where is your greatest gun now?”
CHAPTER V.
The bursting of the gigantic culverin had really a crushing effect upon
Miller, for all his hopes had rested hitherto on that gun. Infantry
were ready for the assault, ladders and piles of fascines were
collected; but now it was necessary to abandon all thought of a storm.
The plan of blowing up the cloister by means of mines came also to
nothing. Miners brought in previously from Olkush split, it is true,
the rock, and approached on a diagonal to the cloister; but work
progressed slowly. The workmen, in spite of every precaution, fell
frequently from the guns of the church, and labored unwillingly. Many
of them preferred to die rather than aid in the destruction of a sacred
place.
Miller felt a daily increasing opposition. The frost took away the
remnant of courage from his unwilling troops, among whom terror was
spreading from day to day with a belief that the capture of the
cloister did not lie within human power.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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